Escape from the Past (14 page)

After finding a spot in the corner near the bar, we ordered beer and the main dish of the night, some kind of stew with bread.

Within minutes, I got antsy again. I noticed the burley knight enter and squeeze himself into a row of men. Obviously pretty drunk, he loudly ordered a round for his
friends
from Bornhagen who cheered him on with slaps on the back and hollers of encouragement. Free drinks were always welcome.

I thought of Juliana and that I’d not seen a sign of her. No way, Ott would let her out of his sight. Our only advantage was that the rat wouldn’t expect us inside the inn.

“I’ve got to check out the upstairs,” I said into Bero’s ear after we’d polished off dinner. I felt the beer slosh around in my stomach. I’d drunk too much already and had to pay attention. It
was impossible not to drink when the food was so spicy that you could barely swallow it. I would’ve loved a nice glass of water or a Coke. “You stay and keep your eyes open. I’ll just pretend I’m lost if anyone stops me.”

Bero looked uncomfortable, but held on to his bench. “Make haste.”

I nodded and wound my way through the throng of heated bodies, which radiated a horrendous stench of body odor. Ignoring the noise and stink, I climbed to the second floor. Here it was substantially quieter, except for a man dressed in a forest-green Surcot with a gold and blue lion embroidered on his chest, swaying toward the staircase. The door to the knight’s hall stood ajar and I quickly glanced inside. Knights with different crests on their Surcots and leathers occupied several tables. They were talking loudly. Except for a couple men with the Hanstein moons insignia, I didn’t recognize anyone. There was no sign of Miranda, Lady Clara or Juliana.

Three more doors led to private dining rooms. When I’d eaten downstairs with my parents, I’d checked out the antique rooms with the displayed armor and the historic crests painted on the walls. It felt like a dream now, unreal. Impossible that this was some fantastic gaming world. This had to be real, except a different time. And I was stuck in it without being any closer to a solution.

Oh how I wanted to be home. See my mom, hang out with Jimmy. For a moment, I couldn’t get air as the panic of this place took hold of me. What if I never found a way home?

I started to sweat and tremble. Not now, I thought. Pull yourself together. I waited till I felt a bit better, trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t enter the private rooms without drawing attention. Who knew what the Duke was capable of? They could easily throw me out or arrest me. Other than my period shirt, I still wore jeans and Nikes, and my hair was way short. Everywhere I went I stuck out. I had to organize different
clothes. Except for the tights. I’d not be seen dead in them.

At last, a maid appeared in the corridor with a tablet of mugs. She ignored me and pushed open the door to one of the private rooms. I squeezed against the wall and glanced inside. Tables had been arranged in horseshoe format.

At the head resided the beadle and Lady Clara. The Duke’s gaunt cheeks were flushed, while Lady Clara sat like a slab of marble. Behind them, two guards stood unmoving. I recognized Miranda by her black hair, which had been forced into three bulgy locks on her head, adorned with beads and ribbons. Her dress was cut low and while Lady Clara’s cleavage was hidden under a veil, Miranda revealed enough for both of them. A guy to her left had his eyes glued to her chest, but she didn’t seem to notice.

The door opened wide and the servant girl reappeared. I jumped aside, catching one last glimpse. Ott wasn’t there.

I imagined him in the barn with Juliana. His mother was out, probably most of the servants, and the rat would have free reign to do what he wanted. Fury bubbled inside me then, a heat and ache that took my breath away. I had to get busy before I went crazy. I wondered what time I was supposed to meet Werner under the oak. I wanted to take another round through the building to look for Juliana and Ott, but the beer had made its way to my bladder.

Instead of going downstairs to get Bero, I headed outside. A line had formed in front of the outhouses. Imagining the state of them, I decided to go natural instead. I ran up the street and snuck behind some bush. The giant oak was just ahead. It looked deserted. Maybe Werner was still with his maid having fun. How did these people tell time? I grimaced, thinking about Juliana, her doe eyes and her pretty mouth I’d wanted to kiss since I first saw her.

The stink of urine drilled into my conscience. Others had the same idea, relieving themselves along the path. I hurried to
return to the pub.

I felt helpless, not knowing where Juliana was, especially if Ott wasn’t here either. I’d expected her at the festival, thought the rat would want to party—how naïve. She was the property of Miranda and not allowed to have fun. The growing anger felt like a choking hand on my throat. I had to do something.

But what? Lady Clara was stuck with the parrot. His bodyguards would stay near her; probably walk her to the bathroom. Maybe she used a chamber pot anyway. I remembered a history discussion in school and how the rich did their business. That was it. I’d sneak up to her room and wait for her. Surely, she had to go sometime. Bero would just have to wait a bit longer.

I headed back upstairs. The Duke’s drunken voice was clearly audible through the closed door. I scanned the hall and the staircase to the third floor. Then I stopped. I was just too stupid. I had no idea which room Lady Clara stayed in. I’d have to wait in the staircase, not a great spot to hang out without arousing suspicion.

I’d nearly made it to the landing when two sets of legs clad in chainmail and leather armor came into view. I ducked and peeked through the railing. Half a dozen doors loomed ahead. Only one had guards. They had to work for the Duke—probably safeguarding the collected taxes. I’d never get inside and wait for the Lady unless I’d create a diversion. And for that I needed Bero.

Quietly, I returned to the main floor and squeezed my way to the cellar rooms. The air boiled and I had trouble getting oxygen. People screamed and howled, danced and swayed. Everyone seemed to be drunk. Where was Bero? At last, I made it into the corner. The bench was filled with strangers.

“Darn,” I said, my voice immediately drowned by the ruckus. I pushed through the frenzied mass to search each cellar room, scanning tables and walls. Nothing. Halfway up the stairs, I turned to check again. Bero wasn’t there. Now I had to look for two people. Had the barkeep thrown Bero out? Unlikely unless
Bero had lost his money.

I went outside. My head ached and I breathed deeply when I entered the courtyard. The tables and benches were still filled despite the cold air. Nobody seemed to notice. The musicians were taking a break, but the noise of drunken humans had swelled and made up for it. I waffled. Should I look for Bero or find Lord Werner?

I decided to check the tree first and then look for Bero. I nearly tripped as I passed by the stone trough. Some idiot had stretched out on the ground. Glancing down I noticed Bero leaning against the wall, fast asleep, his head lolling to one side.

I sighed with relief and anger. “Wake up,” I shouted, shaking Bero’s shoulder. Bero didn’t stir. He reeked of beer. I filled my cupped hands with water from the trough and hurled it into Bero’s face. Then another.

Bero spluttered, his arms flailing to stave off the cold shower. “What did you do that for?” he slurred.

“I can’t leave you for five minutes and you get drunk?” Fury was definitely getting the upper hand of me. I wanted to smack the guy.

“I had to order
something,
” Bero said. “Everyone did.”

“But you’re not used to full-strength booze. Get up. We need to find Werner,” I added in a low voice.

“We’re meeting the Lord?” Bero babbled.

“Quiet.” I yanked Bero to his feet. At least he was light.

“Where’re we going?”

“You’ll see,” I said, scanning the people nearby. Nobody seemed to pay attention anyway. I placed an arm firmly around Bero’s shoulder and led him toward the giant oak. An occasional shadow passed us, stumbling in obvious drunkenness.

Near the tree, I let go of Bero who immediately sank to the ground.

“I’m tired,” he mumbled and rolled on his side.

I looked around. The fires and torches didn’t reach this far.
Shadows merged into darkness.

“Over here,” a voice whispered.

I moved toward the sound. “My Lord?”

Then my head screamed and everything turned black.

I dreamed. My parents sat arm in arm on the couch, smiling and waving. It was Christmas and I unwrapped gifts near the fireplace. I opened the tiny box in my hand: a pocketknife. The knife changed forms and turned into a scalpel. “You’ll need it,” my parents said. “You’ll need it…” Why was I so cold when I sat next to the fire? Especially my feet were freezing. I tried pulling them closer, but they wouldn’t move.

I awoke. My body ached and my head wanted to split. A sledgehammer pounded my temples. I carefully opened my eyes. At least the light was dim. I lay on a pile of straw, crusty with dried manure. My arms were stuck behind my back, my bare feet bound with rope. I rolled to the side, causing a new flood of hammering in my forehead. Bero was next to me, his hands and feet tied. His face shimmered pale and he lay very still. Suddenly worried I bent closer.

To my relief I heard a slight rattle. He stank like a boozer. He’d be hung over for sure. I sat up. We had to be in some kind of barn. It definitely smelled of animals and the ceiling above was built with beams and reed. The room was empty, not even a bucket. No windows, only one door sized for a dwarf. Maybe a chicken coop.

That’d explain the stink. I tried to remember last night, my search for Juliana and Ott, Lady Clara and the Duke. Had the beadle taken us prisoner for snooping around? Had Lady Clara told him about me? Somehow she didn’t seem the type to snitch. But then, the Duke probably had his methods. There was always torture. When we’d first arrived in Germany, my mom and me had visited some Middle Ages museum in Rüdesheim. I’d seen all sorts of nasty contraptions to pull, squeeze and tear apart the human body.

I blinked, trying to make the memory go away. Despite the
low light, my right eye teared with pain. I struggled to get on my knees when a wave of nausea sent bile to my mouth. I gagged. Throwing up was a bad idea when you had nothing to drink. I forced myself to open my eyes and the queasiness eased.

Managing to get to my feet I shuffled toward the wall. Another wave of nausea hit me. I looked straight ahead and made my way along the side, then the next until I had circled the space. With each round, I became more awake while the splitting headache diminished to a dull pounding. Bero hadn’t moved. It was just as well. I had to think about what to do. My shoulders throbbed from being forced back for hours. I felt around with my fingers. It was the same stuff that bound my ankles, some sort of woven twine.

Continuing the shuffling walk I stopped at the door, no more than four feet tall. I pushed against it—nothing except for a faint rattle. We were locked up. Prisoners. I moved my good eye toward the slit along one side. It was daylight, but I couldn’t see anything except for the tiniest strip of bare dirt.

“
Hallo
?”

Nothing moved so I straightened. At least I could stand upright. My gaze fell on a piece of metal in the top of the doorframe, some kind of square nail probably used to hang up a pail. I scooped low to investigate with my fingers. Definitely metal and rusty. Without another thought, I went to work, hooking the ropes across the nail, twisting, pulling and shredding. My calves got tired from hovering at such a weird angle, my shoulders throbbed and I had to sit down to rest every few minutes. The twine was amazingly strong, though I felt the shredded fibers. It would be a matter of time.

Moans emanated from the straw. Bero had rolled over and struggled to sit up. He stared at me before managing to get to his knees to throw up. He heaved until nothing came out. More moaning. Then he slumped back down.

“It will pass,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel too sympathetic right
now. The little jerk had gotten drunk instead of helping. Maybe we wouldn’t have been such easy prey for whoever had gotten us.

Bero remained still and I went back to work. At last, the strands pulled apart and I yanked until my wrist came free. My arms stung and my wrists were covered in red welts. I picked up the shreds, fashioned a double noose and stuck it into my jeans, easy to slip back on.

“What happened?” Bero said from the straw. He sounded barely alive.

“Don’t know. Except you got drunk and I was hit over the head.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know that either. It was dark and I was trying to find Werner.”

“He did that?”

“Nonsense.”

Bero moaned again, but finally sat up. “I’m thirsty.”

I ignored him and untied my ankles.

“How did you do that?”

“Never mind. I’ll help you.” I kneeled down to untie Bero’s hands when I heard scraping outside the door.

I slumped to the straw and retied my feet and hands.

Not a moment too early. The door cracked open and a rough-looking peasant shoved a bucket and plate through the gap. He squinted at us once before slamming the door shut. I heard the rattling of a chain.

I dropped my ropes and inspected the delivery: bread and grimy water, a sure recipe for diarrhea.

“Is that water?” Bero said, attempting to stand up.

“Better not drink it.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“You’ll get sick. It’s probably filthy. Let me untie you.”

“How did you loosen the rope?”

I nodded toward the nail. “We need to get out of here. Somehow, we have to find a way.” I grabbed the bread and tossed a piece to Bero. It was hard as the gravel in our driveway at home…my other life. I coughed. The lousiest game ever.

I got back up and resumed my walk while Bero sat and rubbed his forehead. He wouldn’t be much help for a while. I thought of the movies I’d seen,
The Count of Monte Cristo, Escape from Alcatraz
and my
favorite, Shaw Shank Redemption.
These people had found ways to escape.
Andy Duframe
had dug his way out. I pushed aside the straw to reveal packed dirt. If I’d loosen the nail, I might be able to dig with it. It’d take a year. At the least, several months. And in the meantime, what would happen to Juliana? The rat would destroy her long before I could escape. If I didn’t die of dysentery first.