Читаем Death and the Devil полностью

Goddert wiped the sweat from his brow. “Still,” he said, “there’s nowhere he can get in.”

Kuno gave a quiet groan.

There were no more sounds from the back door.

They waited.

After a while Jacob began to relax. “Looks as if he really has gone.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Jaspar scratched his chin and went into the kitchen. When he came back he looked less worried. “Everything secure.” He sat down beside Jacob and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, Fox-cub, you were about to tell us something. The answer to the question from your very lips. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Jacob nodded, but his mind wasn’t really on it. There was something he’d forgotten, something important—

“Goddert?” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Very quietly now. You shut everything?”

“Of course! How often do I—”

“Is there a skylight?”

Goddert stared at him. The color drained from his face. “Oh, my God!”

Jacob seemed to feel the floor tremble beneath his feet. “Take it easy,” he whispered. “We’ve got to think of something. Urquhart’s in the house already.”

“But what?”

“Just keep talking as normal. Go on. About anything.”

“Oh, God! Oh, God!”

Jaspar cleared his throat noisily. “If you ask me, Goddert,” he said in a loud voice, his eyes fixed on Jacob, “the bastard won’t be back. He’ll have realized we know how to protect ourselves.”

“Perhaps he got afraid and ran away,” agreed Richmodis in firm tones.

Jacob wasn’t listening. He was thinking feverishly. Opposing Urquhart with sheer strength was pointless. He was stronger than all of them put together and he’d be armed. He was probably sitting in the loft now, his tiny crossbow ready.

At the top of the stairs, between the parlor and the kitchen, a black rectangle yawned in the ceiling. Was he up there, listening? Would he attack immediately or keep them in suspense, wearing them down? But they were at the end of their tethers already.

For a moment Jacob thought about creeping up the stairs and facing him.

In your dreams, he told himself. Urquhart will kill you the moment your fiery mane appears in the hatchway.

Fiery mane! An idea occurred to him. He gave Goddert’s sleeve a little tug. Goddert’s head swung around. He looked as if he was close to cracking up. Jacob placed a finger to his lips. “Have you any lamp oil?” he asked softly.

“Whaaat?”

“Lamp oil, dammit. Or any oil. A jugful.”

In bewilderment Goddert looked from Jacob to Jaspar. The dean and Richmodis were desperately trying to make normal conversation.

“Y-yes, there’s a jug under the kitchen seat.”

“Fetch it.”

Goddert went even whiter and looked up toward the open hatch at the top of the steps. Jacob rolled his eyes and patted him on the cheek. “That’s all right.”

It was all a matter of luck now. He fervently hoped God would grant him just a few seconds, nothing really, just the few seconds he needed to fetch the jug. He had to pass underneath the opening in the ceiling. If Urquhart put a bolt through him, then it was all over. Jaspar was a powerful intellect, but physically he was no more a match for Urquhart than Goddert. And Richmodis might put one over on a drunken patrician, but that was all.

Lord, he thought, I don’t pray to you as often as I should. Thank you for all the apples I managed to steal. Have mercy on me. Just one more time.

Have mercy on Richmodis.

“I’ll get us something to drink,” he said, loud and clear.

“Good idea,” Jaspar cried.

He threw his shoulders back and went to the kitchen, forcing himself not to look up. Fear sent shivers of ice down his spine. There was no candle burning in the back room; it was pretty dark. He gave himself a painful knock on the edge of the table. The bench was by the window.

Jacob bent down and felt for the jug. His fingers touched something round and cool. He brought it out and smelled it. Oily. Just what he was looking for.

“I’ve got the wine,” he shouted to those in the front room. “Was under the bench. Empty those mugs, here I come.”

“They’re empty already,” squawked Richmodis. Her voice was too shrill.

He’s noticed, thought Jacob in panic. He knows we know—

With an effort he stopped his hand trembling and strolled back, deliberately taking his time. The hatch yawned above him like the gate to hell. When he passed underneath it for the second time, his legs almost gave way, but he made it. His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth by the time he sat down beside Jaspar, put the jug in his hands, and whispered a few words to him. Then he picked up a piece of firewood, went over, and held it to the flames.

Richmodis and Goddert watched him, baffled. Jacob pointed silently to the ceiling and tried to work out the likelihood of his plan succeeding. Richmodis and Goddert were on the street side, therefore not in the way. Jaspar, opposite him, had stood up, clutching the jug and still chatting away. Kuno was on the fireside bench, next to the doorway to the back room and therefore closest to the hatch, but he was asleep.

It might work.

Come on, thought Jacob, where are you? Don’t keep us waiting. Show yourself.