He stared at me cagily and then studied our surroundings and slowly emerged the rest of the way from the tent. He abandoned his prior attempt at solitude, heavily sat down on a boulder nearby, and pulled out a small book from the inside of his jacket.
“Can you read?” he asked me, waving the book in the air.
“Of course,” I said, insulted, though there was no reason to be. It was probably an honest question. Most commoners couldn’t read anything at all. Just being able to spell one’s name was usually considered an impressive feat. Friar Tuck and Mother had instructed me carefully in my youth and, as a consequence, I often took the skill for granted.
He stared at me for a few more minutes, but then slowly dipped his head back to his book.
I used his distraction to discreetly inspect the damage I had inflicted on the chain. The link was still mostly intact, but a tiny crack had appeared in the now-warped link.
A satisfied smile lifted my lips. A crack was all I needed.
CHAPTER 12
All that day, Baron read and stubbornly fought off sleep the best he could. I made sure to yawn as I passed him, slow and exaggerated, then slipped into the tent. I needed time unseen to work on my plan, and hoped that Baron would assume I was sleeping.
Inside, I knelt with my back to the tent flap and pulled the iron arrowhead from its hiding place, then set it to the crack on the warped chain link and began to saw. The metal was cold and gritty beneath my fingers, and each scrape was small, tight, and controlled. Within minutes, my shoulders burned and my hands cramped, but I persisted. The chain warmed under the friction, and tiny metal shavings dusted my palms.
At long last, a thin slit cut clean through the link.
My heart lifted. One step was done. Now came the part that required strength.
I braced my boot against the chain, just below the weakened link, and wrapped both hands around the section above it and pulled. With each pull, I threw an anxious glance toward the tent flap, sure that Baron was going to come bursting in and discover what I was doing. Outside, the men had begun a drunken song about a man named Ogg who lived in a bog, voices booming overone another. Hopefully that would provide enough of distraction that my activities would go unnoticed.
I set my foot harder and pulled again. My muscles trembled and my back ached from pulling in such an awkward position. When I checked the link, the gap had widened only the smallest amount, if at all. My mind might have fabricated it to convince me that I was making progress. It wasn’t enough.
I swallowed my frustration. If I could just manage to incapacitate Baron, even for a few minutes, I could finish the job without worrying about him realizing what I was doing.
I chewed on the side of my cheek, staring at the stubborn chain link before hiding the arrowhead again: digging a small hole beside my sleeping roll, scooping the dirt with my fingers, and burying the tool. I packed the earth tight and set a single flat stone over the spot.
If I could not break the chain in time, at least I would have a weapon, pathetic as it was. It was a thin plan and a desperate one at that, but it was all I had.
My father was not going to come for me and ask why I hadn’t done more.
Late that afternoon, I paused in my work to return to the fireside where Baron was sitting, book open in his lap and head sagging to the side. “What a wonderful nap!” I said, pretending to stretch luxuriously. Baron grunted.
“What are you reading?” I asked, as I walked the long way around the fire so the middle of the chain would trail through the white-hot embers again. Heat licked my calves, and sparks popped and hissed where the metal raked across the coals.
“A book,” Baron mumbled sleepily. He fought to keep his lids open, blinking and almost nodding off before he tried to force his head up again. Sleep kept tugging at him; he looked close to giving in.
Would he fall asleep if I left him alone? I hummed a soft melody and poked at the fire with a stick, watching out of the corner of my eye as Baron’s head drooped to the side again. Still humming quietly, I moved close to him, looking around for some sort of rock or other suitable blunt object. If Baron was too vigilant to escape while he was awake, I’d have to send him off to dreamland for as long as possible. His hands went limp and the book slid from his grasp.
The log Baron was using for a bench groaned slightly as I sat next to him, and he instantly snapped awake, saw me sitting next to him, and cleared about five feet of air as he jumped. “Wh-what are you doing?” he asked.
“I just came to pick up your book for you. You dropped it when you fell asleep.”
His former sleepiness evaporated on the spot and his gaze fixed on me. “You are up to something,” he said, suspicion in every syllable. “Get up.” He made me stand and ran his fingers along the metal collar at my throat. When he found it whole, he gave the chain a firm tug. The metal answered with a dull, confident clink.
He stood and walked a few paces away from me. “Show me your hands,” he demanded. I held them up and rotated them smugly to show that I was hiding nothing. “Turn around,” he ordered next.
I spun in a slow circle, then dropped into a mocking curtsy. “Going to ask me to dance next?” I asked with a smirk.
He approached cautiously and patted me down thoroughly, first feeling up and down my arms, waist, and legs to be sure I had nothing concealed. He even ran his fingers through my hair and made me empty my boots. I prayed a silent thank you that I had the foresight to hide the arrowhead.
“Satisfied?” I asked. We stared each other down.
“I still say you are up to something.”
I shrugged indifferently. “Maybe Iamplanning to burn down the tent tonight. How long can you go before you have to sleep again?” I narrowed my eyes wickedly. Baron was at his breaking point, I could tell. He was exhausted and weak, his energy completely depleted. This was just the sort of opportunity I had waited for.
