Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [257]
My bedroll.
It was locked in the cell with Kebek. It didn't matter, I thought; there were others. I could steal one of the guards' blankets.
But then there was Kebek.
I stood for a moment in a state of profound indecision, then cursed inwardly. The guard with the key was slumped against a wall, slumbering peaceably, exhaling starka fumes. The key dangled from his fingers. I eased it from his grasp. When his fingers twitched, I thought my heart would stop. If they caught me trying to escape with Kebek, I doubted even Micah ben Ximon could convince them I wasn't a spy. At best, Kebek was a horse-thieving Tatar, and I should leave him. But I'd spent the last few weeks of my life sharing a blanket with him, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. He wasn't much more than a boy, and somewhere, there was a short woman with plump, round buttocks wondering if her young lover was dead or alive.
I wondered if Tadeuz Vral would prove merciful and ask for ransom.
I wondered if Ysandre would pay it.
For once, luck was with me. The guard didn't wake. I unlocked the cell door. In the dim light of the low-burning braziers, I made out the form of Kebek, sleeping. I knelt beside him and put my hand over his mouth, then shook him awake.
His black eyes snapped open and his body tensed. It eased when he saw me. I took my hand away, placed a finger to my lips, then pointed to the open cell door. Kebek's eyes widened. He sat up and gave me a hard embrace, kissing me on both cheeks. I shook my head at him, stuffing my blanket into my pack.
Despite his incessant questioning in the cell, he did know how to be quiet when it mattered. Together, we stole out of the guardhouse, taking whatever useful items we could find; spare blankets, a thick coat someone had doffed during the celebration, a half-eaten loaf of bread.
Outside, it was cold. Late autumn, I reckoned, but far colder than it would have been in Terre d'Ange. I shivered and gazed at the stars high overhead. It was late. The town square was empty and quiet. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground.
We were free.
What now?
It was Kebek who found an answer. Lifting his head, he sniffed the cold air, the beckoned and pointed. There was a stable attached to the mayor's manor house. We raised our brows at one another and went to explore.
Our luck stayed with us. The stable was guarded by one stable-boy, slumbering in the straw, his body wrapped around a jug. I could smell the starka at twenty paces.
It was dangerous, but not, I thought, as dangerous as venturing out on foot would be. We'd be caught too quickly. The hardest part was finding gear in the tackroom. I was grateful for the blindfolded games I'd played with Phèdre when I was younger. I searched with my hands, moving without a sound. Things were more or less where one would expect to find them; bridles hung on pegs, saddles slung over supports. I found burlap sacks of grain, too, and took two of those.
It took me several trips, while Kebek led a pair of horses into the square. He was good with horses. We worked quickly, silently, and efficiently together. In a trice, the horses were saddled and bridled. It felt strange to sling my bags over the crupper and mount. I hadn't ridden astride for months.
Our last hurdle to clear was the gate. I knew it would be barred from within at night. I didn't know if it would be guarded. We rode through the sleeping city. The horses' heads bobbed sleepily. The sound of their hooves seemed unnaturally loud.
There was no guard posted at the gate.
"Blessed Elua be praised," I whispered. Kebek said somewhat fervent in agreement. I slipped from the saddle, lifted the heavy bar. The gate creaked open when I shoved it. I led my