The Gloomcatcher

01: Beneath The Castle

    The men apologized, scampering behind their master who was stomping about the floor, walking towards the doors. "Where is Rojen? He's the only one who seems to have some sense."

    As they plodded out, the loud clanging of the doors resounded after them and they were again, basked in silence until the new guy broke it.

    "How many of you are here?" asked the flower boy.

    "Two." The others were executed.

    "A girl?" he said, shocked upon hearing her voice. "What is a girl doing here?"

    "Woman," she corrected, glaring at his way in contempt although he couldn't see it.

    The brawny man at the other end resumed his struggles again, now shouting with frustration. Perhaps his hopes were not going to die so soon.

    "Who is making that obnoxious din? Would you take it easy there?" he complained..

    The shackles near her clinked as the boy got up and then she heard smacking noises on clothes, followed by his comment: "Holy Great Nos, there's god-awful dirt in here. It smells of shit."

    Was he dusting his clothes? The idea of it appeared ridiculous to her because if you're to be imprisoned till your ultimate execution—before the gallows, it shouldn't matter whether your arse was on dirt or scented flowers but she thought it wise to not remark. Something told her that engaging in a conversation with this boy would annoy her.

    The familiar noise of manacles again made its presence known but one particular click, tiny and mysterious—as though something fitted into its place perfectly—echoed in her ears and she stood up all too hastily.

    "What are you doing?"

    "You have sharp ears," he said, astonishment in his voice. "I wonder how long you've been kept in here to be able to achieve this level of skill."

    He was unlocking the chains around his hands and feet. But how?

    For the first time, the brawny man wanted to know what was happening around him. "What is going on?"

    "He's escaping," she deadpanned.

    "Of course. You know, this is not the place for me."

    How absurd it all appeared, that a boy who was just now thrown into the dungeons was going to be able to make it out of there simply because he was clever enough to steal the key while she and others like her never had the luck to do something like that.

    Suddenly, the brawny man, shook his manacles violently, begging, "please, in the name of the God of Fire, please set me free too. Help me get out of here!"

    She felt her throat getting parch. Would she have to beg him too like that man?

    "How do you have the key?" she asked instead.

    "The blokes who bound me had little sense of alertness so I took the advantage."

    From what she knew, the palace men weren't so careless, so that confirmed those strangers who came in were not from the palace. They indeed were mutineers.

    The flower boy pulled the heaving, coiling snakes off him, and with a sharp hush, indicating for them to remain quiet, he moved towards the door. She thought he was going to leave them rot in here but he returned. What was he doing by the door then?

    "I will free you," he said and the brawny man began to mutter words of gratitude. "But, you will have to kill the guards outside."

    "So you need help," she said with a sigh and settled back down on the grim floor, legs folded. This boy was not going to set them free, if he wanted to, he would have by now but it was a matter of assistance that he required and so here he was. "What makes you think that we can kill them?"

    "Locked in a dungeon deep under the palace, you are criminals, aren't you?" said the flower boy, spitting out each word with pure resentment. "Most of you lots are murderers, traitors, and rapers. Shouldn't killing someone be easy for you?"

    "And are you not one of us?"

    "Not even remotely. I told you this place is not for me." The flower boy sighed, now pacing on the floor. "What I intended to say was that I am unarmed and—"

    "And we are weak, poorly fed—" she cut him sharply.

    "—there are about twenty or more of them outside, each with at least two swords sheathed by their waists."

    "What if we say no?" She asked out of spite.

    "Shut up, you loony woman," bellowed the brawny man. "I'm going with him. You stay and rot here."

    Now he got tongue in his mouth?

    The boy laughed, shifting his weight on his other boot, "Well, two is better than one at least. A woman is anyway useless to me."

    When she spoke there was a throb of disdainful rage in her voice. "Unchain me now and you'll see what I can do, flower boy."

    There was a beat of pause and then, she could feel his presence near her and went alert, aware of the sounds of his steps, his breath, the tiny noise of a key in his hand which was probably clinking to some metal he might have worn, and then his smell overwhelmed her. He smelt of fresh grass and earth, nothing like the rotting, foul smell in this place.

    "Don't call me a flower boy," he barked, angry evidently. "Your hands."

    She pulled her hands forward and his fingers coiled around her wrists as he untwisted the key in the hole and then the shackles fell on the ground with a thud. Immediately a huge amount of weight lifted, flying away from her shoulders and she could feel her arms swinging free. Then he unlocked the irons on her feet. She was soaring with lightness in her limbs. Swiftly, the brawny man's chains were undone and he was crying all the words of thanks he could to the God of Fire.

    The door, when they reached was colossal, so huge that she thought it was impossible to budge it.

    "Careful now, there will be many guards of Viltarin on the other side," he said, huffing as they continued propelling it.

    "Viltarin? Who is he?"

    "Viltarin Bethcrow, the leader of the mutineers."

    "The palace is attacked?" He nodded in reply.

    How did he know so much? Was he a palace man?

    In the darkness, her eyes searched for his face, hoping to obtain the answer. "Who are you?"