Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [109]
Alec shrugged. “You’re probably right.”
He kept the pin hidden in his palm until he was alone in his cell again. He waited until the lock ground into place, then sat down and examined his find.
It was a child’s hair stick, just less than three inches long, with a carved ivory finial. Illior must have heard me, after all, he thought, for the pin was made of bronze, rather than soft gold or silver. However, his horn splinters had been longer.
He knew that Khenir’s evaluation of his so-called plan was apt. Even if he did get out of this room, and the villa, he wouldn’t get very far without some way to disguise himself, and the rhekaro, too. He glanced up at the ceiling, wondered if there was any sort of dye in the workshop.
And, of course, he’d have to find Seregil, too.
He had little appetite that night but ate his turnip stew and bread anyway to avoid any undue attention. Ahmol took the tray away when he was done and Alec lay down to wait.
Without a window, it was impossible to gauge the passage of time. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the candle flame in the niche by the door and began counting softly to himself to mark the passing seconds. He recalled Seregil once telling him how long it took a candle to burn an inch but couldn’t remember what the actual time had been. It was boring work, and he lost count several times, dozing off, but when the candle finally burned almost to the socket, he judged that it must be late.
He went to the door and put his ear against the wood. All was silent beyond. Encouraged, he inserted the pin into the lock and gently caressed the tumblers, seeing what he could reach. The first pin gave easily, but the second was a hairbreadth out of reach.
“Bilairy’s Balls!” He sat back on his heels and turned the hairpin over between his fingers. It was metal, so there was the chance that he could pound it out a little to make it longer, but with what? He carried it over to the corner with the slop pail. The pail was carved in one piece from a length of log and quite thick at the bottom.
It had also been used several times today.
Alec kicked it over to make it look like an accident, but was careful to send the contents away from the bed. Stale urine spread across the floor and soaked into the mortar. Satisfied, Alec carried the bucket away from the mess and sat down to work on the pin.
He soon discovered that wood was no fit tool for shaping cold bronze. At first all he managed to do was dent the bottom of the pail and leave traces of metal on the floor. Just as he was about to give up, however, he accidentally struck the ivory bead on the end of the pin and shattered it, revealing a precious length of knurled metal that had been hidden before. He picked up every broken fragment and hid them in the mattress, then went back to the door.
The extra little bit of length was enough. The lock gave and he inched the door open on darkness. There was no sign of light from the cellar below, or from the workshop. He crept up the stairs and put his ear to the door. More silence there.
He took a deep breath, then tested the latch. It lifted with a faint snick of metal and he opened the door a tiny crack. The workroom was in darkness except for the red glow from the athanor’s furnace.
A fire needed tending. He pushed the door open a little further and looked around for the alchemist and his servant. But the room appeared deserted.
Or so he thought until something moved just outside the dim glow of the furnace.
It was the rhekaro. It was clad in a short slave’s tunic that left its limbs bare. Alec saw more bandages than had been there this morning. As he watched, it squatted by the athanor, stared a moment at the fire within through one of the ports, then took a handful of woodchips from a basket and fed them one by one into the chamber.
It’s not a mindless thing, thought Alec, pleased but wary. If it served the alchemist, it might just be loyal. Well, there was only one way to