The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 32

The dirt beneath Hannibal had long ago blurred into a mindless brown as his limbs went numb and his guilt twisted inside of him. The prayers he had learned as a child tumbled from his lips in muted whispers asking God for forgiveness and guidance. He didn't often find himself turning to the Lord for help, but he had completely run out of ideas.

No going back now. Only forward. But where was that?

Until these ropes rotted away, Hannibal doubted there was much of anything he could truly do. And even if he did break free of these restraints where was he meant to go? What was he meant to do? How many Hail Marys was it going to take? He would say them explicitly for the rest of his life if it was required of him.

The sound of a sudden snap and thud sent Hannibal tumbling face first into the dirt before him, his balance stripped away. He coughed, his free hand pushing himself up. His elbow trembled under his weight and gave him pause. He was free.

His brows furrowed in confusion and he turned his attention toward where the brief moment of silence had come to an end now filled with the faint sound of the knife's edge cutting through the remaining strained fibers of the rope holding his other hand.

"Ceceilia," Hannibal muttered.

The woman's eyes flashed as they met his before they returned to her work and the rope snapped, a dull thud following as the rope hit the floor. She clutched the knife tightly in her fist and she moved to stand before the kneeling Hannibal.

Hannibal rubbed at his wrists as he pulled the ropes free from his freshly bruised skin. His heart jumped and he leaned back when Ceceilia's body dropped down beside him and the knife was pointed towards his face.

"You didn't come back for dinner," she explained despite Hannibal having not asked. "I found the boy in the stables. Now would be a good time to tell me what the hell is going on and why I am setting you free."

The question left Hannibal before he could stop it. "Why are you setting me free?"

There was a long sigh and Ceceilia pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing around the workshop nervously, knife lowering from its threatening level.

"You've had a plan all along. I know you have. And if I don't want my family split up, then I need your help. You know what you're doing."

Hannibal blinked, caught off guard. "I was tied up and got a child killed. I don't think-"

"You are the only hope I have. My children are going to be sold tomorrow and I refuse to sit around and watch that happen. How do I help you?"

Hannibal let his gaze finally take in the space he sat in. Tools hung from the ceiling and on the walls, the fire was barely lit now, but still held the cattle brand in its coals. Anything in this room was a viable weapon. That was a decent enough start.

His mind raced as he strung together a plan haphazardly.

"Are the others awake?"

"It won't be difficult to rouse them. You have an idea?"

"Maybe." Hannibal rose to his feet, legs feeling like thousands of needles were stabbing them. His hand reached out for a hammer and he let the weight settle in the palm of his hand. "I will handle the marquess and the guards if you can handle getting the others down to the well. Keep everyone there and I will find you when it's safe."

"You can't possibly do all of that-"

"I've done far worse," Hannibal assured, turning around to face the woman who had gotten to her feet, knife still tight in her grip. "Have them arm themselves with anything in here. Keep the children behind the adults who can fight."