Kushiel's Chosen

not be searching the island.
    I don't think, then, I even dared to hope. Whatever it was, whoever, however-I had walked the bridge to La Dolorosa, swaying above the killing sea, while the sentries waited at the end, hand-axes poised above the hempen ropes. I could not imagine anyone crossing it in stealth. Partway, mayhap; even half or better, but there was no way to cross the whole of it unseen. So I did not dare hope or even plan, only sought, like a trapped creature, any avenue of escape.
    By the dull glow of the embers, I explored the kitchen. It reeked of fresh onion and the stale odors of a thousand bygone meals. There were kettles and pots, a set of knives, and a stack of the trays used to bring food to the prisoners. Nothing more. Beyond a low archway lay the pantry. Here no light penetrated, and I was forced to explore blindly. Rashers of salt-cured bacon hung from the ceiling, easy to detect by smell. There were sacks of grain stacked along the walls, lentils and coarse-ground flour. I found baskets of aubergines, smooth-skinned and firm to the touch, and another of ripe gourds. They did not eat so poorly, the garrison of La Dolorosa, although from the leftover fare I'd been served, I could not give much credit to their culinary skill.
    Well and good, I was surrounded by food. What of it? I was safe, and as trapped as before. Since there was nothing else to do but backtrack and face the guards, I knotted Fabron's keys in a fold of my dress and began to make my way around the perimeter of the pantry, avoiding piles of provender, feeling along the cool stone walls with both hands.
    It was out of a futile sense of obligation I did it, and no real thought of finding aught to serve my need. Which is why, when my hands encountered rough wood instead of stone, I stood stock-still in disbelief.
    I swear I stood a full minute that way before I moved, feeling with cautious fingertips the arched shape of a window covered with heavy wooden shutters, brass-bound and sealed with an iron bar and padlock. A service window, I thought, to the outside. This was where goods were delivered to the pantry.
    It was big enough to admit a sack of grain. I could fit through it.
    My fingers trembled as I undid the knotted fold of my dress and removed Fabron's keys, fumbling for the small one. It had to be! My lips moving in silent prayer, I fitted the key into the padlock. It took me three tries, my hand shook so.
    But it fit.
    With a faint click, the padlock opened. I removed it carefully and stooped to lay it on the floor. With agonizing slowness, I drew back the bar and then pressed my ear to the wooden shutters, listening.
    On the far side, I could hear the pounding sea, and naught else. No way to know but to try it. How much worse could it be, if they caught me?
    A great deal. I knew that already. But that would happen anyway. Swallowing my fear, I drew open the shutters.
    Night air blew in and the wail of Asherat's grief filled
    my ears. In the darkness that lay beyond, I saw the bright sparks of torches moving here and there across the island, working in pairs. Too far away to see, I thought. A torch casts a pool of light some fifteen feet in diameter, mayhap; no further. Beyond the circle of light, the bearer is sightless.
    The night skies were clouded, no moon or stars to betray me. Even if they were looking-and they were not, they were seeking an intruder, not watching the fortress-they would not see.
    All of this I knew to be true. Still, it was a terrifying thing, to clamber out the window, rendering myself vulnerable, dropping, exposed, to the stony path below. For a moment, I merely crouched at the foot of the fortress wall, breathing hard.
    I could not stay. Above me, the service window gaped open, a breach waiting to be discovered. I gathered my wits, assessing my position. I was on the inland side of the fortress, furthest from the cliffs. To my left lay the rear of the fortress; to my right, the front, and the steep, rocky path to the bridge.
    It was in that direction that the most torches were concentrated, and periodic faint shouts were audible over the sea. I listened hard for the clash of arms, and heard naught. Well, I thought, if I cannot go that way, I must go around the other, and pray for an opening. Whatever has passed, they have not found the intruder. Someone had taken the watchtower on the mainland, that much I knew; whether or not the warden's men had reclaimed it, I did not know. If they had not...