Day 5, 8:00 PM

“Experience is the hardest kind of teacher. It gives you the test first and the lesson afterward.”

― Oscar Wilde

The night air is chilly, and the breeze blows against my raw scalp like a bloody hurricane. Against my bald, freshly shaven scalp.

“I’ll have to buy a hat now,” I grumble and hear a snort. I think Duchess just choked a laugh.

“I told you I am sorry,” she says. “My hand slipped, and I had to shave the whole thing. Now, you said the guard described you as a long-haired man in green clothes. We solved one problem, we just need to get you another outfit.”

“But green is the best color to hide in the forest,” I say, yet my protest lands on deaf ears.

“And that is why tigers are green,” she mutters before speaking louder. “You may wear them when we enter a woodland area. While the guards search for a man in green clothes you should wear undyed gray, or something no sane man will confuse with green.”

“What about you? You stick out like a sore thumb.”

“We covered that while I shaved your head.”

Dry shaving! You used neither soap nor water, just blindly scraping an extremely sharp dagger across my scalp.

“If we cannot scale the wall tonight, tomorrow you will purchase the supplies I listed, wearing my clothes.”

Those clothes are mine, too.

I draw a sharp breath of cold air and exhale.

Why am I arguing with her in my thoughts? I don’t dare say a word, because I know I’m just looking for a fight, like a child. My arguments are so ridiculous that Blunt doesn’t even trigger. Is it because she’s bossing me around? But that makes sense, she’s the one with actual experience in running away. Twenty-seven attempts, assuming she told the truth.

Then what else? Because she’s a woman? I’ve had a female boss. Because she’s taller than me? Because she’s younger? I have a different body now. She’s the more mature one.

That thought sends my gut churning. Is it because she’s treating me like a kid?

My gut feels even worse.

It is! God, I’m insane. Why the hell does that matter at a do or die time like this?

“Are you tired?” she asks. “You wanted to sleep. Is that why you just stare silently from time to time?”

It is not past my bedtime! I shoot a flat look in her general direction, but she probably doesn’t see it. The sky is cloudy, and there’s hardly any light up here, but I can more or less make out a Duchess-shaped shadow before me.

“Enough with the nonsense,” I whisper. “Are we going to the wall now?”

“Yes, but we are going down, and we will keep to the back alleys. People are in their homes preparing for bed, and they might hear us walking about. It is less conspicuous to walk the dark streets. It should be fine. I heard the guards are exhausted these days, they have been searching for the viscount’s daughter. Someone sent a message saying their rivals will attack their caravan, but apparently they were too late and now there’s a whole lot of mess.”

How the hell do you know all that?

But I can’t really ask the question, so I just nod and follow her down.

The street is darker than the roof, the dim ambient lights don’t reach here, and we’re forced to walk by groping blindly.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I hiss.

“Not with certainty, no,” she replies honestly. “I have had little chance to wander the streets, for obvious reasons. However, I have picked up quite a few pieces of information from various men and other slaves suffering fates similar to mine. I also know what I did wrong the last time I attempted to escape Amplegord, so we are not heading that way.”

There’s a pause, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking or recalling before she continues. “I was alone last time, and I believe your skills and contribution will be invaluable help. They will make the difference.”

Her voice is so firm and full of conviction, I can tell she’s saying the words for her sake more than mine.

She’s got incredible mental fortitude and drive.

I don’t know her well enough to tell whether she’s just delusional, or whether she believes she can exert her belief upon the world. I just hope she’s right. After listening to her during this short while, it dawns on me how difficult it is to be an escaped slave.

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“We’ll make it,” I whisper, trying to sound confident, and she gives me a ‘Mn,’ which I hope is agreement.

After what feels like hours, but is most likely less than five minutes, my eyes grow used to the dark. It’s not much, since the night is pitch black, but I can make out the outline of the slightly less black sky above, and the opening of a side street, which is darker than the sky, but lighter than the abyss we walk.

We reach the side street, and the wall disappears from under my right hand’s fingertips. I don’t even make out Duchess’s outline when she passes the lighter patch of darkness, but she can either see something, or she’s insanely confident.

I fumble for four short paces before my hand once more finds the wall, and I hurry to catch up to her, but instead I bump into her back.

“Quiet,” she whispers, hardly making a sound as she stumbles half a step forward. “Someone is ahead.”

The blackness in front of me seems no different than it did a moment ago, but it could be because I’m staring into the back of Duchess’s head. Finally, I hear something. Very, very quiet whispers, right at the edge of my hearing.

I can’t make out the words, but they seal whatever dark deal they were making after several long minutes. Once more there is darkness, and whatever the creatures of the night stood before us, retreated without us bumping into each other.

How do these guys walk around in the dark? Then an interesting thought hits me. They could be blind? That would be an interesting twist. Plotters in the dark don’t mind it because their world is always dark. Wow. That almost sounds like it has some deeper meaning.

“We may proceed,” Duchess whispers, and I ‘Mn’ back at her.

I feel a slight change as the warmth of her body disappears from an inch away. I follow, and eventually she turns a corner, and we reach a lighter shade of darkness, which to my fully dark-adjusted eyes feels almost like shaded daylight.

We walk into a small square, and I can see a small, stocky outline at the center. Duchess heads straight for it, and the mysterious landmark turns out to be a four-foot-tall drinking fountain. A thin stream dribbles onto the pavement, probably going into some sort of gutter, but I can’t make out such fine detail.

Duchess drinks some water and starts washing the makeup off her face. Meanwhile, I wait in silence. There are plenty of things I want to say, I think, but doing it here seems wrong. I have a feeling the whole town is spying on me from the dark, and like the guards will come running over from every direction to stab me dead.

That, my friend, is called paranoia, I tell myself, but the knowledge doesn’t diminish the memory of steel scraping against my ribs, or burning its way into my chest.

“I am done,” Duchess says, and my heart almost jumps out of my mouth. “Drink some water and wash up if you need to.”

I’m not that thirsty, but I know some crazy scientist back home said we should drink a gallon of water a day, and staying hydrated is important. Especially when you don’t know when you will have the next chance to drink.

I drink up, rummage through my trusty sack to find my canteen, and refill it with fresh water. Then I wash my head and flinch from a sudden pain.

She nicked me there.

“I’m done,” I say finally, and she starts walking.

“Follow me.”

I wonder whether she really knows where she’s going, or if she’s just randomly leading me around until we stumble across what we need.

I give her the benefit of a doubt, for both our sakes, and assume she somehow heard the drinking fountain’s water splash against the pavement.

“We will now head for the city walls,” she whispered in a calm, even voice. “We will move slowly, and we may take more than an hour to reach it, do not worry. If we are fortunate, the night will remain dark. Even if the sky clears, that is not a major issue. So, do not worry. Do not make loud noises and do not attract attention. If you hear anything out of the ordinary, stop me. If I hear anything, I will stop. I will stay within arm’s reach, so do not worry.”

How many times do you have to repeat ‘don’t worry’?

I give her a ‘Mn,’ and we continue in silence for a while, but then she starts talking again.

“The city walls are tall, but there are several shorter patches. We will not head for those. Guard patrols focus around such areas because they are easier to climb. We will not head for the tallest point either, scaling it would just waste our strength without benefiting us.”

Her words are quiet, her speech choppy, as if she is saying one word per step and taking the silence in between them to listen for danger.

“I could not see the entire fortification from my window, but we will head for what I believe is the most optimal point for escape. There is a moat beyond the walls. It was full of water two years ago, when they brought me here, but I do not know its current state, nor do I know how deep it is.”

I consider telling her it still looks full, but I keep my mouth shut. My big mouth was the biggest reason Princess didn’t trust me, and I don’t want a repeat of that situation. Instead, I listen to her, while thinking about what allowed the cops to find me so quickly.

I haven’t said anything incriminating, I’m not that stupid. That means something I traded with the jeweler was an easily recognizable Princess’s belonging. Probably the rings, or at least one of them. They were just massive bands of gold with gems, I checked them for insignia and writing, but I guess just the jewels or the fact I had a gold ring was suspicious enough in and of itself.

I drive a parallel to my old life and realize any jeweler would probably think me a robber. I came into the store with a bunch of gold bars and rings. You sell things like that one at a time, or maybe just come in with a bunch of gold bars, if you need a lot of cash on short notice.

To buy a truck of cocaine? Who suddenly needs a heap of money for something legal? I try to think about it, but I can’t justify anyone walking in and exchanging their fortune because they are bored. People probably go from one store to another, inquire about exchange rates and such. They don’t just shower you with gold and jewelry.

A lesson learned, I guess. That’s an overly nonchalant thought, now isn’t it?

It really is. Back home, I was careful. I planned my murders for a long time, but here, I’m just walking around like it’s a game. And it’s not. Death hurts. I don’t want a repeat of that particular experience. Getting hit by a truck was deceptively quick and painless, but swords burrowing through my guts is not something I want to feel ever again.

“We have made it,” Duchess says and stops.

Before us looms a solid piece of darkness, and I gulp.

I have to climb that? Blind?