“We’ll hold up our end of the bargain,” Hadrian told her as he and Royce moved the bundled body of the prince toward the open basin. Royce pulled the opulent dark blue ring from Alric’s finger and stuffed it in his breast pocket. He then climbed to the bottom of the cistern. Using the rope tied around Alric’s ankles, Hadrian lowered him headfirst to Royce. Once the prince was down, Hadrian grabbed the torch and dropped it to Royce. Then he entered the hole and dragged the grating back into position. At the bottom of the ladder was a five-foot-wide, four-foot-high arched tunnel in which a shallow river of filth flowed.
“Remember,” the princess whispered through the metal grid. “Go to Gutaria Prison and speak to Esrahaddon. And please, keep my brother safe.”
An incomprehensible series of mumbles emitted from the prince under the potato sack. While they were not certain exactly what he was saying, Royce and Hadrian could tell the prince was doing his best to shout and was decidedly displeased with his situation.
The cold water backing up from the Galewyr River into the sewer had woken him. They were waist deep in it now and while the smell was better, the temperature was not. As they looked out through the end of the cistern, the first pale light of dawn revealed the difference between the forested horizon and the sky. Night was melting away fast, and they could hear the Mares Cathedral bell ringing for early service. The whole city would be waking soon.
Hadrian calculated they were below Gentry Square, not far from Artisan Row, where the city met the river. Determining their location was an easy guess, because it was the only section of town with covered sewers. A metal grate blocked their exit, and Hadrian was relieved to find hinges and a lock sealing it instead of bolts. Royce made quick work of the lock, and the rusted hinges surrendered to a few solid kicks from Hadrian. With the way clear, Royce went out to scout while Hadrian sat at the mouth of the sewer with Alric.
The prince had worked his gag loose, and Hadrian could recognize his words now. “I’ll have you flailed to death! Release me this instant.”
“You’ll be quiet,” Hadrian replied, “or I’ll let you go into the river and we’ll see how well you tread water with your hands and feet tied.”
“You wouldn’t dare! I’m the King of Melengar, you swine!”
Hadrian kicked Alric’s legs out from under him, and the prince fell facedown. After allowing him to struggle for a few moments, Hadrian pulled him up. “Now keep your mouth shut or I might leave you to drown next time.” Alric coughed and sputtered but did not speak another word.
Royce returned, having slipped into the sewer soundlessly. “We are right on the river. I found a small boat by a fisherman’s dock and took the liberty of commandeering it in His Majesty’s name. It’s just down the slope in a stand of reeds.”
“No!” the prince protested, and shook his shoulders violently. “You must release me. I’m the king!”
Hadrian gripped him by the throat and into his ear whispered, “What did I tell you about talking? Not a sound or you swim.”
“But—”
Hadrian dunked the prince again, pulled him up for a short breath, and dunked him once more. “Not another sound,” Hadrian growled.
Alric sputtered, and Hadrian, dragging the prince with him, followed Royce down the slope.
The craft was little more than an oversized rowboat, bleached by the sun and filled with nets and small painted buoys. The heavy smell of fish from the boat helped mask the stench of sewage. A tarp, stretched to form a little tent used to store gear or to serve as a shelter, covered the bow. They stuffed the prince underneath, pinning him there with the nets and buoys.
Hadrian pushed off the bank with a long pole he found in the boat. Royce used the wooden rudder to steer the small craft as the river did the work of propelling them downstream. Near the headwaters, the current of the Galewyr was strong, and forward momentum was no problem. They found themselves working to keep the boat in the center of the river as they moved swiftly westward. Just as the sky was turning from a charcoal gray to dull steel, they passed under the shadow of the city of Medford. From the river, they could see the great tower of Essendon Castle, its falcon standard flying at half-mast for the dead king. The flag was a good sign, but how long would it be before they discovered the prince was missing and they removed it?