When he received no answer he turned and said, “As you can see, my skeptical friend, it’s completely empty.” The challenger grunted in puzzlement and sat back down.
As the men closed the chest and took it into the wings, Binkton invited a couple of soldiers to come to the stage and shackle him. As they were doing so, and much to their surprise and confusion, he handed the first one of them the second soldier’s sword that had somehow come free, and he gave the second soldier’s suddenly loose purse to the first, saying that he had thought he had heard the one sell his sword to the other for a fee. He apologized and returned the rightful goods to each as the crowd whooped in glee. And then, even as one snapped shut a shackle cuff on Binkton, the soldier discovered he had locked his own wrist. And there were inadvertent losses of the soldiers’ belts and pants falling down and other such. It was an “Oops, pardon me,” and an “Oh, I am so sorry,” and a “Well, how did that happen?” sort of act, the audience laughing themselves to tears.
Finally they managed to get Binkton’s wrists into manacles, and as they knelt to fetter his ankles, the Warrow leaned down to help them, handing one of the soldiers the wrist shackles to hold while Binkton helped.
When the soldiers were finally sent back to their seats, the captain of the garrison called out to Binkton and said, “I do believe, my dear Wee One, you do use trick fetters.”
“Ah, well, then,” replied Binkton, “would you happen to have some of your own about you?”
“No, but if you’ll come to the garrison tomorrow, I’ll have some waiting. Slap you in one of my cells, too, and I’ll bet you one of the Black Dog’s finest meals and drinks that you’ll never get out of that.”
Binkton hesitated a moment, and the captain called out, “Do I see fear on your face?”
Binkton flared. “Fear? Pah! No gaol can hold me, much less a military stockade. I do accept your challenge, Captain. Shall we say at the mark of noon?”
“I will bear witness,” called out someone, and when he stood all could see he was the town’s Adonite priest, a man the townsfolk knew to be totally trustworthy.
The acts went on, and as they took their bows, Pipper said from the corner of his mouth, “Are you insane, Bink? You’ve never broken out of a prison before.”
“Do not worry, cousin. I mean, how hard can it be?”
“Those are the words of doom, I fear,” said Pipper in return.
“Not really, bucco,” said Binkton, “for you see, I have a plan.”
The sun stood on high, and nearly all of the citizenry of Junction Town, along with a few layover passengers, as well as the soldiers of the garrison, were at hand. Businesses were closed, and a Red Coach driver and his footmen and the passengers who happened to be heading north were in attendance as well.
The captain and the priest greeted Binkton on the steps at the front of the stockade, a humble but sturdy stone building. The King’s man held in his hands a pair of small-sized irons. Binkton said, “Might I have a walk about your gaol first?”
The captain led the Warrow and the entire crowd around the modest guardhouse, noting that both iron- barred doors, front and back, were well locked, and all windows-front, side, and back-were iron-barred as well.
When they returned to the door at the front, the officer led Binkton up the steps, where he fitted the irons to the buccan’s wrists, while Pipper stood to one side and fretted, clearly nervous for all to see. Then the captain announced, “No one has ever escaped from the cell that I will now lock him in.”
“Pah!” snapped Binkton. “I’ll be out in a trice.”
“We’ll see,” said the captain, and he took a ring of keys and opened the barred front door, and, with the Adonite priest following along as an observer, he took Binkton inside. Moments later, the captain and the priest returned and relocked the entry, and then stood waiting.
“Is he well locked in, Prelate?” called someone.
“Indeed,” replied the priest. “Shackled tightly and locked in a cell from which there is no escape.”
“How d’y’ know he ain’t got no lockpicks on’m?” asked another.
“I thoroughly searched him,” said the captain. “There’s nothing whatsoever that could’ve escaped me, not even a pin.”
“Did y’ look in his mouth?”
“I did.”
“How about his nether parts?”
“That, too.”
A quarter candlemark passed, and the crowd became restless, and Pipper sat glumly on the top step. The captain glanced up at the sun and then back to the audience and said, “Well, I do think a trice has passed.” He turned toward the priest and said, “Come, Prelate, let us go and see how he’s doing.” Then he grinned and said, “I’m going to enjoy the meal he now owes me.”
Moments later, with bewildered looks on their faces, the captain and priest came back out the door, and in the captain’s hands were the small shackles, and he said, “He’s gone.”
“Where can he be?” shouted someone in the crowd.
“Yeah. Where is he?” cried someone else.
Babble broke out among the onlookers, and Pipper, grinning and completely at ease, jumped to his feet and held high his hands for quiet. When it fell, Pipper said, “Why, he’s at the Black Dog and sitting at a table and waiting for his meal.”
The crowd streamed back to the inn, and there sat Binkton at a table, and he stood in welcome and invited the captain to sit at his side while he partook of the Black Dog’s finest food and its very best drink.
Graden Finster and his staff had never served such a noonday crowd as they did that very day.
“I say,” said Pipper as he and Binkton made ready for bed that eve, “we ought to do this at every town.”
“Do what?” asked Binkton, yawning.
“Challenge them to lock you in gaol, and then you escape. Did you see how many came to watch?”
“Of course I did, ninny. I was there, you know.”
“No, Bink, what I mean is: it’ll draw the crowds.”
“Hmm. .” Binkton frowned in thought.
“And if we send handbills ahead of us to the next city and put up broadsheets, well, then. .” said Pipper, not completing his words, but Binkton knew what he meant.
Binkton frowned. “Wull, it might have been difficult to get out of the stockade had we not slipped down there last night so that I could try their locks.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have any trouble then, and you were working in the dark. And it certainly wasn’t any trouble in the light of day.”
Again Binkton yawned and he slipped into his bed. “I suppose it is a good idea, Pip. But for now, blow out the candle and let’s get some sleep.”
The seven-day engagement at the Black Dog flew by, and Binkton and Pipper performed the variations of their Fire and Iron act every night-juggling, jesting, picking pockets, mind reading, swinging, flipping, escaping, appearing and disappearing. But soon nearly everyone in Junction Town had seen the performances, and the crowds began to wane.
“Where will you go?” asked Graden, when the buccen told him they were moving on.
“We’ll work our way down to Argon Ferry Town,” said Pipper. “We hear it’s grown back since the war, and is quite prosperous with trade.”
“I’d watch out for them Rivermen, if I were you,” said Finster.
“Don’t worry,” said Pipper. “We know what they did back in the Great War of the Ban. And before that what they did at the Race and on Olorin Isle.”
“Robbers and traitors,” said Binkton, nodding.
The very next day, with the help of footmen, the Warrows laded their iron-gray, flame-painted, secret- paneled trunk, loaded as it was with chains and locks and ropes and other gear, onto the southbound Red Coach. The footmen also tossed up to the top the buccen’s duffle bags, filled as they were with clothing and costumes for the Fire and Iron act, along with their personal kits. Finally, waving good-bye to Graden Finster and his boy Pud and a small gathering of townsfolk, as well as a few soldiers from the garrison, including the captain, the Warrows boarded the coach on their journey to acquire fame and glory, along with some of the good King’s coin.
