The Furies Read Free Page B

Sylvia had already followed the verger through the archway. Thirty long seconds later, she reappeared.
    â€˜He’s gone,’ she whispered breathlessly, ‘and I’ve checked all the alcoves. I’m really sure it’s clear now. Go on, Ellie – do it.’
    Elspeth took a deep breath and tried to compose herself again, clearing her mind of everything except the task ahead. Opening the bag once more, she removed the box of matches. The linen bundle was underneath, and when she pulled the cloth away the wick was pointing obscenely towards her. She looped the handbag’s leather strap over the left-hand spike on the seat’s back-rest, before draping the open bag down the back of the chair. One final glance at Sylvia – who swivelled her head to look through the archway before turning back and whispering, ‘Still all clear,’ – and Elspeth knew the moment had come.
    She struck a match against the side of the box and watched it flare with a hiss, the bright phosphor flash dazzling in the gloom of the chapel. With the after-image of the flame still black on her retina, she lowered the match to the oily wick. There was no going back now.
    The wick immediately took fire with a flame that leapt a good two inches in the air, and Elspeth knew instinctively that something was wrong, that this was more than expected. She sprang away from the bag, and, dropping the box of matches, ran towards Sylvia. Taking her by the hand, she pulled her back through the archway.
    They practically flew down the staircase to the floor below, Elspeth lifting the hem of her skirt as they dashed along the passageway, her heart hammering in her chest as they arrived at the central space, her shoes skittering on the stone floor as they came to a halt and were forced to casually saunter between the visitors still present. Every nerve in Elspeth’s body seemed to scream at her to hurry, to escape, the blood pounding in her head as she fought the urge to run as fast as possible.
    It was only now she realised she had been silently counting the seconds since the wick was lit:
    Ten
: as they crossed the central space towards the exit grille alongside the quire.
    Twelve:
remembering she had left the feather boa and guidebook beside the chair – too late to worry about that now.
    Fourteen
: as she fought down a wave of panic when they had to stop behind a group of visitors slowly filtering through the grille back into the nave.
    Eighteen
:
tensing with frustration at the precious seconds wasted before they began to shuffle forwards again.
    Nineteen
: why were they going so slowly?
    Twenty
: knowing that the faster-burning wick meant the bomb would explode sooner than thirty seconds.
    Twenty
-
one:
but how much sooner?
    Twenty
-
two
—
    An ear-splitting crack rent the air, like thunder directly below a lightning strike.
    Even though she had braced herself for the explosion, the shocking intensity of sound stunned Elspeth, weakening her knees and causing her to drop to the stone floor. A cacophony of echoes still rang about her as she lifted her head and looked back to see a cloud of dirty grey dust billowing towards her, a wobbling disc of black smoke spiralling up to the high ceiling above. Sylvia was crouching beside her as the cloud of debris reached them, the noise of the blast still reverberating around the Abbey walls. Elspeth’s ears were ringing as the blond-haired verger ran towards her.
    â€˜Are you alright, miss?’ he shouted to Elspeth as he helped her up.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she replied, brushing dust from her skirt and shaking her head to try and clear the noise from her ears. And then, remembering to stay in character, ‘What’s happened?’
    â€˜It’s a bomb I think,’ he answered, and then hurried past her towards the smoke.
    Through the dusty haze Elspeth could see other visitors slowly getting to their feet, coughing, blinking, rubbing eyes and ears. And