Alis (9 page)

Quietly she felt her way through the vestibule and into the main chamber. A little starlight glimmered in the windows, but the body of the hall was velvety dark. She sat down on one of the benches. She could not think how to pray. Surely the Maker knew what she wanted. What difference did it make if she put it into words? So she gave up that idea and sat quietly, wishing that the tranquil night would never end. After a little while, she stretched out on the bench and lay looking up into the blackness of the roof.

She was dreaming of dry leaves crunching underfoot as she walked with her mother through the woods that edged her uncle’s farm. They were falling like snow from the great trees, slowly at first, then faster and faster, whirling through the air, more and more of them so that she could no longer see the path. She tried to cry out to her mother, but leaves filled her mouth, bitter and dry to the taste. She could not swallow or spit them out. She was choking. She could not breathe.

Abruptly she woke. She could see nothing. But the crackling of leaves was loud in her ears and her mouth was burning dry. For a moment she was bewildered, thinking herself still caught in the dream.

Then with horror, she knew: the prayer house was on fire. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, she stumbled toward the door to the vestibule. In the thick smoke, she felt for the latch. She could not find it. The wood of the door was hot. She could hardly bear to touch it but she
must
find the latch. Again and again she passed her hands over the surface. It was not there! It was not there! She was whimpering in terror now. She would never get out; she would die. Even if she found the latch, there was fire behind the door. She would not be able to go that way. Desperately she prayed to the Maker.

Then she remembered that there was a door to the old graveyard behind the building. She could get out that way. But she could not remember where the door was. There were corridors and meeting rooms behind the main hall. The fire would catch up with her and she would be trapped.

The windows—that was it! She could get out of a window. She knew there was a passageway down the center of the hall. She inched forward with her hands out before her and found the back of a bench, then slid her hands along the top until, with a sob of relief, she found the space.

As fast as she dared in the thick darkness, she stumbled her way to the front, where the smoke was less dense. The left-hand window. She knew it opened easily. The Minister had asked her to open it before the last prayer meeting. There was a bench below it she could stand on. Her hands encountered empty space. For a terrible instant she thought she had lost her way, then she hit her elbow on something—yes, it was the lectern—and knew where she was. She found the bench and the window, running her hand up the side to the clasp. It yielded and she felt a rush of air. At the same moment, the door to the vestibule burst and fire roared inward, irradiating the smoke.

Desperately she pulled herself up and over the high sill. She meant to jump down, but her balance was gone and she fell, grazing her arm and landing awkwardly on the soft ground below. For a moment she was completely dazed, unable to move, but fear that the fire would find her gave her strength, and she knew that she must raise the alarm.

She staggered round the side of the building. Smoke was pouring out of the roof though—extraordinarily, it seemed to her—no flames were visible. She tried to shout, but her throat was so dry she could barely croak. She must warn them. They must come.

She made her way on trembling legs to the nearest house and hammered on the door. At first she could make no one hear. But then a window opened, then another and another. Soon there were voices and movement. The smell of smoke was in the air now, and the flames were visible. She stood by as people rushed to and fro, until a chain was formed to pass buckets of water from the pump. The smoky, flickering light danced upon their features, and their voices were lost in the roar of flames.

She staggered out of the square and at once the sounds became distant, the air cooler. Her throat was dry and raw, and her limbs ached. She must go home to Mistress Elizabeth.

S
he wandered confusedly through the back alleyways to the rear of the Minister’s house. Surely, word of the fire would have wakened the household. Mistress Elizabeth would be waiting in the kitchen to tend to Alis’s grazes and give her a soothing drink for her sore throat.

The narrow lane was very dark. Alis slowed her pace, fearful of falling in the blackness. Stretching out her hand to find the door into the kitchen garden, she felt the smooth leaves of the creeper that trailed over the back wall. Nearly there. Step by step. Feel for the latch.

Suddenly she was seized from behind and a hand went hard over her mouth. She froze in shock, and before she had time to resist, a voice whispered right in her ear, “Alis. It’s me, Luke. Don’t make a sound.”

She stood still, her heart hammering. His voice was no more than breath.

“They’re waiting for you. You mustn’t go in.”

Who was waiting? Elizabeth and Jacob? Her brain could make no sense of his words. He was speaking again.

“Make your way to the new burial ground. Don’t let anyone see you. I’ll meet you there.”

He released her. Now she thought she understood. Someone had come for her: her father, or Galin perhaps. And Luke had, after all, managed to persuade Ethan to help her. For just a second, she hesitated. Once more the longing to see her father swept over her; then Luke gave her a little push and she knew she could not. Quietly she made her way to the far end of the lane where it gave onto a wide road. The moon had risen, and she must stay in the shadows of walls and duck as she passed windows, in case someone was peering from behind the shutters. It was torture to her to go slowly, but there were a few people about now. Sometimes she had to stand motionless in the dark, willing them not to notice her. Once, a woman came flying round a corner and straight into Alis, but she was gone again in an instant, calling an apology over her shoulder as she ran.

At last she was free of the houses and walking the tree-lined lane to the burial ground. At the gate, she paused. Beyond, surrounded by a low wall, the graves lay quiet under the moonlight. A little breeze stirred the leaves from time to time; other than that there was no sound or movement. She withdrew into the shadows to wait.

 

 

She had grown cold and stiff. Fearful, too. Ethan had said he would not help them. Why should he have changed his mind? Could Luke have thought of something else? It seemed a long time before she heard the faint clink of a harness and saw him come along the lane leading two horses, their coats burnished by moonlight. She stepped out so that he could see her, and he brought the animals to a halt.

“Alis. I’m sorry I’ve been so long. I had to get hold of some clothes for you and go out to Ellen’s for this other horse. Quickly now. You must get away before they come looking for you.” He was checking the saddle and tightening the girth.

“But Luke, where am I going? What is happening? Has my father come for me?” She felt panic rising. Everything was happening so fast, and all of it a mystery. Must she ride off into the darkness, without direction and alone?

He held the horse steady for her to mount. “Thomas and Rebecca came. You were suspected of starting the fire, they said. Someone had seen you. You were to be taken away and questioned.”

For a moment she was made speechless by the absurdity of it. “But it was I who raised the alarm.”

He nodded. “So they told my grandmother—a clever trick to cover what you had done!”

Her stomach lurched suddenly. What would happen to her if they caught her? They had broken Tobias. They had no mercy in them. She began to scramble into the saddle. In a moment Luke, too, was mounted, and they were away.

Alis could ride, but she was only used to the gentle pace of her father’s mare. Galloping at speed along an unknown road, she clung fearfully to her horse’s mane and prayed she would not fall. The beating hooves, the sound of her own panting breath in her ears, terror of the pursuers who were surely behind. And ahead? She did not know.

At length the farmland gave way to scrub; then they were among trees, and Luke slowed his horse to a walk. Alis was too breathless to speak, glad simply that they were no longer exposed on the moonlit road. They went on in silence until, through the trees, a faint light showed. They were on the edge of a small clearing. She could see the silhouette of a man seated on the ground by a fire that he was feeding from a pile of sticks at his side. Luke slid from his horse and held out a hand to Alis. Her limbs trembled so, she could hardly manage them, landing awkwardly despite his assistance. He tied up the horses, while she stood by in a daze. The figure in the clearing had not shown any sign of being aware of their presence.

“Ethan,” Luke called softly.

Without turning, he raised an arm, black against the light of the fire, and waved them over. Alis hesitated and Luke drew her forward. She was shivering now, and the warmth of the flames was very welcome as they came close. Crouching opposite him, with the fire between them, Alis examined the man. Lit from below, his face was all shadows and highlights, the whites of the eyes gleaming out of the dark sockets, the cheeks hollowed out. He had a roughly trimmed, gray-streaked beard, and longer hair than she was used to, but he was not shaggy like the wandering tinkers and basket makers she had occasionally seen. He did not look at Alis, but jerking his head in her direction, said roughly to Luke, “Why have you come? I told you I would not take her.”

Luke was opening his pack. “I have the money, and also something that you might sell.”

From a small cloth bag he tipped into his hand a ring, a worn circle of yellowish metal made of two intertwining strands. Ethan took it and examined it, holding it close to the flames.

“Whose is it?” His voice, low and a little hoarse, gave nothing away.

Luke said firmly, “It is mine.”

There was a pause. Ethan held up the ring, turning it in his fingers. Then he looked steadily at Luke. The boy met his gaze. After a moment the man gave a short, hoarse laugh. “Well now, friend Luke. You have delved into your box of treasures for me, it seems. And you have come here at a wild pace the pair of you, if appearances do not lie. So you had best tell me what has happened. Particularly”—he stopped, and for the first time his gaze rested on Alis—“if I am to risk my life to get your companion away from here.”

Luke said eagerly, “Will you take it then?”

But the older man shook his head. “Not so fast, young hotblood. Two days ago you told me she was for finding her lost brother. And that there was a husband she couldn’t stomach. But you didn’t bring her with you. And this afternoon I told you again that I would not risk my life for a few coins, and you went away drooping, for you knew I meant what I said. Yet here you are, and the girl with you. So something has surely happened. And if I’m to take her from under the noses of the Elders, for which I shall surely hang if they catch me, I need to know the truth.”

Luke’s eyes widened with sudden hope and Alis’s heart beat faster. Ethan listened impassively as the boy described the night’s events. He had returned to the Minister’s house and found the door of the meeting room shut. He had recognized the voice of Elder Rebecca and stopped outside to listen. The Maker be praised for giving the woman a hard, loud voice! Of his grandmother’s words he could make out nothing, but Rebecca’s came through clear: Alis had set the fire; she had raised the alarm to hide her sin by a seemingly virtuous act; she was to be taken to Master Robert’s house and there kept and questioned. “And,” Luke ended desperately, “if you will not help her, I do not know how to save her from them. They mean her ill, I am sure. It is Thomas’s doing, or Robert’s, because he hates my grandparents.”

Ethan was silent for a while when Luke had finished. At length he said to Alis in his harsh, low voice, “Did you do it?”

She cried out in protest, “No, indeed I did not. What reason should I have?”

He was silent again, then turning to Luke he asked, “And the ring? How did you come by it?”

The boy’s dark face was desolate in the firelight. “It was my mother’s marriage ring. It is all I have of her. My grandmother gave it to me.”

Alis felt tears prick at her eyelids, but Ethan appeared unmoved. “Will she know it’s gone, the old woman? Add theft to abduction, and I can expect a raw time before they hang me.”

“My grandmother will not know unless I tell her,” Luke said.

The fire had burned down and the air was cold. Ethan was again weighing the ring in his hand. At last he held it out to Luke. “Keep it. I will take the girl to the city.”

Alis gasped in relief. “Oh, thank you, Master Ethan.”

Luke said fervently, “You are a true friend, Ethan. There is no one else to help us.”

Ethan nodded dismissively. “Yes, yes. But mind you do not tell your grandmother. I’d not have my name on her lips when they decide to question her. And no doubt they have ways of getting the truth out of old ladies in these days of rigor.”

Alis shuddered at his words. Surely they would not dare to harm Elizabeth?

Luke was asking questions. Would Ethan help Alis find her brother? What if she could not? He would not abandon her in so dangerous a place, would he?

Ethan looked sardonically at him. “Do not trouble yourself, friend Luke. It pleases me to thwart them. I will do my best by the girl, never fear.”

Ethan would say no more. He must leave them awhile to conceal his wagon. Provided Luke kept his mouth shut, it would be thought that Alis was hidden somewhere in the area, and the search would give them time to get away. He got to his feet, a stocky man, slightly bowlegged.

“What of the horse she came on?” he asked. “Is it stolen?”