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When John next awoke, it was still black as pitch in the dungeon, but he had an instinctive feeling that dawn was approaching—and his confrontation with Bannaster.

Before he could speak, Philip suddenly said, “I remember!”

“You remember what?”

“Oh, ’tis good you’re awake. I spent half the night wrestling with the identity of our captor.”

“Hardly half the night. You were snoring almost immediately.”

“Then I must have awakened hours ago. But I’ve finally put a face to that voice. I can’t tell you his name, but he’s a common soldier in Bannaster’s army. I’ll recognize him when I see him. He challenged me one day, and I might have made the mistake of defeating him rather too easily.”

“How intelligent.”

“I know. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

“I’ll grant it when we’re free.”

“At least you’re confident.”

They settled into a tense silence that seemed to last a long time.

“Do you think he’s forgotten about us?” Philip asked.

“I cannot believe so.”

John found himself picturing Elizabeth in his bed, sleeping there without him. That made him a little too uncomfortable. He adjusted himself, and then sat up. Though he still had a lingering ache in his head, he felt good. He was restless with the need to move, but he couldn’t pace and risk falling.

Perhaps he could hear something. He went to press his ear to the door—and found it ajar.

“Philip, the door is open, and you didn’t hear it happen.” He felt Philip at his back as he opened the door wide and moved out. “I knew you weren’t awake for hours.”

Philip only snorted.

John’s hands encountered the wall soon enough, proving that they were indeed in a corridor. They went left first, hit a dead end, and then walked back the other way. They found another door ajar, and stairs leading up.

“What do you make of this?” John asked, hesitating at the bottom. “Could it be a trap?”

“He had us well held. What would be the point?”

“I wish I had a sword,” John said in frustration. “But let’s go.”

He led the way, climbing up slowly, regretting the annoyance of the splint still bound to his lower leg. He held one hand in front of him, and one trailing against the wall. After a while, he wished he would have counted the steps, because it seemed to go on a long time.

Until he slammed his head on something above him.

“Ow!”

“What happened?”

John reached above and ran his hands over wood. “I think it’s a trap door.” It budged, although not much. “Come up beside me and help push.”

Between the two of them, they lifted it up enough to see the shadows of a storage room, lit by a single torch in a wall bracket.

“’Tis the undercroft beneath the castle,” John said, upon spotting the curved arches supporting the ceiling. “If there’s someone in here, he’s not paying attention to us.”

“But someone left a torch to light our way,” Philip said.