No Cage for a Crow

Six - Shards of Glass

Good Lord, no. We were not a normal family, but we weren't the sort to hunt one another.

But the men had come after me, and I still had no idea how badly they wanted me. They might be back in daylight, so I could not stay put. I couldn't get out the way I had come, though. There should be a gate, or at least a ladder, not that I thought I could use a ladder, in my state.

My eyes began to recover from the sudden glare of the lantern, and my surroundings gradually resolved from opaque blackness into faint shapes in the dark. There was something big and low and square, with a peaked roof, about five feet wide and four feet tall. I could not think what it could be, except a shed, and that was where a ladder would be found. It was worth a shot.

A few half-blind, tottering steps brought me within arm's reach of it. I felt out the rough edges of a weathered wooden door, then spread my hands and searched out a handle, cautious of splinters. There. But I could not depress the thumb latch. Flakes of rust crumbled onto my fingers and pattered softly to the ground. I pressed harder, but my grip was alarmingly weak. My hands trembled. No luck.

Well, there had to be a gate. I made a slow, grasping circuit of the garden, clinging to the wall like a drunk. My ankle didn't hurt at all, but my bones felt hot, and my teeth, while the rest of me froze. There was no damn gate.

I realized with a terrible, sinking sensation that the only way out of the garden was through the house.

I had not been able to see much of the house. I had the impression of two storeys, or maybe three, but no amount of squinting could confirm it. It was hard to be sure, in the dark, but I thought perhaps my eyes were not focussing quite right.

It was completely dark, though. No light in any of the windows, if there even were windows. Was it late enough for everyone to be abed? Or was the house empty? Good God, what if there was no one to let me out of the garden? If I shouted, I could draw the men back. If I didn't, I could die, there.

Unacceptable. I had to get out and rescue Snail and get to Bordeaux. I didn't have time to die.

There was no gate, but I had found the rear door of the house as I made my circuit of the garden, and I assumed it must enter onto the kitchen. If there were a servant in the house, she would be quartered near the kitchen, and her room might not have windows to show me the light.

I made my way back and felt out the door handle, twisting it carefully. The door did not budge. Who locks a door that opens onto an inaccessible garden? I shrugged to myself in the dark, as though someone had spoken the question aloud. Anyway, even if it had been unlocked, sneaking into a house was a dangerous prospect. Sneaking into a private garden was little better, I mused, but at least I could say I had fallen, and it would not be a lie.

I raised a hand and brought it down forcefully to rouse the house.

My fist smashed through glass.

There was a little pain, then, cold and distant, and I waited to hear myself scream, but there was no sound other than the musical tinkle of shards cascading down my arm and a wet pit-pat of falling droplets. Now, that was curious. People who put bits of themselves through windows usually had something to say about it, didn't they? I waited a moment longer, in case the reaction were merely delayed. It was not.

No one came to investigate the noise. Empty house, or sound sleepers. After a few seconds' deliberation, I reached gingerly through the jagged hole in the glass and slid back the latch, then froze.

Silence reigned. Still, no one came.

The door shrieked on its hinges. Still, no one came.

And no one would. An inhabited house, even one inhabited by sleepers, could not have been so utterly still. I was alone, then, not in danger of being found and arrested for breaking and entering. I let out a breath and patted my way into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. Then, for good measure, I locked it.