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“Right,” I said as I approached nervously.
“Lower yourself as far as possible, then let go. Bend your knees. Don’t scream, don’t panic,” he instructed, as I hiked my dress up and prepared to climb over the ledge.
Lowering myself was a difficulty. I didn’t have Remy’s upper body strength. Simply dangling my weight was a challenge, yet I gripped the ledge for dear life, scared to let go with nothing below my feet.
The morning was cool for now, with the sun yet to rise, and I was thankful for the breeze against me. I was sweating and my heart beating hard.
“Let go,” Remy encouraged and after one deep calming breath, I did as instructed.
The landing was hard. I had forgotten Remy’s instructions and landed awkwardly on one ankle. I hissed and quickly bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making any further noise.
I heard Remy land with a small grunt beside me. He was quick to wrap his arm under my own and drag me to my feet.
“Bit of nasty fall, but you’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Can you put any pressure on it?” he asked.
I hobbled for a little and tried putting some weight on my ankle. It stung and smarted deeper but it could bear my weight.
“Yeah, it hurts, but I can walk,” I whispered, trying not to hiss in pain.
“It’s not broken then,” he told me. He began to lead us across the courtyard, his arm still securely under mine, and I was grateful for the balance and support.
We stopped at the archway pressing ourselves to the side of the wall. In the grey morning, I could appreciate that Remy was a tall man. He was older with thick stubble on his chin, bushy, overgrown eyebrows, and deep lines on his forehead, but he was clearly still strong and physically capable.
“Can you see anyone?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said gravely. “The bailey is busy this morning.” I knew he wasn’t lying. I could hear the soft murmurs of men talking and working. It seemed they did their best not to break the quiet of the morning.
“Deliveries?” I asked when I heard an engine start up.
“I’d think so. Must be a weekly or monthly thing because there’s a few vans I can see being unloaded. We need to get a look at the gatehouse,” he said.
“I saw that it was guarded by two armed men when I arrived yesterday,” I told him.
“Maybe, in the bustle out there, we can walk out unnoticed. Back in the day, when I was much younger, before I got a job in the mines, I was a thief,” he told me. “I’m not proud of it. But I learned a thing or two. The trick is to look like you’re meant to be doing whatever you’re doing. People don't notice you if you look confident and act like there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. They don’t ask questions. I once walked into a department store, with my partner at the time, and walked back out with a new sofa. Some overalls, a clipboard, and just picked it up and walked out. Security held the doors open for us as we were leaving.”
“You think we can just walk out of here?” I asked incredulously. He turned to look at me.
“Maybe not with you in that dress,” he said, sounding frustrated. He turned back around. “Right, I got it, flower girl. Listen closely cause when I say go, we go. We’ll get into the back of a van. Once the driver has the last of their delivery off the back of the van, they take their delivery note somewhere out of my sight before they head back to the van. It’s a small window, but most so far haven’t locked their vans before walking away,” he explained, and I understood the plan.
Before I could reply, he had grabbed my wrist, whispered, “Now,” and dragged me, stumbling on my bad ankle, up the steps, through the archway and into the bailey.
I thought I would pass out from the panic. Remy’s hand wrapped around my wrist and directed me forcefully and swiftly along the courtyard wall we had just exited, and we were covered from sight by a van briefly.
“That blue van,” he whispered, not breaking his stride, indicating with his head where we were going. He stood up straighter and took my arm formally. “Remember, look the part,” he said. And for a moment, a terrifying moment where I couldn’t feel my legs, we walked out from the shelter of the van and directly into the sight of others.
Remy kept us walking steadily for the few seconds that we were vulnerable and quickly we were by the blue van. I watched as the driver opened the passenger door to retrieve the delivery note. He walked past us, head down, focusing on the delivery note in his hands. I couldn’t breathe.
Soon, Remy was pulling open the back of the van and lifting me up before following himself, pulling the door shut quietly behind him.
“Now what?” I asked in the lowest of whispers. Inside, the van was dark and a metal grating separated the driver from the back of the van. We were cramped, boxes of varying sizes wrapped in plastic around us.
“Get as low down as you can,” he told me, and I crouched with him. “We don’t want him to see us before we’re far away. Move there,” he said, pointing to behind a tall box. “If they open the doors to look inside, we don’t want to be seen at a glance either.”
I was silent as we waited for the driver to return. I was so focused on being as quiet as possible that even the faint sound of my breathing sounded loud to my ears.
The driver returned and the unexpected opening of the door and the driver climbing in startled me. Remy’s hand on my knee stopped me from losing my balance. The driver drove slowly along the cobbled bailey, and I heard as he rolled his window down to speak to the guards at the gatehouse.
My stomach dropped until the van began to move again.
