We rush to remove the locks from the prison cells, using anything lying around. I find a nail and start picking locks. Silva locates an old pipe, discarded in a corner. She swings it at one of the rusty prison locks. The noise is deafening, and will without a doubt attract guards. After a few blows, that one breaks easily. The next is more difficult—it has to be smashed apart with multiple blows, but eventually she gets it.
As soon as they realize they’re being freed, the people stand, shaky knees atrophied from sitting too long. They’re grateful, but confused. “Where do we go?” one of them asks. The others nod and turn to me with desperate faces.
“We’ll lead you out,” I tell them. “As soon as it’s safe.” I hope I can keep that promise. There are so many cells, and it’s taking longer than I’d anticipated. The newer locks are more complicated than the ones I’ve picked before. Silva has some luck using brute force, but she’s only successfully broken a few.
The freed Ophir huddle together against a wall, anxiously waiting for the next move. I can imagine the guards coming our way. They’ll burst into the prison any minute. And then none of us will survive.
As the size of the crowd grows, Silva approaches me. She leans down and speaks softly. “I think we should start moving them out of here.”
“That’s a good idea. You know where to go?”
Without answering, Silva turns back to the scared prisoners. “Go, run,” Silva tells them. She points the way Gin ran. “Follow that hall to the end. There should be an exit to the storage rooms. Through there, you can get outside. There’s a door behind a false shelf.”
“Do as she says,” I urge. But the prisoners don’t move right away. Some of them look at each other. None want to be the first. Or else they don’t trust us.
“You’re free,” I repeat. After the initial hesitation, one young man breaks from the group and takes off down the passageway. Once he does, others follow, and then all of them begin to run.
I return to working on the last remaining cell locks. I wonder if Gin is all right. If she completes her mission, I’ll know. On the other hand, if something terrible becomes of her, I won’t. The faster I finish letting the prisoners out, the faster I can go find Gin.
I manage to get another lock loose, and the man I free hobbles off to find the others who went before.
Silva puts down the pipe, panting. “I can’t get this one.”
“You should go,” I tell her. “Help them find their way out and lead them out of here.” I curse at the lock. This one’s giving me a really hard time. It’s so deteriorated inside. There’s no telling how long the elderly woman cowering inside has been there.
Silva doesn’t argue and starts ushering the prisoners. “This way! This way! Follow me!” she calls.
I return to the lock. Other prisoners, eager to get out, have begun to gather at the cell doors, watching me as I work.
Some bang on the bars or shout out desperately, “Please, free us!” and “Let us out!”
“Gods willing,” I answer. “You’ll all be free shortly.”
“I haven’t seen my son in months,” cries out another.
There are murmurs of agreement. Another speaks up: “My mother thinks I went off to the ships, to join the pirates. She doesn’t know I’m here. She probably thinks I’m dead. I must see her again, before she’s gone.”
I can’t respond to them all. Not that I have to—I know they all simply want to be heard. They’ve been living in hell, without the slightest hope, certain they’ll die there—the only question being how and when. Many no doubt welcome the end and pray it will hasten to come. I remember what that feels like.
There’s aclickin the ancient lock. Success. I pull the door open and offer my hand to the old woman. She stands and hobbles out of the cell. Before she goes, she squeezes my hand with hers, then pats it affectionately. “Thank you,” she whispers hoarsely.
“You’re welcome.” I clear my throat, try to hold back the emotion that’s threatening to overtake me. I don’t want to cry. “Go on, hurry, get out of here before they discover us.”
I watch her leave. If Gin and I actually manage to pull this off and retrieve the relics, the old woman and all the others we freed will have an opportunity to make a better life, or at least spend the remainder of their years in peace and comfort. I think of that marvelous, shining city. Our heritage, our hope for the future.
Once she’s out of sight, I begin on the next. Another difficult one. Might be something broken off inside the lock. There’s an elderly man in the corner of the cell, his knees drawn up to his bony chest, patiently waiting for his turn.
Almost done. “Soon,” I promise.
A door creaks open in the distance. For a second, I expect to see Gin returning, triumphant, the relics secured, our mission complete without further violence or loss of life.
Then I hear the footsteps above. Many of them. Soldiers. Heading for the stairs to the prison.
I work on the lock furiously. Panic spreads through the room. The few remaining prisoners shake the doors on their cells.
“Be patient,” I say, to no one and everyone. I need to move faster if I’m going to release everyone and find Gin before it’s too late. I need to warn her. Help her.
The lock clicks.
