The Crimson Party

Chapter 12

The door to freedom stood silently in front of Thomas. As he looked and analysed its parts and rivets, he thought and schemed, looking for ways in which dribs and drabs might lead to an avalanche.

The steel door had no keyholes, at least, from the inside of the cell block. It was flat except for the bands and rivets that adorned it. They were ugly and spiked, as if to further discourage those who might seek to storm it or push against it and prevent the guards from entering.

It had a small sliding viewing panel, which was closed, and which Thomas desperately wished would remain so. The steel was almost as strong as corpsewood, and was so thick, Thomas could not reach this panel with his fingers, for it was surrounded and deeply entrenched within the door. The hinges of the door were ...concealed? Thomas saw none, and a part of him felt derisive. Door hinges were not a topic that was included in a noble bastard's education. Or any noble's for that matter. Not that Thomas would have paid attention to such a topic.

Thomas shook his head slightly, he needed to focus.

He reached. And discovered that the mighty steel of the door was only the first of his problems.

The door was enchanted. Touched by a magic that was unknown and unfamiliar to Thomas. It felt like. It felt like the shell of a great beast. He would reach for it and his magic and soul would slide uselessly over the surface of the door like dust over the shell of some great beast. It was too strong to go through, and too smooth to grab. And it would most certainly be impossible to break, through force or magic. At least for Thomas, at least in the space of whatever time they had left before the guards came.

Thomas even studied the stone surrounding the door, and discovered that the enchantment extended there as well. They would not be leaving through the door this day.

In the solitude of the passageway, staring at a path he could not walk, Thomas was tempted to hesitate. He was so very tired, and so very thirsty. The burning within him seemed less like a stoking fire and more like an illness eating him up from the inside.

His hesitation would grow like an icicle in the depths of winter and turn into laziness, and nervousness. And then he would die.

Thomas turned around to the passageway, striding confidently, and remained completely silent, gesturing people out of the way, thinking all the time through then.

He was now back at the cell block again, and most if not all the prisoners were awake. Thomas saw Egil and Grendel among them, ensuring the silence of any stunted fools who would ruin their attempt at an escape.

They were all looking at him now, the worst people in the world, waiting for his next move. Thomas was unconcerned, the truly terrible people were in their homes at that very moment. In front of fires in their palaces, drinking from jewelled goblets and being tended to by servants.

And it was then, in the moment of unconcern, that the answer came to him.

Thomas went to the place where everything started, the corner of the cell kept for male deviants and the insane, and looked, Really Looked. The cell was stone, and underground, it had small basement windows covered in iron bars. And through them, Thomas could tell that it had started to rain.

Perfect.

The rain flowed over the bars. Bars already rusted from many rainfalls in the past. It made them brittle and useless, and too sharp and unpleasant to grab. Even if he could have Grendel remove them, doing so would mean nothing. The windows would still be too narrow for any of the prisoners to crawl through into the castle's courtyard.

Thomas looked around at the mass of prisoners behind him, Egil and Grendel at their head, and chose a particularly unpleasant prisoner. He was a rapist, pudgy and with yellow eyes. He had been particularly loud throughout Thomas' stay.

"You" he said, "kneel under this window, on all fours."

"What?" The prisoner replied in a rough and brash voice. Too loud. Egil smacked him.

"Do as he says, or all of us will have our turn at you. And be quiet."

The prisoner opened his mouth again, and it was then that Grendel cracked his skull with her fist, and he collapsed. She grabbed his slumbering form and placed it under the window as Thomas had wished. The prisoner was too confused and shocked to react as Thomas stepped on him to reach not the window, but the bricks above and around it.

He began weakening the brickwork, laying acid at the corners, and especially in places near the already rusted bars, for those would be weak already. It was too dark for any of the prisoners to truly understand what he did, and he was too subtle. It was in the middle of those few minutes that he felt as noble as a king.

"Grendel," he said after a few minutes. He reached out a hand behind him "Give me an iron bar."

When Grendel did so, he passed it through the bars of the cell to the other side of them, and he made it horizontal. He pulled at it through the bars, and it smacked against the window and the bricks to either side of it.

"Grendel" he said, stepping down and to the side, " Prithee pull on this, like so."

Grendel was so tall that she did not need to step on the slumbering prisoner's body. She stepped on his neck, the crack of it covered by the rain that was becoming heavier by the moment, and swept him aside with one leg, making it seem simple and light.

Thomas imagined that he could almost hear a creaking sound as she moved, her movements were lithe, and her arms were rippled and strong as she reached up. She gave the bar a single sharp pull, and the small basement window, and the weakened bricks surrounding it, broke apart to leave a large hole, large enough for a man.