Outlander aka Cross Stitch - Gabaldon Diana (читать книгу онлайн бесплатно полностью без регистрации .TXT) 📗

“Och,” he said vaguely. “Happen there’s another inn, the other side of the town. The guards from the prison go there when they’re off duty, for it’s closer, and the drink’s a penny cheaper.” He flipped the coin with his thumb, and turning his hand, caught it between two knuckles.

I watched it, with a growing idea of what he intended.

“Is that so?” I said. “I wouldn’t suppose they play cards there, too, would you?”

“I wouldna ken, lassie, wouldna ken,” he answered. He tossed the coin once more and clapped his hands together, trapping it, then spread his hands apart, to show nothing but thin air. He smiled, teeth white in the black beard.

“But we might go and see, no?” He snapped his fingers, and the coin appeared once more between them.

Shortly past one o’clock on the following afternoon, I passed again beneath the spiked portcullis that had guarded the gate of Wentworth since its construction in the late sixteenth century. It had lost very little of its forbidding aspect in the succeeding two hundred years, and I touched the dagger in my pocket for courage.

Sir Fletcher should now be well dug in at his midday repast, according to the information Rupert and his assistant spies had extracted from the prison guards during their foray the evening before. They had staggered in, red-eyed and reeking of ale, just before dawn. All Rupert would say in response to my questions was “Och, lassie, all it takes to win is luck. It takes skill to lose!” He curled up in the corner then and went soundly to sleep, leaving me to pace the floor in frustration, as I had been doing all night.

He woke an hour later, though, clear-eyed and clear-headed, and laid out the rudiments of the plan I was about to put into execution.

“Sir Fletcher doesna allow anyone or anything to disturb his meals,” he said. “Anyone wantin’ him then must just go on wantin’ until he’s done wi’ his food and drink. And after the midday meal, it’s his habit to retire to his quarters for a wee sleep.”

Murtagh, in the character of my groom, had arrived a quarter of an hour previously, and been admitted without difficulty. Presumably, he would be shown to Sir Fletcher’s office and asked to wait. While there, he was to search the office, first for a plan of the west wing, and then, on the off-chance, for keys that might open the cells.

I hung back a bit, glancing at the sky to judge the time. If I arrived before he had sat down, I might be invited to join Sir Fletcher for luncheon, which would be highly inconvenient. But Rupert’s card-playing acquaintances among the guards had assured him that the governor’s habits were invariable; the bell for dinner was rung promptly at one, and the soup served five minutes later.

The guard on duty at the entrance was the same as the day before. He looked surprised, but greeted me courteously.

“So vexing,” I said, “I had meant my groom to bring a small present for Sir Fletcher, as some return for his kindness to me yesterday. But I found that the silly man had ridden off without it, and so I was obliged to follow with it myself, hoping to catch him up. Has he arrived already?” I displayed the small package I carried and smiled, thinking that it would help if I had dimples. Since I hadn’t, I settled for a brilliant display of teeth.

It seemed to be sufficient. I was admitted and led through the corridors of the prison toward the governor’s office. Though this part of the castle was decently furnished, there was little mistaking the place for anything other than a prison. There was a smell about the place, which I imagined as the smell of misery and fear, though I supposed it was no more than the niff of ancient squalor and an absence of drains.

The guard allowed me to precede him down the hall, following discreetly so as not to step on my cloak. And a damn good thing he did, for I rounded the corner toward Sir Fletcher’s office a few feet ahead of him, just in time to see Murtagh through the open door, dragging the unconscious form of the office guard behind the enormous desk.

I took one step back and dropped my package onto the stone floor. There was a shattering of glass, and the air was filled with the smothering aroma of peach brandy.

“Oh, dear,” I said, “what have I done?”

While the guard was calling for a prisoner to clear up the mess, I tactfully murmured something about waiting for Sir Fletcher in his private office, slipped in, and hastily shut the door behind me.

“What the bloody hell have you done?” I snapped at Murtagh. He looked up from his rummaging of the body, unconcerned at my tone.

“Sir Fletcher doesna keep keys in his office,” he informed me in a low voice, “but this wee laddie has a set.” He pulled the huge ring free of the man’s coat, careful to keep the keys from jingling.

I dropped to my knees behind him. “Oh, good show!” I said. I cast an eye over the prostrate soldier; still breathing, at least. “What about a plan of the prison?”

He shook his head. “Not that either, but my friend here told me a bit while we waited. The condemned cells are on the same floor as this, in the middle of the west corridor. There’re three cells, though, and I couldna ask more than that – he was a bit suspicious as it was.”

“It’s enough – I hope. All right, give me the keys and get out.”

“Me? It’s you should leave, lassie, and right smart too.” He glanced at the door, but there was no sound on the other side.

“No, it has to be me,” I said, reaching again for the keys. “Listen,” I said impatiently. “If they find you wandering round the prison with a bunch of keys, and the guard here laid out like a mackerel, we’re both done for, because why didn’t I cry out for help?” I snatched the keys and crammed them in my pocket, with some difficulty.

Murtagh was still skeptical, but had risen to his feet.

“And if you’re caught?” he demanded.

“I swoon,” I said crisply. “And when I recover – eventually – I say that I saw you apparently murdering the guard and fled in terror, with no idea where I was going. I lost my way looking for help.”

He nodded slowly. “Aye, all right.” He moved toward the door, then stopped.

“But why did I – oh.” He crossed swiftly to the desk and pulled out one drawer after another, stirring the contents with one hand and tossing items onto the floor with the other.

“Theft,” he explained, coming back to the door. He opened it a crack, looking out.

“If it’s theft, shouldn’t you take something?” I suggested, looking about for something small and portable. I picked up an enameled snuffbox. “This, perhaps?”

He made an impatient gesture to me to put it down, still peering through the crack.

“Nay, lass! If I’m found wi’ Sir Fletcher’s property, that’s a hanging offense. Attempted theft is only flogging or mutilation.”

“Oh.” I put the snuffbox down hastily and stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. The hall seemed empty.

“I go first,” he said. “If I meet anyone, I’ll draw ’ em off. Wait to the count of thirty, then follow. We’ll meet ye in the small wood to the north.” He opened the door, then paused and turned back.

“If you’re caught, mind ye throw the keys awa’.” Before I could speak, he was through the door like an eel and down the corridor, moving silently as a shadow.

It seemed to take an eternity to find the west wing, dodging through the corridors of the old castle, peering around corners and hiding behind columns. I saw only one guard on my way, though, and managed to avoid him by diving back around a corner, pressing myself to the wall with hammering heart until he passed.

Once I found the west wing, though, I had little doubt that I was in the right place. There were three large doors in the corridor, each with a tiny barred window from which I could catch no more than a frustrating glimpse of the room behind it.