Free devilstone chronicles 01 - devils band by richard anderton Page B

trying to think of a way out of his predicament. Slowly the boat drew nearer to the grey walled fortress he’d struggled so hard to avoid and after a few more minutes they reached The Tower’s Water Gate, the entrance reserved for traitors under sentence of death. There was an agonising screech of wood scraping against ancient stone as the gate’s portcullis was raised.
    The barge passed under the quay called the King’s Wharf and entered the moat that surrounded The Tower’s outer ward, here a second portcullis guarded the entrance to the inner ward. This too was raised and the barge passed into a stone chamber beneath the massive bastion of the aptly named St Thomas’ Tower. The lapping of the oily water and the hollow splashes of the oars echoed eerily around the weed choked vault, making Thomas feel hewas being rowed across the Styx to suffer all the torments of Tartarus.
    As he climbed out of the boat, Thomas wondered what it would be like to feel the hangman’s rope slowly choking the life from his body, or the cold steel of the executioner’s knife slicing through his genitals. Yet for all his fears, his arrival was a curiously pleasant experience. He was greeted by no less a person than Sir William Kingston, the Constable of The Tower, whom Thomas had glimpsed on the battlefield of Flodden. Though Sir William didn’t recognised his new prisoner, he did treat Thomas as if he were his honoured guest.
    Sir William ordered Thomas’ chains to be removed, he was allowed to wash and given his pick of clothing from a large wooden chest. Thomas picked out a white linen shirt, smart green doublet, matching breeches and bright red hose but he insisted on keeping his old cloak. Sir William had no objection though he ordered the garment to be searched. Thomas held his breath as a warder ran his fingers along the hem and seams but he need not have worried. The gaoler found no hidden dagger or other weapon so he handed the garment back to Thomas.
    If he was surprised at being given such a warm welcome, he was even more astonished by his lodgings. Instead of being cast into a stygian cell, Thomas was taken to a light and airy chamber high in the Beauchamp Tower. The room measured a dozen paces across and boasted three tall, loophole windows in vaulted bays. The windows were unglazed but shuttered and a fire burned in the grate so the room felt warm and dry. The furniture consisted of abed, table and chair, and though rushlights rather than candles burned in the sconces the room was luxurious compared to The Fleet’s pestilential dungeon. Thomas asked his gaolers if all prisoners were so fortunate but the warder would only mumble that the proper fees had been paid then withdrew, locking the door behind him.
    Once Thomas was alone he strolled to the nearest window and peered out. The Beauchamp Tower was located on the western side of the fortress and formed part of the wall that surrounded the inner ward. From this vantage point he could see across the narrow outer ward to a second wall and beyond that there was the moat. He was just a two hundred feet from freedom but to escape he would have to widen the windows, climb down fifty feet of ice smooth wall, scale the outer ward’s equally un-climbable parapets and swim across the foetid waters of the moat. Moreover he would have to accomplish all these tasks unseen by The Tower’s ever-watchful yeomen warders.
    Cursing his luck, Thomas turned away from the window and stretched out on the bed to think. For a few hours he amused himself by incinerating lice in the rushlight by his bed and as each verminous insect popped in the flame, a new plan of escape flashed into his mind. There were as many ways to leave a prison as to enter it but the greatest obstacle to his freedom was the fact he was alone. Without allies he couldn’t bribe guards, smuggle disguises into his cell or steal keys and he began to wish that Bos, Prometheus and Quintana were with him. Together, the four of