Free The Day Before Tomorrow by Nicola Rhodes Page B

‘I think the old coot’s still asleep,’
    Denny laughed as well, this time.
    They made their way down to the cellar. Just as they reached the bottom step Denny saw his surroundings change again, from a dusty but well-ordered wine cellar to a huge dungeon with rows of cells lining each side and back again.  The soldier did not seem to notice anything.  Still it was dark down here, and it had only lasted a second. 
    ‘In here,’ said the soldier drawing out a large rusty key and opening a small door in the back of the cellar.  He went in first; Denny followed him. The room was small and bare. There was no place to hide.  Not even a shadowy corner, it was brightly lit from a small grate above their heads, too small, it need not be said, to admit a full-grown woman through it.  So where the hell were the prisoners?     
    ‘Where the hell are they?’ said the soldier in honest astonishment.  ‘They were here.  They were right here?’
    ‘So, where have they gone?’ asked Denny, forgetting, in his panic, to use his American accent.  The soldier turned in surprise.  ‘Hey…?’ he said.  He never got any further.  Realising that he was busted, Denny swung round and kicked the soldier’s legs from beneath him, he never knew how he did it.  The keys skittered across the floor.  Denny grabbed them and locked the door.  He knocked the soldier backwards as he came after Denny for the keys. He never knew where he got the strength, but it held. After a short tussle, the American lay on the floor panting and nursing a bloody nose. 
    Denny slowly and deliberately pocketed the key and stared down at the man on the floor with a gaze that could have cut diamonds.  It said: ‘You’re not going anywhere pal.’ 
    Jamie believed it. 
    ‘All right you Yank bastard,’ said Denny.  ‘Where the hell is my wife?’ 
    * * *
    Of course, she reappeared again immediately, but Cindy was in no doubt as to what she had seen. 
    ‘You teleported,’ she pointed an accusing finger at Tamar. 
    ‘Only for a second,’ said Tamar strangely diffident.  ‘It’s gone now.’
    ‘You must be a witch.’
    Tamar shook her head.  ‘No, I don’t think so.  I don’t think that’s it.’ 
    ‘But you must be.’
    ‘No, remember?  Hecaté said that I was more powerful than her.  Are you more powerful than she is?’ 
    ‘Of course not, she’s a deity.’  Cindy looked puzzled. ‘She did say that, didn’t she?  What’s more powerful than a God?’
    Tamar sighed.  ‘I wish I knew,’ she said gloomily. 
     

~ Chapter Thirteen ~
    U pper management were in an uproar. In all the preceding millennia, there had never been a cock up like this one, and no one had the least idea of what to do about it. 
    Crispin had been right about one thing.  In the manner of all sentient beings everywhere (whatever their calling) they were looking for a scapegoat.  And he was it.  But finding somebody to blame was not helping the situation.  It was ridiculous, six thousand years of planning all gone to hell because of one detail that had somehow been overlooked.  The war of the apocalypse had begun well enough, only to be stalled in its tracks.  Satan had been overthrown, as predicted – although not quite as anyone had expected – and was now having a lovely holiday.  The Horsemen had ridden out and were now waiting around like so many pensioners at a bus stop.  Death was still busy of course, and War was keeping his hand in, stirring up minor revolutions just to keep things entertaining.  (To War, even the smallest coup was as much fun as the major world war that he had started.)  Pestilence and Famine were, of course, a part of human existence just as they had always been.  Perhaps at the moment they were a spreading themselves a little more voraciously than previously.  But all this was beside the point, it was all nothing compared to the main event, which was they had ridden out for.
    There was even a rumour