Home > Ash and Quill(5)

Ash and Quill(5)
Author: Rachel Caine

   “Enough,” the last guard said, and shoved his friend back when he prepared to punch Glain again. “You, get back in the cell and there’ll be no more trouble,” he told Khalila. “I won’t touch you if you don’t force me to it. All right? You can keep the scarf. No need for any more of this.”

   Khalila nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “You might want to check on your friend. I think he might need a Medica.” She stepped over the man Glain had put down as she slid the scarf back over her head and began to tuck it into shape.

   “You too, soldier. Get back in,” the third guard said to Glain, and stood out of her way. She hadn’t stopped smiling—it was a frighteningly feral thing—and walked without a care in the world into the cell. She managed to step on the fallen guard as she did so. He didn’t even groan.

   “I appreciate the help.” Khalila held up her palm; Glain casually slapped it.

   “Oh, I did it for the fun,” she said, and, with a flourish Jess rather enjoyed, swung the cell door closed once she was inside. It reminded him of Khalila removing her Scholar’s robe before it could be taken. “Well? Are you planning to lock it, y twpsyn?” He didn’t know the Welsh term, but he assumed it wasn’t flattering.

   The guard who’d punched Glain stepped up to turn the key. “Next time,” he said to Glain.

   “Precious, next time I won’t just stand there,” she replied. “And after that, I’ll send flowers.”

   Jess laughed. “You know, Glain, there was a time when I didn’t like you. I was very stupid.”

   Glain gave him that half-wild grin. “Shut up. You still are.”

   The guards were a lot more careful, and they chose Morgan next; while they focused on her, Jess leaned against the bars with his arms folded to wait his turn. That conveniently put his right hand close enough to extract the precious metal hairpin from his sleeve and tease a long loose strand from the fraying cloth. The resulting thread wasn’t as long as he would have preferred, but he was low on options. He tied the string one-handed onto the pin, made a running loop on the other end, and raised his hand to cover a cough as the guards finished with Morgan and locked her door. He pushed the loop over a back tooth and swallowed, and for a perilous second he was afraid the pin would catch in his throat before it slid through to dangle at the end of the string, halfway down his gullet.

   It wasn’t comfortable.

   “Now you,” the guard said, and unlocked the door to their cell. “Big one. No resistance or I swear, we’ll put you down for good.” He pulled a gun this time and leveled it on Thomas as the big young man stepped out. “Face the wall. Hands up and flat on the stone. No sudden moves.”

   Thomas seemed perfectly content to be searched, which was a relief to everyone; since his rescue from the Library’s secret prison, his reactions had an unpredictable quality that put Jess on edge at moments like this. But he stayed docile, was pronounced clear, and was sent back into the cell without trouble.

   Jess’s turn went fast, but not fast enough; he’d never been as good at this magic trick as his brother Brendan, and sweat broke out on his brow as he fought the urge to gag the string and hairpin up again. He could maddeningly, constantly feel the foreign object in his throat, bouncing against tender parts, and even the fastest sweep of the guard’s hands felt like eternity. It was important not to panic. He’d seen smugglers choke on swallowed keys.

   “All right,” the guard said, and shoved him back into the cell. “Next. You. Spaniard.”

   Jess sat and slowed his breathing and pulse as best he could while the search went on. His stomach roiled and rebelled, but he somehow kept it from destroying him. Dario’s search began and ended. The third guard had come around by then, muttering drunkenly about revenge, and was sent on his way to see a Medica.

   Even Wolfe and Santi submitted without trouble, as if they knew how important it was to get the guards out quickly.

   The outer door finally shut behind the departing guards with a metallic clang, and Jess closed his eyes as he listened for the sound of keys. He heard them. So, he had individual cell locks to contend with and an outer door to get through as well. And one small hairpin to his name.

   “They’re gone,” Thomas told him, and Jess opened his eyes. “You’ve turned the color of spoiled milk. Are you sick?”

   Jess held up a finger to signal him to wait and then reached into his mouth to take hold of the slippery piece of string. Relax, he told himself, and gave it a steady pull. He couldn’t hold back the half-retching cough as the pin slid free of his throat, but the temporary nausea was a small price to pay for the triumph of holding that pin up for Thomas to inspect. “Old street magician’s trick,” Jess told him, and pulled the looped string off his tooth. “Swallow it down, vomit it up. Preferably without vomit.”

   “That,” Thomas said with real admiration, “is disgusting.”

   “Agreed.” Jess wiped the hairpin off and carefully bent it flat, then began to work the center until it snapped into two halves. “So many useful things you learn running with a bad set.”

   “So I’m learning,” Dario said from across the way. “What good will that do?”

   “Lockpicks.”

   “So? You unlock our cells. We’re still trapped in Philadelphia.”

   “Then I won’t unlock yours.”

   “I take it back, dear English!”

   Jess ignored him as he bent one of the halves into a tension wrench and the other into the beginnings of a pick. Thomas leaned forward to watch him work. “Do you need help?” he asked, and Jess shook his head. “Dario is right, you know. Opening a lock isn’t escape.”

   “It’s one step toward it, and Dario’s never right.”

   “You know I can hear you,” Dario said. “Because you’re talking out loud.”

   “Why do you think I said it?” Jess used the fulcrum of a cell bar to put a bend into the pick, then knelt at the door to try out the feel. It required adjustments, which he made patiently, bit by bit, testing the lock and learning its peculiarities.

   “Khalila, are you all right?” Dario asked. His voice had shifted, gone warm and quiet. “I’m sorry for what he did to you. That was vile.”

   “I’m all right,” she said. She couldn’t see Dario from her side. Walls between them. “No damage done. You all stood with me. That matters more.” Her voice was steady, but Jess could see her face. She was still shaken, and angry.

   “Well,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything other than the obvious truth, “we’re all family here, aren’t we? It’s what family does.”

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