“They’re gaining ground,” called Grentham.
Prescott lengthened his stride, forcing her to give up trying to talk as she struggled to keep up. News of the medallion could wait, she decided, silently cursing her skirts as a flapping hem snagged under her boot heel, nearly sending her sprawling.
Saybrook hauled her upright and kept a grip on her arm.
“We’re nearly there!” gasped Prescott. “Here are the stairs leading up to the area marked in red.”
She tried not to think about the alternatives if Fitzroy and Wolff weren’t imprisoned there.
Actually, there weren’t any.
Save to return to the Winter Palace and beg the Tsar to send a regiment of his elite Guards to seize the monastery. But Orlov’s death didn’t offer much hope that Bishop Sergius would listen to reason.
The tunnel started to climb upward and after another turn, it brought them into an interior walkway that was part of the perimeter wall surrounding the monastery complex. A set of stone stairs led up to some sort of windowless guardroom or storage area that jutted out from the wall.
Prescott scrambled up to the top of the stairs and tried the age-dark oak door. “It’s locked,” he called.
“Hurry, Sandro,” urged Arianna.
“Yes, yes.” Saybrook was already pulling the metal pick from the sheath inside his boot.
The two of them reached the top landing just as a shout rose from inside the locked room.
“Get away from the door, you bloody traitor!”
Arianna nearly wept in relief at hearing Wolffy’s voice.
“Or we’ll blow you to Kingdom Come!”
“Open the door, Wolffy!” she cried. “We’ve come to rescue you.”
She heard the scrapes and bangs of furniture being shoved aside. The iron-banded oak swung out—just as a bullet fired from the tunnel behind them hit the wood, sending up a shower of splinters.
Wolff ducked and frantically waved for the others to make a run for it. “And who’s going to rescueyou?” he said after slamming the door shut and shoving the bar back in place.
“A good question,” snapped Grentham, “now that we’re trapped in a cell with no other exits.” He winced as a second bullet smacked into the oak. “With a bunch of howling fanatics thirsting for our blood.”
“We don’t need to be rescued.” Fitzroy popped up from behind several large barrels set near the far wall. His face was streaked with some dark gritty substance, accentuating the whiteness of his teeth as he grinned at Arianna. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, my dear sister.”
Scowling, Grentham narrowed his eyes. “What the devil are you doing back there, Fitzroy?”
“Getting us out of here,” he said. “Saybrook, bring your pick over here. I have an extra knife, so you and Wolff can help me scrape the mortar out of these stones and we can pull them out. As for you, Grentham, move those outer cabinets to form a protective shield behind which we can all take cover.” A smile. “Mrs. Schuyler, perhaps you and Countess Tatiana could help him.”
“Actually, I might be of more help assisting you with the gunpowder,” replied the American.
Fitzroy appeared intrigued by the statement. “Have you experience with gunpowder?”
“More than I care to admit,” she said with a tiny grin.
“A-Are you planning on exploding something, Mr. Fitzroy?” ventured Tatiana.
“Hopefully just the wall, and not us along with it.” Seeing her turn pale, Fitzroy added, “Just a little jest. I assure you, I know what I’m doing. I’m trained to build bridges and canals, so I have experience in blowing up a great many things, especially stone.” A shrug. “It’s a skill that I’ve found comes in rather handy in clandestine spy work.”
Grentham gave Arianna a smug look.
“Stop jawing and let’s get to work,” counseled Saybrook as their pursuers began thumping their muskets against the door.
Fitzroy’s grin gave way to a grim professionalism. “We need to take out these four stones,” he said. “Once the mortar is scraped away, they can be wriggled out, giving me a niche in which to place the gunpowder. You two finish the work while I prepare the metal canisters.”
