“Oh, right—you have to forgive me. A minute ago I was about to be executed, and now I’m going to kidnap a king. Things are changing a bit fast for me.”
“What are we supposed to do with your brother once we’ve gotten him out of the city?” Royce asked.
“I need you to take him to Gutaria Prison.”
“I’ve never heard of the place,” Royce said. He looked at Hadrian, who shook his head.
“I’m not surprised; few people have,” Arista explained. “It’s a secret ecclesiastical prison maintained exclusively by the Church of Nyphron. It lies on the north side of Windermere Lake. You know where that is?”
They both nodded.
“Travel around the edge of the lake; there is an old road that rises up between some hills; just follow it. I need you to take my brother to see a prisoner named Esrahaddon.”
“And then what?”
“That’s it,” she said. “Hopefully, he will be able to explain everything to Alric well enough to convince him of what is going on.”
“So,” Royce said, “you want us to escape from this prison, kidnap the king, cross the countryside with him in tow while dodging soldiers who I assume might not accept our side of the story, and go to another secret prison so that he can visit an inmate?”
Arista did not appear amused. “Either that, or you can be tortured to death in four hours.”
“Sounds like a really good plan to me,” Hadrian declared. “Royce?”
“I like any plan where I don’t die a horrible death.”
“Good. I’ll have two monks come in to give you last rites. I’ll have your chains removed and the stocks opened so you can kneel. You’ll take their frocks, lock them in your place, and silence them with the gags. Your things are right outside in the prison office. I’ll tell the warden that you’re taking them for the poor. I’ll have my personal bodyguard, Hilfred, escort you to the lower kitchens. They won’t be active for another hour or so. You should have the place to yourselves. A grate near the basin lifts out for sweeping debris into the sewer. I’ll speak to my brother and convince him to meet me at the kitchens alone. I assume you are capable fighters?”
“He is.” Royce bobbed his head toward Hadrian.
“My brother isn’t, so you should be able to subdue him easily. Be certain not to hurt him.”
“This is likely a really stupid question for me to ask,” Royce said, “but what makes you think we won’t just kill your brother, leave his body in the sewer to rot, and then just disappear?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “Like you, I simply don’t have a choice.”
The monks posed little problem, and once dressed in their frocks, with hoods carefully drawn, Hadrian and Royce slipped out of their cell. Hilfred stood waiting just outside and quickly escorted them as far as the entrance to the kitchens, where, without a word, he left them alone. Royce, who had always had better night vision, led the way through the dark labyrinth of massive pots and piled plates. Dressed as they were with loose sleeves and long, disabling robes, they navigated this sea of potential disaster, where one wrong move could topple a ceramic stack and cause alarm.
So far Arista’s plan was a success. The kitchen was empty. They shed their clerical garb in favor of their own clothes and gear. They located the central basin, under which was a massive iron grating. Although it was heavy, they were able to move it out of position without making too much noise. They were pleasantly surprised to find some iron rungs leading into the void. In the depths below, they could hear the trickle of water. Hadrian found a pantry filled with vegetables and felt around until he located a burlap sack filled with potatoes. He quietly dumped out the spuds, shook the sack as clean as he could, and then rooted around for twine.
They were still a long way from free, but the future was looking considerably better than it had only minutes before. Although Royce had not said a word, the fact that Hadrian was responsible bothered him. As he and Royce waited there together, the guilt and silence became overpowering.
“Aren’t you going to say, I told you so?” Hadrian whispered.
“What would be the point in that?”
“Oh, so you’re saying that you’re going to hang on to this and throw it at me at some future, more personally beneficial moment?”
“I don’t see the point in wasting it now, do you?”
They left the door to the kitchen slightly ajar, and before long, the distant glow of a torch appeared and Hadrian could hear approaching voices. At this signal, they took their positions. Royce took a seat at the table with his back to the entryway. He put the hood of his cloak up and pretended to hunch over a plate of food. Hadrian stood to one side of the door, holding his short sword by the blade.
“For Maribor’s sake, why here?”
“Because I’m offering the old man a plate of food and a place to wash.”
Hadrian recognized the voices of Alric and Arista and surmised they were now just outside the kitchen door.