Silvertongue

Chapter Seven

I rock back and forth on the hard stone floor of the cage. Why did this happen to me?

The cage itself was just cruel. Who would put you in a cage on fairly public view? Were not regular dungeons sufficient? At least there would be people down there who understand my plight.

And confusion.

And disgust.

What time in the storyline of Inkheart had I entered, anyway? As far as I remember from my extensive reading of the book, this never happened. Sure, people were put in the pillory for everyone to see, but locked in a cage for later punishment? Not that I can recall.

Or was this some event that happened in Fenoglio's Inkheart, not Cornelia Funke's?

"This is stupid," I mutter, and kick the iron bars of my prison. The thing doesn't smell great. Like wet dog multiplied a thousand times over. I love the smell of dogs. Just not in such concentrations.

Of course, kicking it doesn't do much of anything other than make my toes hurt and make my mood worse. My tennis can't even produce a satisfactory clang - just a lame, dull thud.

People passing by in the streets are starting to gawk at me. Me, a young-ish girl stuck in a stupid cage like a bear waiting to be baited. Maybe that's what they're going to do to me - tie me to a stake and set a bunch of ravenous dogs upon me.

Whoops, not helpful, Halley, I chide myself, c'mon, you gotta have some positoovity, girl.

Even my motivational inner voice is halfhearted.

Stupid.

I've been saying that a lot within the past few minutes. But that's what this whole thing is. Stupid. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to have a nice little visit to a time when Ombra was happy. I was supposed to leave without causing any commotion.

Okay, wake-up time. Slap-my-own-face time.

It's your fault for getting yourself into this. Now you've gotta deal with it. Okay? You should've been better prepared. You should've pre-written your way back home. You should've made your ticket here more descriptive and precise. You can't blame anyone but yourself. Now step it up and get out of this friggin' animal cage.

My mental voice is right. I'm the one being stupid here.

Now, there has to be some way I can get out. Some way.

I take stock. The ground is stone. No digging my way out. There're no bars closing the cage from the top. But this thing must have been made for a giraffe or something. There's no way I can get to the top.

Or is there?

The cage is right by the outer wall of the castle courtyard. The wall is covered in thick vines that look sturdy enough to support my weight. I'm pretty light.

Are my arms long enough to reach? They are.

Am I strong enough? One way to find out - climb.

How ridiculously, coincidentally easy. The guards who put me here must not have been the brightest. I'll just climb my way out (assuming that I can) and make a fool of that guard.

That thought motivates me. I make sure there's no one in the proximity and start my laborious way up the vine ladder.

My arms are just about to give out when I reach the top of the cage. I perch carefully on it, resting my arms for the way back down.

Shoot - I hear people coming. I lurch my way up over the crest of the wall and have just begun scrabbling down when I see soldiers rounding the corner. I hear them shouting as adrenaline drives me down the wall faster than I thought possible.

I reach the ground and shove away from the wall (and whoops, marketgoers watched my frantic decent) and look around anxiously for any means of a quicker escape than running.

I see the guard I'd encountered before, now dismounted. He drops his horse's reins in momentary shock at seeing me out of the cage (yeah, great guard).

Horse is mine, now. I barrel towards him and snatch up the reins before he can react. I swing the reins over the grey mare's powerful neck as I simultaneously leap into the saddle with more grace than I could ever hope to achieve again.

Adrenaline is great sometimes.

Ignoring the stirrups that a way to long for me anyway, I nudge my heels into the horse's sides, and she responds by trotting off briskly.

I hear the castle gate opening and people come rushing out, shouting at me. I ignore that all, focusing on weaving through the common people without running them over. I also don't want to hurt my mount's feet on the cobblestone path.

I reach the outer gate of Ombra before my pursuers catch up. A cart is just coming through. I spur the mare through the gate before it can be closed. Guards are already mad at me. What's two more added to the list?

I hear a shout of, "AFTER HER!" as my horse lengthens her pace to a flat-out gallop, shooting forward like a two-year-old out of the gate of Churchill Downs. Her long legs and powerful quarters cause her to swallow up ground in huge, leaping strides.

We fly up the hill on which Roxanne's farm is located, and then veer off the path into a field of grasses (not someone's farm, I don't think), which bend and rustle, but thankfully don't snap.

The guards in pursuit are far enough behind that the grasses have filled in the gap my horse made by the time the guards get there.

Neither seeing nor hearing anyone on our tail, I slow the mare to a slow jog, to preserve her legs and energy. No sense running her into the ground.

In all honesty, I've never done much more on a horse than trot on a trail. It's amazing the things I can accomplish when put under threat of death.

What now? For indeed, that is now my biggest issue. I've now eliminated any chance of casually showing my face in the city ever again. I have no means of writing my way back home, since there's no paper or pen in sight.

What now?

The mare, whom I decide to call Silver for simplicity's sake, is plodding quietly along (is it possible to plod quietly?) through the field of grasses. I don't know where she's going, and I'm not sure Silver herself knows quite where she's going.

What now?

#####

NOTE FROM AUTHOR

Churchill Downs, by the way is a horse racing park in Kentucky, and is where the Kentucky Derby is held. Which was on Saturday. If you don't know what the Kentucky Derby is, then shame on you. My dad says the winner (American Pharaoh) is from California, woot woot. California Chrome nearly won the Triple Crown last year, but he flunked out on Belmont. Cali FTW!

Enough of my geeking out about horse racing. YAY we now get six pages on the short story I have to write. Yessss! Of which I used every line.

Dya think I should put up my English short story on Wattpad? It's quite similar, actually, to this. So, comment what you think!