At the precise moment I thought we had succeeded, a host of men exploded from the watchtower and ran towards us. In the heat of the moment, Andy cursed and dropped the corpse. He and I both scrabbled for it, both swearing mightily. The watchmen brandished an assortment of weapons that ranged from an ancient pike that might have done duty at Flodden, to a wide-muzzled blunderbuss.
“There they are!” somebody shouted, his voice slurred with alcohol, “over by the wall!”
“Andy!” Sandy held out his hands again, making long arms as he stretched down as far as he could.
Lifting the body, we thrust it into Sandy’s hands, pushing to help him drag it over the wall.
“Jesus,” Andy blasphemed, glancing over his shoulder. “There’s hundreds of them.”
“I’ve got her,” Sandy was the calmest man among us
