Flora nodded slowly, her thin face breaking into a smile. “Aye, perhaps. The Sinner, ye say? I’ve heard that’s a good place. I hope ye have a good time.”
There was something disconcerting about Flora’s smile. Emma felt a clenching feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach but put it down to nerves over the evening.
“I’m sure I will.”
A heavyclangechoed through the dungeons. Brom flinched, making an ink-black blot across the paper he was writing on. Ifhe was a speaking sort of man, he might have cursed. As it was, he sighed in annoyance and picked up a fresh sheet of paper.
His silence had spread to the prisoners over his time here. They gave up on shouting insults at him and each other, mainly because they knew he would not give them a reaction. If they behaved particularly badly, he would simply toss a bucket of ice-cold water through the bars of their cells, and nobody wanted that. If they were polite to him, he was polite to them.
In fact, some of the prisoners were more courteous to him than some of the soldiers. He’d heard them discussing, in obvious earshot, whether or not he was simple-minded (he was not), or whether he was deaf (he could hear perfectly well), or whether he was just as stubborn as a mule (that one was true).
The clang came again, and Brom squinted down the hallway it had come from, mentally running over which prisoners were kept there. The latest addition, the man Laird MacPherson had come to see, was there too. Now, there was a new noise, which sounded horribly like feet drumming on the floor.
A nasty feeling grew in the pit of Brom’s stomach. He snatched up his keys and raced along the hallway. The evening meal had just been served, and it was possible…
There. In the last cell, Gregor lay on his side, turned away from the cell door, convulsing. An half-finished tray lay beside him, the food carelessly scattered over the ground. He was choking, his body spasming wildly.
Brom acted quickly, unlocking the door and diving inside. He’d saved choking men before, and he knew exactly what to do.
His fingertips brushed Gregor’s shoulders, then the man whipped around, far too fast for a choking man, something heavy gripped in his hand. It thumped across Brom’s temples with acrack, and the world went dark.
Brom woke with a start, feeling sick. It took a moment to remember where he was, and then once he had remembered, he wished that he hadn’t.
Gregor, choking. Or rather, not choking. Something heavy, then darkness.
He could see the item he’d been struck with—a three-legged stool—sitting beside him. He hadn’t been locked in, and he suspected he had his own bulk to thank for that. Brom had collapsed half in, half out of the cell, meaning that he’d need to be pulled in or pushed out for the door to be locked. Apparently, Gregor hadn’t had the strength or the time for that. He was, of course, long gone.
Brom stumbled out of the cell, squinting against the new pain in his head, and raced along the hallway, checking the other cells. Nobody else was gone, so that was something. Gregor had simply gotten himself free. It didn’t help that Brom had no idea how much time had gone by. He could have been unconscious for only a few minutes, in which case Gregor would still be in the Keep, or else he might have been out for longer, and Gregor could have escaped.
He clanged on a cell door, attracting the attention of the prisoners within.
“Where is he?”he signed rapidly.
The prisoners only stared at him, befuddled. Of course, they wouldn’t understand. Brom considered writing it down, but there was no guarantee that these men could read. Anyway, it would waste time.
He shook his head wildly and took off running again, feeling the stares of the confused prisoners burning into his back.
He took the secret passage because it was faster, ignoring the horrified stares of the soldiers standing guard at the top when he burst out from behind the tapestry.
He needed to find Laird MacPherson, and quickly. He needed to tell him. He would be in his council room, talking to his advisors. The room was just down this hall, and then…
“Where are ye going, then?”
Brom stopped dead at the sound of Lady Tabitha’s voice. If it had been any other advisor, he would have just kept going, but not her.
He turned towards her, signing rapidly, grateful that she could understand him.
Missing prisoner. Must find the Laird.
Lady Tabitha pursed her lips. “A missing prisoner? Ye have never lost a prisoner before.”
I know!
She chuckled at the expression on his face. “Who is it?”
A soldier, Gregor.
“The name rings a bell. What is his crime?”
