Tybalt half-dragged, half-carried Juliet back towards the guest wing, ignoring her pleas for him to stop, to go back.
He paused only as they came to the wide double doors that led into the guest wing on this level.
"Tybalt, please, we have to go back – he's my husband!" Juliet pleaded tearfully. "Why won't you listen to me?"
"Hush," he hissed tersely. "There are no guards on the doors."
Juliet fell silent as she stared at the doors then at him. "Do you think they're inside?" she said, her voice low.
"Don't know," replied Tybalt as he stared at the doors. "Get behind me." He checked the clip in his gun and thumbed the switch to semi-auto. Juliet slipped behind him and pressed herself against the wall, one hand upon the small of his back.
It was like the games they'd played in childhood – he the brave strong bodyguard, she the beautiful princess, breaking out of the enemy fortress. (How they'd come to be in the fortress had never been part of the games, only the daring escape.) Yet this was no game; the enemies would not be other cousins with toy guns but real, living men whose guns were loaded and would kill. He couldn't be certain they would necessarily recognise Juliet. He had to count on his own fast reflexes, skills and experience to get her to safety.
They advanced slowly towards the doors, Juliet moving on silent feet as he'd taught her so long ago. He couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride at the way she had handled the whole situation thus far; though alarmed, she had only screamed once – and that was in protest at being forced to leave her husband behind. In the presence of possible danger, with the likelihood of enemies around every corner, she was steadfast, silent and determined – a Capulet to the heart.
The door opened smoothly at his touch; he signalled to her to stay out of sight as he assessed the situation, listening carefully before dropping to a crouch and rolling swiftly through the slight gap to rise smoothly to his feet and press his back against the opposite wall, gun tracking across the hall as he scanned it with his eyes for any sign of movement. Only when he was satisfied there was no present danger did he signal to Juliet to join him.
He scanned each room carefully as they passed, working their way towards their rooms. When they reached the suite Juliet and Romeo had occupied for the past week, he scanned the sitting room swiftly with his eyes before motioning Juliet inside. He gestured to the side and she slipped into hiding behind a wooden writing desk as he made his way cautiously through the whole suite. Only when he was satisfied it was completely empty did he return to the sitting room, closing and locking the door.
Juliet rose from her hiding place and crossed over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she hid her face against his chest and drew a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes were clear and dry as she lifted her head to stare up at him.
"What now?" she asked quietly.
"Grab a bag, throw in everything you think you're going to need. You and Romeo," he added as an afterthought. "Whatever happens, we need to get out of the palace."
Juliet nodded and grabbed the bag off the coffee table then darted into the bedroom. Tybalt stayed with his back to the door, listening intently.
She rejoined him a short while later, the bag slung over her shoulder. He noted with approval that she'd changed from her dress into something more practical – black jeans, a dark grey t-shirt and flat shoes. She'd braided back her long hair and fastened it into a bun.
"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded then held up a hand.
"Wait!" She scooped up Marlowe the cat. "Now I'm ready."
Tybalt frowned as he stared at the cat, then slowly nodded. "If he bolts, we can't go after him, you understand?"
"I'll take that chance," she answered steadily.
Tybalt nodded, then quietly unlocked the door. Checking the hall was still empty, he gestured and they slipped out quietly and made their way down to Tybalt's room. As before, Juliet slipped into hiding whilst Tybalt made sure the suite was clear before he locked the door and she came out again. He headed into the bedroom, Juliet following behind.
He grabbed the rucksack, stuffing in the laptop and his back of meds. Crossing to the chest of drawers he pulled out the spare clothing he'd unpacked only a few hours previously, then pulled off the dress shoes, tugging on his boots instead. He buckled his father's sword on about his waist then drew the dagger out from beneath his pillow before sheathing it and fixing the sheath to Juliet's belt, tugging her black denim jacket down to hide it.
He donned his leather coat then swung the rucksack onto his back then hefted the gun in his hand and gestured towards the door.
"Where are we going?" asked Juliet quietly. "Shouldn't we wait for the others?"
"I promised your husband I'd get you out of here, and I mean to keep my promise," Tybalt replied quietly.
"But where will we go?" asked Juliet.
"Father Lawrence," answered Tybalt as he unlocked the door then carefully peered out. "Come on."
They were halfway down the stairs when they heard voices from the direction of the kitchen. Tybalt mentally cursed. It was unlikely to be Mercutio and Romeo. The only way out to the garden would lead directly past the kitchen. He made up his mind swiftly.
"Come on – this way," he murmured over his shoulder to Juliet, and headed down.
As they descended the stone stairs towards the crypt, Juliet looked curiously, unable to repress a small shudder. "Tybalt, is this... a tomb?" she breathed.
"Last resting place of the Escaluses," he nodded. "The dead can't hurt us."
"Can we get out this way?"
"I don't know, but if it comes to it, it's as good a place as any to hide, and easier to defend than one of the bedrooms," answered Tybalt. He felt in his pocket for the small key to the crypt he'd palmed from Mercutio's desk earlier. He hadn't been sure why he'd felt the urge to do so at the time but he was glad of the impulse now as he quietly let them into the crypt.
"Is this where Mercutio's brother was buried?" Juliet whispered. Tybalt nodded and gestured down the long aisle flanked on either side by dead princes and nobility of the line of Escalus.
"Down here. Last one on the left," he murmured as he led the way.
"Tybalt – there's a door down there. Where does it lead?" Juliet asked, gesturing to the end of the aisle.
"Don't know," replied Tybalt. He hadn't noticed it last time he was down here; he'd been too intent upon Mercutio at first, and then afterwards he'd been too preoccupied with putting as much space between himself and Mercutio as possible. He paused by Valentine's tomb as he studied the door.
Juliet was staring at the small plaque on Valentine's tomb. "He was only fifteen. Romeo and Benvolio told me what happened; it was horrible." She glanced up at Tybalt. "No wonder Mercutio is the way he is."
Tybalt didn't answer, instead tracing his hands lightly over the dense oak wood of the door. He tried the door handle; it was locked. He tried the small key in the lock and was rewarded by a soft click as the tumblers fell into place and the door opened.
"Tybalt!" hissed Juliet as the door at the far end of the crypt slammed open. He spun round and Juliet pressed herself behind him. The cat hissed in Juliet's arms, ears laid flat against its skull.
Four men had burst through the door he'd left unlocked behind him.
"Who's that?" one of the men asked.
"Doesn't matter. Not one of ours. Take them down." They raised their guns even as Tybalt raised his, shoving Juliet through the door behind him as he twisted to stand side on, presenting less of a target.
The roar of automatic gunfire in the confines of the crypt was deafeningly loud. Bullets ricocheted off stone shelves and gouged chunks of stone out of tombs. Tybalt had the satisfaction of seeing the first two men go down as he tapped the trigger lightly twice, then grunted as he felt something hit his right leg.
"Tybalt!" screamed Juliet as he staggered back a step, her voice almost lost beneath the sounds of gunfire as the other two men tried to take Tybalt down. One of the men checked himself and lowered his gun slightly but the other dropped forward into a crouch as he drew a bead on Tybalt's chest and fired.
Tybalt threw himself to one side as he returned fire. He had the satisfaction of seeing the man drop even as he felt something tear through the leather of his coat to graze a hot line of fire across his back.
"Run!" he rasped as he pushed Juliet ahead of him through the door and slammed it behind him, fumbling with the key. It was with a sigh of relief he felt it turn and the door lock.
He heard Juliet scrabbling at the walls to either side of the doorway in the dark, and then a dim light suffused the room as a series of ancient tungsten bulbs flickered to life. Some remained dark, but enough remained to see that they were in a long dank tunnel that curved away out of sight up ahead. Tybalt was dully surprised to note Juliet still had hold of the cat; he had been certain Marlowe would have fled at the din of gunfire. The animal was wild-eyed but seemed none the worse for its scare. Tybalt wished he could say the same for himself.
A thud against the door on the other side spurred Tybalt into movement; he took a step and nearly fell as his leg began to give way under him. Juliet dropped the cat and grabbed at him, wrapping an arm around his waist as she dragged his arm over her shoulders. He had enough presence of mind to flick the gun's safety on.
"You're hurt!" she exclaimed. "How bad is it?"
"I'll live," he replied in a pained whisper. "We have to move. I don't know how long that door will hold." The door shuddered in its frame as something heavy thudded into it on the other side as though to emphasise his words.
They began to make their way down the tunnel as swiftly as they could, Tybalt gritting his teeth as pain flared up his leg with every footstep. It felt like he'd been hit in the thigh and a glancing blow in the calf; he was thankful the thigh wound was far enough over to have missed the artery, but every step was agony. He fixed his eyes on the curve in the tunnel as he limped on, grateful for Juliet's silent presence. She knew better than to distract him with talk; she who knew him perhaps better than any other living person. Marlowe was a silent furry shadow at his heels, keeping steady pace with them.
The walls of the tunnel were damp and there was a rank smell in the air; he guessed this tunnel must connect up with the sewers somewhere up ahead. Maybe even the city sewers, if they were fortunate.
His guess proved correct as they rounded the bend in the tunnel and found the tunnel widened out. The path they were walking on divided into two narrow walkways just ahead; through a barred grill that blocked their way they could see the walkways passed either side of a sewer trench. Dripping pipe outlets protruding from the walls either side showed where channelled waste from buildings above made their egress down into the main waste channel. The roof arched up overhead in the darkness.
Juliet finally spoke. "Will the key work here?" Her voice was low and hushed. Tybalt shuffled forward and tried the key in the lock. The lock was stiff, rusty from disuse and the dank conditions, but with difficulty he was finally able to turn it and the gate creaked open with a screech from protesting hinges. He locked it again once they were through, then Juliet helped him straighten and they made their way towards the left-hand walkway as Tybalt fished out his keyring and flicked on the small maglite.
It was too narrow for them to walk abreast; Tybalt made Juliet walk in front carrying the maglite, he following behind her with his left hand braced against the damp brickwork as he limped behind. Marlowe ghosted along just behind him; whenever he glanced down he could see only a pair of luminous golden eyes staring back up at him.
"Where do you think we are?" Juliet whispered back over her shoulder. Sound could carry a long distance in tunnels such as these, and they had no way of telling if there were more enemies down here.
Tybalt had been trying to work that out himself. At a guess, he figured they were somewhere near the entrance to the palace. "If we keep following this sewer, we should be out under the main piazza in front of the palace shortly," he grunted.
Juliet glanced back at him. "How bad is it?" she asked.
"Bad enough," he finally admitted. "We can't stop here. Have to keep going."
She looked rebellious for a moment, then nodded and moved on.
He lost track of time as they slowly made their way through the sewers. He expected to hear the sounds of pursuit at any moment, but the sewers remained silent save for the echoes of their own feet as they scuffed old stonework, the steady drip-drip-drip, and occasionally the distant sounds of waste being disgorged into a main channel somewhere. Somehow the quietness failed to reassure him. It was taking most of his focus and mental energy to continue limping behind Juliet, and he was having to lean more and more heavily upon the wall to his left.
They headed straight over the first junction they encountered; the channel was narrow enough at this point that Juliet could leap over it with Marlowe in her arms, though it proved hard for Tybalt to follow. His legs were longer, but he was hampered by his wound and nearly fell when it gave way on him upon landing. The gun skittered away into the dank waters with a splash as Tybalt's hands scrabbled for purchase on the brick wall; Juliet grabbed him and helped him regain his balance before he could follow the gun over the edge.
"The gun!" she exclaimed in low dismay.
"Leave it," he said tersely. But he regretted the loss as they made their way further on. He still had his father's sword, and Juliet still had the knife – but neither would be of much use against guns. His throwing knives were buried somewhere inside his rucksack. What was done was done however.
The sewer began to widen out, and at the next junction they were forced to concede there would be no jumping this one. The thin maglite beam barely illuminated the damp bricks on the far side. It was unlikely Juliet would manage to make it safely across, and Tybalt dared not attempt it at all. Instead they took the left turning, and made their way along as far as they could. The further away from the main junction they got, the narrower the sewer became, with small channels flowing down from either side that they could step over. Juliet finally halted as the maglite illuminated a set of rungs set into the wall to her left.
"Where do you think we are?" she whispered.
"No idea. I'd guess that's a manhole at street level," suggested Tybalt. "Let me go up first and see if I can shift the cover."
Juliet took his rucksack then held the light steady as Tybalt began to pull himself up the ladder painfully slowly. He presently found himself climbing up a narrow shaft, and he was able to take a little of the pressure off his injured leg by bracing his back against the damp brickwork.
He managed with some difficulty to dislodge the heavy cast-iron manhole cover by dint of brute force, shoving against it with his shoulder until it slid off with a loud grating sound. He drew a breath of fresh air gratefully.
He glanced around; he had emerged in a quiet, deserted alley off a street he didn't recognise. He turned and called to Juliet, and presently they were both sitting by the side of a building, bags by their sides, Marlowe sat nearby busy washing the sewer taint out of his fur.
"What are we going to do now?" asked Juliet after they'd caught their breath.
"Try to make it to Father Lawrence," replied Tybalt, straightening his injured leg with a grimace.
"Not before I take a look at that leg," answered Juliet. Though Tybalt protested, she pushed him back down when he tried to rise before hunting through her bag.
He allowed her to help him tug down his slacks far enough to reveal the wound; she drew in her breath with a hiss when she saw the mess the bullet had left of his thigh before pulling out the knife and one of the dresses from her bag.
"Juliet, no, that's one of your favourites!" he protested as she began to rip a long strip off with the knife.
"Was," she corrected him. "You're far more important to me than a dress. A favourite dress can be replaced; my favourite cousin can't."
He subsided and let her dress the wound then bandage it firmly, then she helped him pull his slacks back up.
"Your favourite cousin. You're sweet, Juliet," he said fondly as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.
"Sweet? Is that all?" she grinned at him. He sighed.
"Don't tease, Juliet – not when you know how I feel about you. It isn't fair on me."
"Then how about this instead?" she murmured as she bent closer and kissed his lips softly. He groaned, eyes sliding half-shut, taking a wistful pleasure in the chasteness of her kiss.
His eyes opened wide as she threaded her hands into his hair and he felt the press of her tongue against his lips, which parted unthinkingly. She claimed his mouth almost hungrily with deep, searching kisses that were anything but chaste as she tasted deeply of him. He closed his eyes and moaned into her hot, inviting mouth, not daring to taste her in turn even as she seemed almost to be trying to devour him; her answering groan was encouraging, inviting.
He wanted to surrender to her. Wanted it with all his heart and soul.
Yet he finally managed to lift his hands to her shoulders and gently yet firmly push her away. As she stared down at him, confusion in her eyes, he shook his head sadly.
"You're not mine, Juliet my love," he said softly. "You married another. I... can't do this. You have no idea how much I want to, but – I can't." He turned his face away as she gave a little cry of disappointment. "Forgive me," he breathed.
Benvolio found them there some hours later, Juliet curled around Tybalt protectively, his head resting against her shoulder, the cat curled upon his lap.
She wouldn't tell Benvolio why she was crying.