Kate left Marek and Chris to chase them alone, and she just managed to catch sight of them at the end of the drawbridge. Oliver turned to the left, riding away from the town. Guards opened a door in the east wall, and he and his company rode through into the afternoon sunlight. The door was shut hastily behind them.
Marek caught up with her. "Where?" he said.
She pointed to the gate. Thirty knights guarded it. More stood on the wall above.
"We'll never get out that way," he said. Just behind them, a cluster of soldiers threw off brown tunics, revealing green-and-black surcoats; they began fighting their way into the castle. The drawbridge chains began to clank. "Come on."
They ran down the drawbridge, hearing the wood creak, feeling it begin to rise under their feet. The drawbridge was three feet in the air when they reached the far end and jumped, landing on the ground of the open field.
"Now what?" Chris said, picking himself up. He still carried his bloody sword in his hand.
"This way," Marek said, and he ran straight into the center of the town.
They headed toward the church, then away from the narrow main street, where intense fighting had already begun: Oliver's soldiers in maroon and gray, and Arnaut's in green and black. Marek led them to the left through the market, now deserted, the wares packed up and the merchants gone. They had to step quickly aside as a company of Arnaut's knights on horseback galloped past, heading toward the castle. One of them swung at Marek with his broadsword and shouted something as he passed. Marek watched them go, then went on.
Chris was looking for signs of murdered women and eviscerated babies, and he did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved that he saw none. In fact, he saw no women or children at all. "They've all run away or gone into hiding," Marek said. "There's been war for a long time here. People know what to do."
"Which way?" Kate said. She was in the front.
"Left, toward the main gate."
They turned left, going down a narrower street, and suddenly heard a shout behind them. They looked back, to see running soldiers coming toward them. Chris couldn't tell if the soldiers were chasing them or just running. But there was no point in waiting to find out.
Marek broke into a run; they all ran now, and after a while Chris glanced back to see the soldiers falling behind, and he felt a moment of odd pride; they were putting distance between them.
But Marek was taking no chances. Abruptly, he turned into a side street which had a strong and unpleasant odor. The shops here were all closed up, but narrow alleyways ran between them. Marek ran down one, which brought them to a fenced courtyard behind a shop. Within the courtyard stood huge wooden vats, and wooden racks beneath a shed. Here the stench was almost overpowering: a mixture of rotting flesh and feces.
It was a tannery.
"Quickly," Marek said, and they climbed over the fence, crouched down behind the reeking vats.
"Oof!" Kate said, holding her nose. "What is that smell?"
"They soak the skins in chicken shit," Chris whispered. "The nitrogen in the feces softens the leather."
"Great," she said.
"Dog shit, too."
"Great."
Chris looked back and saw more vats, and hides hanging on the racks. Here and there, stinking piles of cheesy yellow material lay heaped on the ground - fat scraped from the inside of the skins.
Kate said, "My eyes burn."
Chris pointed to the white crust on the vats around them. These were lime vats, a harsh alkali solution that removed all the hair and remaining flesh after the skins were scraped. And it was the lime fumes that burned their eyes.
Then his attention was drawn to the alleyway, where he heard running feet and the clatter of armor. Through the fence he saw Robert de Kere with seven soldiers. The soldiers were looking in every direction as they ran - searching for them.
Why? Chris wondered, peering around the vat. Why were they still being pursued? What was so important about them that de Kere would ignore an enemy attack and try instead to kill them?
Apparently the searchers liked the smell in the alley no better than Chris did, because soon de Kere barked an order and they all ran back up the alley, toward the street.
"What was that about?" Chris whispered finally.
Marek just shook his head.
And then they heard men shouting, and again they heard the soldiers running back down the street. Chris frowned. How could they have overheard? He looked at Marek, who seemed troubled, too. From outside the courtyard, they heard de Kere shout: "Ici! Ici!" Probably, de Kere had left a man behind. That must be it, Chris thought. Because he hadn't whispered loudly enough to be heard. Marek started forward, then hesitated. Already de Kere and his men were climbing over the fence - eight men altogether; they could not fight them all.
"Andre," Chris said, pointing to the vat. "It's lye."
Marek grinned. "Then let's do it," he said, and he leaned against the vat.
They all put their shoulders against the wood and, with effort, managed to push the vat over. Frothing alkali solution sloshed onto the ground and flowed toward the soldiers. The odor was acrid. The soldiers instantly recognized what it was - any contact with that liquid would burn flesh - and they scrambled back up the fence, getting their feet off the ground. The fence posts began to sizzle and hiss when the lye touched them. The fence wobbled with the weight of all the men; they shouted and scrambled back into the alley.
"Now," Marek said. He led them deeper into the tanning yard, up over a shed, and then out into another alley.