De Kere swore. He was talking to a remaining soldier, but they were whispering, and her ear translator crackled and she couldn't make it out. In truth, she was surprised she had been able to hear as much as she had.
How had she been able to hear them? It seemed as if they were too far away to hear de Kere so clearly. And yet his voice was clear, almost amplified. Maybe the acoustics of the passage . . .
Glancing down, she saw that some soldiers hadn't left. They were just milling about. So she couldn't go back down. She decided to climb up onto the roof and wait until things were quieter. The roof of the chapel was still in sunlight: a plain peaked roof of tile, with small gaps where repairs were being made. The pitch was steep; she crouched at the gutter and said, "Andre."
A crackle. She thought she heard Marek's voice, but the static was bad.
"Andre, they're coming to kill you."
There was no answer, just more static.
"Andre?"
No answer.
Perhaps the walls around her were interfering with transmission; she might do better from the top of the roof. She began to climb the steep slope, easing around the tile repair sites. At each site, the mason had set up a small platform, with his mortar basin and stack of tiles. The chirp of birds made her pause. She saw there was actually a hole in the roof at these tiling sites, and -
A scraping sound made her look up. She saw a soldier come over the top of the roof. He paused, peering down at her.
Then a second soldier.
So that was why de Kere had been whispering: he'd seen her after all, on the wall, and had sent soldiers up the ladder on the opposite side.
She looked down and saw soldiers in the passage below. They were now staring up at her.
Now the first soldier swung his leg over the ridge of the roof and was starting to come down toward her.
There was only one thing she could do. The mason's hole was about two feet square. Through it she could see the bracing beneath the roof and, about ten feet below that, the stone arches of the chapel ceiling. There was a sort of wooden catwalk running over the arches.
Kate crawled through the hole, and dropped down to the ceiling below. She smelled the sour odor of dust and bird droppings. There were nests everywhere, along the flat walkways, in the corners and joists. She ducked as a few sparrows flew past her head, chittering. And suddenly, she was engulfed in a swirling tornado of shrieking birds and flying feathers. There were hundreds in here, she realized, and she had disturbed them. For a moment she could do nothing except put her arms over her face and stand quietly. The sounds lessened.
When she looked again, there were only a few flying birds. And the two soldiers were climbing down through holes in the roof to the ground below.
Quickly, she moved down the walkway to a far door, which probably led into the church. As she approached it, the door opened and a third soldier came through.
Three against one.
She backed away, moving along the walkway that went over the curves of the ceiling domes. But the other soldiers were moving toward her. They had taken their daggers out. She had no illusions about what they intended.
She backed away.
She remembered how she had hung beneath this ceiling, examining the many breaks and repairs that had been made over the centuries. Now she was standing above that same structure. The walkway clearly implied the curved arches themselves were weak. How weak? Would they support her weight? The men were moving steadily toward her.
She stepped out onto one of the domes gingerly, testing it. She put her full weight on it.
It held.
The soldiers were coming after her, but moving slowly. The birds suddenly were active again, shrieking and rising like a cloud. The soldiers covered their faces. The sparrows flew so close that their wings beat at her face. She moved backward again, her feet crunching on the thick layer of accumulated droppings.
She was now standing on a series of domes and pits, with thicker stone ribs where the arches met in the center. She moved toward the ribs because she knew they would be structurally stronger, and walking on them, she made her way toward the far end of the chapel, where she saw a little door. This would probably take her to the interior of the church, perhaps coming down behind an altar.
One of the soldiers ran along the walkway and then stepped out on the bulge of a curving arch. He moved to block her progress. He held his knife in front of him.
Crouching, she gave a little feint, but the soldier simply stood his ground. A second soldier ran up to stand beside him. The third soldier was behind her. He also stepped out onto the dome.
She moved to her right, but the two men came directly toward her. The third was closing in behind.
The two men were just a few yards away from her when she heard a loud crack like a gunshot, and she looked down to see a jagged line open in the mortar between the stones. The soldiers scrambled backward, but the crack was already widening, sending branches out like a tree. The cracks went between their legs; they stared down in horror. Then the stones fell away beneath their feet, and they fell from view, screaming in terror.
She glanced back at the third man, who tripped and fell as he sprinted for the walkway. He landed with a crack, and Kate saw his frightened face as he lay there, feeling the stones beneath his body slowly give way, one after another. And then he disappeared, with a long cry of fear.
And suddenly, she was alone.
She was standing on the ceiling, with the birds shrieking around her. Too frightened to move, she just stood there, trying to slow her breathing. But she was okay.
She was okay.
Everything was okay.
She heard a single crack.
Then nothing. She waited.
Another crack. And this one she felt, directly beneath her feet. The stones were moving. Looking down, she saw the mortar cracking in several directions, streaking away from her. She quickly stepped to her left, heading for the safety of the ribline, but it was too late.