by Robin Hobb
As prisons go, it was the nicest one I’d ever been in. I caught myself in that thought and bared my teeth to it in something that was not quite a grin. There was a rope-laced bedstead with a bag of straw on it for a mattress. There was a chamber pot in the corner. Some light came in from the barred window, and some warmth. Not much of either, but it was still a great deal warmer than outside. It had not the severity of a serious prison. I decided it was a holding area for drunk or disruptive soldiers. It felt odd to take off my cloak and mittens and set them aside. I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited.
The only remarkable thing that happened that evening was that the meal offered meat and bread and even a mug of ale. The old man opened the door to pass me the tray. When he came to take the tray back, he left two blankets for me. I thanked him, and he looked startled. Then he shocked me by observing, ‘You’ve your father’s voice as well as his eyes.’ Then he shut the door in my face, rather hastily. No one spoke further to me, and the only conversation I overheard were the curses and jibes of a dice game. From the voices I decided there were three younger men in the antechamber as well as the old key-holder.
As evening came on, they gave up their dice for quiet talk. I could make out little of what was said over the shrilling of the wind outside. I arose soundlessly from my bed and ghosted to the door. When I peered out of its barred window, I saw no less than three sentries on duty. The old man was asleep on his own bed in the corner, but these three in Regal’s gold and brown took their duties seriously. One was a beardless boy, probably no more than fourteen. The other two moved like soldiers. One had a face more scarred than mine; I decided he was a brawler. The other wore a neatly-trimmed beard and was obviously in command of the other two. All were awake, if not exactly alert. The brawler was teasing the boy about something. The boy’s face was sullen. Those two, at least, did not get along. From teasing the lad, the brawler went to endlessly complaining about Moonseye. The liquor was bad, there were too few women, and those there were were as cold as the winter itself. He wished the King would cut their leash and let them loose on the Mountain whore’s thieving cut-throats. He knew they could cut a path to Jhaampe and take that tree-fort town in a matter of days. Where was the sense in waiting? On and on, he ranted. The others nodded to it as to a litany they knew well. I slipped away from the window and returned to my bed to think.
Nice cage.
At least they fed me well.
Not as well as I fed myself. A little warm blood in your meat is what you need. Will you escape soon?
As soon as I work out how.
I spent some time carefully exploring the limits of my cell. Walls and floors of hewn plank, old and hard as iron to my fingers. A tightly-planked ceiling I could barely brush with my fingertips. And the wooden door with the barred window.
If I were getting out, it would have to be through the door. I returned to the barred window. ‘Could I have some water?’ I called out softly.
The youngster startled rather badly and the brawler laughed at him. The third guard looked at me, then went silently to take a dipper of water from a barrel in the corner. He brought it to the window and passed only the bowl of it through the bars. He let me drink from it, then withdrew it and walked away. ‘How long are they going to hold me here?’ I called after him.
‘Till you’re dead,’ the brawler said confidently.
‘We’re not to speak to him,’ the boy reminded him, and ‘Shut up!’ ordered their sergeant. The command included me. I stayed at the door, watching them, gripping the bars. It made the boy nervous but the brawler regarded me with the avaricious attention of a circling shark. It would take very little baiting to make that one want to hit me. I wondered if that could be useful. I was very tired of being hit, but it seemed the one thing I did well lately. I decided to press a little, to see what would happen. ‘Why are you not to speak to me?’ I asked curiously.
They exchanged glances. ‘Get away from the window and shut up,’ the sergeant ordered me.
‘I just asked a question,’ I objected mildly. ‘What can be the harm in speaking to me?’
The sergeant stood up and I immediately backed away obediently.
‘I’m locked up and there’s three of you. I’m bored, that’s all. Can’t you at least tell me what you know about what’s to become of me?’
‘They’ll do with you what should have been done the first time they killed you. Hanged over water and chopped into quarters and burned, Bastard,’ the brawler offered me.
His sergeant rounded on him. ‘Shut up. He’s baiting you, you idiot. No one says another word to him. Not one. That’s how a Witted one gets you into his power. By drawing you into talk. That’s how he killed Bolt and his troop.’ The sergeant shot me a savage look, then turned it on his men as well. They resumed their posts. The brawler gave me a sneering smile.
‘I don’t know what they’ve told you about me, but it’s not true,’ I offered. No one replied. ‘Look, I’m no different from you. If I had some great magical power, do you think I’d be locked up like this? No. I’m just a scapegoat, that’s all. You all know how it’s done. If something goes wrong, someone has to take the blame for it. And I’m the one who’s landed in the shit. Well, look at me and think of the stories you’ve heard. I knew Bolt when he was with Regal at Buckkeep. Do I look like a man who could take Bolt down?’ I kept it up for the better part of their watch. I did not really think I could convince them I was an innocent man. But I could convince them that my talking or their replying was nothing to be feared. I told tales of my past life and misfortunes, certain they would be repeated all over the camp. Though what good that might do me, I did not know. But I stood at the door, gripping the bars at the window, and with very tiny motions, twisted at the bars I gripped. Back and forth I worked them against their settings. If they moved, I could not detect it.
The next day dragged for me. I felt that each hour that passed was one that brought danger closer to me. Burl had not come to see me. I felt sure he was holding me, waiting for someone to come and take me off his hands. I feared it would be Will. I did not think Regal would trust me to anyone else to transport. I did not want another encounter with Will. I did not feel I had the strength to withstand him. My work for the day consisted of jimmying at my bars and watching my captors. By the end of that day, I was ready to take a chance. After my evening meal of cheese and porridge, I lay down on my bed and composed myself to Skill.
I lowered my walls cautiously, fearing to find Burl waiting for me. I reached out of myself and felt nothing. I composed myself and tried again, with the same results. I opened my eyes and stared up into blackness. The unfairness of it sickened me. The Skill-dreams could come and take me at their will, but now when I sought that Skill-river, it eluded me completely. I made two more efforts before a throbbing headache forced me to give it up. The Skill was not going to help me get out of here.
That leaves the Wit, Nighteyes observed. He felt very near. I don’t really see how that is going to help me, either, I confided to him.
Nor do I. But I have dug out a spot under the wall, in case you are able to get out of your cage. It was not easy, for the ground is frozen and the logs of the wall were buried deep. But if you can get out of the cage, I can get you out of the city.
That is wise planning, I praised him. At least one of us was doing something.
Do you know where I den tonight? There was suppressed merriment in the thought.
Where do you den? I asked obediently.
Right under your feet. There was just space enough for me to crawl under here.
Nightey
es, this is foolish boldness. You may be seen or the marks of your digging discovered.
A dozen dogs have been here before me. No one will mark my coming and going. I have used the evening to see much of this men’s warren. All of the buildings have spaces beneath them. It is very easy to slip from one to another.
Be careful, I warned him, but could not deny there was comfort in knowing him so close. I passed an uneasy night. The three guards were careful always to keep a door between us. I tried my charms on the old man the next morning when he passed me a mug of tea and two pieces of hard bread. ‘So you knew my father,’ I observed as he manoeuvred my food through the bars. ‘You know, I have no memories of him. He never spent any time with me.’
‘Count your blessings, then,’ the old man replied shortly. ‘Knowing the prince was not the same as liking him. Stiff as a stick he was. Rules and orders for us, while he was out making bastards. Yes, I knew your father. I knew him too well for my comfort.’ And he turned away from the bars, dashing any hope I had of making him an ally. I retired to sit on my bed with my bread and tea and stare hopelessly at the walls. Another day had ticked endlessly by. I was sure it brought Will another day’s journey closer to me. Another day closer to being dragged back to Tradeford. One day closer to death.
In the cold and the dark of the night, Nighteyes awoke me. Smoke. A lot of it.
I sat up in my bed. I went to the barred window and peered out. The old man was asleep in his cot. The boy and the brawler were playing at dice, while the other man carved at his nails with his belt knife. All was calm.
Where is the smoke coming from?
Shall I go and see?
If you would. Be careful.
When am I not?
A time passed, during which I stood to one side of my cell door and watched my guards. Then Nighteyes reached me again. It’s a big building, smelling of grain. It burns in two places.
Does no one cry an alarm?
No one. The streets are empty and dark. This end of town is asleep.
I closed my eyes and shared his vision. The building was a granary. Someone had set two fires against it. One only smouldered, but the other was licking well up the dry wooden wall of the building.
Come back to me. Perhaps we can use this to our advantage.
Wait.
Nighteyes moved purposefully up the street, slipping from building to building as he went. Behind us, the granary fire began to crackle as it gained strength. He paused, sniffed the air and changed his direction. Soon he was looking at another fire. This one was eating eagerly into a covered pile of hay at the back of a barn. Smoke rose lazily, wisping up into the night. Suddenly, a tongue of flame leapt up and with an immense whoosh, the whole pile was ablaze. Sparks rode the heat into the night sky. Some still glowed as they settled onto roofs nearby.
Someone is setting those fires. Come back to me now!
Nighteyes came swiftly. On his way to me, he saw another fire nibbling at a pile of oily rags stuffed under the corner of a barracks. An errant breeze encouraged it to explore. The flames licked up a piling supporting the building, and curled eagerly along the bottom of the floor.
Winter had dried the wooden town with its harsh cold as thoroughly as any heat of summer. Lean-tos and tents spanned the spaces between the buildings. If the fires burned undetected much longer, all of Moonseye would be a cinder by morning. And I with it, if I were still locked in my cell.
How many guard you?
Four. And a locked door.
One of them will have the key.
Wait. Let us see if our odds get better. Or they may open the door to move me.
Somewhere in the cold town, a man raised his voice in a shout. The first fire had been spotted. I stood inside my cell, listening with Nighteyes’ ears. Gradually the outcry increased, until even the guards outside my door stood, asking one another, ‘What’s that?’
One went to the door and opened it. Cold wind and the smell of smoke coiled into the room. The brawler drew his head back in and announced, ‘Looks like a big fire at the other end of town.’ In an instant, the other two men were leaning out the door. Their tense conversation woke the old man, who also came to have a look. Outside, someone ran past in the street, shouting, ‘Fire! Fire down by the granary! Bring buckets!’
The boy looked to the officer. ‘Should I go and see?’
For a moment the man hesitated but the temptation was too much. ‘No. You stay here while I go. Stay alert.’ He snatched up his cloak and headed out into the night. The boy looked disappointedly after him. He remained standing at the door, staring out into the night. Then, ‘Look, there’s more flames! Over there!’ he exclaimed. The brawler swore, then snatched up his cloak.
‘I’m going to go and have a look.’
‘But we were told to stay and guard the Bastard!’
‘You stay! I’ll be right back, I just want to see what’s going on!’ He called the last words over his shoulder as he hurried away. The boy and the old man exchanged glances. The old man went back to his bed and lay down, but the boy continued to hang out the door. From my cell door I could see a slice of the street. A handful of men ran by, then someone drove a team and wagon past at a fast clip. Everyone seemed headed toward the fire.
‘How bad does it look?’ I asked.
‘Can’t see much from here. Just flames beyond the stables. A lot of sparks flying up.’ The boy sounded disappointed to be so far from the excitement. He suddenly recalled whom he was speaking to. He abruptly drew in his head and shut the door. ‘Don’t talk to me!’ he warned me and then went to sit down.
‘How far from here is the granary?’ I asked. He refused to even glance at me, but sat stony-eyed, staring at the wall. ‘Because,’ I went on conversationally, ‘I just wondered what you were going to do if the fires spread this far. I wouldn’t care to burn alive. They did leave you the keys, didn’t they?’ The boy glanced immediately toward the old man. His hand made an involuntary twitch toward his pouch as if to be sure he had them still, but neither made a reply. I stood by the barred window and watched him. After a time the boy went to the door and peered out again. I saw his jaw clench. The old man went to look over his shoulder.
‘It’s spreading, isn’t it? A winter fire is a terrible thing. Everything dry as bones.’
The boy would not reply, but he turned to look at me. The old man’s hand stole down to the key in his pouch.
‘Come and bind my hands now and take me out of here. None of us want to be in this building if the flames come this far.’
A glance from the boy. ‘I’m not stupid,’ he told me. ‘I won’t be the one to die for letting you go free.’
‘Burn where you stand, Bastard, for all I care,’ the old man added. He craned his neck out the door again. Even from afar I could hear the sudden whoosh as some building vanished in an eruption of fire. The wind brought the smell of the smoke strongly now and I saw tension building in the boy’s stance. I saw a man run past the open door, shouting something to the boy about fighting in the market square. More men ran past in the street, and I heard the jangle of swords and light armour as they ran. Ash rode on the winds now and the roaring of flames was louder than the gusting winds. Drifting smoke greyed the air outside.
Then suddenly boy and man came tumbling back into the room. Nighteyes followed them, showing every tooth he had. He filled the door and blocked their escape. The snarl he let loose was louder than the crackling of the flames outside.
‘Unlock the door of my cell, and he won’t hurt you,’ I offered them.
Instead the boy drew his sword. He was good. He did not wait for the wolf to come in, but cha
rged at him, weapon levelled, forcing Nighteyes back out of the door. Nighteyes avoided the blade easily, but he no longer had them cornered. The boy followed up his advantage, stepping out into the darkness to follow the wolf. The second the door was no longer blocked, the old man slammed it.
‘Are you going to stay in here and burn alive with me?’ I asked him conversationally.
In an instant, he had decided. ‘Burn alone!’ he spat at me. He flung the door open again and raced outside.
Nighteyes! He’s the one with the key, the old one who runs away.
I’ll get it.
I was alone in my prison now. I half expected the boy to come back, but he did not. I grabbed the bars of the windows and shook the door against its latch. It barely budged. One bar felt slightly loose. I wrenched at it, bracing my feet against the door to lever at it with all my weight. An eternity later, one end twisted free. I bent it down and worked it back and forth until it came out in my hand. But even if all the bars came out, the opening would still be too small for me to get through. I tried, but the loose bar I gripped was too thick to get into the cracks around the door to pry at it. I could smell smoke everywhere now, thick in the air. The fire was close. I slammed my shoulder against the door but it didn’t even shiver. I reached through the window and groped down. My straining fingers encountered a heavy metal bar. I walked my fingertips across it until I came to the lock that secured it in place. I could brush my fingers against it but no more. I couldn’t decide if the room were truly getting warmer or if I were imagining it.
I was blindly bashing my iron bar against the lock and the braces that supported it when the outer door opened. A guard in gold and brown strode into the room, calling, ‘I’ve come for the Bastard.’ Then her glance took in the empty room.