Page 95 of The Dungeon Book

The wise mentor in these tales is supposed to have all the answers. I had none.

Would I be better served by turning my back on the child? I’d betrayed her once; why complicate matters by risking an uncertain redemption? Perhaps it would be best if I went somewhere safe to cogitate a cunning plan instead? Wouldn’t it be better – safer, too, for all concerned – if I just walked away?

I tried to walk away, but it was dark and I bumped into a wall.

“Who goes there?”

Always nice to meet a guard with a sense of tradition. I turned around as he thrust a torch perilously close to my face; fortunately, I was hairless as an egg.

“Cornelius,” I said with a bow.

“Who?”

“Ah! I am a colleague of my good friend Orphir. Him you know, I’m sure – the Chancellor, royal physician-in-ordinary, court astrologer, high and exalted such-and-such.”

They were unmoved.

“The fellow who pays your wages,” I added. “Best for all, I think, if you let me pass.”

“No one’s supposed to come down here.”

“Rest assured, my worthy friends, that I am here with full knowledge and permission of my illustrious colleague. I’m here to see the prisoner.”

The guards looked at one another. “No one’s allowed in.”

“There isn’t a prisoner,” said the guard.

“And if there was, no one would be allowed to know,” added his colleague.

“Friends,” I said, “I am privy to many secrets. This prisoner who may or may not exist – a young woman, is she not? Her face has likely been hidden from you, but you’ve maybe heard her yowling and barking like a beast? Small and prone to biting?”

One of the guards nursed a bandaged hand.

“Aye, that’s the one.”

They let me into Bait’s cell. It was bare: a bedroll, a chamber pot and little else. An uneaten breakfast on a tray. The only light what little spilled in under the door. I could dimly make out a lumpen shape on the bedroll.

“Bait?”

She did not respond.

I glanced around the room, wondering how I could rescue her. It was unpromising. Four solid stone walls, only one door. No hiding places, nothing that could be used as a weapon except for that chamber pot. Could I talk my way out? Unlikely.

The desperate thought struck me – a spell? I had nothing to draw upon, beyond whatever scraps had fallen from Orphir’s experiments. If we were in the Dungeon, I might have made Bait invisible, or turned the guards into toads. But we were in a dungeon, not the Dungeon. There was nothing here to work with.

Escaping with her was impossible. Utterly impossible.

All I could offer, I realised, was comfort. A promise that despite recent regrettable choices on my part, she was not alone.

“Bait, it’s me. Cornelius.”

She did not respond.

“I’m very sorry for not visiting. I tried – well, I should have tried – but I’m indebted to Orphir, and he’s placed a great many duties upon my shoulders. You must be very angry, but please try . . .”

I tried another tack.

“The Tunnel Surveyors captured Sir Peledon this morning. As I feared, he’s wholly beast now. I know you must be disappointed. I don’t think he knows where he is, the poor fellow. But he’s chained up in the courtyard now with the rest of the Denizens. Maybe if you behaved, and stopped resisting Orphir’s spells, you could be allowed to visit him.”