Pascale Auber & the Ruritanian Riddle

LXXIV Escape - 1

When the door opened, it had been dark for longer than Blaise was able to comprehend. There were no portholes in the belly of the airship. The flood of orange light that poured in through the door caused him to blink and squint, reducing the person standing the doorway to a vaguely-feminine silhouette.

"Miss Silverstar?" Blaise asked, uncertainly, his head pounding. He was grateful for the chair he was tied to; he felt too weak to stand.

The woman nodded, then pressed a finger to her lips. In a moment, she was kneeling beside him, untying his bonds. Her head was bent so close to his arms he could almost feel her warmth. He could smell the spicy scent of the herbed soap she used in her hair. He was entirely sure he was dreaming, all the more so when, finally free, he found himself too weak to stand, his limbs numb with an almost-electrical prickling.

Cartimandua stared at Blaise as he ineffectually shook his arms, trying to restore feeling.

"Come on!" She whispered, as loudly as she dared, "We have to leave!"

"I - I don't think I can." Blaise said, his voice hoarse and louder than he had hoped. "I cannot move my arms or legs."

"You must try," Miss Silverstar said, looking him over. "I am not strong enough to carry you, Dr. Auber. My uncle is a doctor, I am sure he did you no permanent harm!"

Blaise tried to stand, collapsing back onto the chair before he had fully stood up. His expression was rueful as he said, "Permanent or not, I cannot."

Cartimandua looked around anxiously. "We have to get you walking. I apologize, but this will be . . . rather personal."

Silently, she crossed the two steps between them. Blaise was again aware of the warmth and scent of her, in all its gentle contentment. He felt he might be growing uncomfortably warm - and then very certainly was; Miss Silverstar reached out and, briskly, began rubbing and massaging his arms. "We must restore the circulation," she said.

At first, the prickling sensation intensified; just as it seemed too intense to bear, he began to feel her hands through the fabric of his shirtsleeves. There was still some numbness, and his hands seemed to move at half the speed his brain commanded, but he was able to reach up and stop Miss Silverstar's brusque ministrations.

She looked flustered, but stepped back. "You must see to your legs yourself. Wiggle your toes while you do it," she suggested.

Within three minutes, Blaise was able to stagger to his feet. He still felt off-kilter and weak, but he could stand, and he could walk. Miss Silverstar, standing anxiously by the door, grabbed his hand.

Blaise looked at her, disbelieving, his dark eyes searching her face. "Why are you helping me?"

Cartimandua had been avoiding his gaze, but now she looked directly at him. "You respect me. I thought you were like all the others - that childish thing with the rose! You did not even know me! But my uncle told me to befriend you and - and you talked of mathematics and the heavens and what books we both liked, and not how pretty I look in my second-act costume."

Blaise's mouth quirked in confusion, "but you are beautiful in the second-act costume."

Under other circumstances, Miss Silverstar might have laughed; instead, she rolled her eyes. "Don't ruin it, Dr. Auber," she said, and, his hand still in hers, tugged him into the corridor.