Page 149 of The Ragpicker King
And there were other, deeper reasons, Kel knew, why Conor could not afford to let himself be convinced of Kel’s innocence. He remembered Conor sitting opposite him on the windowsill in their room, saying,Hope is a danger, you know. Hope may raise you up for a time, but when it is disappointed, the fall is all the more acute.
Kel knew that Conor feared the fall, the tumble into the vast empty abyss of despair. Anger was better than despair—even anger against someone you loved. Anger was fire, and despair was darkness. And Conor had for years been afraid of the dark.
Kel woke from a fitful sleep plagued by dreams in which he was once again bleeding out in that alley near the Maze, only when he called out for help, Falconet came and, grinning, pushed the knife in deeper.
He sat up, rubbing at his sore eyes. He ached all over, probably from shivering. It was cold in the Trick. He turned to mark the place of the moonlight, wondering what time it was.
He stared. The moonlight fell upon the bars of his cell—and upon the wooden tray placed in front of the door. Usually itcontained an unpleasant meal of porridge or flavorless bread. This time, though, something on the tray sparked the light.
A key.
Kel barely had time to think; he was on his feet and kneeling down by the bars within seconds. He slid his hand through them, feeling around on the tray until his hand closed on the heavy silver key. When he fitted it into the lock, it turned silently, without a creak, as if the hinges had been recently oiled.
The door sprang open. A second later, Kel was through it.A trap,he thought.This has to be a trap.But he was moving anyway, down the corridor, past empty cell after empty cell. At the end of it, before the steep spiral stairs leading down, a dark, huddled figure crouched behind Sunderglass bars. Moonlight illuminated the path ahead; Kel could barely see into the occupied cell, see anything save two bright dark eyes regarding him from behind a tangle of hair.
He paused, just for a moment, then threw the key he was holding into the cell. If this was a trap, he thought, he might as well create as much chaos as he could before they took him down.
He had just made it to the top of the steps when he heard voices below: guards, headed upward. He looked around. There was nothing here. No weapon to lay hands on, no stairs going up. Only a single casement window through which moonlight spilled like blood.
Kel yanked the window open. Turning his body around, he wriggled through, bare feet first. He turned as he went, grasping the sill, his head disappearing below it just as the guards reached the top of the stairs.
He could hear them shouting as he lowered himself slowly, his feet searching for purchase on the smooth wall. There was some cursing, too, and the sound of blows. Apparently the prisoner he had just freed was creating an excellent distraction.
Not that he could let himself think about what was happening inside the tower. Nor would he let himself think about what he was doing right now; nor that no one escaped from the Trick, that it hadnever been done.But surely no one who knows how to Crawl has ever tried it,he told himself.
He was high up, so high that the wind tore at him, whipped his hair and his clothes. He seemed to be hovering among the stars, and it ought to have been terrifying, but somehow it was not. Being in the cell was terrifying. This was freedom, and his own salvation in his hands.
He began to climb, leaning into the side of the tower, remembering what Jerrod had told him, remembering to imagine that he was Crawling across a flat surface. That gravity did not exist, was not trying to draw him down.
There. A slight impression, a dent in the marble side of the tower. And there, a crack, minute but textured. He dug in, fingers and toes bearing his weight. The shouts and cries of the guards receded as he made his way down.
He glanced up at the ever-changing moon, its wine-red light weaving patterns on the surface of the ocean. He saw the sea itself, a black shield stretching to the horizon. He was part of the tapestry, part of the night, moving down and farther down.
The tower rose above him now, a vast black pillar. His hands and feet were aching. He moved his foot down, seeking another toehold, and hit a solid surface instead.
He had reached the ground.
He sprang away from the tower, his blood roaring triumphantly in his ears. He had done it, what no one else had ever done. He had escaped the Trick. He was on the rocky ground of thegarriguenow, the walls of the Palace rising in the distance, the tower and sea cliffs curving away to his right. He could hear the crash of the surf far below, taste the brine on the air.
He was alive.
In the distance, Marivent rose like a galleon at sea, glowing from every window. Keeping to the shadows, Kel crept around the side of the tower, the uneven gravel digging into the soles of his feet. His heart was slamming in his chest like a door in a high wind.He was hidden, but they’d be looking for him, and there was nowhere to run. He was pinned between the guards on one side and the sheer cliff-edge drop to the sea on the other. He could hope that the prisoner he had freed would at least be leading some of the guards off in another direction, but there would still be plenty of others to hunt him down.
Could I climb down the side of the cliff?he wondered. He’d made it down the Trick; surely a natural rock wall offered better purchase for his hands and feet. But then, there was nothing at the bottom—only the dark water filled with snapping green death.
He heard more shouts. He peered around the corner; Castelguards were approaching from Marivent, a wall of red uniforms, torchlight gleaming off their swords. Kel jerked back, away from the sight, only to find himself seized in a strong grip.
He struggled, but the hold on him was hard as iron. He was dragged several feet away from the tower before being spun around.
The face that looked down at him was as familiar as his own face in the mirror. It very nearly was his own face in the mirror. Gray eyes, black hair, set jaw. The spark of moonlight off a gold chain around his neck.
“Conor,” Kel said blankly. “What in gray hell—”
“Shut up,” Conor said. “I don’t want the guards here yet.” With that bizarre pronouncement, he grabbed Kel by the back of his shirt and pulled him after him as he edged away from the tower.
Kel went. He had never fought Conor in his life; he wasn’t going to start now. His mind was buzzing. HadConorleft the key for him? Had he been planning to get Kel out?
They had reached the cliff edge. The Trick loomed directly above them; below was churning white water that spilled over the rocks at the cliff’s base.
