There was a sudden shout, the sound of splintering wood and more sparks. Then Max’s voice called up: ‘We’re almost out now.’ More sparks and then a crash. ‘Where are you?’
‘Up here,’ I answered.
Hilda and I pushed the ladder through the smoking gap. ‘Go on down the stairs,’ I shouted. ‘We’ll follow.’
The light of a torch flashed in the opening. Then I heard footsteps on the stone stairway. ‘Quick!’ I said to Hilda. ‘Down you go.’
She stepped into the smoking gap and scrambled down. As I stood there holding the end of the ladder the last section of the monastery before the chapel fell in. The lava was right across the monks’ vineyards now, slithering in towards the base of the tower. I glanced behind me, towards Avin and the way out to safety, and my heart stood still. The lava streams that had swung past Santo Francisco on either side were curving in like pincers. I remembered how I’d seen this pincer movement from that other roof. But now it had developed. The two ends of the pincer were curved in towards Avin. One arm was already eating into the village. The other was only just outside it, following the slope of a valley.
‘Dick! Hurry, please.’
I realised suddenly I was sweating with fear. ‘I’m coming,’ I called. I swung myself on to the ladder. The air was choked with smoke, and wood still blazed at the foot of the ladder. I heard someone coughing below me, then my eyes were streaming and I fell suddenly into the charred wood. I put my hand out to break my fall and felt a searing burn on the palm. Then I was clear of the charred debris and on the stairway.
‘What happened?’
‘One of the rungs had burned through,’ I told her. I had my torch on now and we hurried after the others. We caught them up in the passage leading to the chapel. It was with a sense of wonderful relief that I climbed out of the passage into the robing room. I had had an awful feeling of claustrophobia there, picturing the lava slithering over us and imprisoning us for all time underground.
We went through into the dim light of the chapel just as Max came out of the archway leading to the refectory room, his arm upraised and his eyes showing white in his blackened face. ‘No good,’ he gasped. We stood there for a moment staring at him in a daze. I was dimly aware of Zina, her clothes torn and charred, and Racket with his chest naked under his jacket and matted with singed hair. He was supporting two other figures, whose bodies drooped. Hilda ran forward, clutching one of them and called hysterically, ‘Co se stalo, tati?’ It was Jan Tucek. I barely recognised him.