Luck in the Shadows

green with age. In his excitement, Alec reached for it but Seregil caught his hand before he could touch it.
    "Wait!" Seregil hissed. Pulling a bit of twine from his pouch, he tied a noose in the end of it and looped it over the handle, then stood back and pulled. As the handle lifted, there was an audible click.
    Four long needles sprang out, spaced so that at least one would be certain to pierce the hand of an unwary trespasser. Their tips were darkened with a resinous substance. As the door swung open Seregil released the handle, and the needles retracted like the claws of a cat.
    "Never trust anything that looks easy," Seregil warned, giving Alec a reproving look.
    From here, a steep wooden staircase followed the square shape of the tower walls down in a series of landings and right— angle turns.
    "Of course! A double staircase," muttered Seregil, taking the lead again with dagger drawn. "One would have been for the servants, this one a secret escape route for the nobles in case of attack."
    "Then we can get out this way, without having to go back through the keep again?"
    "We'll see," Seregil replied doubtfully.
    "It may have been blocked off to keep anyone from wandering in from outside."
    Unlike the other stairways, this one was wooden, constructed of thick oak that probably dated from the original construction of the keep. Seregil tested each step as he put his weight on it, yet they seemed sound enough.
    There were no trip wires here, no blades. Knowing better than to let their guard down, however, they grew increasingly vigilant, anticipating something more devious in the offing.
    This stairway had been used recently and often. The dust that had settled over everything was much thinner at the center of each step and showed footprints on the landings. The tallow candles in the wall sconces smelled of recent burning. There were also spots of finer wax on the stairs, which spoke of someone carrying a taper with them as they descended. Some of the spots were dull with dust, others still shiny and fragrant of beeswax.
    "How far down do you think we are?" asked Alec, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. They'd
    been going up and down stairs for hours, and his legs were feeling the strain.
    "We must be past the second floor by now, maybe near the first," replied Seregil, coming to yet another landing. "This is all taking a lot longer than I'd—"
    Suddenly the landing floor seemed to fly up in Alec's face. Frozen on the stairs, he watched in helpless amazement as the wooden platform pivoted on diagonally opposing corners, its underside now standing vertically in front of him to reveal a sheer— sided pit of some kind below. A loose board fell free, tumbling into the blackness without a sound.
    O Illior, Seregil!
    The words hammered in Alec's throat as he stared, horrorstruck, into the gaping shaft at his feet. But no sound came out. It had all happened too quickly. His whole body went numb and cold.
    First the avalanche and now—
    " Alec! " The hoarse, panicky cry came from somewhere beyond the uptilted floor.
    "Seregil! You didn't fall!"
    "But I'm about to. Do something, anything!
    Hurry!"
    A sickening sense of futility engulfed Alec.
    The upper corner of the platform was several feet beyond his reach. If he jumped at it, it would tilt back and crush him against the side of the shaft, probably shaking Seregil loose from whatever precarious hold he had managed on his side. If only he had a rope— something long enough to snag the upper corner and pull it down—
    "Alec!"
    Ripping off his cloak, Alec gathered the hem of it in one hand and tossed the other end at the upthrust corner, hoping to catch it with the hood. It fell mere inches short of the mark.
    "Damn it to hell!" Alec could hear Seregil's labored breathing a few short, impossible yards away. Looking wildly around, his eye fell on the rusty sconce set into the wall above the lowermost step.
    Without a second thought he grasped it with his right hand and leaned as far out over the pit as his reach allowed, cloak ready in his left for another cast.
    He was already overbalanced beyond recovery when the sconce gave beneath his hand. He heard the evil grate of metal against stone as he lurched forward a few inches more over the edge.
    He hung a moment, breath dead in his throat, waiting for the final pin or screw or brace to pull free.
    It didn't.
    It might, if he moved.
    Or it might not. He wouldn't know until he tried.
    His choices were pretty