“So we’re leaving at sunset?”
“Just before. We don’t want the streets to be too empty. That would arouse suspicion. We’ll merge in with the crowd of late leavers before the gates lock this evening, then take a detour, leaving via the secret way. No one will be any the wiser.”
Nessa’s eyes went to the window, tracking the ark of the sun. They would be leaving soon, and she would be taking the first step to finding out how to get back home.
Late-afternoon rapidly approached, and Nessa was bursting with excitement. She and Hunter moved their packed bags downstairs, tucking them out of the way in a quiet corner of the kitchen. Nessa stood beside them, watching as Hunter moved around, filling the third bag with an assortment of cutlery, wooden bowls, and bundles of wrapped food that wouldn’t perish over the next few days.
Once the bag was full, he placed it with the others, and motioned for Nessa to follow him as he walked over to the front room’s door.
Margret stood behind the counter, serving several already intoxicated men another round. At the sight of them coming through the door, she abandoned her post and shooed them back into the kitchen.
The door closed behind Margret and she instantly rounded on Hunter, eyes ablaze. “One day,” she hissed. “Just one damn day without someone unseemly coming into my inn and demanding to know where you are. Just one damn day!” Several wiry hairs fell loose from her bun as she continued. “What have you done now, boy? I’ve had every sort of lowlife in here searching for you this morning. Care to explain yourself?”
Hunter hung his head, not looking Margret in the eye. “You’re a right piece of work. You know that, don’t you?”
Hunter nodded.
“Good.” Margret turned her steely eyes on Nessa, who braced herself for a similar tirade. “Hello dear, did you have a nice night?”
Nessa, somewhat stunned by Margret’s turnaround, could only nod.
“Good, I’m glad. You looked like you needed a good night’s sleep, and it seems to have done you a world of good.” She turned back to Hunter. “Now, you little scoundrel, what do you want?”
Hunter thought very carefully about what he was going to say. “Nessa and I would be most grateful if you would lend us one of your horses.”
Margret was most unimpressed. “Why do you want one of my horses?”
“I would like one to carry some of our bags, although if you want to provide us with two horses to carry us, that would be splendid.”
“Where are you going that would require one or two of my horses?”
Hunter looked over at Nessa, seeking some assistance. She shook her head, deciding that she wasn’t going to get in-between him and Margret. Hunter sighed and said, “We’re going to find Orm.”
“Orm,” Margret mused, thoughtful.
“Yep,” Hunter confirmed. “I haven’t seen him in a while and I thought that Nessa could come with me until things here have blown over.” He gave Margret a winning smile. “We’ll be out of your hair for quite some time.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Margret said, turning back to the door, “you can take the beige one.”
Nessa stared after Margret, wondering what her and Hunter’s relationship was.
“She’s very abrupt,” Nessa said.
“It’s how Margret shows she cares.” Hunter looked at her. “We should go and find the horse before she changes her mind.”
Nessa nodded and collected her stuff, slipping the messenger bag’s strap over her shoulder. Hunter gathered his baggage and led the way out the kitchen and across the yard, heading over to a long building that was to the side of the bath house. Hunter opened the door and the smell of old straw and horse wafted out, assaulting Nessa’s nose.
It was dim inside, and rows of stalls ran along both sides, ending at the far wall which was covered in an assortment of equine equipment. There were only a handful of occupied stalls, and they quickly found the horse that Margret was loaning to them.
Nessa’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile as she looked between the horse and Hunter.
“Margret’s doing this to punish me, isn’t she?” Hunter asked
Nessa grinned, unable to help herself, and stepped closer to the stall, holding out a hand to the small, fluffy horse. It was a soft brown colour, with a long mane and thick, almost curly fur. It only stood as tall as Nessa’s shoulder, and it nuzzled her hand with a warm nose. Tacked onto the stall’s door was a plaque engraved with the name ‘Betty.’ Nessa thought the name suited the horse perfectly.
“She’s so cute,” Nessa said, petting Betty.
“And looks like she couldn’t even carry your weight,” Hunter finished, running doubtful eyes over the horse.
“Then it’s a good thing that the bags aren’t heavy then, isn’t it.”
Hunter shot her a withering look as he moved over to the back wall. “I asked for a horse,” he muttered, “not a pony. I hope there’s a saddle small enough for it.”
“Don’t mind him,” Nessa told Betty, giving her head a gentle pat.
Hunter was back in no time, carrying a saddle, a blanket, a small bag and some reins. He set the saddle on the stall’s door and the rest on the ground. From the bag he pulled out two hand brushes, one of which he handed to Nessa, and opened the door, moving to stand by Betty. Nessa followed suit, not quite knowing what Hunter was doing. She stood on Betty’s other side, watching Hunter from over the horse’s back.
Following Hunter’s lead, Nessa ran the brush down Betty’s back and over her side, removing dust and shedding hairs. “Why are we brushing her down?” Nessa asked, curious.
“Just so that there’s nothing that could cause her any discomfort when the saddle is on.” The task finished, Hunter put the brushes back in the bag, and then picked up the reins and the blanket, quickly fitting them on Betty. “Have you never saddled a horse before?” he asked, faintly astonished. Nessa shrugged. “You’ve never ridden a horse.” Less of a question and more of a statement. It oddly made Nessa feel as if she had an inadequacy about her.
“I’ve never really had the opportunity to be around horses.” Nessa felt like she needed to explain. “I’ve mostly just admired them from afar. Especially after one bit me.”
“A horse bit you?”
“And stole my sandwich.”
Hunter snorted.
“It’s nothing to laugh about. Bloody thing chased me around a tree.”
Hunter’s shoulders shook as he picked up their bags and began arranging them on Betty’s saddle, tying them securely in place. Thanks to Betty, the only thing Nessa had to carry was her messenger bag, and that was purely by choice.
Still chuckling, Hunter led Betty over to the stable’s main door, Nessa trailing behind him. The door opened onto one of the main streets, presumably the one that ran behind Margret’s inn. Small groups of men and workers slowly made their way home after the days work. The sun was starting to dip behind the surrounding buildings, turning the sky a deep blue and casting long shadows.
Betty plodded between the two of them as they walked through the city, keeping to the winding back alleys. Nessa wondered how they wouldn’t be recognised, since they made no effort to conceal themselves, but Hunter didn’t seem at all concerned.
They traversed further than they had that morning, walking until the city’s outer wall rose up before them. Made from the same dark stone as the castle, it was a foreboding and unwelcome sight, with battlements lining the top and armed soldiers stationed on watch. At the sight of them, decked out in their dark tunics and chainmail shirts, swords belted at their waists, Nessa’s heart sputtered and she longed to be back at The Iron Horse, far away from watchful eyes.
The street turned onto the main road, and the base of the wall came into sight. The river ran through a wide square before escaping Ironguard via an archway on the far side. Next to the archway was the entrance to the city, the huge wooden doors spread wide, bluntly framing the outside countryside. A few people were stil
l coming and going, carefully scrutinised by the guards stationed on either side of the gateway.
Hunter, upon seeing the number of guards, casually directed them away, heading down a road that ran next to the city’s wall. The sight and sound of the river faded behind them. When Nessa didn’t hear the sound of pursuit, she relaxed a touch. The road had a gentle bend to it, and that, combined with the row of buildings that were on their other side, soon hid the river and gateway from sight.
Hunter drew them closer to the wall and looked up. Nessa realised that from this angle, any soldiers up there wouldn’t be able to see them.
“Here we are,” Hunter said, pulling them to a stop.
Nessa gazed around, seeing that the only things of relative interest nearby was a ginger cat watching them from an upstairs window, and a small storm drain set low in the wall.
“Our secret way out?” Nessa hedged a guess.
“Indeedie.” He handed Betty’s reins to Nessa, who, never having handled a horse before, held them somewhat tentatively as Hunter knelt down and peered into the storm drain.
Nessa looked at Betty. “You wouldn’t bite me, would you?” she murmured.
Betty blinked big brown eyes at her.
“Didn’t think so,” Nessa muttered, turning back to Hunter, who was rapping his knuckles against the drain. Curiously, he then gave a tuneful little whistle, which echoed behind the metal grate. He paused, then whistled again. This time, accompanying the following echo, came the sound of running.
Although Nessa was half expecting it, it still came as a surprise when someone’s head popped up behind the storm drain.
“What ya want?” they demanded.
“Hello to you too, Ritta,” Hunter said, grinning up at Nessa.
“Hunter!” Ritta, the man in the drain, exclaimed. “I did think I would be see’s you around soon.”
Amused, Hunter said, “Did you now?”
Ritter nodded. “I knew, I knew. You always be gett’en in trouble, you is.”
“Well, in that case, you’ll also know that I’ll be requiring passage for two, plus a horse.”
“Of course, of course.” The head disappeared and Nessa wondered what the hell was going on. She cast around, thinking that Ritta was about to come out of a secret door or something. The street was quiet and Hunter began humming, bouncing on his toes while they waited.
Then, after long minutes, the ground beneath their feet rumbled and shook, and there was a grinding sound, not unlike the noise of shifting gears. Next to them the earth moved, a large rectangle of the cobbled street sinking inch by slow inch downward, forming a slope that angled under the city’s wall.
Nessa stared, astonished, and Hunter stepped past her. He took Betty’s reins and descended, smiling like an imp as he went. Roused from her shock, Nessa hurried after him, the dingy darkness swallowing her. As soon as her feet touched the damp ground, the grinding of gears sounded again, and the section of street rose, fitting back into place above their heads as if it had never moved.
The only light source was the storm drain, and that offered barely any illumination. From the still, moist air, Nessa presumed that they were in a small room.
A door opened and Ritta came scurrying out, carrying a small lamp, stopping in front of Hunter.
The lamp’s flame was limp and unhappy, but gave off enough light for Nessa to see this mysterious Ritta. He was short and painfully thin, even smaller than Nessa, with hair that was shorn in uneven clumps. His hand had a nervous twitch and he watched her and Hunter with beady eyes that reminded Nessa of a rat.
Ritta held out a hand, fingers wriggling like worms, and Hunter sighed. He rummaged around in his pocket and fished out a couple of coins, depositing them in Ritta’s waiting palm.
“Now, now,” Ritta said. “Which tunnel you be wantin’?”
“East one please, Ritta.”
Ritta nodded and moved over to the far wall and pulled a lever. With a creak the wall fell backwards, lowered to the ground on rusted chains, revealing a long dark tunnel. Nessa looked at it, nonplussed.
“Not more tunnels,” she groaned, too low for Hunter to hear.
Hunter peered at the darkness and turned to Ritta. “Don’t suppose we could trouble you for the light?”
Ritta clicked his tongue and handed over the lantern, then scurried back into the shadows. Hunter turned to Nessa.
“You ready?”
Nessa nodded, less than thrilled at the prospect of going into another tunnel. At least this time, she tried to tell herself, it would be a lot harder for someone to follow them, what with the hidden entrance and Ritta acting as a guard of sorts.
With her boots scuffing against the dirt, Nessa reluctantly entered the tunnel with Hunter. It was like every other tunnel that Nessa had the misfortune to find herself in recently; horribly dark, damp and dreadfully claustrophobic. After several yards, Ritta closed the door behind them, sealing them in. Nessa felt uneasy and Betty seemed to be of the same mind, nickering softly. Nessa laid a comforting hand on Betty’s side.
The lantern offered little light, barely enough to prevent them from tripping on the uneven floor. Nessa searched for any sign of the exit, but couldn’t see anything other than solid darkness outside the lantern’s pale glow.
“So, where does this tunnel go?” Nessa asked.
“It takes us east out of Ironguard. There’s one that goes south and another that goes northwest, but this one is the quickest route for us. Once we get out of here, we’ll angle northeast to get to The Hidden City.”
“Sounds good.”
“Indeed. We’ll be out of the tunnel in about an hour. We’ll make camp for the night, have dinner, then set off tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“A beautiful plan,” Hunter agreed.
They chatted for a while, filling the hour with lively conversation. Soon, before they knew it, they were at the end of the tunnel.
A round iron door stood before them, old and rusted, with a turn wheel in the centre. Hunter, after placing the lantern on the ground and handing Betty’s reins to Nessa, gripped the wheel. With hard tugs, he began tuning it. It was stiff and reluctant to budge at first, squeaking and shedding flakes of rust. Eventually though, Hunter got his way and it loosened, spinning and unlocking the door.
It swung open, nearly knocking Hunter off his feet. A fresh burst of evening air rushed in, replacing the stagnant smell of the tunnel with the scent of grass and early spring. It was dark outside, the sun having sank beneath the curve of the earth when they had been below ground. A few lingering rays shone on the horizon, turning a scattering of clouds a pale pink and showing rolling hills and clusters of trees as black silhouettes.
Nessa hurried out of the tunnel with Betty in tow, grateful to be free from its stifling darkness. Hunter picked up the lantern and swung the door closed, turning the wheel so that it was locked once again. Nessa surveyed her surroundings, taking in the thick tangle of brambles that obscured much of the doorway, and the silvery sheen of Ironguard’s river in the distance. Her eyes followed the river, tracing it back until she saw the dark shape of Ironguard.
There was, to Nessa’s guess, a good four or five miles between her and the city. The castle was lit up for the night, the windows glowing with light, making the stone appear even darker against the deep navy of the sky. With such distance between her and Margan, Shadow too, Nessa felt a smidgen more relaxed.
Hunter moved up beside her, mouth open in a wide yawn. “Don’t know about you, but it’s a bloody nice feeling to be outside the city.”
“It does feel pretty damn good,” Nessa agreed.
They set up camp for the night nearby, deeming it too late and dark to go any further. The clearing was small, with just enough space for two people and a horse, and was sheltered by a ring of trees, helping to keep them safe from any eyes and from the breeze that rolled in over the hills.
Betty was tethered to a low branch, preventing her from wand
ering off at the first opportunity, and Hunter was busy unsaddling her. Nessa made herself useful by getting a fire ready, gathering small twigs and some dried leaves for kindling. She piled them up in the centre of the clearing and then stood, dusting off her hands.
Hunter walked past her, carrying the sleeping bags, setting them down on what looked like the most level area of the campsite.
“I’m going to find some logs,” Nessa said, heading into the woods.
“Good, good,” Hunter said. “Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want to lose you so soon.”
The woods were young, composed mostly of juvenile trees that offered little in the way of fire wood, and Nessa found herself having to go deeper into the trees. The storm from the previous night had blown free spindly twigs mostly, but scattered amongst them were a few decent sized branches, and Nessa swiftly collected any she came across.
Bending down to pick one up, Nessa heard the quiet rustle of leaves behind her.
She froze.
The sound came again, slightly to the left this time. Slowly, Nessa released all the branches except for one, letting them roll almost silently to the ground. She rose, heart jumping wildly, and raised the branch like a bat.
She spun around.
No one was there.
Leaves whispered a short distance away, the perpetrator concealed by darkness and a shrub. Bit by bit, Nessa crept around the side of the bush, branch held at the ready. The rustling came again, close this time, and Nessa leaped forward, ready for confrontation.
Was it a peeping-tom of sorts? Had Margan found her? Had Shadow?
No.
It was a squirrel.
It shifted through the leaves, little hands working away, bushy tail quivering. Nessa lowered her branch, breathing a sigh of relief. “Bloody place,” she muttered. “Got my nerves in tatters. Stupid squirrel.”
Nessa quickly collected up her branches and made her way back to the campsite.
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 13