Black Powder by Ally Sherrick

and tugged at his hand. ‘There’s another way.’
    He rounded on her. ‘What?’
    â€˜Let me show you.’
    He narrowed his eyes. ‘If this is some kind of trick?’
    She widened hers. ‘Do you doubt the word of a gentlewoman?’
    He snorted. There she went again, making out she was better than him.
    â€˜Look, Tom Garnett, I’m trying to help you, but it’s your choice. If you would rather tangle with Sergeant Talbot and his blade . . .’ She swept up her skirts and turned to go.
    A distant clump of boots sounded outside.
    Tom licked his lips and grabbed her sleeve. ‘All right! All right! Show me.’

Chapter Fourteen
    A s they ran across the cobbles, Tom glanced up at the windows above them. They glittered down on him as if following his every move. He shivered. What if behind the glass, there were real eyes watching? The eyes of a spy. He pulled his cloak tight around him and hurried on.
    â€˜In here!’ Cressida darted beneath a low doorway.
    â€˜Where are you taking me?’
    â€˜You’ll see. Fetch a light, will you?’ She jerked her head at the stand of flickering candles in the passage behind.
    He frowned. ‘Fetch one yourself.’
    â€˜What, and have hot beeswax burn my hands?’
    He raised his eyebrows. ‘But it doesn’t matter if I burn mine?’
    She glared at him. ‘Look. Do you want me to help you or not?’
    What choice did he have? He puffed out his cheeks,strode over to the stand and lifted one of the candles from its spike.
    â€˜You first.’ She pointed to a flight of stairs which wound down into the floor behind her.
    Marching over to it, he shone the candle into the gloom. The light reached as far as the third step, then beyond it, nothing but blackness.
    The sound of giggling echoed behind him. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’
    He flushed. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ He gripped the candle tighter and began to descend. He’d gone fifteen steps, maybe twenty, when the stairs ran out. He lifted the flame above his head. A stone passageway stretched in front of him.
    A hand shoved him in the back. ‘Keep going.’
    â€˜Get off me!’ He jerked away and stomped along the passageway, boots crunching on the grit-covered flagstones.
    â€˜Stop. You’ve gone too far.’
    He spun round. She was standing in front of a door set into the brick-lined wall. As he trudged back to her, she brushed her curls from her face, smoothed her skirts and raised a fist to the wood.
    â€˜Wh–what are you doing?’
    â€˜Making sure Grimwold, our cellar-keeper, isn’t down here.’
    â€˜But what if he is?’
    â€˜Then I’ll tell him he’s wanted upstairs.’ She rapped on the door.
    He held his breath. Silence, except for the thump of hisheart against his ribs.
    â€˜It looks like we’re in luck!’ She flashed him a smile, lifted the latch and stepped inside.
    Tom glanced up the passageway. What if Grimwold came back and found them in here? He’d like to see what excuse his clever cousin could come up with then. He frowned, then slipped in after her, shutting the door behind him. The candle flame jumped and flickered before settling to a steady glow. He peered around him. They were standing in a long, narrow room, its lime-washed walls studded with rows of brick shelves. On each shelf rested a line of large wooden barrels. A smell of overripe berries laced with a hint of leathery sourness hung in the air.
    Cressida spread out her arms. ‘Our wine cellar.’
    Tom raised the candle and shone the light along the length of the room. There were at least a hundred barrels. Maybe more. He let out a whistle. ‘There’s enough wine in here to sink the whole English Navy.’
    Her face took on a dreamy look. ‘Why that sounds just like something from one of Mister Shakespeare’s plays.’
    He frowned.