City of Lies - Lian Tanner [58]
Ser Wilm beckoned them toward the crumbling passage that led to the dungeons.
“He wants to show you,” said one of the servants. “Is that wise, Wilm dearie? Be careful.”
The young knight rolled his eyes at Frisia. “But what has happened?” she said as she followed him down the stone-lined passage.
“Didn’t we tell you, Your Highness?” said a servant, scurrying to catch up. “It’s the duchess. She’s been locked up.”
“What?” said Frisia. “But she’s the ambassador-in-exile from Halt-Bern. The king would never dishonor her by locking her up!”
“It was not the king,” muttered another servant darkly. “He is a good man. Hard, but good. He asked us to tell his fate last week, and he paid us for it, which he had no need to do. We think he does not know about the duchess.”
“So who did lock her up?” said Uschi.
“Two men came and took her during the night. We were afraid they would take us too, so we hid in the linen cupboard and did not see their faces. We heard the duchess kicking and scratching, and the men swearing at her. She nearly took one of their eyes out.”
The servants tittered in unison.
Frisia hadn’t been to the dungeons for years, and she had forgotten how grim and silent they were. The ceiling of the guardroom was so low that Ser Wilm’s head brushed against it. Most of the cell doors were open, but one was closed and bolted, with an enormous padlock on it.
“Give me the light,” said Frisia. Ser Wilm handed her the taper, and she held it up to the barred window. At first she could see nothing. Then, in the depths of the cell, something moved.
“Is it her?” whispered Uschi.
“Duchess!” cried Frisia. “Duchess Orla!”
There was a waft of stale air, and a bundle of black rags rose from the floor and stalked toward the window. Yellow eyes glared at Frisia from above a beaklike nose. The duchess’s fingerless black lace gloves gripped the window bars. The iron fetters on her wrists rattled.
Something in Frisia’s stomach turned over at the sound. (Chains. I hate chains.…)
“Have you come to laaaaugh at Orla?” croaked the old lady. “To poke at me as if I were a caaaged beast?”
“No,” said Frisia quickly. “We’ve come to get you out.”
There was no sign of the key that would open the cell door. Frisia handed the taper to Uschi, then set to work on the padlock with her knife and wire.
The younger girl peered, fascinated, over her shoulder. “Where did you learn to do that?”
The question rang inside Frisia’s head like a sword hitting a breastplate. Her fingers faltered. “I—I don’t know. I suppose someone taught me.… ”
She stared at the bent wire, searching for an answer. She could remember who had taught her how to fight with a sword and shoot with a bow. And how to lead men into battle even though she was so much younger than them and less than half their size. So why couldn’t she remember who had taught her to pick a lock?
“Are you going to stand there all niiiiight, Princess?” croaked the duchess.
“Sorry,” said Frisia, and she bent to the padlock again.
Within minutes the door was open and the duchess was dragging her chains out into the guardroom. Uschi took a step backward. The light from the taper flickered on the clammy walls.
“Undo meeee,” croaked the duchess, holding out her bony hands. (Like claws. Like birds’ claws.)
The fetters were harder to open than the padlock, and Frisia’s fingers were slippery with sweat. She beckoned to one of Ser Wilm’s servants. “You will have to hold the knife steady for me.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she backed away. “Pardon me, Highness. I cannot.”
“Do not worry, smaaaall creature,” croaked the duchess. “I prefer my food dead.”
“But how does it get dead?” whispered the servant. “That’s the question, Duchess.”
“Look,” said Frisia impatiently, “she’s not going to eat you, is she?”
Once again the words rang inside her head, as if they were not as absurd as they should have been. The duchess cackled with laughter. The white-capped women whispered to each other in frightened voices. When Ser Wilm stepped forward, they did their best