Assassin’s Fate

I pushed up beside him. The light danced toward us slowly, barely an ember in the darkness. Lant fashioned another torch and thrust it toward the hole. Now we could see more, but it was still some time before we saw Bee coming up the steps. ‘Where’s Per?’ I called, dreading some disaster.

‘He’s trying to break an old wooden door,’ she called, breathless as she climbed the steps. ‘It’s partly rotten, but we couldn’t get past it. He poked the sword through between the planks and a tiny bit of light came in. So we think it’s the way out! The tunnel steps go down, and then the floor slopes down. We had to wade through water for a long way. I cut my feet on some barnacles, but then Per cut one of his sleeves away so I could bind my feet. Then we came to steps going up. A lot of them, going up and up and finally the door. Per said it might have been a guard post once. He said he didn’t mind the dark, but I’ll want light for going back. We need pokers for levers. Or an axe. We will work on the door while you work on the bricks here.’

It was a sensible plan. I hated it.

We passed the smallest pot-lamp through to her and I surrendered the ship’s hatchet. Bee hugged the lamp to her chest, the hatchet and a poker tucked awkwardly under her arm. I watched her carry it away as if I were watching her leave the world.

‘The ceiling is burning through,’ the Fool said quietly. ‘I smell it. And it’s getting warmer in here.’

‘Work faster,’ Lant suggested, and they all did. When Lant judged there was enough purchase for the poker, he pushed it under the stone. ‘A moment,’ Prilkop suggested, and inserted a bar of his own. ‘Now,’ he said, and both men leaned on their levers. The stone was adamant.

Behind me, a small piece of the ceiling fell, landing on the torture table and the steps where I had rested. Flames were dancing on it as it came down. The floors here were of stone, as were the walls, but that would be small comfort to us if burning rubble fell on us. I had gained a fearful respect for smoke and heat. We stared wide-eyed at one another.

‘Let me help!’ Spark cried. She stepped up and balanced on one of the pokers like a bird perching on a twig. ‘Now push down,’ she told Lant. He and Prilkop leaned on their bars. With a slow crackling sound, the stone moved upward slightly. Prilkop shoved his bar deeper and leaned on it, groaning. The stone grated as it rose out of its bed. It tipped then lodged, making the opening even smaller than it had been. The prisoner who had first come to help pushed the stone deeper into the opening with all his skeletal weight. The stone slid into the maw of the tunnel. It almost but not completely cleared the opening.

Lant threw down his bar and eeled into the darkness. One of the prisoners squirmed in beside him, contributing his feeble strength to move the stone. ‘Help me,’ the skinny White gasped, and a second crawled through to join him. I heard Lant grunt, then groan and the grinding noise as the stone grudgingly moved. Slowly an escape opened before us. The two prisoners quickly wriggled through and out of the way. Lant joined them on the other side and then turned around.

Lant’s face appeared in the opening. ‘Quick. Come through,’ he commanded Spark, and stepped back to make room for her. But as she stepped forward, the last prisoner suddenly threw herself at the opening. Fast as a startled rat, she was through. I heard Lant’s exclamation of surprise and then he cursed. ‘They’ve run ahead,’ he complained. That alarmed me; I did not trust any of them.

‘Lant. Go after them!’ I begged him.

‘Sword,’ he demanded, and Spark stooped, seized one, and passed it to him.

‘I’m going, too,’ she declared, and slid into the gap, her sword leading the way.

‘Bring my pack!’ she called over her shoulder and then raced down the steps and into darkness. Lant was already out of sight. I had to go after her.

I tried to stand and my leg folded under me. The Fool caught my arm and pulled me upright. It simply would not take my weight. Fury welled in me and for a moment I could not even speak. When I had control of myself, I lifted my eyes to Prilkop. ‘Will they hurt Bee? Do they mean her harm?’ I demanded of him.

Prilkop had picked up the last pot-lamp in his arms. He looked from me to the Fool and chewed his lip. ‘I hope not,’ he offered me. ‘But they are very frightened. And angry. It’s hard to say what people will do when they are scared.’

‘Can you go after them and stop them?’ the Fool asked.

‘I don’t know if they’ll listen to …’ he began.

‘Try!’ the Fool cried, and Prilkop nodded brusquely. He pushed the lamp to one side and squeezed stiffly through the opening. On the other side, he laboriously took up the lamp and went down the steps, far more slowly than I wished him to.

‘Go,’ I told the Fool.