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7

At midnight, the great bar across the prison door slid silently out of its sockets. The door began to open, but before it seemed possible for a human being to get through the gap, a small, ragged figure had squeezed out. The prisoner was immediately seized in a bone-crushing, breath-taking hug. Then the door was eased to and the bar was just as silently returned.

Coming out of the utter darkness of the prison, the enclosure seemed as bright as day, despite the heavy cloud cover. Chantal could not believe they could remain concealed, even though she was summarily man-handled into the shadows at the side of the building. A hard hand clamped over her mouth – as if she would dream of uttering a sound! She was tempted to kick him and remind him she was trustworthy, but desisted in deference to their mutual safety.

They remained crouched in the shadows for some minutes. The guards were still exchanging casual banter at the other end of the stockade, close to the main gate, but Jess's iron grip kept them both still. Chantal was beginning to wonder if she would lose all feeling in her arms when at last she sensed him relax very slightly. Footsteps thudded on the far ladder at the opposite end of the enclosure. The men now on guard moved round to the top of the gate, seeming to ignore the side of the stockade which stood above the cliff face. It rapidly became apparent that there was a reason for this.

"Them kids ain't goin' nowhere!" a voice asserted across the open space.

"Get that ladder, Rawlinson! We ain't takin' any chances – Carlin says so!"

"He would!" someone grumbled nearby. Then, to their joint consternation, the ladder by the prison building was lifted away from the platform and carried over to lie against the side of one of the sheds. There it stood in the fitful moonlight, taunting them with the escape it had promised. They had zero chance of retrieving it. It might just as well have been on the moon for all the use it was now.

If possible, Jess became even more still as he thought furiously. Chantal made herself mimic his total concentration and immobility, as if she could absorb the requisite physical responses just from being crouched so close to him in the darkness. Discussion was impossible. She knew that she would have to read what Jess wanted from his actions and follow his lead implicitly. It was not the first time they'd been caught in a situation like this and she had a simple but absolute trust in their ability to come out of it together.

Some minutes elapsed before the guards who had been relieved disappeared into their quarters and those on watch settled down to a predictable routine. Not that any routine could be relied on: Jess knew full well how stupid it was to make assumptions about anything they might or might not do. Nonetheless, they somehow had to climb to the platform and, from there, get down the rope without being spotted. This was easy enough for one person, but much more risky for two.

Presently Chantal felt a slight pressure on her arm, on the side furthest from where the ladder had been. Jess moved like a shadow towards the hidden gate between the two buildings and she followed, ghosting his every move. From the other building, which seemed to be a house, there came a burst of laughter and the sound of stamping feet, as if some kind of a party was in progress. At least it covered any sound they might make – but they strove, all the same, to make none.

When they reached the locked gate, Chantal realised what Jess intended. The gate was roughly hewn and made of sawn planks overlapping each other in a manner which gave a perilous finger and foot hold to the climber. Climb they did!

Reaching the lintel at the top of the gate, they were able to stand easily on the thick beam. Jess could just reach the parapet and pull himself bodily up onto the roof of the prison. Once there, an outstretched arm enabled Chantal to scramble up after him. They lay prone on the roof, which was fortunately flat. Jess proceeded to worm his way across on his stomach, having first slid out of his gun-belt and draped it around his neck so that it did not catch or clink on the rough surface of the roof. Moving flat out and face down was not something Chantal had ever done before, but she guessed that it was important not to look up because a face would catch any source of light much more conspicuously than their dark clothing. She had no idea how painful such means of progress would be, but, if Jess could do it, she was not going to do any less than he did.

On the other side of the prison roof, they encountered a further obstacle which had not been there when Jess scaled the stockade - a guard on the walkway who had obviously been posted with an over-view of the prison. He was directly between them and the rope they needed to escape. Jess's hand pressed Chantal even further into the surface of the roof and nudged her round until she was lying in the shadow of the parapet. She quietened her breathing to the merest whisper: she was within a couple of feet of the guard. As he turned away to patrol a little distance along the platform, Jess vanished swiftly and silently, back the way they had come.

The interval which followed seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. What Jess was doing, back down in the courtyard, she had no idea and she dared not shift to try to get a glimpse. Besides, he was moving with an uncanny affinity for his surroundings, so much so that when he did suddenly re-join her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Between his teeth he was carrying a short piece of firewood, a supple, rounded tree-branch, not much thicker than his thumb.

Jess remained still, quietening his breathing after the exertion of a double climb, and listening carefully to the repetitive footsteps of the guard. The man walked away from them for about ten paces, paused for a few seconds, then turned and came back. He did this with sufficiently regularity to suggest he was not going to vary his methods very much. This was what Jess had been hoping.

The guard walked back to the point at which the walkway joined the prison roof, immediately above where they lay concealed. As he turned, Jess surged up and thrust the branch beneath the man's feet, which promptly went from under him. His descent was helped by a yank as Jess caught his gun-belt from behind and pulled him backwards so his head struck sharply against the edge of the parapet. He went down without a sound. With luck, when he came to, he would simply assume that he had lost his footing because the branch rolled under his boots.

Jess seized Chantal's hand, but she was already on her feet, jumping light as a cat onto the walkway and crouching below the level of the stockade. It was only a few paces to where the rope was tied. He hauled it up, fastened the loose end round her waist and looped the slack so that it would give her a foothold. There was no time to protest that climbing ropes was another of her accomplishments. The next she knew, she was over the edge and being lowered gently and steadily down in to the trees.

When she reached the ground, fortunately without hitting too many branches on the way, Chantal loosed the rope and gave it a sharp tug. Instantly it began to sway and swing as a heavy body slid rapidly down it. Jess was not so lucky and once more had some painful encounters with various arboreal obstructions.

"Maton!" Chantal hissed at him. "I can climb a rope better than you can!"

"PT, now is not the time to be tellin' me that!" Jess paused only to buckle on his gun-belt and lick the blood off some of the new scratches on his arms, before leading the way down to where Traveller was patiently waiting for them.

It was not until Jess had hopped into the saddle and stretched out an arm to pull her up in front of him that the full force of the shock of being freed hit Chantal. A sudden violent shiver ran through her and her breath caught with long-suppressed horror. But, as before on the very first occasion Jess had rescued her, she was securely held by strong arms clamping her to the hard-muscled body against which she was resting. And just as it had done before, his husky growl affirmed: "Estás sano y salvo!"

Nonetheless, she continued to shake with reaction as he urged Traveller in a soundless and rapid descent of the mountain. Presently they came out of the trees on to a track and Jess slowed the pace somewhat now that there was a reasonable distance between them and their enemies. The heavy cloud, which had been so useful in enabling access to the fort, was breaking up and here and there bright stars were beginning to show through the ragged banners.

Jess seemed to understand her reaction, because his hand tipped her chin so that she looked upwards, away from the blackness which had surrounded them.

"Cuente las estrellas, espiritu valiente. Every one of those stars is a child you're gonna bring out of darkness."

# # # # #

It would be romantic to record that Chantal's first words on regaining the safety of their hotel room were of fervent thanks for the gallantry of her rescuer. Instead, the moment her feet hit the floor – Jess having summarily carried her up the back stairs, despite her protests – she swung round on him as fiercely as usual and demanded: "Why didn't you let me slide down the rope? I'm perfectly capable!"

Jess fended off the flying blow she aimed at him with what was becoming the ease of much practice. "Because you ain't wearin' gloves. Your hands'd be covered in rope-burns."

Chantal made a choked noise, between a sob and a laugh. She collapsed onto the end of the bed, her head bowed in her hands. There was a swift, silent movement as Jess knelt down and took both her hands in his.

"Show me."

Slowly Chantal unfolded her hands. The palms were blistered, cut and raw, and seemed to be stained with something blue. Her eyes were still squeezed tight against impending tears and so she did not see the flash of horrified comprehension cross Jess's face. It was not just the injuries: it was also that he was pretty sure what had caused them. But he said nothing. Just gave both hands a thorough examination and got to his feet.

Chantal heard water splashing in the wash-bowl, then it was placed on her knees and her hands were lifted again and lowered into the blessed coolness. A sob hiccuped in her throat. After that they were silent while the water did its work. Jess knelt by her side and never moved until she was ready to withdraw her hands.

He picked up the bowl and asked: "Comfrey?"

"In my bag." She opened her eyes and watched him retrieve the little silver flask he had given her at Christmas. He stood with it in his hands, running his finger over the engraved words: Pour les dangers que nous allons partager. Some powerful emotion flicked very briefly through his eyes, but again he said nothing. Presently her raw palms were gently toweled dry and soothed by the cool ointment. The smell brought back memories of the first time she'd been made to use it. Memories which made her smile, even though she was still in pain.

Jess, meanwhile, had picked up the remaining strips of his shirt and was carefully bandaging her hands. When he'd finished, he looked up from where he knelt and said with a chuckle: "At least you can't blame this lot of ruined clothes on me!"

"Maybe you'll buy a decent shirt for once?" Chantal retorted.

"As long as it ain't white," he conceded, much to her surprise, until he went on to explain: "We'll both need something fancy – Bud Carlin's invited us to dine with him today!" An afterthought struck him and he added: "I hope you've got decorative gloves – you'll need them."

Gloves were the last thing on Chantal's mind, despite her hands. "Dinner? Smart dress? I need a bath! Now!"

"Yeah, you don't smell too good – and what the hell have y' done to your hair?"

She'd been waiting for that one, knowing full well how much Jess hated the plaits. It was a surprise too that he hadn't thrown a fit at the change in colour before now. "It's mud," she hastened to stave off his wrath, "it'll wash out if I can just get to the bath-house."

"Stop panicking, it's all arranged," Jess told her.

"Any woman would panic," she snapped coldly. "Especially if you want me to make an impression on Carlin."

"I don't want you anywhere near him," Jess replied truthfully. "But we ain't got much option, not if I'm goin' to keep on the right side of him. Now stay put, valiente, while I fix your bath."

Chantal was swaying as she sat by the time Jess had roused the hotel clerk and driven him into bringing up a hip-bath and sufficient water, which he had had the forethought to order and pay for in advance. As it was, she just managed to slip behind the screen in the corner as the door opened and the room filled with steam in short order. When the sound of splashing buckets finally ceased and was followed by the key turning in the lock, she figured it was safe to emerge. The bath was close in front of the fireplace, where a good blaze had been stirred up. Jess was sitting in the armchair.

She raised her eyebrows and was met with Jess's most intimidating and immovable expression. It was almost an action-replay of their first encounter in the kitchen of the relay station.

"You can wait outside! OUT!" She grabbed his arm, despite the pain in her hand, as she attempted to pull him out of the chair, but, once again, it was like trying to shift a slender statue of solid steel. Her efforts had not the slightest effect except to earn another of those formidable frowns.

"For heaven's sake, woman!" he snapped irritably. "You've been swimming in your underwear with me and I seem to remember a bath in a hot spring too?"

"That was different."

"It was necessary," Jess amended, sounding marginally more reasonable. "And so's this. With those hands, how else d'you think you're gonna get the mud out of your hair?"

It was some time afterwards, propriety having been negotiated and observed, that all the mud was washed away and Chantal sat on the rug in front of the fire, her hair billowing about her in a silver cloud as it dried. Jess had pushed the bath into a corner before strolling over to the balcony window. There he peacefully rolled and lit a cigarette and began to smoke calmly, just as she had seen him on that first night, as if there was no danger and no horror which could touch them.

The sight was an unexpected trigger. Chantal was taken by surprise as another wave of shocked reaction swept through her. Suddenly she was shuddering and sick with fear and revulsion at the discoveries she had made and what she had been through to make them.

"C'm here!" In another of his instant, soundless moves, Jess tossed the cigarette into the fire and dropped down beside her, folding her in a warm embrace.

"It's all right, I'm not lettin' you go," he murmured comfortingly, and then promptly ruined the romantic effect by adding mischievously: " 'cos if I do, the good Lord alone knows what you'll get up to next!"

Chantal gave a token mutter of protest, but she was still wracked by the horror of the whole experience and knew that she had to accept this moment of her own undeniable weakness. There would be times when Jess would be the one needing support, but now she had to trust and lean on the strength he offered her. Being brave was no longer imperative and she buried herself in the arms holding her so securely: she had someone to whom she could and did cling, more solid than any rock. She was not a girl who fainted under duress, but before long her eyelids drooped and she was frankly asleep on Jess's shoulder.

It took a lot of careful maneuvering for Jess to get to his feet with Chantal in his arms and deposit her gently on the bed. He pulled the quilt up over her and stood looking down thoughtfully. Slim would have been surprised at the expression on his face, but that was nothing unusual. After several moments' contemplation he sighed, flopped into the armchair and lit up another cigarette. For a while he could actually relax, his feet stretched out to the fire and his eyes half-closed as he continued to smoke thankfully.