The Rope Dancer

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The Rope Dancer Page 24

by Roberta Gellis


  His voice failed as he tried to choke back slightly hysterical laughter, and in the silence, there was a distinct thud as the straw bindings were cut through and a bundle of thatch dropped to the floor. Two other bundles fell in quick succession.

  “Telor? Deri?” Carys whispered, letting her head and shoulders down into the hole she had made and grasping a cross-beam to support herself upside down. “Can you answer me?”

  “Yes, we are both here, and not much hurt—I think,” Telor replied.

  “Oh, Lady, thank you. Thank you,” Carys breathed, as she walked forward along the beam on her hands to draw the rest of her body silently through the opening she had made.

  It took only a moment then for her to lift her rope from her neck, divide the coil in half, wind the middle portion twice around the beam she was on, and drop the two halves to the ground. The beams were so low, since the outbuilding was for storage, not for living, that she was down the rope almost at the same time the coils, not half undone, hit the floor.

  “Where?” she whispered, but before Deri or Telor could answer she had tripped over them, backed off, and sunk to her knees.

  Carys wasted no time. Having drawn one knife as she knelt, she felt with her other hand for a body, down the body to the bound wrists. She gasped when she felt the way the flesh had swollen over the bonds, but she did not hesitate. All she could do was slide the keen blade down along Telor’s inner arms, pressing the flesh aside as well as she could with her fingers, and cut. Blood slicked the blade and Carys, not Telor, whimpered, but she continued to saw, and the thong gave. She withdrew the knife, because every cut she made increased the danger of severing something important, and she struggled to unwind the thong from his wrists.

  It was no easy task. Carys could not see to find the cut end of the thong or to discover how it was wound. The leather, slippery with blood, kept sliding through her fingers, and it was so deeply buried in the swollen flesh that it felt as if Telor’s skin were tearing loose when she pulled. There was no way to tell how much damage she was doing—and she had to do the whole thing over again on his ankles. Carys would have been sick again and again, only her terror of the passing time, which seemed to be hours, was more powerful than nausea.

  Telor had spoken only once. When he realized how long it might take to free him, he had told Carys to work on Deri first. She had not replied, but Deri had murmured, “No, you fool, you will need the extra time to get some feeling back in your hands.”

  Since it was plain that Carys was not going to listen to him, Telor did not argue, but he was sick with fear that his hands and feet were dead for good. His arms and legs, though numb, still had some feeling in them, so he knew when he was free, and he rolled over and levered himself up on his elbows to sit upright against the wall. Although he could see nothing, he heard Carys’s quick breathing and a couple of hisses from Deri as the knife nicked him. Later he heard a low-voiced litany of obscenity from the dwarf, which Telor was certain was Deri’s reaction to the agony of returning feeling in his hands. But Telor himself still felt nothing.

  “Telor?”

  That was Carys’s voice, and he replied, “Here,” and then again, “Here,” as he heard her patting the ground, feeling for him. Her hand brushed his leg, felt upward, and seized his arm. In a moment he realized she was rubbing, squeezing, and kneading his hand, but he knew only because of the way his arm moved.

  “Never mind that,” Telor whispered. “For God’s sake, open my braies and let me piss, or I will foul myself.”

  He felt his tunic being pulled up and fingers fumbling at the tie of his braies, and he pushed himself sideways, sighing with relief as the cool night air on his belly told him he could relieve his bladder. Carys moved back to work on his feet, and when he was finished, she helped tug him along the wall well out of the wet before she re-tied his clothes and began to work on his hands again.

  “I do not think you can help me,” he said softly. “They are dead for good. I wish I could have loved you just once, Carys.”

  “They are not dead,” Carys protested. “They are warm.”

  Telor did not believe her, but he only said, “It does not matter. I will never be able to climb the rope.”

  “No,” Carys agreed calmly, “but Deri and I can raise you.”

  “And carry me?” Telor remarked. “I cannot walk either. It would be stupid. We would all die. You and Deri—”

  “I do not go without you,” the dwarf said, crawling nearer. “I am willing to slit your throat if Carys will cut mine, but—”

  “Fool!” Telor exclaimed. “Even if they do not rot, I cannot believe my hands will ever be the same. If I cannot play—”

  “There will be time enough to consider that when we are out of here,” Carys interrupted, her whisper trembling with tension. “Deri can cut your throat anytime, you know. Meantime, Deri, see if you can climb that rope.”

  A small, shocked silence ended in a burst of choked laughter from Telor. He did not think Carys meant to be funny, which made her response all the funnier. Simultaneously, Deri said, “Not yet. I cannot yet close my hands tight.”

  But he could use them well enough to work on Telor’s feet, although he grunted with pain as he squeezed and rubbed, doing himself as much good as Telor. The pressure and motion were helping to drive out the confined fluids that had caused his hands to swell. The delay was necessary, but they were all shaking with fear before Deri, after two unsuccessful tries, managed to climb the rope. Between his attempts they had worked on Telor’s hands and feet frantically, for despite what Carys said, needing to carry him would complicate their escape immeasurably. And all of them kept glancing nervously at the hole in the roof, sure each time the sky would be light and doom them. However, time passed more slowly in reality than in their anxious perception; it was still dark when Deri, gasping with pain and effort, at last straddled the beam on which Carys had tied her rope.

  Before that, Telor had begged them once more to kill him, to which their only reply had been to redouble their efforts to bring some life to his dead limbs. The stubborn devotion was rewarded. Between Deri’s first and second try at climbing the rope, Telor exclaimed with a sob of joy that he felt a tingling. Soon after that he had to grit his teeth against screaming as the pangs of returning feeling racked him. Even so, there was no question of his being able to make the climb by the time that Deri was ready, but he could stand with help and knew that in a little while he would be able to walk.

  Getting Telor out of the building was like a brief sojourn in hell. Because the beams were so low, however, Deri and Carys did manage to raise him. It was not that Telor weighed so much; Deri alone could have lifted him, had he been standing on solid ground instead of sitting on a narrow beam. Having got Telor up, it was much easier to steady him on his knees so that he could push himself through the hole in the thatch and then to let him slide down the roof and to the ground, braked by the rope. Still, Deri, who had not been treated gently in the great hall, was so exhausted when the pull eased off and Telor was down safe, that he nearly toppled off the beam. It took a little while for Telor to unwind himself and to loosen the slipknot, which had not cut him in two only because Carys had looped the rope around him several times under and over the knot. And the need for utter silence, for moving slowly and keeping to the deepest shadows, now that he was out of the stone outbuilding complicated the minstrel’s clumsy efforts. One thing gave him hope; although it had seemed that many lifetimes had passed since he had wakened in prison, a glance at the sky and the few stars showing in the rifts told Telor that there were still some hours before dawn.

  By the time a gentle tug told Carys that she could pull up her rope, Deri had recovered his breath. “You next,” he whispered as the line brushed against him in rising. It paused, and Carys giggled.

  “Silly,” she murmured. “I do not need to be let down on a rope.”

  Deri laughed too, recognizing his rote reaction and knowing it was ridiculous, but his amus
ement was brief. “You cannot support me either. Go with Telor and hide him. I will climb down as soon as I can.”

  “The beam will support you,” Carys replied impatiently. Deri felt her hands looping the rope around him, tugging to be sure the loops would hold. A moment later she had done something else and added, “Go now. I have been working with ropes all my life. Do not tell me how to manage one.”

  That she knew could not be doubted. Deri went down swiftly and smoothly. After the blackness within the hut he had no trouble finding Telor, still on his feet but leaning on the building. A few minutes later, a shadow crept fluidly down the wall to Telor’s left. With Carys between them so they could steady themselves against her, they slunk around the corner of the building and under the wall walkway. There Carys signaled them to silence and disappeared.

  Telor sank gratefully to the ground, and Deri stared anxiously at him and then out at what he could see of the buildings and courtyard. All was quiet, except for the regular thud of footsteps and squeak of boards as the guard passed back and forth above them. Despite the quiet, both men were growing desperate with worry by the time Carys came back, carrying Telor’s quarter-staff, the old harp, the smallest lute, and a bundle wrapped in a blanket. Telor and Deri felt a strong impulse to strangle her. With the kind of death they had been promised still looming over them, the things she had rescued had little value in comparison. And then, before they could even breathe sighs of relief, she had laid down all her burdens but her rope, which she had vowed never to be parted from again, and darted away once more.

  This time she was back more quickly, and to Telor’s enormous surprise, she flung herself against him and clung to him. His arms came around her by instinct, and for one startled moment he could not help associating her action with his remark about wishing he could have loved her. In the next moment he realized that she was shaking with silent sobs.

  Telor bent his head to her, but even with his lips against her ear, he dared not speak. Periodically they had heard the guard passing right above them, and he feared that even the softest murmur would be heard. It was when he raised his head to listen for the heavy footfalls that he realized they were no longer sounding. Was the man standing and waiting for them to betray themselves? Telor listened so intently that it took him a moment to realize Carys was pushing at him for release. He let her go and felt her hand come up to seize his. It was damp and somewhat sticky, and suddenly he understood why he no longer heard the guard pacing.

  Telor almost drew his hand out of contact with the blood that stained Carys’s, but then he reminded himself that whoever wielded the knife, the guard had died to set him free. It was not Carys who had got them all into trouble by trying to kill the new master of Marston. But for a woman to kill—so softly, so swiftly, so easily…No, Telor corrected himself, it had not been easy for her. She was still sobbing, even as she guided his hand to the lute and the harp and gestured that he should set them over his shoulders. She moved to Deri then and drew his hand to the staff, taking the bundle herself. The dwarf signed that he wanted to carry that too, but she shook her head ferociously and beckoned them to follow her.

  A minute’s walk brought them to a ladder fixed from the ground to the wooden walkway. Carys was up it before Telor, his heart in his mouth with fear that he would slip and make a noise, had put his foot on the first rung. As he struggled to climb faster, he heard strange, sharp footsteps, as if the approaching guard were stamping to make his footfalls sound heavy. Telor paused with his head just even with the walkway, tilted back so he could see. Since he did not know where Carys was, he would do nothing unless the guard saw him and seemed about to give an alarm. The chances were the man would pass, since his duty was to watch for attack from outside the walls.

  A shadow approached. As it neared, Telor was so terrified he barely choked back a cry, and the only reason he did not lose his grip and fall was that his hand was frozen around the last rung of the ladder. The guard had no head!

  The thing came nearer, putting each foot down hard, as if to feel the way. Telor’s breath stopped with horror—it was bending, reaching for him. His eyes were fixed, staring at the hand that groped toward him—and grabbed his hair, and pulled it sharply upward, urging him onto the rampart.

  Telor squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and brought his head forward hard enough to crack it against the walkway. It was painful—but well deserved for his idiocy, he thought—and the only way he could think of to check the whoops of laughter that were threatening to burst from his throat.

  The stalking, headless guard—Carys with the blanket-wrapped bundle protruding above her head to give her height—walked on for about ten yards, turned, and came back. By then, Telor was crouched against the wall, with Deri beside him. The dwarf had been saved from the shock Telor had received. Alarmed by the footsteps, Deri had readied himself to jump off the ladder and catch Telor; however, when Telor did not move and then climbed up despite the patroller, he knew all was safe. Moreover, he was close enough to see the grin on Telor’s face as the headless form returned.

  Carys paused for a few minutes, seemingly looking outward but really tying one end of her rope around two of the logs of the palisade and making a wide double loop into which Telor could put his feet. She showed him that and then made one loop with the rope around the top of a log to the side, demonstrating silently to Deri how to let the rope slide slowly around the log as Telor went down. Then, afraid to linger any longer, she started patrolling again, biting her lips with anxiety. All was still quiet when she got back to where her rope hung, and Deri was gone as well as Telor. The rope soon came free in her hand, and it was only another moment’s work to slip the bundle through the loop and lower it.

  By then only a thin thread of sanity kept Carys from screaming aloud and throwing herself over the palisade. The moment the weight of the bundle left the rope, she jerked it upward and pulled it free of the logs. Making a wild guess at what might be the middle of the rope, she hung that over the ends of the logs, gripped both parts of the rope in her hands, and let herself over the side. She knew the doubled rope could not reach the ground, but the remaining distance would not be far, so when she felt the end of one part she merely released that part and allowed herself to drop, pulling the rope down with her, which slowed her descent a little.

  She was caught by a pair of strong arms; another pair grasped at her, and she felt lips against her own. Fury replaced relief almost instantly. It seemed to Carys that the celebration was very premature. The worst danger still faced them because it was outside that the guards were watching. Every minute they delayed was a minute less that darkness would obscure their movements. Thus, she pulled her mouth free of Telor’s and shoved him away with all the force she could summon, pointing repeatedly and forcibly away from Marston.

  Telor staggered back a few steps awkwardly, feeling foolish and embarrassed. He had embraced Carys without thought, in a rush of gratitude and joy, but the moment his lips met hers he had been flooded with a mindless sexual desire so intense that he had lost all sense of time and place. Knowing the stupidity of his reaction was no help at all in reducing the resentment he felt because Carys had not been swept away by the same madness, and being aware that his feelings were not only totally unjustified but utterly ridiculous in the circumstances, made him still angrier—at her, at himself, but most intensely at Orin, whom he blamed for everything. Telor found himself shaking with need and rage and hate, and he stilled his body and looked about him with a new, grim purpose.

  Sir Richard had lost Marston because he had never been much of a soldier. That had caused Telor’s troubles, but it would also help him to escape them. Because he felt secure, Sir Richard had not expended any great effort on clearing the land around his manor to remove brush that could conceal attackers. Since Carys had killed the guard, the land immediately ahead of the part of the palisade where they had come down would not be watched closely—until the absence of the guard was detected.

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nbsp; Telor remembered that Orin had feared an attack from Creklade, but the stone outbuilding where they had been imprisoned was toward the east, well away from the gate to the Creklade road. It would be safe then—if anything in this escape could be called safe—to go straight ahead, keeping within the area that should have been watched by the dead guard. Setting his back to the logs of the palisade, Telor stared out, trying to fix some landmark in mind that would keep them from straying. It was far too dark to be sure of anything, but there seemed to be three taller shadows only a little to the north of a straight line.

  Telor flinched as a hand gripped his arm and shook it gently. He looked down to see Deri staring anxiously up at him, and he realized that the others were ready to go. Carys had coiled her rope; Deri had somehow managed to fix the bundle to his back and had the quarter-staff in hand. Telor squeezed Deri’s hand and pointed to the three tall shadows outlined against the barely lighter sky. He saw Deri look outward and then back at him, and he bent Deri’s fingers—one, two, three—and pointed again. It took three tries before Deri nodded vigorously and pointed to the three dark peaks. Telor nodded and turned Deri toward Carys. He wanted desperately to use the need to explain as an excuse to touch her, but the desire made him ashamed and angrier at himself. She did not want him, he told himself, turning his back as Deri moved toward her and began with her the process Telor had just finished with him. Why could he not be man enough to let that curb his need for her?

  Now Telor slipped the lute and harp from his back, removed one strap, and fastened both together on the other. This shortened the strap so it would be very tight, but that was all to the good. Deri was already back beside him, Carys having understood quickly that they were all to head for the three tall shadows, and Telor reached for the quarterstaff. The dwarf relinquished it gladly because its length made it awkward for him to handle, and Telor forced it between the lute and the harp so it would not wiggle from side to side. Then he wriggled into this burden and tied it firmly to his back with the second strap. Finally, after touching Deri gently and holding up his hand in a symbol for waiting, he bent over almost double and moved very slowly out of the shadow of the palisade, feeling with each foot before he put his weight on it to avoid cracking dead twigs or leaves.

 

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