The Ledge

Only one of them left now. Alan clung desperately to the drainpipe with his right arm. The iron pipe ran from a gutter above his head all the way down the face of the building to the ground far below. It was a mixed blessing, Alan thought. Although it was a relief to have something to hold on to, the drainpipe curved out and over the ledge. If he wanted to reach the other side of it he would have to climb outwards, his feet completely unsupported. 'Not yet,' his demon whispered. 'Get this one first, then climb round.'

The sound of footsteps was getting closer. The bishop had not bothered to recall Corporal Edgehill when the king's escape route had been discovered. Why should he? The man was expendable. The traitor yeoman was afraid of heights, true, but he was absolutely terrified of the Church. His cheek still stung from the blow the bishop had given it. Another thing, too. He had seen two of his men fall to their deaths from the ledge. There was blood to answer for now.

Corporal Edgehill sidled closer to the royal servant, his daemon at his heels. The rebel was hard to see in the darkness. The moon was shining brightly, but from the other side of the building and the glare only made the shadows deeper. The guard moved slowly, cautiously. He guessed that his men had been too hasty. They had easily been swept from the ledge by the king's equerry. He would have to use his brain.

Not too near, not too far. Just right. Corporal Edgehill took his halberd in his right hand and swung it in a vicious seven-foot arc at his opponent. The blade bit into flesh and the man gasped with pain. Good. Any further and he would have hit the drainpipe, not the rebel. He pulled the weapon back, watching his enemy carefully. Again. The halberd swung, but missed and struck against brickwork. Alan had ducked his head. Quick now, in case he tries to rush me. The corporal stepped back and aimed the halberd at the equerry's stomach. Alan brought his left arm down and there was a soft thud as the halberd's axe-head hit his wrist, half-severing it. He gritted his teeth and reached for the head of the weapon with his right hand, letting go of the drainpipe. Holding on to it tightly and ignoring the blood which was streaming from his wounded arm he lurched to the left, pushing at the guard. The man grunted in surprise, tried to regain his balance, but lost his footing and fell. Alan tried to let go of the halberd's head, but it caught in his sleeve and pulled him after the corporal.

Joined in death by the weapon's shaft, the two men fell to the flagstones of the courtyard below. Their daemons, left behind them on the ledge, blinked out of existence.

'Ah, there you are my boy. Good to see you at last.' Alan looked up. There had been pain and darkness and an instantaneous flash of light; and now what?

'I've been waiting for you. I thought it might not be very long. Always taking foolish, gallant risks weren't you, son?'

'Father?' Alan looked around. They, his father and he, were standing in the hall of Brandshill Manor, where he had grown up. Their daemons were nowhere to be seen.

'You're looking for Maria?' Alan nodded.

'You'll see her again very soon, I promise. You do know what's happened to you, don't you?'

Yes. It was all coming back to him. 'We're dead, aren't we father?'

'We are.'

'And is this… Heaven?'

'Not quite. It's all rather different from we've been led to expect. You'll see. In the meantime, though, there's someone waiting for us in the library. Don't be alarmed when you see her. Her appearance is a little… off-putting, but her heart is in the right place. She's a special person; a very special person indeed. She collects stories.'

'Alfred?' The king had jerked suddenly, as if he had been struck by a twinge of unexpected pain, like the beginning of a toothache.

'Nothing, Lyra.' Alan!

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. Look! There's Pantalaimon!'

The pine-marten daemon appeared at the window opposite. He must have crossed the roof and climbed up the outside of the tower wall, rather than take the stairs. Lyra stood up and ran across the floor. She opened the window, and her beloved daemon flowed into her arms. Alfred got up and waited for them. Lyra was smiling radiantly, and his hopes rose wildly in his breast. It's all going to be all right! They were soon dashed.

'I'm sorry, Alfred. Pan was going to Lord Dellar's chamber, to see if he could raise the army or someone to come and rescue us. But it's no good. The Church have locked him in his room and set a guard on the door.'

'Thank you for trying, Pan.' Alfred would have stroked the daemon's beautiful fur if he had dared. Below them, the regular booming sound of the ram suddenly ceased. The outer door, reinforced by the weight of the tables and chairs that they had piled up behind it, had stood fast. The blocked stair was safe against an attack from below. Alfred's spirits sank as quickly as they had risen at Pantalaimon's return. Now it will be as I have feared all along. They will set fire to the tower. But also, at the back of his mind a question, one which Lyra had asked, was nagging at him. What's in the loft?

Molly pulled rhythmically on her oar. She was not catching nearly so many crabs as she had been – not now that she was not trying so hard to keep up with Arthur's rapid pace but had instead forced him to slow down to her speed. She wished her clothes were not so damp.

'Keep going, girl!' Massive shapes loomed above the small boat. The tide was on the flood and the Isis barges were moving upstream, huge, blind and deadly.

'The door will not budge, my lord bishop. It is solidly made, and it is obstructed from behind. We need a bigger ram, but we may not be able to find one tonight, or bring it up here. Both the main and the king's staircase are blocked, so we cannot get up into the Star Chamber from inside.'

'I see.' We must capture or kill the king soon. Any further delay will be fatal to our cause. The opposition will rally to the Crown. 'Tell me sergeant, where are the Palace's naphtha storage tanks located?'

'Two floors down, my lord.'

'Send a squad of men to bring ten gallons up here in buckets. Soak that wood in it and pile it up against the door. Then set fire to it. We have waited quite long enough!'

'Yes, my lord.' The man hurried off. We have them now. They will either have to leave the tower or burn to death.