The crowd’s bewildered faces shifted into a sea of hateful and hostileglares.
“Murderer!” they shouted.
“Traitor!”
“It’s not how it seems,” Cyrus cried, “The mayor’s going to get us allkilled.”
Cyrus felt his world closing in. He had to escape. He stomped on themayor’s foot, pulled free of his grip and began to run. He ducked under one man’sclutching grasp and made for a gap in the makeshift stage wall. Two guardsappeared out of dark corners and tackled him to the ground. His bruised ribsseared. They mashed his blackened eye into the floor. He looked around forhelp. He saw Sarah leaving the square, shoving and pushing her way back throughthe churning mob. The men hauled him up and began to drag him off stage.
“So, in accordance with villagelaw,” the mayor boomed, “tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp, Cyrus LongBones will be hanged by the neck until dead.”
The crowd jeered and shrieked with glee.
Chapter 14
TREACHERY
THE TWO GUARDS HAULEDCyrus down the alleyway like a sack of rubbish.
“Where are you taking me?” Cyrus asked, dragging his feet.
“To the Mayor’s tent,” growled one of the guards, “where you’ll await execution.”
Cyrus could hear the mayor begin a lecture about the importance offollowing village law.
“Hoblkalf’s going to get us all killed,” Cyrussaid, “I’ll only be the first,” he uttered under his breath.
And in some small way that made him feel better,as if it would absolve him of Niels’ death. But once he imagined the noosedraped around his neck, all thought of absolution left his mind. He knew hewould become helpless and cowardly and scream for release.
The wind started to pick up and blow debris off several shelters. He noticed one of the tents had ‘HQ,’ freshlypainted above its door flap. He could not believe that it was in thispatch-worked heap that he would spend his last hours.
“You ever seen somebody hangbefore, boy?” the tall, burly guard asked, “You wetyour pants for the whole village to see.”
Cyrus imagined the coarse hemp squeezing tight around his neck. Wettinghis pants seemed the least of his worries.
When they arrived at the tent, the guards shoved Cyrus head-firstthrough the door flap. He hit the ground hard, trying to protect his bruisedand lacerated ribs. He winced and yelped in pain. The tent smelled of mold andstale cigars, and at the back sat an extinguished, wood-burning furnace. Cyruspeered about for escape.
“Don’t even think about it,” the fat guard said.
Beside the furnace rested a pile of scavenged wood and to Cyrus’ leftlay a mattress stuffed with hay.
The guards shoved him to his belly and pressed his face into the cold,damp earth. Then they bound his wrists and ankles in rope.
“No, stop!” Cyrus cried.
But the more he struggled, the more they twisted his limbs and knelt onhis back. He remembered a time when he saw a farmer, with a blade in hand, goout to butcher a pig. The pig knew what was coming and began to squealwide-eyed, running in terror. Cyrus could not get the image out of his mind.
The men rolled him onto his side and tied him to the furnace. How muchlonger did he have to live? He dared not ask, too frightened of the answer.
“We’ll be outside,” the burly guard said, “Keep whining, and there’ll be nothin’left to hang when the time comes.”
Cyrus lay on the frigid earth, his hip and shoulder bones grindingagainst his skin. He stared at a few cases and satchels piled in the corner,thinking, was all this real? Wouldn’t someone come to rescue him? Didn’t someonecare? But Niels was dead, and Edward wastoo far and too small to help. Llysa would not help. This would be good news for her. She would be rid of a long-suffered embarrassment andburden. Cyrus had nothing and no one left. It barely seemed worth feeling sorryfor himself. That would only please the town folk more. How had he gotten himselfinto this mess? He only wanted to help the village, stop the cave-in. He onlywanted Niels to be safe.
Cyrus heard digging and rustling sounds behind him. Then came whatsounded like something large sliding into the tent. The shouts of the mayor’sspeech had vanished. Was this one of the villagers back from the gathering? Asmall scrabbling came from near the furnace. Cyrus held his breath. His skinbegan to prickle. He tried to roll to his opposite side. He was tied too closeto the furnace. He began to twist and struggle, feeling almost claustrophobic.A cold, slender hand clasped him over the mouth. A pale figure with long, lankhair moved over him.
“Sarah?” Cyrus gasped, into her palm.
She had the prettiest, grey eyes. She put a finger to her lips and beganto untie his bonds. One of the guardsuttered something outside the tent. Sarah froze. Cyrus clenched his teeth andstared at the door flap. The other guard chuckled in response. Sarah knelt likea statue for several moments. Then her hands began to shake as she continued tountie the ropes.
Once the restraints were loosened,she waved for Cyrus to follow her. Was this a trap? What was Sarah doing? Whywould she risk her life like this? He watched as she crawled on her belly underthe flagging side of the tent. Then he followed.
As he wriggled beneath the canvas, he found two of the tent postsunearthed. So that is how she had crawledin. Outside, on her feet again, Sarah began to thread her way around severalshelters, keeping crouched and quiet along the way. Cyrus stood and looked overhis shoulder. What would they do if he were caught trying to escape? Was thereanything worse than being hanged? Sarah poked her head around a brown,water-stained tent and waved frantically. Cyrus ducked low and followed.
“Are you trying to get us killed?” Sarah asked,as Cyrus neared.
“I’m sorry. I’m just…”
Cyrus did not want to admit he was halffrozen with terror. And seeing Sarah now so worried and beautiful, herthroat flexing with each desperate breath, he found himself unable to speak.
“Alarm, alarm! The traitor’s escaped!”
The cries came from behind them.
“Come on,” Sarah said, taking Cyrus’ hand.
They ran crouched through the makeshift village
