Page 112 of A Time of Witches

Valerian root did have a strong taste, even when rivaling good ale.

Fortunately, the guard didn’t seem to mind overmuch and went to drink again when the younger guard knocked into him, sending his ale to the ground. Sybil’s stomach fell along with the mug as it shattered to a hundred pieces amid the frothy splash.

“Oy, you wasted my ale,” the guard growled.

The other guard was practically a boy and already staggered with drink. He lifted his own off the table and handed it to the scarred jailer. “Take mine.”

Without a word of thanks, the scarred man swept the ale to his lips and drank thoroughly.

Within minutes, he slumped into the chair, his head resting heavily upon his fist.

Eventually, the younger sank into the other chair, his own head nodding.

While he had not had any of the valerian root, apparently, he’d had more than enough ale to see himself to a drunken slumber.

Sybil held up her hand for the little girl to wait, to ensure they were both truly asleep. The elder of the two would not wake until dawn, not with the dose he’d received.

Finally, she nodded, and the little girl was through the bars, attired in the guard’s clothes as she crept toward the two jailers.

Every person in the cages tensed.

“Get the keys,” someone whispered.

Before she could even try to reach for the guard’s belt, another prisoner cried out, “Free us.”

The younger guard sat upright and glared over his shoulder at the old woman who was still keening. “Enough out of you,” he slurred. “Or I’ll give you cause to cry.”

The little girl ducked under the table, and by the time the younger guard turned and lowered his head to the cradle of his arms, she was out of sight.

Sybil waved her back. After a second’s hesitation, the child crawled out from under the table and slipped back through the bars into the cell.

“You can’t do this,” Sybil said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “The risk is too great. I cannot put you in danger.”

The prisoners were too desperate. Too eager for escape themselves.

The girl shook her head, her small brow pursed with a resolve no child should ever be burdened with.

“My trial is tomorrow,” Sybil said. “Margery’s too, along with several others. Our absence will be noticed.”

The girl looked between them and her eyes widened with horror.

“You have the guard’s clothing,” Sybil lowered her voice, whispering so none could hear but the child. “Wait until everyone falls asleep and slip through the bars like you do. The vicar John Griffin will be at one of the local parishes. Do you think you can find him?”

Despite the girl’s wary expression, she nodded.

“Go to him,” Sybil said quietly. “He will protect you.”

The girl’s face crumpled, her large, dark eyes filling with tears.

“Come now, be a brave girl.” Sybil opened her arms, and the girl fell into them, her small body trembling with the force of her embrace. “Let us pretend to sleep and wait for the others to quiet.”

They lay in the rushes, the little girl curled into Sybil’s side as she’d once done with Edith.

Around them, the murmur of excitement gave way to exhaustion. For empty bellies and raging thoughts made for terrible fatigue and they all found themselves sleeping more and more as the days dragged on.

Finally, all was silent.

Sybil lightly squeezed the girl’s shoulder. Her eyes were already open, staring at Sybil. She sniffed, the sound wet with tears.