Page 29 of Traveling with Gentlemen
There was no inky black now, perhaps we'd destroyed that enchantment with the others. It was a relief, but only a small blessing because the hall was narrow and it too was trembling, heaving and cracking, spilling pebbles down onto our heads and threatening much worse.
"The others," I gasped looking over my shoulder, relieved to see their faces, bobbing behind us, lanterns swinging and casting dangerous shadows.
"Run, Esther," Auguste growled, pulling me along.
"It's collapsing!" Ezra warned.
"Run," Auguste repeated, the word like a prayer on his lips.
Run. Make it out. Let the hall hold together just long enough to get us out!
It was a shorter trip out than in, and the air of the valley was cold and dry and beautiful as it rushed into my lungs. The pillars of the entrance were cracking, and the donkeys were racing away from a crumbled one, braying and complaining eagerly. Auguste swept me off my feet, rushing us away from the threshold, chasing after the donkeys.
"Wait!" I cried, but there could be no waiting, not as the mountain came down.
Jonathon was behind us now, Ezra blinking in and out of vision, a rare determination turning his mischievous face stony. But where was—
"Booker!" I cried as he appeared, a great boulder dropping from the threshold, cracking to dust against his shoulder. And cradled in his arms was a limp and heavy figure, coat dangling and torn. "Amon."
Booker was not fast but he was steady and the cascade of rubble bounced off his legs and ankles. Amon's hair swayed as he was carried out, away from the falling mountain, Birsha's ruined tomb, to where we gathered together, sheltered by a curve in the road.
"Amon! What happened?" Auguste released me and I ran to meet Booker.
"Rock hit him as we ran," Booker said, kneeling down, setting Amon on the ground for Jonathon to inspect. I joined them, pulling Amon's hands into mine and watching Jonathon's face as he worked.
"Skull doesn't feel fractured. There's blood but—"
Amon groaned, his hands squeezing mine, and I gasped for air, falling forward to rest my head on his chest.
"We're out," Amon muttered.
"Yes. How many fingers am I holding up?" Jonathon asked.
"Three. I'm fine. I'll heal quickly. Esther?"
"Fine, just…you frightened me," I murmured, lifting my face to offer him a wavering smile. There was blood around his left ear, and I thought he looked a little pale but he sat up without a problem.
A low chuckle interrupted us from behind and I stiffened as the sound bit off briefly and then started up again.
"Ezra," I hissed, unamused for once.
"Sorry—" he said, but the word was strangled by laughter.
"Yes, Mr. MacKenna?" Amon bit out, glaring up at the man. "Is there something you would like to say?"
"It's just—" snort "—Book did say—" giggle "—he wanted to rescue the damsel."
Booker's own laugh was low and gentle, and I once again abused my lips by clamping them between my teeth as Amon's eyes narrowed.
But the snort arrived, unladylike and loud from my own nose, and once it was out there seemed no point in burying my laughter. Amon's arms wrapped around my shoulders as I fell into his chest, giggle breathless and relieved and a little panicked again. His own chest shook slightly but he never made a sound.
"So he did," Jonathon said gently, patting Amon's shoulder and rising to his feet to stare back at the new craggy shadow of the mountain. "Well that's one adventure off our list then."
"I vote for the treasure map next," Auguste said with a sigh.
My laugh grew teary and my arms tightened around Amon's waist until he grunted. His lips landed on the crown of my head. "Someone go catch the donkeys. It's time for us to return home."
EPILOGUE
