Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  "I…" Walter swallowed again, but then sorrow seemed to blanket his gray eyes, "Because I was there. I was in the army that raided and drove out Lord Vincent II; I saw it all, and heard it all at the dear age of fifteen and a half."

  "WHAT?" William squeaked, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

  "And thus, the truth is revealed," Richard smiled triumphantly.

  "Richard, my Lady, this is not some debate; this is a man most dangerous to your safety, as well as your family's safety. There is no knowing what goes on in that man's mind. If you believe that you are a mystery with your clever wit and glib tongue, then he is the enigma of all mysteries," Walter clenched his fists slightly, but managed to place both hands underneath the tabletop.

  "Sounds like you could learn from him," William whispered into Richard's ear.

  "Or die from him," Walter bowed his head until his chin rested upon his chest, "Promise me you won't go looking for him."

  "Walter, I-"

  "Promise me!" he yelled, looking up into her crystal blue eyes.

  They looked so innocent to him, still so full of youth and ideas soon to be crushed. He knew of her potential, how she could manage a way out of any argument, even with her own father, and come out unscathed. She was brilliant -too brilliant. There were dangers she could not yet comprehend; evils in the world she had not yet witnessed; renegades she had not yet seen. He cared about her deeply, like a brother would a sister, and all he wanted -all he cared for- was for her to understand his logic; just once, without challenging him.

  Richard jumped at his strong, demanding voice. He had never quite yelled at her like that before. "I promise, Walter."

  Relief washed over his face as he picked up the trays and headed for the door. Silence followed him as he took one last glance at his two masters. His eyes apologized, with their downcast look when he reached for the doorknob. But then, he hesitated and turned back around.

  "Lady Richard, Lady William, I will pray that he is on our side. But for now, we are all walking on eggshells with him."

  "Would you quit muttering to yourself?" Pip shouted. The prisoner was finally on his last nerve, and sadly, there were no drinks left. The other two guards had passed out from lack of sleep. Pip was beginning to feel sleep deprivation as well when he began to hear voices. Soon, he realized that it was just Vincent. Wait, that's right. It was 'Sir Vincent', or, even better, 'Lord Vincent'; fat chance anyone would call him the latter.

  The muttering ceased, if only for one glorious moment. Then, it returned. Pip, rolling his eyes, stood up, grabbed his shield and sword, and turned the corner to face Vincent. The man was collapsed face first on the floor with his arms stretched out in an attempt to reach the bars of the dungeon. Pip was taken aback by Vincent's appearance, suddenly realizing that his needs, like food and water, had not been met the previous night.

  The loyal guard remembered Vincent's tattered clothes and the fact that he could barely walk. His keen eyes and clever tongue displaced his weak disposition. Now, there was hardly anything left within that man, presently in a heap before Pip. He scratched his head, wondering if retrieving a pail of water was dutifully correct. Pip weighed his options: if he did bring water back, Vincent would survive, sadly. But if he didn't, then the regent-governor of Hungary would be furious that he didn't get to execute the man…or perhaps pardon the man. The Lord might even turn to Pip and execute him for letting Vincent die.

  Pip took one last look at Vincent and set off for a pail. He woke up one of the guards for safety, in case this was all an act on Vincent's part. The guard then left the dungeon and walked outside, into the light. The sun instantly warmed his cheeks and his body as he smiled and stretched off the night, closing the door shut. The day was hardly cloudy and the castle's stone walls stood beautifully against the blue sky. He headed off to a nearby well and reached for a pail hanging on the side.

  "Lord Ladislaus," Pip called from afar. The son turned around from his horse and waved across the courtyard. The young man walked over with his mount trailing behind. Pip smiled once more as Ladislaus stopped in front of the well, letting his horse sniff it with curiosity.

  "Is there something you need, my friend?" the nobleman asked as the clanking of his armor filled the silence for a moment.

  "I was wondering if your father was going to show up at the dungeon and declare his decision…" Pip trailed off while also nudging the horse away as he pumped up some water.

  "Ah, that," Ladislaus's voice fell an octave, "I believe he was headed down there sometime today, though I don't know what his order will be. For this kingdom's sake, I hope that man is executed before nightfall."

  "As do I," Pip lied. There was something about that man, something that Pip wanted to understand. He was extremely complicated, and there was only one way to learn from Vincent: let him live and teach Pip the art of fighting. Certainly if Vincent had journeyed this far, he knew what it took to survive as a soldier, and Pip longed to know how.

  Ladislaus nodded and pulled his horse away from the well with a smile, "I am off to quell an uprising in one of the lower towns. Already, the Kingdom knows of Sir Vincent's return here. They are absolutely furious, some of them." The noble mounted his steed, shut his visor, and galloped off in a cloud of dust.

  Pip coughed and swore at the animal's speed, covering the pail quickly from the dust as ten more soldiers galloped past to accompany the Lord. However, the guard successfully made it back to the stuffy dungeon and opened the door with his keys. It opened and closed swiftly and Pip shuffled back to Vincent's cell. He was still lying there, only the whispering had ceased. Pip unlocked the door and hit the bars with his boot. Vincent made no motion but did grumble at the cacophony.

  "Ah, good. You're still alive," Pip set the pail down next to Vincent and moved back to lock the door.

  "Barely," Vincent whispered, letting one arm curl around the pail and bring it to his head. He struggled to sit up, but managed by propping himself against the wall. He then brought the pail onto his lap and cupped his hands. Water sank into them and was just as quickly swallowed by a dehydrated prisoner. The cold texture sent shocks of life electrocuting within Vincent as his face then dove into the pail and drank.

  Pip smiled and sat back down around the corner, letting his eyes fall back down slightly. He started to hear Vincent whisper once more; and this time, Pip grinned.

  "And Ladislaus is away crushing a mini uprising in Bagamér," Lord Rodriguez finished, glancing one last time at his list.

  "That boy wishes to save the world of its treachery," the regent shook his head. "Is there anything else?"

  Lord Rodriguez nodded, "There is the separate matter of dealing with a certain prisoner you have yet to execute."

  The regent laughed, "Yes, I suppose there is. But I've thought about this predicament, and it could change in my favor. Perhaps I give him a means to conquering more land. Maybe I'll give him a small amount of men and see how he fights within my borders."

  "My Lord, what do you mean?" the advisor asked.

  "You told me that Ladislaus is off crushing an uprising against Sir Vincent. What if we send Sir Vincent off to stop more uprisings so that we can focus our troops on the Ottomans?"

  Rodriguez scrunched his face. "I don't know, your Lordship…The thought of having him run about in our country makes my stomach turn. Besides, who's to say that he won't kill everyone who opposes him? We may as well write those villagers death sentences."

  "It makes my stomach turn as well. But I don't believe I should execute my most valuable asset to killing the Ottomans just yet, Leroy."

  "Then let him rot in his cell, my Lord. He need not step one foot outside of it for the rest of his life," Rodriguez moved forward to open another window.

  The regent suddenly grinned, "Now there's an idea." But then, his grin fell as fast as it had come. "No, no that would not work. Eventually, Sir Vincent would stop telling us what we needed. Then we would have to execute him, and if we didn't our relation
ship with Sir Vincent would have soured so much that he might tell us wrong information to harm our soldiers."

  Rodriguez chuckled, "Then just kill him now and get this over and done with. If he's going to be more trouble than his life is worth, then why let him continue to live?"

  "Exactly for the point you made yesterday at the party," the governor sighed and sat down in a chair. The room had brightened considerably as the windows let rays of sunshine cast through.

  Rodriguez turned to face the regent-governor again and saw an old soul. He sat down with rumpled clothes too rich to bear an old man's weight. The Lord looked pale, almost ill from years of running with the politics of war and country. His eyes had faded to a blue-gray, still sharp, but they had lost their edge years ago to older age. Even though the man was in his mid forties, white hairs threatened his scalp in the corners of his face. His mustache and beard were already graying as well. Lord Rodriguez, his royal advisor, blinked at the old man now so easily consumed by one prisoner. And suddenly, it hit him: the Lord was getting too old for his job, and too weak.

  "Exactly for the point that Richard used against you yesterday in defending Sir Vincent's life: my disRichardting soldiers," he continued.

  "That girl does not know when she's playing with fire," Rodriguez muttered.

  "Richard follows her gut instinct, when all other diplomacy fails," the regent defended lightly. "But that is beside this point. The Ottomans are stronger than ever now, and we need a strategy. Sir Vincent could be that strategy."

  Rodriguez scoffed softly and folded his arms, "Surely you aren't thinking of entrusting Sir Vincent with the lives of your men. He is fickle, a renegade, a rogue, if not still allied with the Ottomans."

  The Lord threw his hands up in despair, "So what am I to do then, Leroy? I am damned if I do execute him and I am damned if I don't."

  The royal advisor was silenced into thinking once more. He desperately tried to think up a plan, anything that meant avoiding Vincent's involvement. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind and he stood there watching his own ruler thinking the same problems. Both men looked at the other and smiled at their minds' failures.

  "I suppose you could wring him dry of all the information you need, and then kill him," Rodriguez tried, his brain already hurting.

  "No," the Lord objected, "The minute I ask for something, he will want something in return before he even tells me what I need."

  "The one thing you can use to your advantage is the fact that you both want the Sultan to die. If you can figure a way to use that to propel him forward in cooperating, then you've won the game before it's even started," Rodriguez tried again. This time, the Lord's face lit up into a bright grin.

  "I believe you are very correct, Leroy," he rubbed his hands together, "Then perhaps if we lay down some bait…"

  Rodriguez smiled, "Just what are you thinking, my Lord?"

  Richard and William walked together across the courtyard in flowing dresses that were both a beautiful peach color. They ruffled gently in the breeze as did their blonde hair. Like twins, the girls were almost the same height and almost the same body type, though Richard had always been skinnier than William. They seemed to be going for an afternoon stroll when Richard paused at the sight of a hidden door covered in vines.

  The elder sister saw Walter tending to the needs of the barn animals such as the cows and sheep across the yard. Both girls looked to their sides and then lightly brushed aside the greenery, pushing the door open and entering. Richard almost gasped at the wonderful sight; it was a huge target practice range for archers and for swordsmen. It must have been used for training sites and for knights before battles. There were dummies made of hay bales clothed with ragged shirts and there were bulls eye clothes that were peppered with holes in them.

  "Richard look as this!" William gasped and picked up a bow.

  Something shiny caught Richard's eye as she looked down to the ground: a sword. Someone must have left it sticking up out of the ground. She glanced around and took a step toward it, lifting it up gently and examining the silver blade from every angle.

  "It's beautiful," she picked it up from the hilt and grasped it with her right hand. Her mouth lifted into a smile and felt herself gravitate toward one of the hay bales.

  "Woohoo!" William aimed her bow with an arrow and fired at a target. The shot ran right through one of the hay bales in the head; it toppled over into a mound of straw.

  Richard's mouth dropped, turning around to face her sister, "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

  William giggled, "From you. I saw Walter teaching you how so I guess I just picked it up."

  "But I had much more difficulty at archery. It took me weeks to hit a hay bale, much less through the head," Richard turned to another one, looking down at her own weapon. "I was always far better at sword fighting." She saluted the dummy and shouted, "On Guard!" slicing it this way and that. She practiced her footwork, making sure that she didn't stumble in her gracefulness. The clothes easily tore off of the hay and straw flew in patches across the yard. William watched in awe as her sister tore up another dummy on the target range.

  "Wow, you look like a professional," William shook her head in disbelief.

  To finish the bale off, Richard sliced its head off in one graceful motion, grinning the whole time. "Thank you. It took years for me to look this good."

  Both girls paused, looking the target range over with anticipated delight. They started to imagine this place as their secret hide-out to practice and improve their skills. Richard always wanted to become a knight, though the law dictated women couldn't. The same could be said for William, but she wished to be an archer. Wherever Richard ventured, William wished to follow. The girls longed for adventure, for a journey away from the Hungarian castle, almost like a caged bird. Richard felt that Vincent might be able to offer them an adventure. After all, he needed their help and they needed his. Richard would be prepared to go off and assist Vincent in reclaiming his honor, knowing she was not frightened by him. She knew one thing about caged birds: they needed wings.

  "Richard! What are you doing?" Walter ran to her in shock, "I thought I told you not to practice in public!"

  She smiled, "Sorry, I found this secret door covered in ivy so I thought I'd investigate."

  Walter smirked, "Well, no door goes unopened without you knowing about it. I swear, nothing can pass that mind of yours." But then he noticed William in the distance and his face soured once more. "What is your sister doing?"

  Richard raised her chin proudly, "She's practicing the art of archery."

  Walter saw William hit another target square in the chest. His jaw dropped.

  "Mine did too," Richard laughed, "She's the best I've ever seen."

  Walter blinked and turned back around to Richard, "Why I…There's…What did…How come…"

  "She's a natural," Richard chuckled, sticking her sword's blade in the ground.

  Walter nodded but pointed, "This is why you cannot go around blithely shooting and slaying things. You both are too good to be seen, and though I may be very good at controlling rumors, if someone actually sees you two practicing out here, I cannot deny it. And what's worse, it will come back and bite me since I am the only one who could possibly be forced into teaching you archery and swordsmanship."

  "Walter," Richard covered his mouth, "Calm down, no one can see us from this angle. The only building that is closest to us is that one," she pointed to a rundown building with chips in the sides of its walls. The roof almost looked as if it would cave in at any moment and kill anyone alive in there.

  "And that would be the dungeon," Walter answered, suddenly catching himself. "Another reason why you must leave!" he threw up his hands and began to escort William and Richard out of the range.

  "Ah, I see. So that is where they are keeping the prisoner," William gasped. Her older sister smiled.

  "My Ladies," Walter began in a forced soothing voice, "There is the door," he pointed to the ivy
covered portal and waved goodbye, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to clean up this mess before anyone comes looking around at the damage."

  Richard and William let themselves out and slammed the door shut. They paused around the back corner and smiled to the other. One thing was certain: they would be back again to practice some more, and when they did, perhaps they would be able to see Sir Vincent. William was more excited to see the man than Richard was; but a certain quality about the prisoner had her completely vexed: his mind. She needed to know how to control him, especially for her father's use and for her country's use. Somehow, she knew he could help, though she knew not yet how.

  Pip took the hilt of his sword and struck it across the face of Vincent. The prisoner woke up with swinging fists at a target he didn't even register yet. But both punches were dodged quite easily, and he was pinned down just as quickly. Pip let out a satisfying grunt as he sat on top of Vincent with a smile on his face. The prisoner groaned in pain at the weight of the man and the armor, but didn't struggle.

  "So you're finally up. And throwing punches too," Pip grinned as he roughly slapped Vincent on the shoulder.

  Vincent flinched, but grinned, "A well trained soldier knows no less."

  Pip's smile faded and he stood up, letting Vincent inhale a full breath of air before informing him of anything. Pip shut the barred door in Vincent's face abruptly and made sure he wasn't followed. Watching the weak prisoner disgusted Pip, especially since his ruler wished to reconcile with Vincent. The thought of Hungarian nobility kneeling in help for an Ottoman made his stomach twist into a knot, not to mention the fact that he didn't like Vincent's attitude either. The gold-coated voice of an angel to get what he desired and the strength of a horse to will what he wished for branded Vincent a dangerous man in Pip's eyes.

  "Well, now that you're standing, I'll inform you that the ruler of Hungary wishes to speak with you," the guard answered.