Poisoned Lips

16: Prison Layout

Freyja sat in her new cell. Although she felt a twinge of guilt, she was happy for the solitude. This cell was smaller than the one she shared with the others, but it was better kept. The room was small, and the walls were made with smooth cement, unlike the greenish cracked wall of her former cell.

There was a single bed with a blanket positioned at one corner of the room and a small toilet and sink at the other end. The floor was made of tiles. Instead of the horrid pungent odor, this cell smelled loosely of fish.

Freyja exhaled loudly and plopped on the stone-hard bed. There was a loud squeak. She turned her head to the door. This was the only aspect of the cell that she despised. The door was a grey security door that nearly blended in with the wall. It had a small rectangle with bars at the top that let her see the dark hallway and a food slot at the bottom. It made her feel trapped. At least with the bars in her other cell, she had the torches to look at.

The journey to Freyja’s new cell was incredibly eye-opening. 

After making a copy of the prison’s blueprint, she had taped the papers to her thighs and wore her prison pants. André and her left the High Guard’s office like nothing had happened. When she walked, the rustle of papers merged with the rustle of her clothes.

As they moved through the dim hallway, Freyja couldn’t stop the flow of questions that poured through her mouth.

“Why are you helping me?” 

“I owe someone a favor.” He had stopped in his tracks and gave her a death stare. “Don’t think I enjoy betraying my superiors— because I don’t.”

“How big is this favor?” She asked, wincing as his hands tightened around her arms. He held her in the spot the young guard had bruised her.

“Big.”

“Okay, how did you meet...my friend?”

“I didn’t.” He sighed. “I owe someone a favor who owes your friend a favor. A lot of workers owe your friend— that idiot prison guard— a lot of favors, and unfortunately, I’m connected to that web.”

“Prison guard?” She asked, trying to move her wrists in her tightly bound wrists. 

“Yes...Do you not know who I’m talking about?”

“Of course I do! The guard with ...Ah, what’s the word…?”

“Face covering?”

So, the prison guard was Devland.

“Yes, that. Indeed. It’s exactly the word I was looking for,” She lied.  “What does this prison guard do?”

“He runs errands around the prison or serves food to the other prisoners. In the night, the Royal Guards return him to his cell. He should be in solitary if you ask me.”

“Why?” 

“Well, because all prison guards sleep in solitary. I don’t know why he insists on staying in that wretched cell of his. Solitary is comfortable. Traumatized Royal Guards even sleep there. There’s a bed, toilet, blankets...He could easily do it full time and live well enough. Maybe he could even earn enough money and the High Guard’s trust to pay his way out of prison. But he refused.”

Freyja nodded and let the time stretch, needing a moment to absorb this information. Devland was a prison guard.

Devland was a prison guard!

It explained why he was always out of his cell, why the guards never chained him up, how he got the bombing materials. Just when Freyja thought that reality couldn’t slap her in the face, it did.