by Greg Curtis
There seemed to be little hope until they did the one thing he hadn't expected of well-trained soldiers. They demanded a drink.
That surprised him. When they'd wandered down the distant passageway their conversation had been full of invective for the gaoler. They'd called him fat and lazy, which he was. And they told him he was a disgrace to his armour, which was also true. But suddenly when they stepped into the dungeon's antechamber and saw the goblets in front of them they stopped in front of the ancient ale stained desk and demanded that the gaoler fill the goblets. Why they did it he didn't know. Maybe it was the only chance they had to drink while on duty. Maybe it was the Seven finally granting them some hope. But why they did it didn't matter. Only the fact that they were stupid enough to do it did.
“Janus!” As quick as he could Edouard dived for the passage between their cells, wriggled his way through and crawled out on the other side to stand beside the healer.
“Your magic. Use it to make them more susceptible to the ale's effects. A lot more.”
It was a lot to ask of the healer. Normally he worked his magic from either touch or very close distance and they were at least thirty feet away. But he knew Janus could do it. One of the magics he was routinely called upon to cast was that of sobering up those who were too drunk to stand. Usually because they had something urgent that they needed to do. And he did it simply by making them more resistant to the effect of the ale.
“What? I can't do that!” Naturally the healer didn't want to. It ran against his personal code. But now was not the time for that.
“Just do it or spend the rest of your life in here!” Edouard hissed at him, and something of the urgency in his voice managed to convince the healer of the need.
“All right. I'll try.”
Janus stood at the door to his cell, face at the small barred window, and concentrated, and instantly Edouard felt Janus’ magic being loosed. What he didn't know was whether it was working or not. There was only one window in the cell and Janus' head was filling it. So he quickly wriggled his way back to his own cell and found his own window.
Outside in the antechamber he could see the three guards drinking at least. And they seemed to be enjoying it. Slamming down their goblets on the desk again and again and demanding that the gaoler refill them. They were determined, but they didn't look particularly drunk. He just hoped that it was only a matter of time.
Normally when Janus removed the effects of ale from a person it took a few minutes to work. But with three of them and the gaoler to work his will upon, and across a greater range, it might take a little longer. At least Edouard hoped that that was all it was. In some of the other cells further away he could just make out the faces of other prisoners, also watching the drinking soldiers. He doubted that any of them knew what Janus was trying. They were just looking because it was something to do instead of sitting in their cold stone cells staring at the walls.
The long minutes stretched by as the guards kept drinking and demanding more, and the gaoler moaned constantly about the way they were consuming all his ale. They ignored him of course. And at least while they were knocking back his skeins of ale they weren't force feeding their drugs to him and the others. They had hope.
But they had another problem. Even if this worked and the soldiers were left unconscious on the floor, their sergeant would soon enough come down to check on them. Then the whole cycle would start again. They had to be ready for that too.
“Fill it you poxy arse!” One of the guards smashed down his wooden goblet on the oak desk and Edouard knew a moment of hope. He wasn't drunk, not yet, but he was on his way, becoming garrulous and aggressive like many of the patrons at most inns in the evenings. But he needed them to be drunker than that. He needed them completely in their cups. He silently willed Janus to continue his work and sent a prayer to the Seven as well. Just in case they were listening.
The gaoler did as he was told, probably because he knew he wasn't the one in charge anymore. Undoubtedly he hated it, and in the torchlight Edouard could see what looked like an angry scowl covering his dirty, sweaty face, but he wasn't willing to risk a fight. The chances were that he'd lose and then be punished for it as well. No officer would take the word of a disgrace over that of three proper soldiers. And there were worse duties a guard could be given. But he was also looking at his supply of ale, at his skeins slowly emptying and by the look of his face in the torchlight, thinking about it. He likely didn't earn a lot and this was costing him too many coppers. Maybe somewhere behind those bloodshot eyes a fight was actually brewing.
That was a worry. Edouard needed the guards to stay peaceful for at least a little while longer as they drank. But even as he worried about it he saw one of the other soldiers take a tiny little misstep and knew another surge of hope. Janus' magic was working. Either that or the man really couldn't hold his ale.
From then on it was a matter of waiting. The soldiers took their third and fourth goblets of the weak ale and demanded more, and slowly started acting as if they were on their twentieth. Slurring their words little by little, losing their balance and becoming louder by the goblet.
By the fifth round one of them was suddenly no longer able to stand and as he collapsed to the ground the others took the chance to laugh at him. It didn't seem to occur to them that it was too soon. Not even to the gaoler who it seemed was also slowly falling under the spell.
Laughter burst out as they downed their sixth, and then a round of abuse at their sergeant who it seemed was harsh with them. Little did they realise that he was going to be much harsher with them shortly. That laughter became louder with their next drink and one of them actually burst into song. A crude ballad about an innkeeper’s daughter that would never be heard in a respectable house. A few minutes later he too was unable to keep his feet, but that didn't stop him singing. Neither did the fact that he obviously didn't know the words and kept repeating himself.
In time he was joined on the floor by the others and eventually the singing stopped to be replaced by mumbling and then snoring. It was what Edouard had been waiting for.
Quickly he sent his fire into the metal lock that secured his door and seconds later it swung open and he was free. But only free to wander the antechamber. Still, it was a giddying moment as for the first time in ages he could walk more than three paces in any direction. Unfortunately there was only one direction he needed to go and it wasn't the passageway out of the dungeon. That way led to death. His path only took him as far as the prostrate guards and the small barrel of drugged food they'd brought with them.
The barrel was his first target as he swiftly emptied its contents into the sewer grate behind the gaoler's desk. Then, once it was empty he set about grabbing the gaoler's secret stash of hard cider that he hid under the helmet he kept behind his chair. After that it was simply a matter of grabbing each soldier in turn and pouring as much of it as he could down their throats. Not easy when they were sleeping, but if he held their heads up as he did it it seemed to work and they swallowed rather than choking on it. He wanted them to sleep as long as possible.
Of course all the while he did that the other prisoners were calling to him. They were demanding that he let them out of their cells and he had to remind them that that wasn't the plan. If they escaped that way they'd reach the end of the passageway beyond the dungeon and then swiftly run into more guards. The underground sewers were still their only way out of this place. Naturally they didn't want to hear that – nor did he want to say it – but it had to be. It was lucky that none of them were thinking clearly or they would have realised that they could have crawled through the tunnels to his cell and then out the door.
Soon the skein of cider was gone, and he knew the four of them were not going to be waking up any time soon. Between what they'd drunk and what Janus had done to them they would likely sleep for a good day. But their sergeant would find them long before that happened. And when he did they had to be ready with the second part of the plan.
With the story they had to tell.
It was a simple story. The sergeant would come, find them drunk and unconscious, and then see the empty barrel sitting on the desk. He would assume Edouard hoped, that they had done their duty, fed the drug to the three sparks and then set about drinking. But of course since they weren't going to be able to tell him anything for some time to come, he might well ask the prisoners. If he did that was the story they had to tell. And they had to tell it convincingly. Fortunately among their number they had a couple of traders. People who were good at selling a story. He had confidence in them. He had to have that confidence.
The last thing Edouard had to do though was the hardest. He had to return to his cell, shut the door behind him and then use his fire to melt the lock so that it couldn't be opened. So that it seemed he was still locked up.
Those were some of the longest steps he'd ever had to make.
Chapter Twenty Three
Several days later Edouard found himself up to his waist in water. Polluted, foul smelling water, and he couldn't say he liked it. He loved it! Foul as it was it was a wonderful feeling. At long last he was out of his cell and freedom beckoned. Against that the pain of his back – the stiffness – they were as nothing. The cold and hunger were forgotten. They were free.
The plan had worked, for which he was eternally grateful. And for which he would one day soon spend a great many coppers lighting candles in the various temples. Whether the Seven Divines had helped or not he didn't know. But it had all gone remarkably well. The sergeant and three more guards had come and found the scene much as he had left it. And there hadn't been much need of a story as he'd simply taken a look at the empty barrel of drugged food and assumed it had been done. Shortly after that all four drunkards had been carried away, still sleeping, probably to be sobered up and then to face punishment. Edouard didn't envy them their fate. Of course a new gaoler had been brought in to replace him.
Looking at him though, Edouard had been surprised. He was almost identical to the old one. Overweight, if anything even fatter than the last one, clearly unfit, covered in filth and sweat, pallid and unhealthy looking. He even had the same bad temper as the first as he took his seat behind the desk and smashed his mace into the already battered desk. Were they breeding these gaolers somewhere?
Like his predecessor he also had a love of drink, though from the smell Edouard imagined that his skeins were filled with wine. An expensive drink for a soldier. He was a little more careful than the first though, stashing his skeins more cleverly so that they wouldn't be found and not drinking so much as to pass out. Not at first anyway. Perhaps he knew the fate that had befallen the others.
But still, he was stupid enough to drink even after the example given by the last gaoler. So when Edouard had finally managed to cut out the last of the stones leading to the underground sewers, he had had Janus perform the same trick on him. Just to make sure they weren't noticed leaving.
As they'd left the dungeon the gaoler had been happily snoring away in his chair, oblivious to any noise they might make. Or to the silence of an empty dungeon that would follow. He doubted things would go well for him when he awoke. Drunk on duty, asleep when all the prisoners escaped. The chances were that his neck would be wearing a noose in short order.
That was no concern of his however. His only concern was getting out of this place, and with no map and their only spark with a calling for water barely able to sense anything, they had to work with only one direction. Follow the current in the hope that it would sooner or later lead them out of the city.
But the currents were slow moving, and while he could send his fire into the stone above their heads to provide a little light to guide their way, they were mostly travelling blind. To make matters worse the sewers seemed to flow back and forth, twisting and turning and intersecting one another, and each time they did it was another challenge to work out which way the water flowed. He was sure that they'd taken a few wrong turns on their way, but at least after several hours of wading they were surely a long way from the dungeon.
The water was surprisingly warm, the spring sunshine above obviously heating it before it flowed down into the sewers. But he wasn't sure that was a good thing. They might not be slowly freezing to death, but the warmth of the water also added to the smell. Smell was the wrong word though. Stench was better, though he wasn't really certain that there was a word that could adequately describe the choking aroma of rot and death that constantly assailed his lungs.
The sewers were more than just dark and smelly. They were diseased. He was sure of it. They stank of horrible things decaying all around them, and the water through which they were trudging was full of things. Horrible soft, slimy things that occasionally got in their way and which they had to push past. It was lucky in some ways that it was so dark. Edouard didn't want to see what they were. He just wanted to believe that they were mats of river weed. He needed to believe that.
There were creatures in the sewers with them. Rats mostly. They saw them skittering about in the dim light he cast. They had grown fat in the years they had spent in the sewers, feeding off the stagnant remains of whatever had ended up in the dark water. Fat and large. And their red eyes glowed with a disturbing light.
Other things swam among them. Edouard hoped they were just fish of some sort, but he suspected they weren't. Some seemed to wriggle their way through the water, and he was sure they were snakes. But thus far no one had been bitten and all he could do was hope that that continued.
Meanwhile an entire menagerie of insects and frogs crept around the walls, apparently finding the festering underworld to their liking. Edouard spent a lot of his time trying not to look too closely at them.
In truth all he really wanted to do was to get out of this place. After however many days or weeks he and the others had been locked away in the dungeons, all he wanted to do was see the green grass and blue skies, and feel the warm sun on his face and the wind on his skin. It wasn't so much to ask was it? Besides, as long as they went with the slow moving current, he figured they were on their way out no matter how many wrong turns they made. Everyone knew that the sewers flushed to somewhere outside the city. Probably to the Ingris River.
Still, as the hours passed by and they kept wading through the darkness, he couldn't help but wonder if they weren't travelling in circles. He suspected they all knew the same fear. That they would be trapped in this foetid underworld until the soldiers caught them and returned them to the dungeons.
And then, just as he was beginning to give in to his fear, Edouard heard a sound in the distance that lifted his spirits. A sound that brought him hope.
“Listen!” It was Gwen who called out but by the time she did they could all hear it. And they all knew what it was. Falling water.
The sound of the water pouring down was music to his ears. Thunderous music! It brought tears of joy to his eyes and he felt the wetness sliding down his cheeks. Because falling water could mean only one thing. That they were at the end of the sewers and very nearly outside the city. Edouard's heart raced with excitement. So did those of the others. And when he cast another little bit of fire into the stones above for light, he could see the same stupid grin on all their faces as was on his.
Finally they were free!
They hurried towards the sound of the falling water, weak, tired and yet unable to contain themselves. And soon they saw the one thing they hadn't seen in far too long; light. Not much light since it was night time, but through the bars of the iron grate ahead he could see stars. He could see moonlight falling on the trees. He thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
The last fifty paces flew by as they all but ran through the waist deep water, sending waves of the filthy liquid sloshing towards the walls and splashing themselves continuously. But then, just before they reached the grate separating them from freedom, disaster struck.
They heard voices. Even over the noise of the falling water they could hear voices.
>
It was enough to stop them all in their tracks as they realised there were people outside, waiting for them. Men talking amongst themselves, laughing and arguing. Worse, they quickly realised that they weren't just people. These were rough mannered soldiers from their conversation. Loud and boisterous. That was why they could hear them. Somehow they had reached the end of the sewers, found the place where the water met the river, and found it guarded. It wasn't fair.
“Seven hells!”
Edouard was upset, and with good reason. All that hard work melting enough stones to create tunnels, then slithering through them on their bellies until they reached the sewers. The risks taken as they'd tricked the guards. And then finally the endless hours of trudging through the foul wastes that were their path out of the city, only to end up in another prison! It was too much.
Except that they weren't caught, not yet.
Even as he stood there with the rest, breathing heavily and trying not to scream with frustration and outrage at the unfairness of it all, Edouard tried to take stock. To work out just how bad things were.
The huge steel grate that covered the end of the outflow he could deal with. The same way he'd dealt with the stones. One bar at a time. And these were old rusty bars, they wouldn't take much to melt. The only problem he had was making sure that the light did not shine too bright and the noise when the bars fell was not too loud. And as for the men outside waiting for them, if he and the others couldn't see them then maybe they couldn't see them either. And if the soldiers couldn't see them – perhaps didn't know that they were there, then maybe too they wouldn't catch them. And surely they couldn't yet know so soon! It was too quick. Perhaps they were simply there for some other reason. Maybe it was just bad luck at work. More bad luck. He seemed to have plenty of it of late.