“There’s no such thing as a flying cat.”
“I swear, look, it’s over there.”
There was the echoing sound of a chair falling over. “Bleeding ’ell. Well, catch it then you idiot; it can’t stay down ’ere.” Muffled curses floated down the stairs.
The older guard groaned. “Only you could make such a ball ache out of it. It’s just a bleedin’ cat.”
“Well, you catch it then.” The younger guard sounded annoyed.
“If this costs me my rotation, you’ll regret it. I’ve got just one more watch, and I’m out of ’ere. One more soddin’ night of making sure locked doors stay locked and you have to find a bleedin’ cat...” His grumbling voice faded as he climbed the stairs.
Jerrol peered through the peephole; the younger guard had his back to him, and at an exclamation from above, he climbed the first few steps. “Did you get it?”
Jerrol knelt by the door and selecting his picks, set to work. Sliding out of the cell, he shut the door behind him, and as he crept along the wall, he listened. The older guard cursed. “The bastard’s slippier than the first frost. Get up ’ere. I’ll chase it to you, and you grab it.”
The guard on the stairs hurried up, and Jerrol silently followed. Chairs scraped across the floor as they shoved furniture out the way. “There it is, go on, chase it up the stairs, quick. It’s just a cat. It ain’t got no wings; you need to get yer eyes checked.”
Jerrol peered through the doorway. Both guards were herding a small black and white cat up the curved stairway to the upper level. He squinted at it. He was seeing things. It did have wings, and a scaly tail which was flicking in agitation. Jerrol hid behind the desk, rubbing his eyes.
“Which idiot let it in? That door shouldn’t be open,” the older man said, stomping back down the stairs. “Whatever next. You go down and check the lower cells. I’ll do this floor.” The guards dispersed and Jerrol fled up the stairs. His eyes widened as he reached the top; the door was open again.
He eased out of the opening and after a quick scan of the dark expanse of the parade ground, he shut the door behind him and knelt to lock it. He didn’t hesitate; he straightened his jacket and strolled towards the outer wall of the palace, the darkened parade ground behind him.
A low hooting, like that of an owl, made him stop and peer up at the wall. A knotted rope dropped down, almost braining him. He tugged it and climbed up and onto the gantry and then, flipping the rope over the wall, down the other side. He peered around for his helper, but he couldn’t see anyone.
The torches lining the palace walls flickered as patrolling guards moved in front of them. Jerrol waited, counting as the guards reached the end of their patrol, and as they exchanged words, he slid down the steep slope into the scrub.
He waited again, expecting a hue and cry as they realised he had escaped. But the night was silent, and after a moment to calm his racing heart, he worked his way deeper into the bushes and retreated into the balmy night.
He picked his way towards the city, trying to minimise the noise he was making as he stumbled over roots in the dark. The cloudy sky hid the moon and him in murky darkness. He made slow progress across the shadowed landscape, listening for whoever had helped him, but there was only his heavy breathing, loud in the silence. He worked his way towards the edge of the city as the faint grey dawn began to steal across the sky.
Chapter 3
Old Vespers
Jerrol paused in his flight across the rooftops; his grey and black uniform blending into the velvety shadows lurking in the corners of the brick chimney stacks. Not that he needed them, as no one was looking up; in fact, they were very focused on charging down the Port Road. As if he would be that obvious! You would think they had higher expectations of his capabilities. He raised his eyebrows as two more units of guards came charging out of the garrison.
He eased further back into the shadows as his ex-commander exited the gate and scowled after his soldiers. Nikols’ glance swept the surrounding buildings, and even reached as far as the upper windows; then he abruptly about-faced and passed back into the garrison courtyard.
Jerrol rubbed his chin as he considered. Nikols never did anything without an excellent reason. He wouldn’t have emptied the whole garrison without cause; and Jerrol thought, with a wry grin, he was a cause that could use all the help he could get.
His heart rate spiked a moment as he thought about the last few hours. One night was all it took to rip his comfortable life apart and force him out. Shutting the thoughts out, he refocused on his immediate problem. He needed to get out of Old Vespers alive, then he could worry about the rest.
Spying the drainpipe at the end of the terraced roofs nearest the garrison, he shinned down, dropping the last few feet to the ground. A quick sweep of the entrance showed the courtyard was clear. He brushed down his uniform and strolled through the garrison’s main gates as if he belonged there, which of course he had.
Jerrol entered the adjutant’s office and picked an order pad up from the desk. Listening intently, he dashed off a few words before addressing the front and slipping it into the worn leather courier
