The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [137]
“Can you get out?” he asked as soon as he appeared at the window.
“I can open the lock, but I will have to wait until everyone goes to sleep. I want you to go back to the cart and get the others out of the city.”
“Why have they locked you up?” Darga asked.
“I don’t know, but I think it was because I asked for Brydda Llewellyn.” I wondered what Rushton would do in such a situation.
“He would not risk you,” Darga sent.
I stared. “What do you mean?” I shook my head. “Look, there’s no time for this. You have to get the others out of the city before the gates are closed for the night.”
An hour later, I could wait no longer. The door lock was a simple device, and I tampered with the mechanism so it would seem to be broken. Then I wrapped a towel round my hair and stuck my head out into the hall. The man outside started in astonishment at the sight of me. “How—?”
I interrupted him. “I’ve rung the bell three times, and no one comes. I was promised some water for a wash,” I complained. Amazement gave way to confusion and then indecision. He had obviously been told to guard the door, but I was not acting like a prisoner. My querulous demand for water and the towel on my hair had confused him, and I sensed him wondering if he had somehow got his instructions muddled.
“Go on, then, tell her,” I snapped, and shut the door.
I listened to his footsteps receding. Then I threw off the towel and slipped out into the hallway. I had barely taken two steps before I heard voices coming. I dared not go back to the room. Turning, I hurried in the other direction, trying every door I passed. A locked door had to mean the room was occupied.
My heart leaped as I recognized the manageress’s voice. “What do you mean the door was unlocked? I locked it.”
The last door was also locked, but I had no choice. If there was someone in the room, I would have to coerce them. I bent my mind to the lock, but before I could do anything, the door opened and a young, bearded man looked out. We stared at one another in surprise; then the voice of the manageress came clearly down the hall.
“Find her! She can’t have gone far. She has a limp. Search all the rooms on this level.”
Without saying a word, the man reached out and pulled me through the door, shutting it quickly. He made a sign for me to be quiet, and we listened intently. I heard the manageress shriek in rage at finding me gone.
The young man turned to look at me. He was not much older than Rushton, and his skin was the clear smooth brown of a seaman. He wore trousers, but his wet face and bare chest told me I had caught him in the middle of a wash.
“You are the girl who asked after Brydda Llewellyn?” he asked in a low voice.
I nodded, dazed that he should know.
There was a loud knock on the next door, and I looked at him in a panic.
In two strides he crossed the floor and flung open the lid of a big trunk. “Get in.”
There was a knock at his door. I climbed in the trunk and heard him turning the key slowly.
“Why did you take so long to answer?” It was the manageress. I held my breath in terror.
“I was washing. What’s going on?” he asked crossly.
“Ah … well, we have had a girl staying, as a favor to her father, who is a seaman. She is subject to manias and brainstorms. For her own safety, she was locked in, but she has got away.”
“Is she dangerous?” asked my rescuer seriously. Despite my fear, I grinned at his convincingly anxious tone.
She grunted.
“Well, I heard this was a respectable place, but with all the noise and murdering madwomen running around, I am glad I am heading out to sea this night. Send someone to bring up my trunk.”
My heart thumped in fear that she would demand to see what was in it.
“Carry your own trunk!” she snapped rudely, slamming the door. There was silence and some movement, then I felt myself lifted. I slid to the bottom of the trunk, half-suffocated by clothes.
“Don’t make a sound,