"Volente. Volente, are you in there?"

There were only a few other doors to check. Benold was content to just knock, but Trosyn was speaking what sounded like fluent Lomanian. He wasn't sure whether to be envious or proud. He'd always considered Trosyn to be a bright woman, and considered himself partially to congratulate. But there wasn't time to stare and revel. Benold went to the next door, knocking.

"Volente..." he said in an urgent yet hushed voice, glancing down the corridor at the door that led to the cells. The 'zealots' could return any minute.

"...Benold?"

"Aha! I found him!" Benold rubbed his knuckles proudly along his sleeve and then smacked the door again. Like all of the doors, it was fastened with a bar, and Benold slid it out of its brackets.

"Oh no, oh no, you need to get out. Leave me!" Volente's voice chattered from behind the door, becoming clearer as Benold pushed it open. He stared at the frantic man, who was sitting on the ground with his arms around his knees.

"Nonsense. On your feet, old bean."

Benold looked over his shoulder at Trosyn, suddenly annoyed with the idea that she and Volente could speak in a way that he could not understand. His face grew grim and he looked back into the cell, to witness the wilted older man lift his head and stare with wide eyes through his cracked lenses. With spryness he usually did not showcase, Volente was on his feet and eagerly trying to see past Benold.

"Trosyn! Trosyn! You're alive!" Volente blathered excitedly, clapping his hands together. Benold rolled his eyes and stepped aside, casting another wary glance down the hall.

Volente dashed past him, wrapping his arms about Trosyn. Eyes narrowed, Benold stared at the two, watching to make sure the embrace did not last too long. Trosyn placed her arms about Volente as well, patting his back in a comforting gesture. Benold sucked in his cheek, chewing on it as he tried to not let it bother him. Surely, he had nothing to fear from a stodgy, pansy-toed scholar. Surely.

Benold put a firm hand on Volente's shoulder when he felt the hug ought to end. "We hurry."

"Oh. Yes. Of course," Volente muttered, as if remembering the dire circumstances they all were in. He glanced about the stark and dismal hall as he stepped back from Trosyn. Her hands went behind her back as she peered down both directions.

"This way." Benold took the lead, trying to reconstruct the order of doors he went through. In his mind he wanted to stride, chin up, confident with every swaggering step. As it was, he limped and shuffled, shoulders raised and tense as his ears strained for any sign of trouble.

"I'm surprised you are here, Volente." Trosyn's voice came up behind him, but in that accursed other language, and Benold almost felt as if a gnat were flying about his head.

"Hush." Benold hissed. "We need to be quiet - essential communication only, if you please."

"Right." After a pause he heard her talking again in Lomanian, but he at least understood what she was communicating this time. "Volente, we'll talk later."

We also need to speak later, Benold thought to himself. There was so much he had to say to Trosyn once they were safe and alone.

Benold took in a breath, about to make some remark, but then remembered his own constraining words. His sigh had a bit of a growl as it caught in his throat. When he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Volente and Trosyn were close, he caught a questioning look on her face. He quickly looked away, pretending he didn't see her unspoken question. He couldn't even sigh or groan without her analysing him.

The ease at which Benold managed to corral them back into the room with the medical supplies surprised him. He'd expected to encounter trouble by then. Did they stop their search? He nervously glanced to the door leading into the ward, remembering the injured man who was there. He might be injured, but he could expose them. How shall I deal with him without Trosyn and Volente fussing at me?

"It's locked." Trosyn pulled fruitlessly at the small padlock on the medicine cabinet.

"Glass is quite breakable."

"And noisy."

Volente peered between the two of them with a small frown on his face. Benold couldn't help but smile in spite of himself. Now it was his turn to be the one left out of the conversation.

"It's a pity that Vor... erm..." Benold caught himself, glancing briefly at Trosyn and then away as an uneasy pang of regret hit his stomach. "Ahem, that I never learned such skullduggery as picking locks."

If Trosyn heard his slip up, she didn't indicate it. She was focused on the cabinet, feeling around the edges of the glass and the wooden frame.

"We can't risk detection. I'll get something for the pain once we're out. Let's just go."

Trosyn and Volente both stared at Benold, and Trosyn muttered something to Volente, which Benold assumed was a translation. Volente sighed and nodded, seeming on board with the idea.

Benold peered into the ward, seeing one of the beds still occupied. He put his finger to his lips and tilted his head, gesturing for the others to move softly. One by one they filed into the dimly lit room, walking along the aisle through the middle of the room. Just as Benold was nearing the other end of the room, his knee suddenly buckled and an inescapable grunt and hiss issued out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Cold as ice, a sensation struck his spine and he froze, listening for the inevitable sound of the man in the bed calling out to their enemy. Instead all he heard was a startled snort followed by lip smacking. He hazarded a glance behind and saw the man turn over.

Measured and quiet, he slowly released the air from his lungs. Trosyn flicked her hands, encouraging him to continue moving.

Benold frowned, his hand on the doorknob. Benold looked over his shoulder, watching the sleeping man for signs of stirring as he whispered.

"The air may be dangerous. Cover your nose and mouth." Benold led by example, lifting the neck rag he'd left fastened about his neck over his nose. Trosyn translated and lifted her loose gown up, holding the collar over her face. Volente whipped out one of his many lace hemmed handkerchiefs.

"Wait."

Benold hesitated, looking over his shoulder at Trosyn. She looked over at the man in the bed. She beckoned for both men to huddle closer.

"What?"

Trosyn smiled and walked over to the oil lamp that was burning merrily. She turned the small dial down, until the wick dropped away and the flame was smothered, plunging the room into absolute darkness. Benold frowned, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, waiting for Trosyn to bring them in on whatever her plan was.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Remember the caves?" Trosyn whispered. Benold raised his eyebrows and glanced in the direction of the other door way out. He stroked his chin.

"No high ledge to hide on..."

"No need. Volente... ah there you are."

"Ah miss, you nearly knocked off my spectacles."

Benold frowned as he heard some whispering. He glanced around, the only light being the faintest flicker that streamed in through the bottom of the door down the way. While it was gratifying to be working with Trosyn again, he wished it was under different circumstances. Chiefly, circumstances that would have seen him a little more in charge and a lot more prepared.

Suddenly, he felt his hand grabbed. He nearly pulled away from the clammy grip, but fought the urge. A somewhat damp piece of cloth was put into his hand. "This will block the gases better. Be ready to open the door as quietly as you can - don't stoop or crawl. This isn't smoke. Good air is lighter than bad air. At least, that's how it is in the mines."

"The mines? When were you-"

"Sh!" He felt a finger on his chin, then two fingers clumsily crawled up to press against his lips. "Now, don't interfere with our performance. Just be ready for when I tug your sleeve three times."

There was a slight shuffling noise and a small clatter nearby. He froze, worried about the noise waking the sleeping man. But perhaps this wast part of the performance Trosyn spoke of.

"It is too dangerous to go though there." That sounded like Volente, who was speaking in an awkwardly loud whisper. Or rather, aspirating his words without really adding his voice, but pushing it out to the point Benold was glad he wasn't nearby - imagining the old man to be expectorating with every syllable.

"It's too dangerous to back track," Trosyn responded in a hushed voice, sounding a lot more natural.

"But the air is most noxious. If we are quiet, perhaps we can find another way," came Volente's stiff and conspicuous explanation. Benold tried not to groan. The man never would make it as an actor. "And my poor nerves, I am sure I shall faint if I step one foot in that most poisonous room."

"Fine. Have it your way. But we need to be quick about it."

There was a sound almost like footsteps, but something didn't sound quite right. Trosyn was barefoot and the cadence was off. But it nonetheless suggested movement away from him. Moments later the opposite door creaked open. In the brief illumination, Benold could see the vague outline of the man sitting up in his bed. He also saw Volente's silhouette against the open door before it slammed shut again.

Silence. Moments later, Benold felt three tugs at his sleeve. He slowly opened the door into the gaping darkness of the evacuated laundry room. The cologne drenched handkerchief barely provided him respite from the unpleasant vapours, and did nothing to protect his eyes. But since the room was dark anyway, he might as well shut his eyes.

The three of them shuffled slowly through the room, occasionally he felt the flutter of cloth or hair with his outstretched hands, suggesting he'd nearly walked into one of the others. From the other room they heard the man calling out, though his words weren't clear through the heavy door.

Misdirection. Clever girl. Benold felt a spark of pride in Trosyn, mixed with dismay that he didn't think of such a plan. Eventually, he felt a flat, wooden surface. Sliding his hand up then over to get a sense of its dimensions, his hand bumped into a handle. Unmistakably, this was a door. Hopefully, to the way out and not a closet. He felt further over until he felt the stone wall beside it. Confident, he pulled the door open, torchlight flooding his eyes.

He glanced behind himself, seeing the other two in different parts of the room, hands on various surfaces. Beaming triumphantly, he flourished a bow, and gestured to the open door. Then thinking better of his theatrics, he poked his head out to make sure the hall was clear.

He heard footsteps and saw someone come around the corner and he shut the door again. "Blast it all!"

"Were you seen?"

"I hope not." Benold sighed, his back against the door, straining to hear. It seemed as though that person, despite the rushing sound of their feet, was taking their sweet time reaching the door. He just counted down until the footsteps sounded close. He held his breath, his leg aching.

There were muffled voices outside, and more footsteps came closer from the opposite direction. Benold swallowed the lump forming in his throat. The cologne wasn't doing much to keep his mind clear, and he felt a fog encroach upon his mind.

"Check the east wing. Timio said they were in the ward and back tracked. Hurry. Hurry."

Benold at least understood the word 'hurry', but wasn't sure of the rest. But when he heard the clacking of heels fade to silence, he heaved a sigh of relief. He counted to ten mentally, then pulled the door ajar, peeking through the narrow opening.

"Our deception seems to have worked..." Trosyn filled him in. That confirmation was a relief, at least. Benold pulled the door open wider and stuck his head out, checking both ends of the hall.

"Hurry." Benold repeated the foreign word, to save Trosyn from having to translate. He slipped through, eagerly pulling the handkerchief away from his face and blinking his watering eyes clear. He began to half run, occasionally hopping on his good leg a few times in a row to avoid putting his bad one down to propel himself forward.

"Don't hurt yourself," Trosyn cautioned as she caught up with him, keeping a brisk pace alongside him with ease, although he could hear her breathing heavily from even that level of exertion.

"Better I hurt myself than one of them catch me." Turning one of the halls he could see the last bend before the antechamber he'd entered by. This made him go even faster, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain.

To his surprise, Trosyn linked her arm with his, forcing him to go at her pace instead. He glanced behind himself to be sure Volente was keeping up, which he seemed to be. He grinned with determination and continued on the home stretch.

Eventually they made it out into the courtyard. It was as empty as before. Benold nearly fell to his knees, but they weren't out yet. There was still the gate. He knew he could not climb with his leg in its current shape.

It wasn't long before Benold felt the iron bars in his hand, and he shook the gate violently. It didn't budge. He looked at the keyhole and cursed under his breath. Volente's eyebrows drew together and his mouth parted, but all he managed was a whipped whimper. Trosyn looked at the gate's solid hinges, and then up as if gaging whether it was as insurmountable as it appeared.

"What do we do now!?"

"Hush Volente. Let me think," Trosyn replied, an edge creeping into her voice.

Benold looked over at the trees by which he made his approach. Perhaps Trosyn could get over. Maybe even Volente. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to make sure they were free, even if he was taken. He swallowed hard. Maybe. But when he thought about being separated from Trosyn again, his stomach flipped and his chest hurt.

Movement caught his eye, and he saw a familiar, rotund fellow step out from cover. He stared in disbelief.

"Baldovo? I thought he left us behind!"

"Baldovo?" Trosyn repeated, whipping her head around to catch a glance of him, as if she could not believe it until she saw it for herself. "Baldovo!"

Volente put his hands together in elation. "He didn't abandon us!"

With that self assured saunter, he seemed to soak up the look of hope and relief he inspired in the others. Benold frowned at the gloating manner in which he took his time to reach the gate. "Well he's here, but what good is he?"

"Benold, manners."

Benold nearly choked on his own breath as he goggled at Trosyn in disbelief. "I..." He frowned and crossed his arms. "Life and death is no time for manners!"

"That's not what you taught me." Trosyn shook her head, then smiled, reaching her hand through the bar to take Baldovo's hand. "Seeing your face is a real treat right now, Baldovo."

"Usually it's a cause for concern, at least to most of my relatives." Baldovo grinned, placing his other hand atop hers, enclosing it gently in his doughy hands. Benold frowned deeply and crossed his arms, looking away. "I have a carriage ready."

"I do not mean to complain, Baldovo, but if we can't get through the gate a carriage-" Volente was cut off with the same sound that grabbed Benold's attention. He spun about at the clunk of metal followed by a heavy metallic groan. Trosyn pushed the gate open with one hand, another brandishing a key.

"Where did you get that!?"

"For once, Baldovo wasn't empty handed," Trosyn responded with a satisfied smile. But not nearly as smug as Baldovo, who leaned back on his heels, patting his gut with a pleased smirk.

"Come with me. Looks like the lot of you could use some patching up and a few stiff drinks."