He had to do whatever it took. He might be the townsmen’s last hope, if they were not warned, they’d all be killed by Makthryg’s gas. He threw the twine out towards the basket—and managed to capture it in the first throw.
He carefully tensioned the string and began pulling the basket towards him. It was heavier than he had thought and was dragging against the floor, making the task awkward.
He was using both hands when the basket snagged on an object he couldn’t quite make out. Was it a splinter in the floor?
He tugged harder and the basket moved a little—and then snagged again.
Frowning, he pulled harder, and the basket flipped over on its side, causing most of its contents to fly across the floor. Paolo froze. He guessed the basket must have made a noise. The thread had come loose from the top of the basket, so he pulled it back in to the cage and hid it behind him. He lay back down, trying to remember the exact position he had been sleeping in, and kept an eye on the doorway.
Within seconds he saw someone approaching and closed his eyes, remaining motionless and breathing shallowly.
One of Makthryg’s archers rushed in and looked around for clues, followed by the archer captain striding in behind him. Paolo peered through his almost-closed eyelids at their lips.
“What was it?” the first archer said.
“I can’t see anything. Hold on a moment. There’s a basket over here on its side … that’s odd.”
“Might be that pesky creature—you know that ragged furry thing Hursk keeps up here? I’ve seen it ferreting around in that basket before.”
The leader paused. “Maybe you are right. It’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re all on edge, what with Makthryg’s plans for tonight. Gather up the rubbish and put the basket back. Let’s be out of here, we have equipment and supplies to organise for the attack.”
The archer shoved the garbage back into the basket, and placed it well under the desk and out of Paolo’s reach.
“There. That mangy scrap of meat and bones won’t knock it over again,” he said.
The leader looked at the other man and shrugged. “It’s of no consequence now. Let’s go.”
When the men had gone, Paolo sat back up. He was grateful for whatever ragged furry thing lived in this part of the fortress, but now he had to escape and warn the townsmen of the threat to their lives. The archers had made it clear that Makthryg’s plans were well underway and he had no time to lose.
But the basket was no longer an option.
He looked around and saw something glinting on the floor, closer to the cage. It must have fallen out of the basket and been left behind. He crept toward the front of the cage to look more closely. It looked like a large, bent wire clip, the type used to secure large maps together.
He pulled the make-do twine from behind him and made the loop at the end smaller. If he could throw the loop so it landed over the metal clip, he might be able to drag it back.
This time he would be more gentle. He gauged the distance again and lobbed the twine loop out through the cage, and over on top of the clip.
Yes! Paolo almost yelled out loud. This was one time he was happy that the curse had rendered him mute, and that the only yelling he did was inside his head. Or when talking to Sarina. Where was she when he needed her? Shaking the thought from his head, he concentrated on dragging the clip back towards the cage.
After several interminable minutes, it was within reach.
He stuck his hand through the cage bars and wiggled the clip into his fingers.
Now for the tricky part. He reasoned the lock was nothing more than the same mechanism as a simple birdcage and if he was lucky—
If he was lucky? When had he last been lucky?
But then again, he smiled. One thing he didn’t need luck to be good at was picking the bakery store door open for all the other kids. He had gotten in trouble for it on more than one occasion too.
Now he would see if all that time spent doing chores as punishment for picking locks was worth it.
He bent the clip into a U-shape and reached out of the cage with some difficulty, twisting his body around so he could get to the lock. The only way he could reach was with his face jammed up against the bars and it was impossible to see what he was doing.
He managed to slip the clip in easily, but he struggled with the mechanism from the awkward angle, and then he felt the resistance of the tumbler. There it was. He slowly increased the pressure and turned the clip against the resistance.
The lock clicked open.
Paolo gave silent thanks for the bakery store and carefully pushed the cage door open. He crept out and looked around the doorway. No-one to be seen. This was his chance.
He ran as quietly and quickly as he could down the hallway.
He came to a halt at the top of a narrow set of stairs at the end of the hallway. It was dark where he stood, dark enough that he could edge forward and peer down the stairs.
Still no-one in sight. Time to move.
He ran down the stairs, treading lightly, but it was tricky not being able to hear if he was making any noise, so he ended up going slower than he would have liked. Far better to be undiscovered though. He peered around the landing.
He saw shadows flickering in the light from down the next flight of stairs and decided to avoid heading that way. But where to now? How would he get down?
He looked around him and saw a hatch in the wall-panelling on the other side of the landing. It took a moment before it dawned on him that it was the kitchen delivery lift mechanism, common in many of the large halls and buildings.
Desperate to find his way back to Andreas and warn the townsmen, he crept over to the hatch and pulled it up.
The small box-like lift was not there but he could see by looking up and down the shaft that it was down on the next floor, probably stationed at the kitchen. The winding mechanism to retrieve it was staring at him. He had to risk it.
Paolo grabbed the ratchet handle and began winding the server-box up to him, hoping that no-one in the kitchen intended to use it. He kept an eye out in either direction, but the flickering shadows from below were not coming any closer to him.
He winched the delivery box into place. It was bigger than at first sight, yet it would still be a tight fit. He locked the ratchet into position and climbed in, being careful to slide the outer hatch down.
Now that he was in the box, the huge flaw in his plan became obvious. Who would be standing on the outside to lower it?
He looked up at the mechanism, then peered down through a gap in the wooden floor. He could see only darkness—wait, was that a sliver of light coming from the kitchen? It wasn’t that far down. If he could slow the progress of the box enough, it might work.
He opened the hatch again and looked out tentatively up and down the hallway—still no-one. He jumped out and tip-toed back up the stairs to the room with the cage and found what he was looking for; the long, heavy-duty ropes thrown to one side of the room. With difficulty he heaved one coil over his shoulder and made his way slowly back to the hatch.
This time, before he got in, he attached one end of the rope to the bar holding the ratchet handle and held the other. The gap between the box and the shaft would be just enough to pass the rope through.
If it didn’t work … well he didn’t want to think about that, except it would be painful at the least, if not much worse. Maybe fatal.
He would have one chance.
He held tight to the rope with one hand and with the other he reached up and around the open hatch and knocked the ratchet handle out of the lock position.
Now that his full weight was in the box and no ratchet locking it in place, it immediately plummeted and the rope flew with alarming speed through his other hand, burning his palm. He gripped it as hard as he could, catching it with both hands and managing painfully to slow the box to a crawl.
Slowly, with his hands red hot from the friction and effort, he lowered himself until he was lev
el with the kitchen hatch. He placed a loop of the rope under his foot and leaned all his cramped weight onto it. Wiping his brow from the effort, he freed one of his hands and the lift lurched momentarily—and held. He let out a slow breath of relief. Now he had to get out of the box.
He found the edge of the hatch and eased it up slowly, letting the light in.
At the far end of the kitchen, with his back to Paolo, was a large man in a white hat sharpening some knives. The rest of the kitchen was empty.
Paolo lifted the hatch the rest of the way and paused to assess his situation. The box was still secured with his foot and one hand on the rope. As soon as he let go of the rope, he would have to leap out at exactly the same time and hope that he cleared the gap before the box fell too far, with him inside.
He steeled himself for the leap, keeping one eye on the fat knife-sharpener. He jumped and tumbled out onto the floor. As he was getting to his feet he saw the big man whip around, a shocked look on his face and a sharp knife in his hand. He opened his mouth and Paolo saw him yell, “Hey! You! Wha—” but he wasn’t waiting around to lip-read the rest.
He sprinted across the kitchen, ducking around the benches and into another hallway on the other side. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the fat man lumbering along to intercept him, knife in hand.
Then Paolo spied what he was looking for; the small coal delivery chute. Though it was small, he knew the door would lead to the outside. He ran up to it, hoping it was not locked and wrenched the handle.
The door opened and he felt the fresh night air rush in. He took one look back at the fat man running down the hallway towards him and he leapt out and onto the gravel roadway outside. He landed heavily, but managed to keep running across the boundary and straight into the woods next to the fortress.
The huge chef, too large to fit through the door, could only lean out brandishing his knife, shouting for help.
~~~
The men were working in teams in the Town Square to clear away the destruction wrought by Valkrog, and assessing the damage and repairs required to the bell tower and meeting hall.
Most of the work was centred around one group who were clearing away rubble from the meeting hall, while another group of men were inside the tower stairway, using long tape measures, string and optical measuring devices.
They were too preoccupied to see or hear Paolo come crashing out of the woods on the other side of the building.
He ran up to the larger group, who were still clearing away bricks and sweeping up mounds of dusty rubble, shovelling it into a line of waiting wheelbarrows.
“Hey, it’s Paolo!” one of the men said, putting down his shovel.
“He seems to be in a right old state,” another observed, “maybe he’s got another story of some monster chasing him through the woods!”
The men all laughed and looked at Paolo, who was bent over with his hands on his knees catching his breath.
“Been out for a run have you, Paolo?” another man said, poking fun.
“You fool, the boy can’t hear! Don’t you know he’s deaf and has to see your lips?”
“Oh,” the man said. “I forgot.”
“Stop!” A voice shouted across the Square.
A tall strongly built man strode towards the group, brushing rubble dust from his red hair. Paolo recognised Rocco, a friend of Tomas.
“Can’t you see the boy is agitated? In case you hadn’t noticed, we have recently been attacked, and by the very creature that killed his father.” Rocco’s eyes shone brightly as he pointed to the rubble and the destruction that Valkrog had rendered.
“I say whatever has happened, it is no made-up story. Let’s see what the boy is able to tell us.” He turned back to Paolo, his features softening.
Paolo straightened, trembling, and looked at Rocco, his face white.
“Go ahead, Paolo,” Rocco said, “tell us, what is the matter?”
With no notebook on hand, Paolo knew this would not be an easy task.
He pointed up into the air and flapped his hands towards his face, and motioned as if rain was falling.
“What is it, Paolo, is the air falling?” a ruddy-faced man said, not able to contain himself and breaking into a guffaw.
Paolo was still gesticulating to the sky and motioning downward, but except for Rocco, the other men were now pointing at him and laughing hard.
“The air is falling down!” “The sky will fall!” “The sun is too heavy!”
Paolo held his nose with his fingers as if trying to avoid a bad smell and continued to mime the air coming down by flapping one hand towards his face.
“Have you got gas, Paolo?” “Eaten something rotten have you?”
The men fell about, staggering and holding their stomachs. They were laughing so much and slapping each other on the back that their attention drifted from Paolo. Rocco took his arm and led him across the square away from the men and stopped to face him.
“Paolo, ignore them. They have suffered at the hand of Valkrog and this joke at your expense is probably their way of releasing tension.” He sighed looking back at the men and then back to Paolo. His eyes narrowed and he spoke with deliberation so Paolo could read his lips.
“Tomas and Andreas have led a search party for you and I believe they would still be looking for you even at this hour. I will go with you to find them so they can call off the search. You can explain what you have seen to Andreas and Tomas—and to me too along the way if you are able.”
Paolo nodded and pointed up the hill, his eyebrows raised forming a question.
“Yes,” Rocco said. “I think that’s wise to avoid these fools,” jerking his thumb back towards the men. With one final look back at the men, some of whom were still laughing and waving their hands under each other’s noses, Rocco and Paolo set off in the other direction, towards the forest and the trail to the well.
~ 9 ~
Confrontation
The bell rang to announce the end of the exam.
Old Smythe glared at the class. “No talking. Leave your papers face down on your desks. Retrieve your bags in silence and leave in an orderly fashion. I remind you again that results from these two tests will be posted on the noticeboards tomorrow at the start of school.”
Sarina felt her hands becoming clammy with that last announcement; she was already dreading the results. But for now, it was crucial to find out how that annoying Nathan boy had managed to copy one of the characters from her own paintings and sketches.
She followed Nathan to the back of the room, where he collected his satchel and Sarina picked up her bag.
“Where did you get hold of that?” Sarina confronted Nathan, standing in his way as he attempted to leave.
“Er … what?” He looked confused.
The booming voice startled her. “Sarina Metcalfe, did you not hear my instructions? I said no talking and you are to leave in silence. Do you understand?” Old Smythe glowered at Sarina from across the room.
“Yes sir,” she said quietly, stepping to one side and allowing Nathan to move past her to the door.
“Good. Make sure you comply with instructions in the future or I shall be forced to report you again.” He looked down at her over his glasses and frowned. “Now please would you go and do your best to be a good student?”
Sarina nodded, picked up her bag and walked out, feeling a little silly.
Outside in the corridor she bumped into Georgia.
“Sarina, what on earth are you doing?” Georgia whispered. “Old Smythe will have your guts for garters!”
“I know,” Sarina said, also wondering exactly what had got into her head. But she HAD to know how Nathan had gotten hold of that image of Paolo.
“Georgy—I’m sorry to be so rude—but do you mind awfully if I rush off?” Without waiting for a reply, she gave her friend a wave and a brief smile, turned and ran down the corridor.
“Well no, now that you ask, I guess not,” Georgia said, shaking her head.
“Nathan!” Sarina panted as she came to a halt next to Nathan who was walking out to the playground.
He stopped and looked back. “What is it NOW?” His face was drawn and he looked tense and preoccupied, which threw Sarina a little. She was used to Nathan-the-self-assured, not Nathan-the-preoccupied-and-worried.
“Um …” she struggled with the words, “that picture,” she pointed to the drawing, still poking slightly out of the satchel.
Nathan slapped his hand over it, covering it up. “You can’t have it!”
“Oh … boys!” Sarina stamped her foot in frustration. “I don’t want your silly picture, I want to know how you managed to copy one of my drawings.”
Nathan took a step back in surprise. “One of your drawings? What do you mean?”
“That picture,” Sarina said. “It’s a picture of Paolo. From my dreams.” She realised immediately how stupid that must sound and started to correct herself, but Nathan was staring at her.
“Goodness,” she said, surprised by the pale look on his face, “you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“Mmmmm … I … I … I … I think I have!” he blurted and giving Sarina a very odd look, turned and ran off.
Well. Who would have thought that Nathan would ever be flustered? And she was still no closer to finding out how he had stolen her pictures to copy.
~~~
The rest of the day dragged and Sarina didn’t see Nathan again to challenge him about the pictures. On the bus home her thoughts returned to Paolo. He felt so real. And what on earth had made Nathan so shocked? What was the significance of the birdcage?
She slipped in through the back door, hoping to avoid her mother’s questions, but that plan fell apart immediately. Her mother was standing in the kitchen, waiting for her.
“How did it go, Sarina?” her mother asked with the kind of penetrating look that you don’t avoid.
The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults) Page 8
