Forty-Six
“Arabella, no!”
Beau lunged for her, trying to grab her arm, her sweater, her skirt, anything, but it was too late. He saw her hit the surface of the moat. Saw the gray water close over her.
“No. Nonononono … come on, Arabella, you can swim, can’t you?” he babbled, frantically scanning for her. But there was no sign of her. For once, he didn’t think. Didn’t calculate. Didn’t weigh the risks or count the gains. “I’m going down,” he said, grabbing a coil of rope. “The water’s ice-cold. She won’t last more than a few minutes.”
“Where is she?” It was Florian. He and Henri were kneeling down at the edge of the threshold now.
As he spoke, Arabella surfaced, gasping and spitting.
“There!” Henri shouted, pointing a few yards to the left of the poles.
“Arabella!” Beau shouted. “Swim to the pilings!”
She nodded. Her strokes were jerky and clumsy and frothed the water around her. Beau looped the rope around his waist and knotted it. He glanced down again. Arabella had reached the pilings. She tried to hug one, but her hands slipped.
“B-Beau, th-th-throw me a rope,” she shouted.
She was half-frozen. Her clothing was waterlogged. Beau knew she’d never be able to pull herself out of the moat and up the side of the castle wall, not without help.
“I’m coming to get you!” he shouted. “I’ll be right there! Hang on to the …”
His words trailed away. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her.
“Arabella, shh. Don’t talk. Don’t move.”
“P-p-please … Beau … it’s so cold …”
“Arabella. Be quiet.”
“B-B-Beau … th-the rope …”
“Damn it, Arabella, shut up! They can hear you! They can feel you!”
Arabella, shaking now, gave him a confused look, then swiveled her head in the direction of his gaze. Beau heard her gasp. She turned back to him, her eyes pleading.
“I will get you. I promise. Just. Stay. Still.”
Fear’s talons dug into Beau like a hawk’s into a rabbit. He knew he had only minutes to save her life. “Henri, distract them! Throw something! Anything!” he ordered. “Just throw it away from her!”
Henri ran into the gatehouse and came out with the broken windlass handle, a chunk of rock, pieces of a broken jug. He dumped them on the threshold, then started pitching them out over the water as far from Arabella as he could.
Beau tested the knot in the rope he’d looped around himself, then handed the rest of the coil to Florian. “Feed it through that.” He pointed at an iron ring in the wall by the archway. “Then take up the slack. Hurry.”
Florian did so, pulling the rope through the ring hand over hand as fast as he could.
“Good. Now let it out bit by bit.”
As Florian gave him some slack, Beau backed out over the threshold, feet balanced on the edge, then made his way down the wall, step by careful step. It was difficult; thick vines grew up out of the moat and over the wall, tangling his feet. He glanced over his shoulder as he descended and saw that many of the monsters were no longer moving toward Arabella. They were thrashing in the water, swinging their horrible heads toward the splashes Henri was making.
Many, but not all.
He glanced at Arabella, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was looking at the thing a yard away from her, the thing with no eyes and no lips, with worms writhing in what was left of its cheeks.
Everything inside Beau told him to hurry, but he knew if he slipped and lost his footing, he’d lose precious seconds dangling uselessly until he regained it again.
“Oh God. Please, no …”
It was Arabella. Beau risked another look at her. The monster was only a foot away from her now. It was twisting its head as if it could smell her.
Henri stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. “Hey! Up here, beautiful!” he shouted. “Look what I have for you!”
The monster stopped. It tilted its fearsome face.
And then Henri, holding a twenty-pound iron counterweight, held it out over the water, in the small space between Beau on the wall and Arabella clinging to the piling, and with a hastily whispered prayer, he let it drop. It hit the creature’s skull with a wet, crunchy thunkand plunged it under the surface.
A moment later Beau was in the water next to Arabella. She was shaking so hard she could no longer talk. Tension on the rope around Beau’s waist kept him afloat.
“Henri! Throw down more rope!” he shouted.
Henri, still looking over the edge of the threshold, nodded. He disappeared, then quickly reappeared with a new coil. Holding on to one end, he tossed the rest to Beau, who caught it and looped it around Arabella’s waist. His fingers, already numb with cold, were stiff and clumsy. It took him several tries to tie a knot, but he finally succeeded.
“You’ve got to walk up the wall. Like I just did,” he told her. “Florian and Henri will pull you. They’ll take most of your weight. It’s hard, but you can do it.”
Arabella nodded. Beau guided her to the wall and helped her get her body turned so that her feet were flat against it. The snow was coming down harder now; it scratched at his eyes.
“Henri, Florian, pull her up!” he shouted.
The two boys had fed their end of Arabella’s loop through the iron ring in the wall, just as they had Beau’s rope. They pulled on it now, and Arabella started up the wall, inch by slow inch, water sheeting from her sodden clothing. Her progress was slow but steady, and then, halfway up, her right foot slipped. She fell forward and hit the wall hard, then hung there helplessly.
“Come on, Arabella! Get it together!” Beau hissed up at her, casting a nervous glance behind himself. He wasn’t sure what would get him first, the monsters or the killing cold.
With a wrenching effort, Arabella righted herself. Slowly, she closed the distance between herself and the ledge, her limbs shaking with exertion. When she finally got close, Florian reached over, grabbed the back of her sweater, and heaved her to safety.
“Your turn, Beau!” Henri shouted. “Now. Right now.”
Beau saw the boy’s eyes on something behind him. He didn’t have to look to know what it was. As soon as tension bit on his rope, he swung his legs up, planted his feet on the wall, and started to climb.
He hadn’t taken more than two steps when he felt a bony hand close on his leg. It yanked hard and Beau slipped. He banged into the wall, dangling, both legs kicking at the creature. More of the monsters came, growling and swiping at him. He kicked harder, trying to keep them off.
As he did, pebbles rained down on him from above. He looked up. Florian had skidded forward, sending the debris over the edge of the threshold. He’d righted himself, but his face was red with exertion. Henri, right behind him on the rope, was struggling against the deadweight.
“Climb, Beau! We can’t hold you much longer!” Florian shouted.
Beau kicked hard. His foot connected with a skull. The fingers gripping his ankle uncurled. His scrabbling feet found purchase. He brought his legs up underneath him and started upward again.
Step by step, Florian and Henri moved back from the ledge. Limbs trembling, tendons standing out in their necks, they managed to hold firm while Beau made his way up the wall. After what felt like an eternity, he reached the ledge, then threw himself over it.
“G-g-good job, boys,” he said. His teeth were chattering convulsively; his body felt as if it were made of ice. He tried to unknot the rope around his waist, but it was frozen hard, and his useless fingers could only fumble at it. Florian quickly cut it away with a knife.
“Wh-where’s—” Beau started to say, but before he could finish his question, his eyes found her. She was lying on the floor of the gatehouse, curled into a shivering ball.
“Arabella!” he shouted, stumbling toward her.
She opened her eyes. They looked faraway and unfocused. “S-s-so cold,” she stuttered.
“Henri, is the spit in the kitchen going?” Beau asked as he hauled Arabella up into a sitting position.
The boy nodded.
“Stoke up the fire under it. Florian, tell Valmont what happened. Get towels ready. Blankets. Hot broth. Go.”
Florian and Henri set off running. With the last of his strength, Beau picked Arabella up in his arms and stumbled through the gatehouse.
Then he ran. Not for his life, not this time.
For hers.