I open my door, wishing that it was quieter as it slides open, noting how every sound seems exaggerated when one is trying to not make any noise. A quick peek up and down the hallway proves that no one has heard me. Good. I let my eyes linger on Amal’s room. He stared at me the entire time during dinner as though he knew I was planning something—a treasonous act—and it took all of my willpower to not allow his suspicions to get to me. He has always been an ass and I never liked him, and he never appreciated my spurning of his affections, nor my threats to be his undoing; and he seems to be rather cozy with Molers, another thing I will have to watch out for. I slip out of my room, keeping an eye on Amal’s door, hoping that he won’t come out and catch me sneaking away. My door closes with a soft hiss behind me as I creep down the dim hallway, moving from faint lamplight to faint lamplight—a thief in the night. I reach the stairs and ease my foot on the first step, doing my best to not make it creak as I tiptoe downward, with my ears alert, listening for any sign that someone was up. As I near the fourth step from the top, I step over it, clinging to the rail so as not to fall down, avoiding its incessant creak whenever someone puts their weight on it. The silence surrounds me, suffocating me as I peak around the corner, making certain that I am alone.
A cough resonates from far down the hallway, pounding my ears the way a hammer strikes a nail, striking the stiff silence and tearing an irreparable slit into its veil. It’s Molers. Sweat forms around my neck and back, soaking my shirt as his heavy boots draw nearer. What is he doing up? Lights out is supposed to apply to everyone. I remember a previous conversation I overheard between him and Commander Vye and how he insinuated that she will not remain commander of the eastern sector for long; that is something he covets for himself. I hurry back up the stairs, jumping over the creaky step and dash behind a corner just as he appears at the bottom of the stairwell. He flips on the light, and I shrink back into the shadows, hoping to meld with them and go unnoticed as he studies the steps. My heart tries to jump into my throat and break free of its prison as it beats, warning me that I am about to be caught, and that I was a fool to think that I could sneak out at night.
“Master Arbiter!” Renal steps out of the shadows and stalks up to Molers with that commanding presence of his, and I shrink into the shadows even more. “It’s lights out.”
“Lieutenant,” growls Molers, and I know he is still angry from the time Renal prevented him from choking me to death.
“Explain yourself,” commands Renal.
“I do not answer to you.”
“You are not on night rotation, while I am.”
“If I were a commander, you would not be speaking to me in such a manner,” Molers threatens.
“There is the reason why you are not one. Now answer me”—Renal closes the distance between him and Molers, forcing Molers to take a step back—“why are you still up?”
“I thought I heard a noise.”
“Let’s go.”
Molers gives Renal a quizzical look.
“If you heard something and an arbiter is out of bed after hours, then we should find out. So, go. See what your noise was.”
I slink away, delving further into the shadows, wondering if I will be able to make it to my room before Molers reaches the top step.
Renal snatches Molers’ arm as he starts up the stairs. “And you better pray that there is another arbiter out of bed up there, or it will be the worse for you.”
Molers steps back down to the bottom. “You will not be protected by Commander Vye forever.”
Renal grins, a secretive grin, the sort where the person smiling at you knows something that you do not, and they relish that fact and look forward to the day they can explain it to you, and Molers shrinks away, realizing his mistake. “You are free to challenge me anytime.”
Molers remains silent.
“Since you are having trouble sleeping,” Renal begins, “I suggest tiring out those muscles of yours. There was a sewage leakage in the back earlier today. Clean it up.”
Incensed, but knowing better than to push Renal, Molers salutes him and stalks away.
“And if any harm comes to that plebeian out there, I’ll give you tenfold what he receives,” Renal says, forcing Molers to pause for a moment before disappearing.
I push myself against the grainy wall, trying to control my heartrate as Renal cranes his neck, looking up the stairs for anything out of place before shutting off the light and leaving me alone in the darkness with my worries.
Chase!
When Commander Vye and I returned to the manor, an arbiter informed her of a sewage leak that had sprung, and she sent Chase to clean it up and fix it. He’s been out there all afternoon and now will be out there all night with Molers. What if Molers harms him? I start to think of how I can help him when my mind reminds me of my real purpose for sneaking out tonight. I have to help those from the crematoriums, the ones I promised to help. Chase will be fine, I remind myself. Renal did just threaten Molers if any harm comes to him. But why would Renal concern himself with the well-being of a plebeian?
Such questions will have to wait. Valuable time has been wasted due to Molers’ nosiness. I hurry down the stairs, jumping over the fourth step from the top and dash around the corner, heading for the door that goes to the plebeian quarters. Musty light illuminates the cracked door, causing my skin to glow a pale yellow as I reach it. Glancing around to make sure no one watches me, I open the door, slipping inside, shutting it behind me and sealing myself in the murky darkness beyond. I creep down the stairs to the bottom where two cobweb-coated lights spread their weak beam on the floor. A hand touches me when I reach the bottom step, and I almost jump before remembering that it is Sheila. Somehow, she knew what I was planning when I returned to the manor today and refused to take no for an answer. Now, more than ever, I am glad she is here because she gives me the strength to continue in my mission, even though it should be me encouraging her.
“You’re late,” she whispers.
“There was a delay,” I say. “Is…”
“They’re all asleep,” she replies, referring to the other plebeians down here, and I hear faint snores coming from the rooms.
“Is it all clear?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies. “No one is outside. You should be safe until you get to the fence.”
I give her a hug, knowing how much she risks. “Thank you.”
She smiles at me.
I start down the corridor, but Sheila hangs onto my hand, pulling me back. “Here.” She places a wristband in my hand.
“Where…”
“It’s Amal’s,” she replies. “I saw the way he was staring at you earlier and you can’t get caught without one.”
Something clicks in my mind as I realize what she planned, and I scold myself for not thinking of it earlier, but Sheila has. We are tracked by our wristbands, and if I wear Amal’s into the city at night, it will make any who bother to check his whereabouts think that he is the one sneaking around the city, while mine is tucked underneath my mattress.
“You clever little thief,” I whisper, proud of her and of how she has already, even for someone so young, thought about a way to save me should anyone want to scan my wristband and know where I have been. “How did you…”
“He tends to leave it in the showers.”
“I’ll be back before sunrise. Meet me in my room, if you can, but only if it’s safe.”
She nods.
I give her one last hug and send her off to bed, wishing that there was a way to keep her out of all this, but I know that I can’t.
Once Sheila has disappeared into her room, I hurry down the musty corridor, almost choking on the moist air that fills every crevice and the odor of rotted wood, coated in mold, heading for the window that Chase had shown me the night we both had snuck out.
I lift myself up and force my way through the tight space, wincing as the ends of exposed nails tear into my skin just enough to leave a burning sting. Once
through, I crouch behind some bushes, listening to the night and its silence, except for the soft scrape of a shovel scooping up the mess left by the sewage leak. I have to time this just right. As I peek around the branches and watch Molers and Chase shovel up sewage, neither looking at the other as the atmosphere around them intensifies, I position my feet underneath me, ready to spring into action as I watch, and wait for just the right moment. They both bend low, turning their backs to me, to scoop up more of the mess. I burst from the bushes and sprint across the moist grass to the fence that surrounds the manor and its iron bars imprisoning me, and shift the loose bar so that I can squeeze through, disappearing behind it and into the cloak of night just as Molers straightens up.
My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to burst free as my anxiety increases, as the knowledge of what will happen to me should I be caught fills my mind. I shove it aside. I cannot allow it to weaken my resolve or force me to abandon those people from the crematorium. They depend on me. I hurry across the damp street, my soft footfalls releasing faint echoes behind me, and to the nearest alleyway, darting down it before turning a corner down another alley that leads to the main plaza. The hum of the walkways greet my ears as I near the main plaza and its haunting emptiness as ghoulish shadows stretch across it, broken only by the arbiters on duty. Their rhythmic footsteps click on the pavement in tune to their methodical pacing as they wander the area, searching for any violators. I spot the barrels on the other side of the plaza, but an arbiter paces near them. Theses is no way for me to get to them without being seen, unless…
Steam whistles from a nearby pipe stretching up the side of one of the dilapidated buildings next to me. On closer inspection, I can see the rusted metal, having corroded from the constant dampness in the air, passage of time, and lack of repairs. With a little pressure, I can break it, giving myself the distraction I need to coerce the arbiter to leave his position by the barrels. I grip the pipe—my hands make squishing sounds as droplets of water squeeze their way out from between my skin and the metal, mixed with my sweat—and pull, grimacing as a screeching noise echoes around me, causing a rat to scurry away. I have only seconds. Once the pipe breaks and steam shoots out of it, howling its fury at me, I dart away, around a corner, and duck behind a pile of crates overflowing with rotted vegetable scraps and waste. The arbiter’s gaze jerks in my direction, focusing on the pipe, and he hurries over to it, crossing the plaza in five steps, rushing down the alley and to the pipe I had forced free of its hold, bending low to examine it. I seize my chance. Sprinting from my hiding spot, I cross the plaza, hoping that no other arbiter spots me, and reach the barrels, taking a quick glance behind me to make sure that the one arbiter I had spotted still busied himself with my handiwork. His back is to me still. Good.
I lift the top off one of the barrels, hoping that the crematorium escapees are there and that this is not a trap. As I remove the lid, frightened eyes stare back at me, blinking away the dust I have stirred, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I motion for the woman inside to come out. While the arbiter remains occupied, I pop the top off the other barrel, revealing another of the escapees, and he hurries out of the cramped space, relieved to be freed from it. They help me open the other barrels and release those hiding inside. I motion for them to follow me. As I search for the best way to leave, I spot the arbiter, staring right at us. We’ve been noticed.
“Go!” I yell at the escapees, and shove them around another corner, down another alleyway, but it is blocked, ending in a dead end.
Shit!
The arbiter calls for help, and we only have minutes before more arrive, if not less, and he stands between us and possible freedom. I snatch the scarf one of the escapees wears and tie it around my face so that only my eyes are visible, and jump out from behind the corner just as the arbiter reaches us, tackling him. We slam into the wall of the building next to us, and he grunts as the wind is knocked out of him, but I am not fast enough to block his swing at me. His fists collides with my cheek, dazing me a little, but before he can swing again, I duck out of the way, and ram the point of my elbow into his jaw. He snatches my hair, yanking me backward, and as his other arm wraps around me, I seize it, bringing it toward me as I throw my body forward and fling him over me. He crashes into the pavement, but kicks me in the stomach before I can subdue him. Forced to gasp for air, I never notice the knife until it slashes me across the right side of my abdomen, burning as it slices into me, and as the pain grips me, I shove it aside, focusing on my opponent. The glint of his knife flashes before me as he brings it toward me again, but I catch it and force his hand back until his wrist breaks, while ramming my foot into the back of his knee, knocking him to the ground. I grab the knife out of his hand, and in one swift motion, shove it into his chest, while placing my hand over his mouth and nose, so that he cannot take a final breath.
Frozen, I stare at the body of my fellow arbiter, dead by my hands, and for what? Because I wanted to be a hero? To save people I don’t even know? The knife is still in my blood-soaked hand. I throw it down the alley, away from me, not wanting to be a part of this terribleness any longer, wishing that this was all a dream, but it’s not, and now I must make a choice. Eyes stare back at me, wondering what my next move will be as footsteps approach. One life or many: that was my choice. I know I must go, that I must get these people out of here, or we will all be put to death, so I steel myself, locking away my emotions, exhibiting the unfeeling that all arbiters are expected to possess.
“Let’s go,” I tell the eyes staring at me as blood soaks my shirt.
They scurry out into the open, and I lead them into the plaza, hugging the sides, and darting from one edge of a building to another, until we reach another alleyway, and I motion for them to go down it. They move fast, with me in the lead, setting the pace, clutching my wound and breathing hard as fatigue threatens to overtake me. I’m bleeding more than I would like, and don’t know how much time I have until my body quits. Amal’s wristband lights up. The alarm has been sounded. The body has been found. I hurry down the alleyway, jumping over discarded shoes and mop handles, with my charges right behind me, until we run into a fence. Motioning for them to jump over it, I hold my hands out, helping the weaker ones, before hopping the fence myself, but as I do, the world spins a little, and I crash into the ground, landing on my side, as burning needles spread from my wound and sweep over my whole torso. Grime-coated hands grab me, helping me to my feet, and for the first time, I notice the concern of the ones I chose to help, but not the sort of concern one has when their life is in danger and they fear its end; this concern ws for me, for my life.
“Come on,” I say to them as I haul myself to my feet, swaying just a little from the exertion.
We cannot go to the wall, but there is one place we can go to, if he’ll help us.
Shouts and whistles echo around us as we navigate our way through the maze of alleys, and the buildings surrounding us remain dark, as the occupants prefer pretending that they hear nothing, rather than risk their own well-being to satisfy their curiosity. After a few more turns, we reach the narrow pathway that leads toward Luther’s. Pressing myself against the rough brick of the building, I step sideways, feeling the air being whisked away as my inevitable doom encloses in on me, suffocating me. One by one, we ease our way through the narrow space between towering buildings, and I flinch as my shirt catches on the porous brick, snagging it and twisting it around me, while I try to put pressure on my wound as blood squirts between my fingers. Almost there. Just a few more steps. My chest heaves as my breathing quickens, and I feel as though I might pass out, but I mustn’t—I need to remain conscious, or these people will be caught. I pop out from the narrow space between the buildings and find myself facing the familiar fork that led me to Luther’s that night Chase and I had snuck out. Once the others have freed themselves from the claustrophobic-inducing space, I urge them to follow me down the left side of the fork until we reach the dead end. For a moment, I pause, ta
king in the steps leading to Luther’s and the door shrouded in darkness, remarking at how it has remained unchanged, but now isn’t the time for musings. Before any of them can ask me where to go next, I rip the scarf from around my face and knock on the door, not too loud, so as not to attract unwanted attention, but loud enough to wake him up. No one stirs. No lights turn on. I knock again, a little more forceful, but still trying to be quiet. Worry seizes me as the belief that I have just led us all to our end, or another trap, controls my mind, but before I can act on it, or allow it to control me, the latch on the door pops and it opens just a little, allowing a pair of brown eyes to peek out at me, and the moment I see them, I recognize the sharp mind behind them, and my shoulders sag in relief.
“We need your help,” I whisper, still clutching my wound.
Luther takes one look my bleeding abdomen and the people huddled around me and waves us inside, closing the door in silence, refusing to allow the night’s self-proclaimed guardians to enter.
Luther takes my arm and leads me to a table with a single lamp on it and overflowing with contraband books, one of which lay open to a page with the words “The Rights of Man” on the top in fancy script that I had not seen before. I grimace a little as I sit down and a burning, stinging pain grips my knife wound and more blood soaks into my shirt. It’s not deep, but it bleeds as though it is.
“Shut the drapes,” Luther tells the others, “and make sure that they are sealed tight.”
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 29