The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Sixty

The princess stood and stared as the three soldiers marched through the gate. They wore the colours of the king. Her own father's soldiers had come for her. No, that wasn't right. They were her soldiers now, to order as she pleased. She was queen of Serrador, and they were pledged to serve the monarch.

She lifted her chin, holding the skull with both hands and doing her best not to shudder as each of them in turn drew their swords.

"What are you doing? Run, you idiot," screamed John, grabbing her elbow and spinning her around so that she had to sprint alongside him else fall to the ground.

They ran back inside, sending the brothers scattering as they barrelled through.

"Stop. I have to go back," shouted the princess.

John kept on going, taking her with him.

"John," she shouted again as they hurried through the brotherhood. She coughed. Smoke seeped out from around the bolted refectory doors and coated her insides with greasy ash. He didn't listen. He kept on looking straight ahead, his nose buried in his elbow as he fought against the crowd trying to escape. She tried to pull free, twisting against his grip, but he wasn't letting go.

"There has to be another way out," he shouted over the commotion as they spilled back out into the cloisters.

"I can't go. Not yet."

He rounded on her, breathing heavily, his brows scrunched up as if staring at a mad-woman. "What?"

"My name book. I can't leave without it."

His brows uncreased. A look of bewilderment taking over. "Shit," he said.

"Exactly," said the princess, nodding. She knew John well enough to know that he wasn't going to let the big payout her book would no doubt bring, disappear so easily. "And it's not that I'm not exceedingly grateful that you dragged me out of the path of my own soldiers, because really, I am, but you appear to have taken me into a building which, in case you hadn't noticed, is on fire. And my name book, which may I remind you is written on paper, is sitting outside in the other direction."

Her speech was somewhat ruined by a curl of smoke reaching the back of her throat, making her double over in a wracking coughing fit.

"Shit," she heard him say and she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Okay," he said. "We go back."

"So glad you agree," said the princess weakly, finally managed to stand up straight. She pulled her sleeve down over her hand and put it over her nose, finding relief in the cool soapy scent of her borrowed night-gown.

He took hold of her arm one more, and they plunged back through the corridors towards the gate.

"Get out the way," shouted John at a couple of scribes dragging a huge canvas sack filled with pages behind them. They gibbered around, and John and the Princess crashed into them, sending papers floating up into the air like released doves.

"Sorry," shouted the princess over her shoulder, promising to all the gods watching over her that she could send reparations to the owners as soon as she was crowned.

One of the brothers darted in front of them, waving his hands above his head. "Your majesty!"

It was the mad scribe who had met them at the gate. The pair of them skidded to a halt.

The old man bowed low, turning his hand like a jester mocking courtly fashions.

"If you would care to follow me, I can show you another way through this warren."