Part 1 |
Part 2 |
Part 3 |
Part 4 |
Part 5|
Part 6I slipped out of my ropes and had started moving toward the cart driver with my knife at the ready and bloody murder on my mind when I heard faint hoofbeats along the road behind us. I barely had the time to slip back into my bonds—thank you, Master Lascaux, for drilling this skill into me as a boy—before the driver turned around to see who was approaching. I already knew, because even at that distance, I had already seen who was behind us. Illuminated by torch light, the face was unmistakable.
It was Malon.
More precisely, Malon and two other riders. They were riding hard, with the riders holding torches to illuminate the road. Appearing to be oblivious to who was approaching, I feigned struggling to my feet and once up, cried, "Help! Help us!," whereupon the driver abruptly set the cart's brake, and despite the fact the cart was moving slowly, I was thrown forward—as I had planned—landing almost directly under the driver's seat, next to a pair of pulley blocks threaded with rope. As the driver rushed to descend from the cart and deal with me, I loosened my ropes enough to deposit the dagger I had stolen from Malon into an old leather bag that sat beneath the board the driver sat on, and then recaptured the slack to make the rope again appear tight.
"See here, you," said the driver, attempting to cuff me on the ear as I scuttled out of his reach, "you keep your tongue still, or there'll be a heavy price to pay!" He then stepped onto something that allowed him to reach in over the sideboard, get a good grip on the rope that held my arms fast, and toss me toward the back of the cart, where Usha lay. By this time, she had awakened and was seeking to understand what was going on. Her eyes went wide as I landed beside her like a person who had fallen to earth from the moon, and she looked as if she wanted to say something, but she pressed her lips together and kept her peace.
Malon and his riders gained the cart just as the goon with the lantern who had been lighting the way joined our merry company.
"Hoping we were honest citizens, were you?" said Malon, as he brought his horse to rest. "You are out of luck, I'm afraid. No chance of escape, now, and even worse is in store for you, since you stole something that belongs to me, and I do not suffer people who steal—at least not those who steal from me." He grinned at his own joke, and for a moment, my knees felt like jelly.
"I didn't steal anything," I protested. "I swear!" The fear in my voice was real.
Malon looked closely at me and, satisfying himself that my arms were immobile under numerous coils of rope, said, "We'll see about that when we get to town. If I were you and I knew any prayers—I'd start saying them."
I began to protest my innocence further, but Malon cut me off with a sharp "Shut up!"—which he expressed as two distinct words—and then turned his attention to his men, instructing the driver and the goon with the lantern to get back on the cart—with the goon sitting backward, facing me and Usha—while he and the riders rode ahead to light the way. "Quickly!" cried Malon, "I want to be off the streets before sunup and people in town start to stir." Indeed, the horizon was now clearly discernable to the east and sunrise itself was not far off.
The cart shook everyone aboard a great deal as the driver struggled to keep up with the riders, though Usha and I probably had the better of it, as we were lying on sacks of grain. In almost no time at all, the cart was nearly to the town. It crested a small rise and began to descend toward the closest buildings, the silhouettes of which made them look pitch black against the brightness of the dawn sky. I felt as though there should be a word to describe the effect, but realized my mind was wandering and refocused my attention on my situation at hand.
The cart stopped behind a stout brick building, where I was unloaded—not unlike a parcel of goods—and taken inside through a heavy door, down a short corridor, and into a room that could only be a cell. The walls were of stone, a small window admitted neither enough air nor light, the door was solid, and the furniture consisted of a blanket and a rusty bucket. There was barely enough room for me, Malon, and a new face, which I assumed belonged to the jailer.
"Remove the lad's rope," instructed Malon, drawing a short sword from a scabbard at his belt. "And take care he doesn't try to injure you as you do so." I started to say something, but the jailer merely sniffed and then struck me—hard enough for me to see stars—but I retained enough control to keep the rope tight until it was safe to give up the slack that had allowed me to slip in and out of the bonds during the trip into town.
The jailer searched me thoroughly, removing and examining my clothes and boots, and poking me here and there, but found nothing. Malon then shoved the jailer aside and examined the clothes himself, tossing them at me as he finished with them. He found nothing as well. As I put my clothes back on, Malon pursed his lips, but remained silent. His eyes looked off to... nowhere in particular. He had been sure I had stolen his dagger—now, he wasn't as certain.
He then turned to jailer and said, "Keep this one here while I see to accommodations for my other guest." The jailer nodded and, as Malon turned toward the door, reached for the heavy key ring that hung on his belt. I finished donning my boots and stood up.
Malon and the jailer exited the cell, the latter pausing to insert a key in the door and lock it behind him. Through the small window I heard the sounds of activity, and then those of horses and a cart starting to move away from the building my cell was in.
Where was Malon taking Usha?
There was no time to lose. I had to escape!
To: Part 8. Hedging my bet... ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
