Nottingham

  She wouldn’t let this place get the better of her. That’s what they wanted, it’s why they built it. It was cold and damp because they wanted her to be uncomfortable. If she let that bother her, they got what they wanted. When she missed Will so much it hurt, when she wanted to scratch her own hair out, that was their plan, too. It wouldn’t work, not on her. She wouldn’t be staying here. This was just a place. It was just a place.

  Her mind flirted with a thought. Like scratching a bug bite, she’d realize she was doing it before remembering not to.

  William de Wendenal’s offer.

  No, that wasn’t the way they’d get out of this. Not by someone else’s hand. No, they would get through it together, her and Will. That was her choice.

  You’ll have to make another choice, her fear whispered. The choice to leave him behind.

  Will. She didn’t see his face when she thought of him, but rather a collection of expressions, just an instant long each. A flash of his eyebrows. A wrinkling of his nose. A guilty smile he couldn’t hide. That stupid way he’d flick his tongue out when he thought he was being intimidating. The way he’d brush a floppy wave of blondfire off his forehead just to have it tumble forward again. His little half utterances that weren’t words when he was trying to think. The stubble on his cheek, it felt differently on her hand than it did on her lips, than it did on her thighs.

  For years she had skirted at the outsides of the Ten Bells, taking grief for being a girl but growing up to give as much as she took. Once they were old enough for such things, half the Bells boasted of having spent a night with her, but at least half of them were liars. Will never paid her no mind, and gave his attention instead to girls he knew he could play with and throw away.

  “Why me?” he’d asked one night, lying naked in her arms in someone’s bed, someone who would later come home in time to see them climbing out the window.

  “You’re better than them,” she said, with crystal certainty. “Everyone important started somewhere. The other boys will grow up and die here. But this is just where you start. I can see it.”

  That had been all he needed. Will wasn’t interested in petty gang territories anymore. They had left Nottingham that night. Will even got on a knee to ask her to join him. She only whispered one word into his ear.

  “Anywhere.”

  * * *

  THE ONLY LIGHT CAME with the gords, and left with them, too. That meant the darkness was safest, the shadows became security. The moment she was capable of seeing something, the future became dangerous.

  They told her she’d hang, and she had no idea how long ago that had been. In all that time, she had not been harmed. Only once had she worried, when a gord came alone, scratching between his legs and sucking in his breath, eyeing her. That blank stare men get when they can only see one thing. “Go ahead,” she had said, “if you like warts on your cock. I might even enjoy it, since no one else will touch me.”

  But something told her that empty threats weren’t the reason she hadn’t been touched. Someone wanted her healthy, which meant she was valuable.

  They could take anything they wanted from her, except her collection of facts.

  The only time she’d left the cage was for that talk with William de Wendenal. But he had said, “Good morning,” so she had watched the shadows move, slowly. So slowly, but it had been enough. Now she knew which direction was east, so she also knew which direction was north. She had memorized the number of footsteps down each tunnelway as they traveled. She kept a map in her mind. She’d get a chance to use it. Will was somewhere down the north tunnel.

  Every bit of information was a weapon in her hands. There’d be an opportunity. She just had to be ready.

  When next she awoke, it was noise and light, and she kept herself curled on the ground, pretending to be asleep. An iron gate opened and closed, and for a fierce moment her blood stopped, her skin prickled into ice.

  It’s time, the dark gripped her. Up to the gallows with Elena Gamwell. They’ll make Will watch.

  But the door wasn’t hers. It was the cell beside her, which had always been empty. So far as she could tell, there were only the two cells in this finger of the tunnels, probably reserved for exclusive guests like sheriff-killers. “Wait here,” came a man’s voice. “We’ll get it sorted.”

  She peeked through her eyelids as the gord closed the door again, and rumbled off down the tunnelway.

  “Excuse me,” a ragged voice came from beside her. Before the light vanished, two bony fingers wrapped around the bars between them, then two more. “Are you new?”

  Part of Elena wanted to respond coldly. She knew better than to befriend another prisoner down here. That was a trick the gords had used in Sinner Mary’s. They’d put one of their own in the cells, to play the victim and make friends. Captivity had a way of blinding people to danger. Us versus them tastes good. But she could hear the man’s knuckles rattle against the iron. She reached out and touched them, paperthin skin stretched over hard bone. Her heart went out to the old man, and there was no harm in civility.

  “I am new,” she said. “How long have you been here?”

  “Have you seen my children?”

  Her throat was dry now, and it was harder to answer. Maybe there was less air to breathe. She had to move away from him, for some reason she had to. “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh,” he creaked. It didn’t seem to be the answer he was looking for. She knew it was a terrible thought, but all that rang through her head as she turned away was don’t let that be me.

  You’ll have to make that choice.

  A minute later, an hour later, a day later, she felt her neighbor shift, startle, and grab at the bars again. “Are you new?” he asked a second time. Curiosity got the better of her, she leaned over again, against the bars, she felt his quivering finger, the crispy callus at its tip brushed her cheek. “Have you seen my children?”

  His breath was warm but stank of rot—they were mere inches from each other. She squinted, and could make out the faintest of details. He was bald, his pupils so wide there was no knowing the color of his eyes. White and red milk mixed at their corners, and his skin was wrinkled and spotted.

  “They love you,” she whispered for some reason, “and they’re safe.”

  When he blinked, his eyes were wetter. “Oh, little El. Tell Norman and Stephen to watch over their mother. Tell Amelia I’ll be a little late.”

  Elena’s heart stopped. Little El … she’d been one of Much’s playmates, the daughter of Amelia and Baynard. Baynard had been Lord Walter of Locksley’s chamberlain. Elena, along with the rest of their group, had long assumed he had died in the fire or afterward, despite Amelia’s belief that her husband was still alive.

  Baynard shook his head numbly back and forth. “Are you new?” he asked. “Have you seen my children?”

  Not like him, the fear clawed at her skull. You have to get out.

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY BAYNARD was gone, replaced by a new prisoner, a massive man with beady eyes amidst a mane of hair. The now familiar darkness was traded away for a regular lantern that kept the newcomer’s cell bright. The gords treated him with respect, brought him a chair, gave him plenty of opportunities to stretch out of his cage. His name was Morg, apparently, and he was a Guardsman, apparently, who had done something wrong, apparently. She didn’t care for the stink of gord, but his presence made a change of pace for the better.

  He wasn’t talkative. “You don’t speak,” he’d order when she tried to ask him a question. Sometimes he’d respond with only a violent grunt that sounded very much like his own name. Even still, this beastman’s snorting was better than nothing.

  “What will you do to me if I do speak?” she asked him. “It’s not quite as threatening when you’re behind bars as well.”

  “You don’t speak.”

  “I guess you’re wrong about that,” she snarled. “So what did you do? Innocent, I’m sure. But I killed a sheriff. Did you do any
thing as bad as all that? If not, it’s not really fair for you to end up the same place I did, is it? I think that’s sort of funny. Don’t you think that’s sort of funny?”

  “You don’t speak.”

  “I do speak. I just did. I’m still speaking. You’re the one that doesn’t speak. Except to say, ‘You don’t speak.’ That’s sort of funny, too, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t speak.

  The gords that tended to her new friend were kinder to her as well. They were new. Not the same faces she’d seen in the first part of her captivity, not even the same uniform. These ones wore a fresh forest green over their tunics, which was enough to tell Elena something troubling was brewing up above.

  At Sinner Mary’s, the best opportunities were in the middle of guard rotations.

  This was something more than that—it was a complete changeover.

  This was the opportunity. If she waited a day, an hour, even a breath to learn more, it would be gone.

  The last time she had hesitated, for a solitary moment, the cost was Much’s life.

  “Tell the Sheriff I’m willing to make a bargain,” she told one of them, who raised an eyebrow but agreed. Once he was gone she stretched her arms, her legs, her back, reawakening every muscle that had found new pains since she had been thrown into the cell. She’d need them soon.

  The next time footsteps approached her end of the tunnel, it wasn’t for Morg. A new guard who smelled of pork and feet kicked dirt through the bars of Elena’s cell and unlocked it. She’d been at the mercy of men most of her life, men who thought their brute strength made them strong. Sometimes she’d let them threaten her, she’d play meek, she’d choose to let them believe what they wanted. Other times she would correct them. A fellow like this pigfoot wasn’t worth correcting. Still, her heart pumped and her face flushed cold as she was flung out of her cell.

  But she could control that fear. When men spoke of bravery they thought that talking about it made it theirs. Thinking when the time would come they could simply decide to be brave. Fear was the same way. You can’t prepare to be afraid, you can only get better at it over time. Elena had been afraid too many times in her life, so she knew what to expect. It was a shocking sensation, fear, how it simultaneously numbs and enhances the world.

  She had memorized the pathways. She closed her eyes now as they walked, just to confirm she knew where she was. There would be a set of empty cages at the base of the tunnel upward, locked with a heavy gate. There were sounds, not many, mostly groans and whispers, coming down other tunnelways. She wondered about the others here, imprisoned for too long, what they thought when they saw her.

  You’ll end up just like them, the fear scratched. You’ll miss your chance, thinking you can save Will, too. You can’t.

  Eventually the pigfoot guard grunted something only pigfeet would understand. With the same amount of respect as earlier, she was thrown to the ground outside the gate that led up to the surface cage, while pigfoot fumbled with his keys. She glanced at the holding cages beside the door, one empty with its door open, the other held a withered bald figure whose piteous fingers she recognized. Baynard.

  There was no time for second thoughts. She heaved her chest into a sob, as best she could, and let her body go limp so that he’d have to pick her up. She made the pigfoot stoop to carry her, grabbing her by the armpit, and she whimpered, a wavering sob sound. His hand retracted just a hair, thinking he’d hurt her. She sobbed harder, he pushed the gate open, then nudged her through.

  His head made a thick crack when she twirled and slammed the gate onto it. She pulled him back in place and slung the iron mass into his temples a second time, a dull reverberating noise loping down the hallway. She jabbed her fingers at his throat to keep him from making any sound. A third slam and his big body shivered and sloughed onto the floor. She twisted and pulled the keys from the gate, locking him on the other side, and slid into the holding cage beside the door. There she was effectively invisible, and she needed a moment to clear her mind.

  A slow march of infinite time passed. Her heart was racing, but she forced herself to focus on stillness, to listen to the environment. After they’d killed the Sheriff they had run through the castle in panic, forgetting to pay attention. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. She kept one eyelid closed still—there was lantern light here she didn’t want to acclimate to, she would switch eyes as she moved in and out of darkness. In the deep inky wretch of waiting, she heard other slams of gates, other noises and shouts, but nothing worrying. No danger yet.

  The wide tunnel to the east led up and out. But she didn’t have Will.

  Go now, it said. This is your only chance.

  She breathed once, twice, calmed herself, and ran away from the exit and down the north tunnel. When she came to the first fork, she hugged a wall and pursed her lips. A short little trill, it echoed down the length, colder and hollow. Something swelled inside of her, a lazing dizziness. The skin on her arms pimpled and her feet curled into little balls, until finally the return whistle came. And it was close.

  She raced down an unknown branch in the tunnels, fingers patting against the ever-constricting walls, alternating dry and wet. The cave curled into a hub of cells like her own. No lights, no lanterns. Lanterns meant guards. But the eye she’d protected could just barely distinguish the shapes around her. She peeled her body around the entrance and clicked her tongue twice, quietly. To her right came the answer, and a moment later her arms reached through the bars around him. Her lips kissed his hair, his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her hard.

  His was barely a whisper, “God’s balls, I fucking love you.”

  She kissed his head again and again. “Keys?” she asked, and Will pointed. Off the hook they came. Carefully, to keep them from rattling, she tried each in Will’s gate until it gave way, lurching outward with far more noise than she would have preferred. Will took a moment to stretch, then he placed the keys delicately inside his neighbor’s cell. Elena tugged at him. They shouldn’t risk bringing anyone else. But his neighbor oddly didn’t move, just stared at the keyring, and Elena pulled Will out and away.

  She held his hand as they ran, though they didn’t say a word. His fingers felt thinner than normal. Lantern light grew at an intersection ahead of them, and she pulled to the side. He squeezed her incredulously, but she knew what she was doing. She put her finger to his lips, which he kissed, and the light grew until its owner could be seen, walking across the hallway, and disappeared down the other side again. Elena waited until its glow was almost imperceptible, then they were off again, keeping to the walls, eventually back to the holding cages, and the slope up.

  Will tugged her toward the exit, but mercy compelled her to pause for a moment at Baynard’s cage. She pushed the first key into the lock but it stuck oddly, she hastened to pull it out and the key snapped. With horror she knelt down and saw the broken chunk of iron, sheared off, now wedged into the keyhole’s recess. She grappled at its bars and looked for any weakness, to no effect. Baynard, inside, gasped and crawled away from her. She plied the tip of her finger into the keyhole to try to scratch out the broken key, until Will’s arms engulfed her from behind, holding her still, holding her tight.

  “We have to go,” he whispered, and Elena let the tears come, hot on her cheeks. Will cradled her head and wiped her face. She nodded and started to leave. “I’m sorry,” Will said to the man he didn’t recognize in the cage. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  That was it, then. There was no rethinking it. Up the slope, the tunnel curved to the left until daylight crept in, faint at first and then sudden, blinding. It was a long even tunnel that led into the white, and no silhouettes of bodies blocked the way. Will’s breath escaped him in a quiet laugh and he entwined his fingers with hers. They kept running even after the white glow became soft enough to reveal the tall even bars at the exit.

  It wouldn’t matter, she thought. One of her keys would open it. Or it would be nearby, as the
last one had been.

  But there was nothing else nearby. Just tunnel wall and the iron, a square gate in its middle, locked. None of their keys were even the right size. The air moved here, it felt glorious against her skin, but it could pass through the bars that she could not.

  “Hallo, then.”

  There was a black shape on the other side, light all behind him. Neither Elena nor Will made to conceal themselves, there was nowhere to hide.

  “Need a little help, then?”

  The shape stopped too far away from the bars, too far for them to reach through and grab him. “No need to be cross then, you can talk to me. What are your names?”

  “Go to hell,” Will mumbled, turning away.

  “I’m so sorry,” he replied, “I am, that’s an awful name. Must have been difficult on you. And then this, on top of it all, what a rotten day for you. Only gets worse, too. Have you seen one of these?”

  The man drifted to the side, and came back hefting the silhouette of a crossbow.

  “Nasty business, this one. Goes through these bars more than a bit easier than you could.”

  “So what?” Will asked, pitiful and desperate. Elena’s heart could have broken. “You’re going to hang us. Why not die today rather than wait?”

  The figure crouched down, a little closer. Still not close enough. His eyes were set wide, large, they pushed forward. “Boy, I don’t mean to be mean. But trust me, this isn’t the way to go. Hanging is clean, and before God. You don’t want to die where you can’t see the sky. And I don’t want to kill you. Please don’t make me. Go back to your cells, and pray. I’ll pray for you, too, I swear it.”

  Will slammed his body against the bars and slumped down, letting out something between a scream and a laugh. Elena reached down and twisted her fingers into his hair, tracing the back of his neck. His other hand came up to meet hers, wrapping around her finger.