The Battle for Duncragglin (25 page)

The kitchen master fluttered his hand as if to ward off a pesky fruit fly. “How dare ye address me in that –”

“Shut your trap.” Don-Dun leveled his lance with the kitchen master's big belly. “Ye're no worthy of a response. My days may well be numbered by what has transpired here today, but it gives me some satisfaction to know yours are over.”

Don-Dun pulled back his lance. The kitchen master turned a sickly gray color and dropped to his knees. “No please … spare me … I'll do anything … I'll tell the captain that the guards killed each other in an argument … ye are free to go … I swear….”

Alex held out his hand. “Wait! Stop!”

Don-Dun looked at Alex in surprise, his lance poised.

“Tell him to free my friends from the dungeons, and it's a deal.”

“Your lad is not so silent now,” the stable master said, a smile flitting across his face. “And that would be a foreign dialect I hear – would ye be a rebel spy too?”

Alex peered down the stock of his crossbow. “So what's your answer?”

“I cannae do that,” the kitchen master pleaded. “I haven't the authority to go to the dungeons … but I can see ye out from the castle. I can help ye escape.”

“He lies!” The outburst came from the tall thin man, who stood well back from the fray. “He uses captives from the dungeons as slave labor – chains them to a counter and has them prepare food.”

Alex had heard that voice before. He lowered his bow. “Duncan?” he said, astonished. “Can you really be Duncan from Mr. McRae's farm?”

“The same.” Duncan bowed his head in greeting. “I'm glad to have caught up with ye at last, Alex. We must tell the professor the good news.”

“The professor?” Alex repeated.

“Aye, Professor Macintyre. Ye know him, do ye not? He tells me ye've met in the airplane.”

“Oh, yes … of course.” Alex's head was spinning. “The professor is here?”

“Aye, he and I have had quite the trials and tribulations since we embarked on our quest to find ye lot.” Duncan broke into a wry smile. “We both needed to assume positions at this castle – not an easy thing to do, let me assure ye. I used my knowledge of growing vegetables to gain the employ of the
kitchens, where I'm to ensure the finest of foods are bought and prepared for the castle lord and visiting nobles and dignitaries. The professor, on the other hand, has become the castle lord's fool.”

“A fool?”

“Aye, and a fine job he does entertaining Lord Hesselrigge with his clever witticisms. It's a position with some prestige, and it gives him the run of much of the castle. We were hoping ye'd all get rounded up by Hesselrigge's men so we could take ye all to the kitchen as slaves one day and, from there, find a way to escape into the caves.”

“One day! Don't you know? Annie and Willie have been accused of being rebel spies. Out in the courtyard, Hesselrigge's men are putting up the gallows. They're to hang tonight!”

Color drained from Duncan's face. “No! That cannae be –”

“The lad speaks true,” the stable master said. “I was told of this firsthand by the master builder.”

“We have no time to waste then.” Duncan prodded the kneeling kitchen master. “We must compel this bag of dirt here to order the captain of the guards to bring the captives to the kitchens.”

“Ye must know it's not that simple,” the stable master said. “We cannae all be wandering about the castle without being challenged.”

“The kitchen master and I can,” Duncan replied. “And so can ye and Don-Dun, if ye put on the slain guards' armor. Alex we can bring along in irons.”

The stable master looked with distaste at the dead guards. “There's no point in this,” he said. “We're in enough trouble
already for killing the kitchen master's guards. Freeing captives will only seal our fate.”

“Not so,” Alex interrupted. “When William Wallace captures this castle, he'll reward the people who fought against Hesselrigge.”

The stable master impatiently slapped his loose glove against the palm of his other hand. “This castle is impenetrable – not even Wallace and his band of brigands can take it.”

“With our help they can!” Alex replied.

“Oh, this is good!” the stable master said. “Now we are to somehow help overthrow Hesselrigge altogether. This is turning into a farce. It's not as if Wallace's men stand waiting for us outside the castle gates.”

“But they do. I spoke with William Wallace only yesterday. He and his men will attack the castle at dawn tomorrow.”

The enormity of what Alex said filled the room.

Don-Dun broke the silence. “Forgive me, Alex,” he said gently. “But it's not every day that I meet a lad who comes from a future time, when ships fly in the air, and now claims to not only be on speaking terms with Wallace himself, but also to know what he will do on the morrow.”

“Far-fetched, perhaps,” Duncan said. “However, at this point, it seems to me that ye stand nothing further to lose and everything to gain.”

Don-Dun sighed. “Well, I guess this is no time for half-measures.” He turned to the stable master. “Help me with this, will you?”

The stable master grudgingly propped up a dead guard so Don-Dun could pull off the armor. It was sticky with clotted blood.

Don-Dun grimaced. “We'll need to rinse this armor in a trough before we put it on. What say ye?”

The stable master shrugged. Taking up an armload of bloody armor, he followed Don-Dun down the ramp, leaving the two dead soldiers crumpled on the floor.

The kitchen master's eyes darted towards the stable doors.

Duncan blocked his way. “Just try it – truly, I would
like
ye to try it. It would give me such pleasure. Or would ye like to call for the guards? It would be the last sound ever to come from your miserable throat.” Teeth gritted, Duncan raised his dagger.

“No … please … spare me.” The kitchen master collapsed at Duncan's feet, covering his head with his hands.

Duncan's lip curled. “Ye have no idea how hard it has been, Alex, to have been the servant of this cowardly specimen of inhumanity. If ye saw how he treated the poor, hungry, and tired slaves he brought up from the dungeons … nonstop work with no food or rest … the only thing keeping the slaves going was the constant threat of having a finger or a hand cut off by this monster….” Duncan paused. “I'll no give ye more details, m'lad,” he added, a catch in his throat, “except to say that to not fall into despair, I had to keep telling myself that surely this isn't the essential state of humanity; surely this is only an abhorrent example of what we are capable.”

Alex heard the clink of armor and the pounding of heavy feet. He was sure it was Don-Dun and the stable master, but, nonetheless, the sight of two fierce armored guards clanking their way up the ramp gave him a fright.

Don-Dun removed his tight-fitting helmet and twisted awkwardly in his armor. “How on earth do they wear these things all day? I cannae even pull my shirt out from down my backside.”

“Well, I'm not going to help ye with that!” The stable master snorted. He took the manacles from his belt, fastened one end loosely about Alex's wrist, and promptly gave him a shove.

Alex fell and glared up at him. “What did you do that for?”

“Practice.” The stable master pulled Alex back up. “I'm the mean guard, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Alex rubbed his wrist. “Are you done practicing?”

“Almost.” The stable master gave Alex another shove. “Remember to keep a still tongue in your head.”

Alex stayed as far out of the stable master's reach as the manacle chain would allow.

“On your feet, vermin.” Duncan pulled the kitchen master up by the back of his shirt and pressed the dagger point against the small of his back. “Feel that? Here it will be, awaiting the slightest wrong move on your part. Make sure ye say and do all the right things, or they'll be your last.”

Don-Dun held open the stable door. Alex's heart soared. They were off to the dungeons to free his friends.

T
he kitchen master led the way, Duncan close by his side holding the dagger concealed against the small of his back. The stable master and Don-Dun clinked along behind them, dragging a scurrying Alex, who was ever watchful of catching a cuff from the stable master's heavy glove.

They passed under an ornate arch. Through narrow slits on each side, Alex caught glimpses of the sea and the harbor and realized they were traveling through the covered bridge that spanned the chasm from the blockhouse to the castle.

Along the way, they drew curious looks, but no one tried to stop or question them. Feeling cheerful, Alex wondered who would have believed, just this morning when he left Mrs. Bruford's cottage, that he would actually make it this far. He no longer anticipated his own death with heavy resignation. He had to succeed – the lives of his friends depended on it!

Once inside the castle, Duncan led them through dimly lit chambers. A curtain flung open in a nearby alcove, and a well-dressed blond man seated at a table with three soldiers glared at them.

Duncan pulled the kitchen master in close. “If they suspect us, ye'll be the first to die,” he hissed. “Remember that.”

The blond man rose. “Well, if it isn't the kitchen master. Where be ye off to this fine day?”

Alex's heart sank. Although he was cleaned up, his hair neatly combed back, the man was unmistakably Rorie – the traitor they had discovered in the soldiers' camp at Loch Karins. Alex hid behind the stable master.

The kitchen master held his back arched from Duncan's dagger. “We're off to the dungeons for some more kitchen workers,” he grunted.

Rorie and his men stood before them to block their way. “Since when do ye pick your own kitchen slaves?” he asked.

“Oh, ye should have seen the last scrawny bunch they sent us, Sire,” Duncan said hastily. “Couldn't get any work out of them – even after the kitchen master cut off a finger or two with his cleaver. One even went mad and played with two dead cocks, pretending one was Lord Hesselrigge and the other William Wallace….”

“Silence!” Rorie held up his hand. “Do not speak unless spoken to, servant!” He tilted his head to see past the stable master. “What manner of captive is that cowering behind ye?”

“A miscreant,” the stable master replied hastily. “Fit for naught but kitchen tasks.”

Alex kept his face averted. Rorie's eyes narrowed and his voice was full of menace. “Well, well, look who we have here. I do believe this captive needs to join the others we have in for questioning.”

“There's nae point in that.” Don-Dun tried to sound
casual. “The lad is deaf and dumb, barely more than an animal. We've heard naught from him but a few grunts.”

“We'll see how much grunting he does when we stretch him on the rack.” Rorie laughed. “Indeed, he may have some interesting things to tell us.”

The stable master stood stiffly at attention. “I would be pleased to escort this miscreant to the rack room for ye, Sire,” he announced in an official voice.

“Aye, good idea. Let us all go to the dungeons together.” Rorie turned to the kitchen master. “Ye can pick out your slaves and –” Rorie stopped to eye him suspiciously. “Is there something wrong?”

The kitchen master jerked his head back and forth.

“There's no need to be upset about me taking your captive,” Rorie said with a small crooked smile. “There's plenty more in the dungeons.”

“But none that are as fit, Sire,” Duncan babbled. “There is much work to be done in the kitchens. Lord Hesselrigge will be displeased if we fall behind –”

“Silence!” Rorie's hand fell onto his sword. “One more word from ye …
servant,”
Rorie spat, “and your tongue will be fed to the dogs. Do not presume to tell me what Lord Hesselrigge wants – he is not concerned with trifles.”

Rorie tapped one of his soldiers.
“Go
up to Hesselrigge now and tell him we have another of the foreign spies in custody. He may well wish to question this one personally. This one I know to have been in Wallace's camp recently.”

They descended, Rorie's torch flickering shadows down narrow dark spiral steps. The stairs ended in a cold damp alcove deep in the lower castle basements. Beyond an iron gate, a low arched corridor was dimly lit by a long row of smoky torches. There was a steady
plink, plink
of water dripping somewhere in the distance.

Rorie cupped his hands to call through the bars. “Gate keeper!”

“Keeper, keeper, keeper” echoed back.

Rorie seized a rope that ran between hoops along the wall and gave it a pull. A bell clanged. He gave the rope several more impatient tugs.

Three shadowy figures emerged, the middle one bent and gaunt, half a head shorter than the others.

“Coming, I'm coming, hold your horses,” the bent figure rasped. He shuffled nearer, the lantern in his hand casting eerie shadows. Two heavyset guards followed.

“Who's there?” The gatekeeper's speech was slurred from lack of teeth. He held up his lantern and squinted. “Oh, it's you, Sire,” he said. “What brings ye down here again so soon?”

“We're off to the rack room with another of the foreign spies,” Rorie replied. “The kitchen master is here to pick out some more workers.”