27 - A Night in Terror Tower Page 7

  Again, he did not reply. He gave a signal with one hand, and the guards took my arms and turned me around.

  And as I turned away from the Executioner, away from the sun, the dark castle rose in front of me. I saw the wall, the courtyard, the dark, slender towers looming up over the stone castle.

  The Terror Tower!

  He had brought me to the Terror Tower.

  This is where Eddie and I had seen him for the first time. This is where the Executioner had first chased after us.

  In the twentieth century. In my time. In the time where I belonged. Hundreds of years in the future.

  Somehow Eddie and I had been dragged back into the past, to a time where we didn’t belong. And now Eddie was lost. And I was being led to the Terror Tower.

  The Executioner led the way. The soldiers gripped my arms firmly, pulling me through the courtyard toward the castle entrance.

  The courtyard was jammed with silent, grim-looking people. Dressed in rags and tattered, stained gowns, they stared at me as I was dragged past.

  Some of them stood hunched like scarecrows, their eyes vacant, their faces blank, as if their minds were somewhere else. Some sat and wept, or stared at the sky.

  A bare-chested old man sat under a tree frantically scratching his greasy tangles of white hair with both hands. A young man pressed a filthy rag against a deep cut in his dirt-caked foot.

  Babies cried and wailed. Men and women sat in the dirt, moaning and muttering to themselves.

  These sad, filthy people were all prisoners, I realized. I remembered our tour guide, Mr. Starkes, telling us that the castle had first been a fort, then a prison.

  I shook my head sadly, wishing I were back on the tour. In the future, in the time where I belonged.

  I didn’t have long to think about the prisoners. I was shoved into the darkness of the castle. Dragged up the twisting stone steps.

  The air felt wet and cold as I climbed. A heavy chill seemed to rise up the stairs with me.

  “Let me go!” I screamed. “Please—let me go!”

  The soldiers shoved me against the stone wall when I tried to pull free.

  I cried out helplessly and tried again to tug myself loose. But they were too big, too strong.

  The stone stairs curved round and around. We passed the cell on the narrow landing. Glancing toward it, I saw that it was jammed with prisoners. They stood in silence against the bars, their faces yellow and expressionless. Many of them didn’t even look up as I passed.

  Up the steep, slippery stairs.

  Up to the dark door at the top of the tower.

  “No—please!” I begged. “This is all wrong! All wrong!”

  But they slid the heavy metal bolt on the door and pulled the door open.

  A hard shove from behind sent me sprawling into the tiny tower room. I stumbled to the floor, landing on my elbows and knees.

  I heard the heavy door slam behind me. Then I heard the bolt sliding back into place.

  Locked in.

  I was locked in the tiny cell at the top of the Terror Tower.

  “Sue!” A familiar voice called my name.

  I raised myself to my knees. Glanced up. “Eddie!” I cried happily. “Eddie—how did you get here?”

  My little brother had been sitting on the floor against the wall. Now he scrambled over to me and helped me to my feet. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Are you okay?”

  “I guess,” he replied. He had a long dirt smear down one side of his face. His dark hair was matted wetly against his forehead. His eyes were red-rimmed and frightened.

  “The caped man grabbed me,” Eddie said. “Back in the town. In the street. You know. When that oxcart came by.”

  I nodded. “I turned around, and you were gone.”

  “I tried to call to you,” Eddie replied. “But the caped man covered my mouth. He handed me to his soldiers. And they pulled me behind one of the cottages.”

  “This is so awful!” I cried, struggling to hold my tears back.

  “One of the soldiers lifted me onto his horse,” Eddie said. “I tried to squirm away. But I couldn’t. He brought me to the castle and dragged me up to the Tower.”

  “The caped man—he’s the Lord High Executioner,” I told my brother. “That’s what I heard a woman call him.”

  The words made my brother gasp. His dark eyes locked onto mine. “Executioner?”

  I nodded grimly.

  “But why does he want us?” Eddie demanded. “Why has he been chasing us? Why are we locked up in this horrible tower?”

  A sob escaped my throat. “I—I don’t know,” I stammered.

  I started to say something else—but stopped when I heard noises outside the door.

  Eddie and I huddled together in the center of the room.

  I heard the bolt slide open.

  The door slowly began to open.

  Someone was coming for us.

  28

  A white-haired man stepped into the room. His hair was wild and long, and fell in thick tangles behind his shoulders. He had a short white beard that ended in a sharp point.

  He wore a purple robe that flowed down to the floor. His eyes were as purple as his robe. They squinted first at Eddie, then lingered on me.

  “You have returned,” he said solemnly. His voice was smooth and low. His purple eyes suddenly revealed sadness.

  “Who are you?” I cried. “Why have you locked us in this tower?”

  “Let us out!” Eddie demanded shrilly. “Let us out of here—right now!”

  The long purple robe swept over the floor as the white-haired man moved toward us. He shook his head sadly, but didn’t reply.

  The cries and moans of prisoners down below floated into the tower room through the tiny window above our heads. Gray evening light spilled over us.

  “You do not remember me,” the man said softly.

  “Of course not!” Eddie cried. “We don’t belong here!”

  “You’ve made a bad mistake,” I told him.

  “You do not remember me,” he repeated, rubbing his pointed beard with one hand. “But you will.”

  He seemed gentle. Kind. Not at all like the Executioner.

  But as his strange purple eyes locked on mine, I felt a shiver of fear. This man was powerful, I realized. This man was dangerous.

  “Just let us go!” Eddie pleaded again.

  The man sighed. “I wish it were in my power to release you, Edward,” he said softly. “I wish it were in my power to release you, too, Susannah.”

  “Wait a minute.” I held up a hand to signal stop. “Just wait a minute. My name is Sue. Not Susannah.”

  The old man’s hands disappeared into the deep pockets of his robe. “Perhaps I should introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Morgred. I am the king’s sorcerer.”

  “You do magic tricks?” Eddie blurted out.

  “Tricks?” The old man seemed confused by Eddie’s question.

  “Did you order us locked up in here?” I asked him. “Did you have us brought back in time? Why? Why have you done this?”

  “It isn’t an easy story to tell, Susannah,” Morgred replied. “You and Edward have to believe—”

  “Stop calling me Susannah!” I shouted.

  “I’m not Edward!” my brother insisted. “I’m Eddie. Everyone calls me Eddie.”

  The old man removed his hands from his robe pockets. He placed one hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and one on mine.

  “I had better start with the biggest surprise of all,” he told us. “You are not Eddie and Sue. And you do not live in the twentieth century.”

  “Huh? What are you saying?” I cried.

  “You really are Edward and Susannah,” Morgred replied. “You are the Prince and Princess of York. And you have been ordered to the Tower by your uncle, the king.”

  29

  “You’re wrong!” Eddie cried. “We know who we are. You’ve made a big mistake!”

  I suddenly fe
lt cold all over. Morgred’s words echoed in my ears. “You are not Eddie and Sue. You really are Edward and Susannah.”

  I took a step back, out from under his hand. I studied his face. Was he joking? Was he crazy?

  His eyes revealed only sadness. His expression remained solemn, too solemn to be joking.

  “I do not expect you to believe me,” Morgred said, returning his hands to his robe pockets. “But my words are true. I cast a spell upon you. I tried to help you escape.”

  “Escape?” I cried. “You mean—escape from this tower?”

  Morgred nodded. “I tried to help you escape your fate.”

  And as he said this, the voice of Mr. Starkes, the tour guide, returned to my ears. And I remembered the story he had told. I remembered the fate of Prince Edward and Princess Susannah.

  The king’s orders were to smother them.

  Smothered with pillows.

  “But we’re not them!” I wailed. “You’re just confused. Maybe Eddie and I look like them. Maybe we look a lot like them. But we’re not the prince and princess. We’re two kids from the twentieth century.”

  Morgred shook his head solemnly. “I cast a spell,” he explained. “I erased your memories. You were locked in this tower. I wanted you to escape. First I whisked you away to the safety of the abbey, then I sent you as far into the future as I could.”

  “It’s not true!” Eddie insisted, shrieking the words. “It’s not true! Not true! I’m Eddie—not Edward. My name is Eddie!”

  Morgred sighed again. “Just Eddie?” he asked, keeping his voice low and soft. “What is your full name, Eddie?”

  “I—uh—well…” my brother stammered.

  Eddie and I don’t know our last name, I realized. And we don’t know where we live.

  “When I sent you far into the future, I gave you new memories,” Morgred said. “I gave you new memories so you could survive in a new and distant time. But the memories were not complete.”

  “That’s why we couldn’t remember our parents!” I exclaimed to Eddie.

  “But our parents—?” I started.

  “Your parents, the rightful king and queen, are dead,” Morgred told us. “Your uncle has named himself king. And he has ordered you to the Tower to get you out of the way.”

  “He—he’s going to have us murdered!” I stammered.

  Morgred nodded, shutting his eyes. “Yes. I am afraid he is. His men will be here soon. There is no way I can stop him now.”

  30

  “I don’t believe this,” Eddie murmured. “I really don’t.”

  But I could see the sadness in Morgred’s purple eyes and hear it in his low, soft voice. The sorcerer was telling the truth.

  The horror of the truth was sinking in. My brother and I weren’t Eddie and Sue from the twentieth century. We lived in this dark and dangerous time. We were Edward and Susannah of York.

  “I tried to send you as far from this Tower as possible,” Morgred tried to explain again. “I sent you far into the future to start new lives. I wanted you to live there and never return. Never return to face doom in this castle.”

  “But what happened?” I demanded. “Why, then, are we back here, Morgred?”

  “The Lord High Executioner was spying on me,” Morgred explained, lowering his voice to a whisper. “He must have known that I wanted to help you escape. And, so—”

  He stopped and tilted his head toward the door.

  Was that a footstep? Was someone out there?

  All three of us listened.

  Silence now.

  Morgred continued his story in a whisper. “When I cast the spell that sent you into the future, the Executioner must have hidden nearby. I used three white stones to cast the spell. Later, he stole the stones and performed the spell himself. He sent himself to the future to bring you back. And as you both know, he caught you and dragged you back here.”

  Morgred took a step forward. He raised his hand and placed it on my forehead.

  The hand felt cold at first. Then it grew warmer and warmer, until I pulled away from the blazing heat.

  As I pulled back, my memory returned.

  Once again, I became Princess Susannah of York. My true identity. I remembered my parents, the king and queen. And all my memories of growing up in the royal castle returned.

  My brother glared angrily at Morgred. “What did you do to my sister?” he cried, backing up until he bumped into the stone wall.

  Morgred placed his hand on my brother’s forehead. And I watched my brother’s expression change as his memory returned and he realized he really was the prince.

  “How did you do it, Morgred?” Edward asked, pushing his dark brown hair off his forehead. “How did you send Susannah and me to the future? Can you perform the spell again?”

  “Yes!” I cried. “Can you perform it once more? Can you send us to the future now—before the king’s men come?”

  Morgred shook his head sadly. “Alas, I cannot,” he murmured. “I do not have the three stones. As I told you, they were stolen by the Lord High Executioner.”

  A smile slowly spread over my brother’s face. He reached into his pocket. “Here they are!” Eddie announced. He winked at me. “I stole them back again when the Executioner captured me in town.”

  Edward handed the stones to Morgred. “Fastest hands in all of Britannia!” he declared.

  Morgred did not smile. “It is a simple spell, actually,” the wizard said. He raised the three stones into the air, and they began to glow.

  “I pile the stones up one on top of the other,” Morgred explained. “I wait for them to glow with a bright white heat. Then I pronounce the words ‘Movarum, Lovaris, Movarus.’ I then call out the year to which the traveler is to be sent.”

  “That’s the whole spell?” Edward asked, staring at the smooth, glowing stones in Morgred’s hand.

  Morgred nodded. “That is the spell, Prince Edward.”

  “Well, do it again! Please hurry!” I begged him.

  His expression grew even sadder. “I cannot,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion.

  He returned the three stones to the pocket of his robe. Then he uttered a long, unhappy sigh. “It is my fondest wish to help you children,” he whispered. “But if I help you to escape again, the king will torture me and put me to a painful death. And then I will not be able to use my magic to help all the people of Britain.”

  Tears brimmed in his purple eyes and ran down his wrinkled cheeks. He gazed unhappily at my brother and me. “I—I only hope that you enjoyed your brief time in the future,” he said in a whisper.

  I shuddered. “You—you really cannot help us?” I pleaded.

  “I cannot,” he replied, lowering his eyes to the floor.

  “Even if we ordered you?” Edward asked.

  “Even if you ordered me,” Morgred repeated. With an emotional cry, he wrapped Edward in a hug. Then he turned and hugged me, too. “I am helpless,” he whispered. “I beg your forgiveness. But I am helpless.”

  “How long do we have to live?” I asked in a tiny, trembling voice.

  “Perhaps a few hours,” Morgred replied, avoiding my eyes. He turned away. He could not bear to face us.

  A heavy silence fell over the tiny room. The gray light filtered down from the window above our heads. The air suddenly felt cold and damp.

  I couldn’t stop shivering.

  Edward startled me by leaning close and whispering in my ear. “Susannah, look!” he whispered excitedly. “The door. Morgred left the door open when he entered.”

  I turned to the door. Edward was right. The heavy wooden door stood nearly half open.

  We still have a chance, I thought, my heart beginning to race. We still have a tiny chance.

  “Edward—run!” I screamed.

  31

  I took a running step.

  And froze in midair.

  I turned to see Edward freeze, too, his arms outstretched, his legs bent in a running position.

 
I struggled to move. But I couldn’t. I felt as if my body had turned to stone.

  It took me a few seconds to realize that Morgred had cast a spell on us. Frozen stiffly in the center of the tiny room, I watched the sorcerer make his way to the door.

  Halfway out, he turned back to us. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a trembling voice. “But I cannot allow you to escape. Please understand. I did my best. I really did. But now I am helpless. Truly helpless.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks, into his white beard. He gave us one last sad glance. Then the door slammed hard behind him.

  As soon as the door was bolted from the outside, the spell wore off. Edward and I could move again.

  I sank to the floor. I suddenly felt weak. Weary.

  Edward stood tensely beside me, his eyes on the door.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked my brother. “Poor Morgred. He tried to help us. He wanted to help us again. But he couldn’t. If only—”

  I stopped talking when I heard the heavy footsteps outside the door.

  At first, I thought it was Morgred returning.

  But then I heard hushed voices. The sounds of more than one man.

  Right outside the door now.

  And I recognized the booming voice of one of them. The Lord High Executioner.

  I climbed tensely to my feet and turned to Edward. “They’ve come for us,” I whispered.

  32

  To my surprise, Edward’s face remained calm.

  He raised his hand. He had something hidden in his closed fist.

  As he opened his fist, I recognized the three stones. Morgred’s smooth, white stones.

  They immediately began to glow.

  “Edward—again?” I cried.

  A smile crossed his lips. His dark eyes lit up excitedly. “I lifted them from Morgred’s robe when he hugged me.”

  “Do you remember the spell?” I demanded.

  Edward’s smile faded. “I—I think so.”