Standing in front of her was a perfect replica of Sir Oswald, only he was wearing a pale yellow evening gown that was almost bursting at the seams.
“Some people are easier to imitate than others,” Skyla said, her voice an exact copy of Sir Oswald’s.
“That’s disturbing,” Alex mumbled and she turned her back so Skyla could change into the man’s clothing.
“I’m ready,” Skyla said when she was done.
“I’m not sure about Quinn,” Alex said, sliding the Stabiliser under Skyla’s jacket so that it was hidden from sight, “but we don’t have much time before Sir Oswald wakes up, so we have to move.”
Neither of them knew where they should go but they figured downwards was the best direction, so they descended a stairway at the opposite end of the hallway, which took them to the ground floor of the mansion.
“What now?” Skyla asked.
“Now you need to ask for assistance.”
Alex explained what she had in mind, and once she was sure Skyla understood her plan, she latched onto the arm of ‘Sir Oswald’ and started fake-giggling. Skyla led them to the entry of the mansion where they caught the attention of the guards standing outside by the doors.
“You, there,” Skyla called, and both guards stepped back into the building with alert expressions.
“Sir Oswald?” said the guard on the left. “Is there something you need?”
“This lovely young woman desires to see the juggler perform an act,” Skyla told him, her much deeper voice slurring deliberately. “I’ve had a wee bit too much to drink and I’m afraid I’m a little unsteady on my feet. Will one of you escort us to see my prisoner?”
The guards looked at each other before turning back to their employer.
“Sir, you’ve ordered that he receive no visitors,” the same guard said.
“Well, I’m un-ordering it,” Skyla snapped. “Now, take us there at once before my other guests wish to see the juggler as well. We’re sneaking away as it is.”
“As you wish, Sir Oswald.”
The guard stepped away from his companion and led the way down the corridor.
He stopped to open a door, motioning for them to go through first. The door opened to a staircase that took them underground. At the bottom of the stairs they followed a corridor until they reached yet another door, this one guarded by two beefy-looking men.
“Kerway, Stibbins,” their escort greeted the other guards. “Sir Oswald and his lady friend want to see a performance from the juggler. Let us through.”
The men looked curiously at the trio before the one on the left pressed his ID tag against the touch-screen sensor on the door, unlocking the seal.
“If you’ll follow me, Sir Oswald,” their escort said, and he led Skyla and Alex into a stone corridor lined with cells, the door sealing shut behind them.
“Ooooh, what a pretty dungeon,” Alex squealed girlishly, while secretly wondering what kind of person had a stone prison underneath their home to begin with. “Sir Oswald, this place is simply charming.”
“It is?” Skyla sounded as weirded out as Alex felt, but when Alex pinched her, she quickly corrected, “I mean, of course it is. I own the best dungeon in all of Medora. In fact—”
Alex squeezed Skyla’s arm and the other girl got the message to stop rambling.
Their guard led them to the very end of the corridor and Alex had to force herself not to react when she saw her classmates gaping at her through a set of bars. Both she and Skyla had to remain in character for their ruse to work, so she barely spared them a glance before she turned to look at the lone man lying on a pallet in the next cell.
“You, juggler,” the guard called. “Sir Oswald wishes to see you perform.”
The man didn’t move from his position. “Sir Oswald can bite my—”
“Are you sure this is necessary, sir?” the guard asked Skyla, interrupting the performer’s gruff—and rude—response. “Perhaps your young lady would prefer a stroll in the gardens rather than watching this crass man’s pathetic attempts to throw a few balls into the air.”
“Pathetic?” the performer repeated, sitting up angrily. He was scruffy looking, which was probably a result of his recent incarceration, and he had a black patch of material covering one eye. “Who’re you calling pathetic?”
“I don’t want to visit the gardens,” Alex said to the guard in a whiney voice. “Those animal hedges give me nightmares. What I want to see is this man juggling.”
“You heard my guest,” Skyla said. “She wants to see him perform.”
The guard looked like he wanted to argue, but when Skyla added a firm, “Now,” he relented.
“On your feet, Graver,” the guard ordered the man in the cell.
The performer remained in place. “Who’s gonna make me?”
The guard wasn’t impressed. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
The performer smirked and lay back on his pallet, his hands casually resting beneath his head. “I don’t feel like following your orders right now. But thanks for the offer, mate.”
The security guard actually growled as he yanked out his ID tag and pressed it to the panel at the entrance to the cell. The lock clicked and he yanked the door open to storm right up to the performer.
“On. Your. Feet,” he spat, hauling the man up from where he lay.
“Now, that’s not a very nice way to treat your houseguest,” the juggler mocked.
The guard didn’t miss a beat. “I won’t ask again,” he said in a voice heavy with menace.
Alex had seen enough. They were exactly where they needed to be with the cell now open, so it was time for her to act. She drew the stolen weapon from Skyla’s jacket and aimed it at the guard, telling herself that, like the real Sir Oswald, he’d only be unconscious for ten minutes. It wasn’t like she was going to kill him—just stun him. He’d be fine.
On that thought, she pulled the trigger. Light flew from the weapon and the guard fell to the ground.
The juggler’s visible eye widened and she gave him a comforting smile.
“Hey, I’m Alex,” she said. “Hunter sent us to get you out of here.”
He appeared both surprised and sceptical. “Us?”
Alex motioned to Skyla and then pointed to her stunned classmates who were staring at her from their cell. “Us,” she repeated.
“There’s nothing like a good prison break,” he said, his stoic features transforming into a beaming smile. “I’m Samson Graver, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” Alex said, aware of how ridiculous their situation was. “As much as I’d like to swap life stories, we really need to get moving.”
“Agreed,” Samson said, and he pointed to Skyla. “Want me to get rid of him or can you handle it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Skyla asked, crossing her arms with a pout. The petulant gesture looked decidedly odd from Sir Oswald’s body.
“Uh, she—he’s not a problem,” Alex told Samson. “He’s not who you think he is.”
Samson seemed unconvinced. “If you say so.”