The next time Vitus awoke, he was seated in a small, dark room that was violently shaking, as if in an earthquake. It took him a moment to realise that he was in a closed carriage with blackened windows, and the jolting was caused by movement along a poorly-maintained road. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was no longer bound, and he stretched luxuriously, enjoying the feeling of strength rushing back into his cramped muscles. He felt no fear, for the moment; the carriage seemed to be moving as if determined to obtain some distant destination as quickly as possible, and he was alone in the small compartment. Vitus wasn't sure why he hadn't just been killed, like the young soldier whose death certificate he had read, but he reasoned that he was safe as long as the carriage continued moving.
Vitus took everything in, his eyes already used to the dim light. He was sitting on a forward-facing bench. Across from him, nearly touching his knee, was another, backwards-facing seat. On each side was a door; jiggling the handles proved to Vitus that, as he had suspected, both doors were locked. It was then, jiggling the handle on his right hand side, that he noticed a small object that had fallen under the other seat.
Vitus reached out and grabbed it, an envelope of folded papyrus, filled with a fine, yellow powder. Vitus smelled it, and his eyes grew wide. The powder had an acrid, bitter smell. It was, Vitus realised, poison. He dropped the packet.
If that was poison, Vitus thought, then that must be what happened to that poor Gaius fellow; he had found something out, and they had poisoned him. But if they had poisoned one man, why not poison another? Why, Vitus wondered, was he himself still alive? Vitus played idly with the brooch holding his cloak, snapping and unsnapping the pin as he thought, trying to figure out why his captors hadn't murdered him outright. He couldn't come up with a solution. Playing with the brooch, though, had given him one idea. If anyone was looking for him - his mother, his father, Cinnamon – any of them would recognise this brooch, a little flat deer punched out of metal. Vitus loved the daft little thing, but if it let them know he was alive, he could bear to give it up. He would have to be able to bear it. Slowly, he began to work the little flat pin through the tiny gap between the door and the wall of the coach.