I didn’t like being without Smoke; he was my safety line, the one thing I could depend on. Losing his talents, and the ability to leave when I chose to, unsettled me. The worst part was the despair and hopelessness that permeated the air. Here was an entire town locked away in a prison they had built with their own hands. Only when they had finished, and given the key to the guards, did they realize that they were the inmates. And on the morrow, I would dine with the chief jailer and, quite possibly, his son. Although, I had nothing to base it on, I couldn’t help feeling that it would be my last meal—one that I had no intention of eating.
As soon as the girls had gone off to bed, I pulled Mr. Wolfe aside and questioned him about the layout of the town. He told me all he could about the wall and the guards, which wasn’t much beyond the obvious.
“The only way out with horses is through those gates,” he informed me.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
Absentmindedly, I played with a loose string, wrapping it around and around my finger.
“Tell me about the guards at the south entrance; could they be bribed with food?” I asked.
“Not if they have standing orders not to let anyone out.”
“If they can’t be bribed, then what about threatening one of the gate captains? Could we force him to order his men to open it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t do any good. If he disobeyed orders, death would be his punishment. And dying by your hand would be quick and painless, in comparison to what their superiors would do to them…and possibly their families.”
What a revolting group of people. How could they punish someone for another’s actions?
“I don’t understand how they can just keep us in?”
“Oh, they can do anything they want to. They say it’s for our own protection. You have to have a good reason to leave the safety of the town. If it’s a valid enough excuse, they will let you leave—with an armed escort. Of course, at this point, no one believes they have our welfare in mind.”
“Why do they care if we leave?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps they’re afraid that the outside world wouldn’t tolerate what they’ve done here. I don’t really know.”
The more I learned about Marysvale, the more I wanted out. I didn’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary.
“Mmm, this won’t be easy,” I acknowledged.
“No it won’t. Honestly, John, I don’t think there is a way out. This is partly why I asked if you would defend them with your life should things go wrong. Since you’ve already promised that, then will you take full responsibility if we get caught?”
I was shocked and he could read the disappointment on my face.
“Don’t judge me too harshly, John. I have to think of my daughters, and things can get dire here. If they are caught and convicted of a crime, real or imagined, they could be killed; or worse, lose their citizenship—which means they would be put to work as slaves for the rest of their lives. And being so young and beautiful, the slavery won’t be physical labor.”
He paused a moment to let that sink in, and then continued, “I will help you where I can, John; and if you find a way out, we will go. Nevertheless, my first concern is for my daughters’ safety. So I ask: if we can’t find a way out, is there anything you wouldn’t do to help my daughters live a better life?”
I felt sickened from this disgusting town. I had no doubt that I would do what I could to spare all of them; and naturally, I would be a scapegoat if it became necessary. Yet something about his tone and demeanor made me suspect there was more in his question.
I wanted to get into his head, to find out why I felt so bothered by what he said. However, that wasn’t going to happen easily. Digging deeply, without being detected, was out of the question—especially after just teaching Hannah how to block me out. I wasn’t at all sure if he could sense me there on the surface. Though Jane professed that nobody could, I still had my misgivings. So, to be safe, I decided to employ a trick I had practiced on my father. I had discovered that if I could get him talking, it would lower his defenses, as well as his senses. I could then slip in on a shallow level without being detected.
I gave it a try.
“I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll do whatever is required to save Jane and Hannah.”
“I’m glad I can count on you. If the time comes, I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Of course.”
I continued nonchalantly, “Do they ever open the main gates during the day?”
“At times, but it’s with no regularity now that the harvest is almost over. The only people to leave will be hunting parties, which will be the friends and families of those in positions of power. Soldiers and some select town guards will get to go, as well. After all, it keeps up morale, keeps them loyal, and keeps their families fed—at least better fed than the rest of us.”
He continued on with a tirade about the class structure and breakdown of the government. While he talked, I studied his soul. Right at the surface were his feelings for his wife, Abby. Even after all these years, I could feel the hole left by her loss. He adored her and she was always on his mind. Every decision he made was based on what he thought she would do. He also had an enormous love for his daughters. I could easily sense it, along with something else linked to them. It felt like panic and desperation to protect them from anyone or anything that would harm them. Like a chain, another emotion floated by, attached to the anxiety. It was helplessness. I imagine everyone in this town felt that, but because of the loss of his beloved wife, he hung onto his daughters in an irrational manner. His fear of losing them governed his actions. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to ensure their safety and security.
His rant came to an end, and so I withdrew my gaze and tried to look like I was paying attention. What I’d learned wasn’t much, but at least I knew he had his daughters’ wellbeing at heart.
Before he could ask me anything specific about what he had just said, I asked him questions about the town. Where are the horses kept? What was at the top of the hill surrounded by the gate? How do I get to the wall? And so on.
When my questions and his answers ran out, I told him that I needed to get a feel for the town and get another look at the wall and gates. What I really wanted to do was find a way out, and where our horses were being kept. I thanked him for the information and told him I’d return shortly. Wrapped in a cloak, I slipped out into the cold night. Hiding in the shadows of dark homes and buildings, I worked my way through the town and toward the wall, all the while trying my best not to get lost. It was a difficult task, as every street looked the same in the dark. All too frequently, they would abruptly end, forcing me to retrace my steps. It was discouraging work. I kept trying streets that went in the general direction of the wall. Eventually, I made it to the south gate, though it took much longer than expected.
The south gate looked much like the north, complete with stone stairs leading up to the top of the wall and a tower. It looked almost as sleepy and vacant as the town. Guards still stood at the top doing their best to doze while on their feet. They leaned against walls, muskets, and anything that made standing more comfortable. Torches burned low and a few had even gone out. No one made any attempt to relight them. Guarding the wall looked to be a pointless exercise. If they were attacked, half of them would be dead before the other half would awake, if they even bothered to.
I started my search—for what, I wasn’t sure—perhaps some weakness, something I could use to our advantage. I inspected the gate for a way to open it—which of course there was; but the problem was the weight. I doubted that any one person could get the heavy door open, and if he did, it wouldn’t be a quick process—or quiet. Guards could easily rush down and put an end to any attempt. Even with all of us working to open it, it wouldn’t be fast enough. I wondered if they had orders to shoot anyone trying to escape.
Some of the guards could be overpowered; but, again, doing it
quickly and quietly enough, so as not to arouse suspicion, would be extremely problematic. The risk was just too great.
With no other possibility presenting itself, I made my way along the wall to the other gate. The land nearest the wall was mainly used for growing crops. Occasionally, I’d pass a stable or corral; most were empty and none of them contained the animals I wanted.
The wall itself presented no obvious weaknesses, except for an occasional drainage ditch which passed through to the other side. Rusty iron bars, plugged with sticks, branches, and other debris, kept anyone, or anything, from using it as a way into the town. It looked possible to pry the mortar away from a few bars and remove them; but there was no way the opening would be large enough to get a horse through and without them, we’d have no chance of survival.
At the north gate, the guards were also doing their best to sleep while looking alert; but they fooled no one.
I followed the wall past the heavy doors and on to where it made an abrupt turn and ran up the side of the hill. I continued on. As I ascended, gradually the space between homes became greater. The houses themselves grew in size and grandeur. Shrubbery and trees were neatly trimmed with nothing out of place. Nearing the edifice that made the second wall, which was laid out in a semicircular shape facing the town, I surmised that its purpose was to keep the villagers out, as well as the Brean. I found there were no structures or dwellings near the wall, nor crops—nothing to block the soldiers’ view—only low-cut, open fields. Any attempt to move closer would surely be detected. So, I crouched low, hiding in the shadow of a large home, and studied my options. Several soldiers stood erect upon the wall, all dressed in uniforms similar to Lyman’s, neat and well-tailored. Shiny muskets with attached bayonets graced their arms. The soldiers here were alert—eyes scanned the fields, searching for anything out of the ordinary…like me.
Unlike the lower wall, these torches burned brightly, illuminating everything, and thereby eliminating any good hiding places. The stones that made the wall were smooth and flat. With no mortar or protrusions of any kind, there was no perceivable way to climb it. A cobblestone road led to a set of massive, wooden doors that blocked the entrance. They were polished to a shine.
Carved out and imbedded in the wood was a latticework of iron that was set flush with the doors, which in turn was flush with the outside of the stone wall. At the top of the entrance, jutting out about six or seven feet, was a stone slab, like a gigantic fireplace mantle. It too was as smooth and polished as the rock surrounding it, offering no place to throw a rope or a hook. If I did manage to climb the doors without being shot, there was nowhere to go. It looked impregnable.
I marveled at the fortress. I had seen it when we first arrived in Marysvale, but had no idea of its magnitude or impressiveness.
Somewhere from behind the wall, a horse whinnied. Stables. My heart sank with the realization that Smoke was certainly locked safely away—out of my reach. This revelation presented a whole new set of challenges. To break out of one wall would be difficult enough; but to break into a well-guarded fortress, procure horses, escape back out, and then abscond through the town wall was next to impossible.
A feeling of hopelessness washed over me and, for the first time since arriving, I personally felt the despair that saturated the town and engulfed it in bleakness. I truly empathized with the people who felt completely powerless, knowing you were at the mercy of those behind the wall. Should they decide something evil for you or a loved one, there was nothing you could do, and nowhere to turn. I hated this place.
A soldier on the wall turned around and waved into the courtyard, breaking me from my self-pity. A moment later, an officer appeared at his side—one whom I recognized even at this distance. Lyman, I muttered to myself as if it were a cuss word. I wouldn’t have thought him the type to spend his nighttime hours supervising simple guard duty. I could only assume this to be a punishment of sorts, and smiled at what he must have done to make his father angry.
He turned to his left, withdrew his sword, and beckoned somewhere off to my right. To my horror, he then aimed his sword in my direction.
A deep voice drifted through the air, much to close. “Bloomin’ waste o’ time. How many shadows do we ‘ave ta’ chase?”
My heart beat rapidly in my chest. Was I spotted?
“Yeah,” said another voice, though not so deep as the first. “He’s just making us run around to get a laugh.”
The deep voice returned, “Don’t know what he’s so ‘fraid of. If it were a Brean, the town guard would’ve alerted us. Nothin’ gets by them.”
They both laughed at the joke.
“Yeah,” said the other one again. “Just keeping us from badly needed…”
They turned the corner, saw me, and froze in surprise. It took a moment for their brains to comprehend that something actually hid in this shadow. Fortunately, their hesitation wasn’t contagious. In an instant, I reached up and grabbed the musket of the smaller one with both hands. Simultaneously, I pulled myself up while pulling him down, and jammed my knee hard into his gut. An unnatural popping sound came from him, and he fell back, grasping his stomach with one hand while still trying to hang on to his weapon. The bigger one unfroze and started to draw his musket on me. Quickly, I twisted the gun free from the small soldier and, continuing the same movement, slammed the butt of my acquired musket into the large soldier’s face. The blow connected and he fell unconscious to the ground.
A high pitched scream pierced the air; it was Lyman. “Kill him! Kill him!”
The small soldier weakly made it to his feet; but he was in no condition to put up a struggle, let alone kill me.
“What are you waiting for?” screamed Lyman more frantically. “Shoot, you imbeciles! Shoot!”
A volley of musket fire erupted from the soldiers atop the wall. Lead balls whizzed by. One pierced the ground to our side, causing a small eruption of dirt; another tore into the house, blasting bits of wood and plaster into the air.
The smaller soldier joined me in a desperate scramble to get out of the way of the deadly balls—but his attempt was in vain. Two steps into our flight, a small cry escaped his lips. His arms flailed, back arched, and then he fell forward onto the cold, hard ground. His hat tumbled from his head.
The sight of the fallen soldier made a good motivator. I dashed across the open fields with renewed speed, whipping by houses. My cloak streamed and flapped wildly behind me.
Out of nowhere, two more shots came from my left. I hadn’t time to react as two balls rushed harmlessly, but frightfully, close by. Realizing they had missed, the soldiers gave chase.
I ran hard and fast, desperate to reach the town below, hoping I could lose my pursuers in the narrow, winding maze of streets. A risky glance back revealed the soldiers losing ground. However, taking my eyes off the path in front of me proved a mistake. My foot caught on a stone, and I rocketed forward, cartwheeling into a tangled mess of arms, legs, cloak, and musket.
The soldiers’ angry shouts drew close, their breathing labored. They were yelling at me to stop. Ignoring their words, and the thumping, burning pain in my neck and chest, I rolled over, grabbed my weapon, leapt to my feet, and sprinted on—spitting out the unpleasant taste of dirt was met with limited success.
Our chase resumed down the hill and into the town. My lead had evaporated with the fall. Tall, dense buildings enveloped us in a small, man-made canyon. Our feet pounded the cobblestones and reverberated off the surrounding structures. My lungs screamed in agony for want of air. The soldiers were also tired; their heavy gasping just inches away. At any moment, I expected to feel the painful stick of a bayonet in my back, and felt grateful that the shot from their muskets had already been spent.
A gentle tug around my neck slowed me, then it released. Another risky look back showed one of the soldiers grasping at the tip of my cloak with one hand, still fingering it, trying to get a more solid grip; the other man was only a few paces behind. I reached up with one
hand, undid the knot, flung the cloak back, and kept running. A painful sounding thud, followed by a string of curses and profanity, caused me to look back again. The cloak had apparently wrapped around the head of the first man, causing him to run off course and full force into a house.
The other soldier, ignoring his fallen companion, leapt over his covered, flailing body and continued the pursuit. Through streets and alleys we ran. Slowly, I gained more of a lead, but the stubborn bugger wasn’t giving up. A plan formed in my mind. I sprinted to the next corner, rounded it, and emerged in a small square. When safely around the corner and out of sight, I slid to a stop. Seizing the musket by the barrel, careful to avoid the bayonet, I waited for a split second. I checked my timing and then, with all my strength, swung—right as the man was about to burst into view. In the split second before the blow, the soldier’s eyes went wide. Realizing the unavoidable, he cringed, tensed his muscles, and prepared for the worst. It came.
The weapon connected with his chest, along with the sickening crack of breaking ribs. The man’s legs, arms, and hat kept their forward momentum, but the upper half of his body arched back and even retreated slightly. For a moment, he hung in the air like a rag doll, before crashing down hard onto the cobblestones.
He lay on his back, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air—small croaks escaped his lips, but not much else. The air had been knocked out of him. I was sure that, combined with the exhaustion and broken ribs, he wasn’t much up for a chase anymore.
Walking a little way off, I slumped against a building and tried to catch my own breath. The rest was fleeting. Footsteps and a man’s voice echoed through the small man-made canyon. “This way,” he yelled. “He went this way.”
Marysvale Page 20
