Chapter 31Footsteps clattered along the stone corridors of the castle, some running, some walking, some firm and determined, others hesitant and fearful. They beat a random, shifting tattoo which threaded its way through the other sounds that filled the castle that night — the sounds that marked a disorder that was teetering perilously near to outright panic. Orders were shouted and disputed, voices were raised in angry quarrels and, too, in laughter, though it was brittle and hard-edged; voices cried out in pain and distress, some pleading, some agonized. Doors creaked and slammed, furniture was overturned, horses whinnied and screamed and pounded their stable walls with violent hooves.
Nilsson sat motionless at the heart of this din, hearing it all, but scarcely heeding. The task of gat
