Passages

by Passages (epub)

  All the while, she paid attention to the sounds around her and the feel of the wheels against the road, and she’d counted the number of turns the wagon made, and in which direction.

  The road went from small cobbles to rougher ones. They were leaving the heart of Haven, the part with shops and nice houses and respectable taverns, with the wide road that led to the Palace.

  Kya jolted and bumped in the back of the wagon, knowing she’d have some fine bruises by the morning.

  Rougher cobbles meant another part of the city, a less fine one. She’d done her best to memorize a map of Haven when she arrived. Once they stopped, she’d match up the path of the wagon to the map in her head.

  Then a smell tickled her senses, growing stronger, and she struggled not to vomit. She had to breathe the disgusting odors through her nose, and bile rose in her throat, but if she let it rise, there was nowhere for it to go.

  Cow dung, rotten hay, and blood. The slaughterhouses.

  Then the acrid scent of urine, combined with the sickly-sweet smell of rotting hides. The tanneries.

  The slaughterhouses and tanneries, with their noxious smells, were housed well away from the heart of the city. Which meant they were heading toward the Orhan River.

  The river was what allowed Haven to flourish: Goods could be easily transported in and out of the docks and stored in warehouses prior to purchase.

  The river also meant it would be easy for her abductors to spirit her away without a trace.

  Why her?

  What was she worth to anyone?

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time the wagon stopped, Kya was out of coins, and she had been smelling brackish river water and hearing the occasional cry of a waterfowl. She’d never been to the warehouse district, so she didn’t know its layout well, other than from paying attention to the turns of the wagon.

  The wagon shook as the ropes holding the canvas cover down were untied. Kya pulled the gag back into her mouth, not wanting to anger her abductors. She also scooted to the very edge, with a vague hope of hopping out and evading the men so she could run.

  But when the canvas lifted, she didn’t have time for her eyes to adjust—there wasn’t much light, but it was more than beneath the canvas—before one of the men pulled a burlap sack over her head. Back into darkness.

  One man said, “I’ll see to the horse,” and another grunted in response.

  Suddenly, one of the men swept her up and dropped her on his shoulder. She hated the startled squeak she involuntarily made, her head dizzy with the sudden fright, as well as the fact that she was upside down.

  A door opened, then closed behind them, followed by the sound of a lock closing. Based on the tromping, booted feet of the men, there were two in the warehouse with her.

  She appreciated the sweet scent of sawdust inside, as it mediated the sour sweat smell of the man carrying her.

  Then her abductor’s gait shifted, and she realized they were going up stairs. She reached out, her fingers seeking something, anything, to give her clues, but all she got for her efforts was a splinter from touching a rough wall.

  Then, just as unceremoniously as she’d been picked up, she was set on her feet. She staggered, the blood rushing from her head making her woozy, and a large hand grabbed her elbow, steadying her.

  The sack came off her head, and she blinked in the pale light as her vision tried to adjust. She sucked in cool air through her nose.

  She could barely make out the burly figures of the two men. She shrank back, but he still held her elbow.

  “No screamin’, yeah?” His voice sounded like a grumbling bear. “There’s no one t’hear you anyway. But if I hear more’n a peep outta you, I’ll gag ya again.”

  He pulled the gag down out of her mouth.

  She tried to ask “Why?” but all that came out was a weak croak, her tongue and throat dry and swollen.

  Ignoring her, the men left, and she heard the door lock.

  She could see more now. The room was small and sparse, probably some kind of office rather than a storage room. It was almost empty of furniture. The light came from a single candle on the windowsill. In the corner, she spotted a wooden bucket wrapped with metal bands and a pile of rags.

  They hadn’t freed her wrists, so clearly they didn’t understand how a woman could easily use the bucket. She wore a loose tunic and pants because the outfit was easier to work in than a skirt—plus she’d always hated skirts and dresses, their constrictions and limitations.

  In another corner, she spied a table bearing a plain brown clay ewer. Could it be? On legs still wobbly from all the emotions she’d gone through, she made it across the room.

  Yes! Water. She picked up the ewer with her bound hands and drank. Her throat spasmed, as if it had forgotten how to process liquid, and she sputtered before she was able to get the water down.

  It seemed they didn’t want her harmed but rather kept in at least reasonably good condition. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried about that.

  She went to the candle in the window and held her bound wrists over the flame until the rope fibers parted. She winced; she’d have some painful spots, if not blisters, before long.

  She looked out the window, rubbing her wrists. As she’d suspected from the journey up the stairs, she couldn’t safely jump, and there was nothing she could see to help her climb down. Farther away, the moon gleamed on the swells and currents of the river.

  Because it seemed prudent before she did anything else, she made use of the bucket.

  Then, taking the candle with her, she explored the small room, ending at the door. Like many other things, locks had fascinated her from an early age, and she’d figured out how they worked and how to defeat them. But she had nothing with her, not even a hairpin—funny how a frivolous thing could suddenly be useful and important—and she’d found not a scrap of anything in her explorations.

  Frustrated, for the first time, she looked up.

  And blinked in surprise.

  The room had no ceiling. Instead, it opened to the peaked roof above, crossed by heavy beams parallel to the floor.

  Of course. The rooms on the upper floor didn’t need to be covered. They were just for small storage or offices.

  Kya took a deep breath, then another. A plan formed in her mind. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had no other choice.

  She stilled and listened. Nearby—the next room?—she could hear faint, low voices.

  She bit her lip. The simple wooden table was small enough that she could lift it; despite her slight stature, she had a fair amount of strength. If she could move it without making noise . . .

  She could. She managed to carry it to the opposite wall.

  As much as she’d find the light useful, she didn’t bring the candle. It would make her too visible.

  Even with the table, the wall was high. She hoisted herself up, pressing the toes of her boots into the wall for leverage. She managed to get herself into the junction of walls between the two rooms, and looked down.

  The three men were there. There were three heaps of cloth, indicating their bedrolls for the night, and she felt a little smug that their rest would be so uncomfortable. The men were sitting around another plain table, playing cards, with mugs of what was likely alcohol at the ready.

  She couldn’t see their faces, so she’d never be able to identify them. Their voices weren’t familiar, either, nor were they unusual. They all had similar burly figures.

  “Dunno why her ma just didn’t have her da bring her home,” one commented. The one who’d cut her gag, with the grumbly voice.

  Another other shrugged. “We’re makin’ the money. Who cares?”

  Kya sucked in her breath. She knew why. Her mother thought it would teach her a lesson to be hauled home this way. She probably thought it would make Kya
finally be compliant.

  She ground her teeth. Her mother was wrong.

  Kya calculated her options and considered the way the warehouse seemed to be constructed. Storage at the front, probably extending below the second floor. Upper rooms at the back: one row against the back wall, the other overlooking the warehouse, with the hallway running between. The staircase was at the far end of the hallway from the room they’d put her in.

  She could go back into the room they locked her into, move the table toward the front, and climb over the wall into the hallway. But that would likely make enough noise that the men would find her.

  Or, she could work her way along the walls to the other end of the hallway and the stairs. If she jumped down there, maybe she wouldn’t make as much noise.

  The second option seemed safer . . . except for the fact that she’d have to creep along the wall past the room the men were in.

  Kya knew how to be silent; she’d spent enough time hiding, trying not to be noticed back at home when she was expected for lessons in etiquette and deportment. And because she was small and short, balancing on the walls didn’t seem impossible.

  That didn’t mean the prospect wasn’t terrifying.

  She eased down into her room and, as quietly as she could, moved the table to the front, by the door. She took in deep breaths, silently, the way she’d calmed herself at home when things were stressful. Then she pulled herself up onto the wall, stood, and began her slow, careful journey.

  The tops of the walls were about eight inches wide, and the lumber was rough and imperfect. Sturdy enough, though. She wanted to put her arms out for balance, but waving an arm over the room the men were in was too dangerous. She concentrated on putting one foot square in front of the other, slightly angled.

  She reached the end of the wall of the room where the men were. Every part of her screamed to go faster now, but she knew that would only end in a mistake. Possibly a fatal one. If she fell, she’d likely hurt herself on top of being discovered.

  She was almost at the juncture of the next room when her foot slipped.

  She dropped forward, one foot still on the wall, and caught herself on her hands. A moment of fighting for balance, her heart pounding again, biting her lip to keep from making a sound. When she was sure she wasn’t going to fall, she still paused, trying to get her internal equilibrium back.

  Then, to her horror, one of the men said, “Did you hear something?”

  The grumbly voiced man said, “Yer drunk, Davvi.”

  The third man added, “You tryin’ to distract me so you can get a peek o’ my cards? Not a chance.”

  “But—”

  “Yer welcome to go check,” the third man said.

  “And have you peek at my cards? Not a chance,” Davvi retorted, his slightly slurred words proving he’d had more to drink than he probably should have.

  Kya waited for a long moment, then another, before slowly, carefully standing up and moving again.

  When she got to the far end, she looked down at the door to the stairs across from her. What she saw made her heart drop to her stomach. She bit back a groan of disappointment and panic.

  There was a lock on this side of the door.

  She had no tools, no way to open it.

  She sat back on her haunches and considered her predicament.

  Going back to her room and awaiting her fate wasn’t an option she cared to consider.

  Unable to think of another choice, Kya stood and sidled sideways over the gap over the hallway, her feet on a thin board that had been nailed to the wall, her fingers clutching for any purchase on the rough wood in front of her.

  After that, it seemed relatively easy to creep along the top of the corner room’s wall until she overlooked the warehouse.

  By now, her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, so although the warehouse was bathed in darkness, she could mostly make out the floor and the front wall, the basic structure of the room.

  Above her, thick heavy chains dangled from a pulley system on the ceiling down toward the floor, used for hauling hay bales around. Her parents had done their best to show her how the farms under their tenancy operated. Some of it had been quite fascinating, and she’d drawn up some suggestions on how to streamline operations, but her mother had ignored them.

  The chains hung too far off the floor for her to shimmy down and then drop; well, she might be able to do it, but the chances of breaking an ankle was too high.

  However, there was row of windows along the front wall, with sills that looked reasonably deep. They were higher on the wall than normal windows, for light and ventilation only, too high for a tall man to peer through. Less of a drop than the walls, certainly.

  Action stories often told of people grabbing vines or ropes or curtains and using them to swing across or down. But unless the arc length and speed were correct, the adventurer was more likely to slam into a wall than burst through an open window or land gracefully on the ground.

  To do it properly, you needed just the right amount of kinetic energy to reach the far wall, but not so much as to overshoot your target and injure yourself.

  And math.

  But first she needed to get her hands on one of the thick chains.

  Because the warehouse was empty, the pulley system had been cranked back so all the chains were toward the back of the warehouse—and within Kya’s reach.

  Almost.

  She knelt on the top of the wall, gripping it with one hand and reaching out.

  She rarely found issue with her slight stature; it helped her disappear in the background. If she had longer arms, however, the chain she needed would be easier to grab.

  Kya stretched a little farther . . . and felt her balance shift.

  Her stomach lurched, and her gasp resonated inside her head as she threw her weight backward. She almost overbalanced and fell into the room below, but caught herself, wobbling between a loud fall and a bone-breaking one until she finally steadied herself.

  She muttered a curse under her breath and looked around.

  Inching sideways, she came to a T-juncture where an interior wall dividing two rooms met that outer wall overlooking the warehouse below. She lay on her stomach on the interior wall, gripping it with her knees, and reached out again over the expanse toward the chain.

  It took several tries before her fingers brushed against it, and a few more before she could actually get her hand around it. She pulled it toward her. It was heavier than she expected, and she adjusted her stance accordingly.

  Finally, she had it. She sat on the wall with her legs dangling over the edge, and slowly, to keep the clanking of links at a minimum, drew the chain all the way up to her.

  Kya calculated the arc length of her improvised pendulum, then estimated the difference in height between the top of the wall and the window sill slightly below her. She grasped the end of the chain above her head, slid slightly forward, and used her legs to push off the wall with what she’d calculated was the right amount of force.

  Still, she landed harder on the sill than she’d intended, and grabbed on to the side of the frame with one hand. Her shoulder wrenched as she forced her body’s forward movement to slow; breaking through the glass would be disastrous. As soon as she could, she eased the thick chain to the side and let it go. It swung back, creaking where it was affixed to the ceiling.

  She knew friction wouldn’t allow the chain to swing all the way forward again and knock her off her precarious perch. Fortunately, it also didn’t allow the chain to noisily slap into the wall, either.

  She wanted to stay there longer, catch her breath, but by this point the men had likely heard her hit the sill or the creak of the chain.

  So down she jumped. The sill was low enough not to injure herself, but high enough that pain radiated up her shins. She hissed out a breath, but forced herself to clamb
er down and stagger to the door. That lock was a simple bolt to keep people out; she rammed it open, and then she was outside.

  The night was cool and clear, the stars bright, and the three-quarters moon still high enough to show her the street. The smell of the river was stronger now that she was outside, and the only sound was the creaking of the docks.

  At first, after a quick glance back at the building, she ran. The more distance she could put between herself and the men, the better.

  She was younger and although small, could run. They’d been drinking. She had an advantage, no matter the pounding her shins had taken.

  Remembering the path the wagon had taken, she wound her way out of the maze of warehouses and storage buildings, until she stumbled out on the road that led back to the city of Haven.

  The road was wide enough for two large wagons to pass comfortably as they carried loads into town or returned to the docks. Although it was dark, save for the moonlight, Kya felt exposed. She could have hidden among the warehouses here, but time was of the essence. The men had probably taken the time to saddle the horses, and she didn’t want to be caught out after dawn.

  She wanted to get back to the safety of her tiny room at the Golden Compass.

  She’d have to leave the Compass, of course. But she wouldn’t think about that now, because that was just too heartbreaking. She’d liked Anders and Cosa and, of course, the proximity to the Artificers. She’d have to find another way to be noticed by the Master Artificers.

  She’d figure that out later, after she was safe.

  As she jogged, she planned. Soon she’d hit the tanneries and slaughterhouses, then finally get to the city itself. She visualized a map of Haven and its surrounding lands, overlaying on it her memorized route the wagon had taken.

  Once she got there, she could evade her pursuers.

  Fields stretched out on either side of the road: rustling corn, pungent onions, delicate wheat.

  Then, in the distance, she heard hoofbeats, coming at a gentle trot.