We quietly descended the stairs, dodging occasional guards. Once, we had to squeeze into a tiny area under the stairs together to avoid detection. Earlier in the day, we’d considered having Baron just walk up and identify himself; no one would know that he had turned until it was too late. But it had seemed too risky, and I was more familiar with the cloak-and-dagger routine anyway.
There was a particularly tense moment when a guard spotted Baron darting out from behind a pillar and was about to raise the alarm, but I got to the guard first. I leapt onto his back, clamped my hand over his mouth to muffle his shout, pinched off his nostrils, and clenched my arm tightly around his neck. He tried to throw me off, but I clung to him with all my strength while forcing his head forward over my arm until he passed out. I then deposited him in a nearby broom cupboard, turning the key that had been left in the door’s lock.
“You seem experienced at this,” Baron told me, amused, as I tossed the broom closet’s key into a nearby clay vase.
I pretended to dust off my shoulders. “Oh, that was nothing.”
We had to cross an immense courtyard with a large, dead oak tree standing in the middle surrounded by stone benches. I shook my head; I could never understand the appeal of the single tree courtyard landscaping theme so commonly found in castles. I had seen the same thing when I’d visited King Richard’s castle with my parents when I was a child. But at least the ones in King Richard’s courtyards had been alive. This one looked as though it was decaying before our eyes. Even in the dim light cast by the moon and low torches, it was a pitiful sight.
It took us less than an hour to reach the bottom-most dungeon, where I knew Father and his men would be held. The keys for the cells would inevitably be in the guard room, where I could hear the low murmuring of voices. Bright light shone out from under the doorway. There was no way I would be able to open the door, sneak in, and grab the keys from wherever they were without being seen.
I ran through the possibilities in my mind. I could have Baron pretend to be bringing another prisoner, or try and bribe the guards, or pull my innocent-girl act and pretend to be lost. I had no wine to get the guards drunk like Mother had done. But Baron solved the problem for me.
“I’ve got this,” he whispered, pausing at the corner of the stone hallway and rolling a small vial of powder between his fingers. He pulled a lantern down. “Once I’m in, just wait.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Either something heroic or stupid.” He flashed me the briefest half smile before unscrewing the lantern’s top, sprinkling the fine powder into the oil basin, and shaking it just enough to settle the mixture. “If you see any smoke, don’t inhale any of it.”
I slipped into the shadow of a wall tapestry as Baron straightened, rolled his shoulders, and adopted the slow, confident swagger that belonged to the sheriff’s soldiers.
Then he pushed the guardroom door open with his boot. “Oh, good,” Baron said before the door closed. “You four are sitting around warm and cozy while the rest of us are out chasing half-feral prisoners through the woods. Typical.”
The door closed with a thud. I couldn’t hear what the murmur of voices were saying, but their tones all sounded casual and friendly, even if a little tired.
Minutes crawled by. There was occasional laughter and the sound of a dice game, but nothing more. How long was I supposed to wait? Every gust of air down the hallway made me think a new change of guards was coming and would discover us.
After what felt like at least twenty minutes, there was a yelp and a crash from within the room. Within seconds, a thick plume of dense, grayish smoke began to filter out from under the door.
I retreated, trying not to breathe it as Baron had said, and waited anxiously. Had Baron breathed it in?
A few thuds came from behind the door and Baron came running out, sprinting down the hall until he reached clear air and dragged in a ragged breath.
“I have the keys,” he gasped, handing them over. “You didn’t inhale the smoke, did you?”
“No. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I told you. Heroic and stupid.”
“And effective,” I added, eyeing the fresh ring of keys dangling from his hand, then cast a nervous look at the guardroom. “They aren’t dead, are they?”
“No, just unconscious. But come on. We need to get going before the next shift of guards gets here.”
CHAPTER 31
It didn’t take long to find Father and his men after that. I padded down the last short flight of grimy steps, my nose full of the ripe smell of mildew and unwashed bodies. “Father?” I called softly through the dark. “Where are you?”
“Laurie? Is that you?” came a croaking voice I didn’t recognize. But the voice had used the childhood nickname that only Father used.
I held the torch up and had to stifle a cry. Father looked dreadful. His hair had grown long and hung matted and dirty over his bruised and blood-encrusted face. One eye was swollen shut. His clothes were filthy rags now, and the cell reeked. He shuffled over to peer closely at my face with his one good eye.
“It’s all right, Father. I’m here,” I told him, clutching his fingers through the bars. “Is everyone alive? Where are the others?”
“Two are dead. The rest are there.” He indicated cells along the long row, then winced as he put a hand to his lower chest. Did he have broken ribs?
I swallowed hard. They would surely all be in similar condition. Not fighting shape. It was down to Baron and me to get them all out and to safety. Tonight.
Baron approached with the ring of keys held in his hand. Father struggled to focus on Baron’s features as he began to unlock the cell door. “I know you…” Father muttered, then recognition dawned in his sunken face.
