As I stepped back into the passage, my heart was hammering. Rationally I knew I'd been condemned to death anyway; but somehow, having indulged my light fingers in so grand a fashion seemed to make it all the worse. Now, not only was I condemned, I was actually guilty of something. I glanced left and right, disorientated by my time in the darkness of the closet.
I heard footsteps.
I knew straight away that it wasn't the same tread as before. This person was striving for quiet as well, but they weren't half as capable. They were moving too quickly for a start, as though they weren't quite decided which they cared more about, stealth or speed. What was going on? Just how many people were wandering around these dungeons? I'd been in less lively market streets. This time, I was sure the steps were behind me, approaching from the direction I'd arrived by. It was tricky to judge distance, though; the naked stone seemed to distort and re-echo sound.
I wasn't about to take any chances. Nor was I trapping myself back in the storeroom. Instead, I scuttled around the next bend, keeping low, ready to drop into the shadows at the slightest provocation. Once I'd passed the corner, I paused again to listen. Had the steps drawn closer? It was impossible to judge. Those dim passages were disorientating. One moment the sound seemed to be behind me, the next in front. Or could it be that there were two people approaching? I didn't think so, but my nerve was slipping. It was easy to imagine a teeming horde of guards closing from every direction.
The corridor beyond the junction was much the same as the one I'd left, but bare this time of cell doors. Again, it ran to left and right. This time I chose left. The passage seemed to go on forever. I was sure I wouldn't reach the end before whoever possessed those phantom steps came into view. The more I lost my nerve, the surer I felt it wasn't one set of feet but many — that I was hurrying into danger, fleeing from one threat towards another.
However, the next junction revealed not guards, nor even another passage. It opened onto a short landing between flights of stairs.
I managed to calm myself a fraction. This was progress. Every instinct told me I was underground — weren't prisons always underground? — and so the logical choice was to ascend. Yet something made me doubt. Maybe it was only my natural sense of direction awakening, or maybe the sudden realisation that perhaps the reason those distant footsteps seemed all around was that they were reverberating from the floor above.
Yes, that must be it. Now that I concentrated, with the worst edge of my fear receding, it made perfect sense. It was easier to judge here, too, with the uninterrupted access of the stairwell. These stone walls were like the coil of a seashell, siphoning noise down into their depths. I was confident that what I'd actually been hearing was activity from the higher level, a constant, barely audible rapping of feet against flags.
Or maybe not. With a shiver, I realised one set was different. One set was definitely behind me. And it was definitely getting nearer.
That settled my decision.
I plummeted down the stairs, taking them three at a time. At the bottom was a small antechamber, with one low door to the right and another, larger and heavier, in front of me. There was a narrow, barred window set high in the door ahead. Through those bars, I could see darkness and the vague impression of distant walls. Close up, I could feel the faint breath of cool night air.
I'd found a way out.
There was only one problem. I knew there'd be a guard waiting on the other side.
There had to be. I'd been far too lucky getting this far. Luck always ran out eventually, and when it did, it generally went with a bang. I might have the element of surprise, but he'd be armed and armoured and infinitely better at fighting — not to mention capable of calling his many colleagues to his aid.
Above and behind me, the footsteps were drawing nearer. They must be in the second corridor by now. My bid for freedom was rapidly coming down to a choice of who got to catch me first. If I was quick, perhaps I could overpower the guard outside. I could put him down long enough to make a run for it at least. I might even get as far as the first gates. And then… and then…
One step. One step at a time.
Gently, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't locked, that its hinges were well oiled, I gripped the great ring that served as a door handle, twisted, pulled.
The hinges hardly complained; a whisper of metal on metal, like a breeze through dry grass. The door drew inward. A rectangle of purple velvet sky unfurled in the opening. I pressed against the wall, craned my neck to see through the slim gap.
There was no guard.
What there was, however, propped against the wall at the top of the short flight of stairs leading down to the courtyard, was a halberd that must surely belong to one. For reasons I couldn't quite explain, the sight of it sent a shudder through me. Perhaps he'd just gone to empty his bladder and would be back at any instant? No, it wasn't that. Something about the incongruity of it there, something about the angle… I didn't know why, but it felt wrong.
I knew I should run, take the opportunity while I had it, but I couldn't. I ducked back inside.
The footsteps were close now — still soft, but near. Unless I was very much mistaken, they'd almost reached the landing above. That only left the smaller door. Hardly even thinking, hardly trying to be quiet, I wrenched it open and darted through.
My heart stopped dead. My breath turned to ice in my throat.
I'd found the missing guard. The guard who should have been outside. The guard who'd so carelessly left his halberd.
I wouldn't need to worry about him.
Whoever had killed him, though — they were another matter.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My first instinct was to forget the guard's spread-eagled body and make a run for it, before the approaching footsteps could catch up.
I was already too late. They were on the stairs. I wondered, absurdly, if it would go more badly for me to be found over a dead guard's body with the crown of Altapasaeda in my rucksack. Or was it so absurd? There were more terrible fates in the world than a swift beheading.
I pressed myself against the wall, as though that would somehow hide me. The steps were quiet, cautious, but rapid nevertheless. None of those characteristics suggested their owner was meant to be here, any more than I was. Yet the fear sliding cold fingers around my throat told me they could just as well be an over-cautious guard — or someone worse.
After all, there was a corpse at my feet. Whoever had killed him might still be nearby. Whoever had killed him might be killing me next if I wasn't careful.
The muffled patter reached the last steps. My lungs clenched in my chest. The footsteps paused in the alcove. I could hear breathing — muted but laboured. I very much wanted to run, I didn't care where… but fear had nailed me in place. I could only stand and listen — to the whisper of a door beginning to ease open…
Fortunately, it wasn't the door in front of me. There came another brief tapping of footsteps. Then the noise was swallowed in silence, and presumably by the night outside.
The wash of relief made my head swim. I almost let out the breath I'd been holding.
Lucky for me I didn't.
Had I been breathing, had I not been mute with fear, I might never have heard the second tread. As it was, I recognised it immediately; the first set of feet I'd noticed upstairs. Just as before, their possessor moved with consummate skill. He — or she, or it — was close upon the heels of whoever had just passed by. They didn't hesitate at the door. Almost before I registered their presence, they too were gone.
I waited. I couldn't guess for how long, except that it seemed like an age. I had no idea what could be going on, or if it was over. What kind of prison was this, where disembodied steps roved the halls all through the night? I felt as if my nerves had been grated. Even by the standard of escape attempts, this was proving extraordinarily
