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‘It won’t last,’ said Abel. ‘They’re angry now, but they’re not soldiers. They’ve got no endurance. I’ve seen this before. By the early hours of the night, they’ll start straggling home. And I’ve just had word from the Army that at dawn, they’ll start firing on whoever’s still out there.’
‘But what about the barricades?’ Robin asked, desperate. ‘They’re still up—’
‘We’re down to the last circle of barriers. High Street is all we’ve got. There’s no pretence of civility any longer. They’ll break through; it’s not a question of if, but when. And the fact is, we’re a civilian uprising and they’re a trained, armed battalion with reinforcements to spare. If history is anything to go by, if this really does become a battle, then we’re going to get crushed. We aren’t keen on a repeat of Peterloo.’* Abel sighed. ‘The illusion of restraint could only ever last so long. I hope we’ve bought you time.’
‘I suppose they were happy to fire on you after all,’ said Robin.
Abel cast him a rueful look. ‘I suppose it doesn’t feel good to be right.’
‘Well then.’ Robin felt a roil of frustration but forced it down; it wasn’t fair to blame Abel for these developments, nor was it fair to ask him to stay any longer, when all he would face was near certain death or arrest. ‘Thank you, I suppose. Thank you for everything.’
‘Hold on,’ said Abel. ‘I didn’t come just to announce we were abandoning you.’
Robin shrugged. He tried not to sound resentful. ‘It’ll be over very quickly without those barricades.’
‘I’m telling you this is your chance to get out. We’ll start ferrying people away before the shooting gets properly vicious. A few of us will stay to defend the barricades, and that’ll distract them long enough to get the rest out to the Cotswolds, at least.’
‘No,’ Robin said. ‘No, thank you, but we can’t. We’re staying in the tower.’
Abel arched an eyebrow. ‘All of you?’
What he meant: Can you make that decision? Can you tell me everyone in there wants to die? And he was right to ask, because no, Robin could not speak for all seven remaining scholars; in fact, he realized, he had no idea what they would choose to do next.
‘I’ll ask,’ he said, chastened. ‘How long—’
‘Within the hour,’ said Abel. ‘Sooner, if you can. Would rather not tarry.’
Robin steeled himself a moment before going back upstairs. He didn’t know how to tell them this was the end. His face kept threatening to crumple, to reveal the scared boy hiding behind the ghost of his older brother. He had roped all these people into this last stand; he could not bear the sight of their faces when he told them it was over.
Everyone was on the fourth floor, clustered at the east window. He joined them. Outside, soldiers were marching forth on the lawn, advancing at an oddly hesitant pace.
‘What are they doing?’ wondered Professor Craft. ‘Is this a charge?’
‘You’d think they’d charge with more of them,’ said Victoire.
She had a point. More than a dozen troops had halted on High Street, but only five soldiers proceeded the rest of the way towards the tower. As they watched, the soldiers parted, and a solitary figure stepped through their ranks up to the final remaining barricade.
Victoire drew in a sharp breath.
It was Letty. She waved a white flag.
