Page 130 of The Bachelor Spy
Gun at the ready, he descended the stairs. Uneven, hewn by hand centuries ago. Frederick kept one hand on the earthen wall to guide him, the faint light of Zahra’s lantern growing weaker the deeper he went.
But voices urged him forward. The faint glow of another lantern glinted ahead.
And then … Grace’s voice.
He increased his pace, even as a tuft of dust dropped in his path from overhead.
This was mad.
All of it. And at his own home!
How far down were they? Fifty feet? More?
Grace’s words echoed from somewhere ahead: “We need to leave, Mr. Pennington.”
Frederick almost broke into a run. The man was desperate. Too desperate for sense or safety.
A low groan emanated from overhead. A deeper, louder warning.
Frederick’s blood ran cold.
The timbers. The ancient supports.
“No! we are too close.” Pennington shouted, then the sound like something hitting wood echoed toward Frederick. Then a reverberating crack.
“Grace!” Her name exploded from Frederick’s lungs, stifled by the earthen walls.
“Frederick?” came her response, just as he rounded a corner in the passage that opened into a chamber, barely lit by a single lantern held aloft by the young private.
Grace stood atop a pile of stones with Pennington beside her, his face tight, pale.
Dust sifted down from the ceiling like rain. “Grace!” Frederick called again. “You need to get out of here!”
But it was too late. Whatever Pennington had done, the crack he’d ignited, careened into another. Then another.
The ceiling splintered.
Frederick didn’t think. Didn’t calculate. Just moved.
He grabbed Grace by the shoulders and yanked her into his arms, pulling them together toward the tunnel in a wild stumble away from the falling debris. Frederick twisted mid-fall to take the impact, his body curling protectively around hers.
Rock and earth thundered down exactly where she’d been standing.
The world became noise and dust. Frederick pressed Grace’s face into his chest, his arms locked around her, his body a shield between her and the collapsing tunnel behind them.
But this was only the beginning. One thunderous crash would ignite another.
They had to get out.
He had the vague awareness of Pennington rushing past them, heading for the exit.
Coward.
“Run,” Frederick said, hauling Grace to her feet, half carrying her through the tunnel. Debris pelted his back—stone, timber, earth—but he kept moving.
Dust coated everything, choking the air.
Frederick pressed Grace closer, never looking back even as the sound of collapsing earth roared behind them.
