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When he saw my blank look, he flung his arm out to the left. “By the gardens. In thekeep.” Then he raced on, muttering about stupid girls who couldn’t understand directions.
Rude little git.
Continuing deeper into the castle grounds, I passed a handful of men loading logs into a kiln, and others building what looked to be a huge wooden cage. Servants brushed by me on either side, carrying fresh rushes and armfuls of linen.
All this, to serve one man, while we’d brawl in the street for a single loaf of bread!
At the far end of the outer bailey was another stone wall and another gate. This one was narrower, with two guards at either end, but I passed through without incident. Once inside, I was in the castle’s innermost grounds. To my left was the baron’s chapel, which was ten times the size of our village church, with windows of colored glass. Beyond that, casting its long shadow on the ground, was the keep itself: a narrow tower of black stone, its dark face brightened by blood-red flags emblazoned with a golden stag.
To its right lay the vast garden, its leafless fruit trees and grapevines waiting for spring. Chickens pecked here and there in the dirt. A handful of sheep, clustered in a narrow pen near the butcher’s wooden lean-to, shifted nervously as I neared.
They seemed to know they were doomed, but I wasn’t the one with the knife.
To my left, on the keep’s ground floor, I saw the castle’s kitchens. I crept closer and peered into the larger one. Spitboys turned freshly butchered animals over crackling fires, while cooks chopped winter vegetables for stew. The smells—of spices, roasting onions, and charring meat—were overpowering. I was a stray dog, drooling at food that was never meant for me.
“More turnips,” shouted the red-faced cook nearest me.
A small boy who’d been lurking in the corner leapt up as if struck. A moment later, he scuttled down a set of stairs just to my left.
Silently I followed him.
After a few paces down a dark, narrow hall, we entered a cellar storeroom. Humming tunelessly, the boy moved among sacks and barrels, hunting for the turnips by the light of a small candle.
I, meanwhile, began to look for something else.
Somewhere below the kitchens lay another passageway, one that ran beneath the castle walls and ended in a small opening above the moat. Before years of drought narrowed the Vernet River and dried up the moat, boats had brought meat and grains from the fertile south, which was lifted from their hulls and pulled through the tunnel straight into the cellar storerooms.
That, anyway, was what crazy old Zenna had promised. And I prayed that she was right.
CHAPTER 14
If sneaking into the castle had been terrifying, waiting in the frigid underground was a thousand times worse. I’d found the mouth of the tunnel—Zenna hadn’t been crazy about that—but I was certain that the men from my village would change their minds. They’d never approved of me or my wild ideas. What if they simply went to bed hungry again, convinced this was another one of my fancies?
Otto will come, at least, I thought.Won’t he?
From the tunnel I watched as darkness spilled down the hill and into the valley. The cold seemed to seep into my bones, and my hopes sank as the hours passed. Pressed against black stone, I listened to rats scuttling in the cellars and the sound of my heart beating in quiet terror.
My name is Hannah Dory, and I have made a terrible mistake.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to the churring call of the nightjar. I got up with a start, banging my head against the low ceiling. It was Otto’s signal! He’d come!
I scrambled over to the opening. I could see nothing below, but I let down the rope that I’d smuggled in around my waist, the other end of which I’d tied to the grate at the tunnel’s entrance. I held my breath as the rope tightened, bearing the weight of a climbing man.
I could hear his torturously slow progress. Every scrape of shoe against rock sent a shiver of dread through me. Could the guards, high on the castle walls, hear it, too? Any moment might come the hiss of arrows.
Fed or dead, fed or dead, I whispered.Either way, our troubles will be over.
Moments later, hands appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, and Otto’s straining face appeared in the opening as he pulled himself the rest of the way up. For a moment he lay sprawled on the stone, breathing hard.
“That’s more difficult than it looks,” he said, righting himself.
“You made it!” I whispered, relief flooding my body. I wanted to fling myself into his arms.
He leaned forward and took my face between his hands. “You are a mad genius, Hannah Dory,” he said. And then he kissed me with warm, soft lips until I pushed him away, breathless. “We have work to do,” I reminded him.
We moved deeper into the tunnel as Maraulf and Merrick clambered up to join us.
“Just Vazi now, right?” I asked.
