Let me tell you what he did next, because it showed what kind of child he was even without a name or a past.
He did not stand up and run, although every nerve in his small body begged him to move, and he stayed on the cold floor with his palms pressed against the stone. Cautious people ask before they act, so he asked the voice the one question that mattered most to him.
How do I leave this place alive before the boy comes back to check on me tomorrow morning?
~ Wait until the candle burns down to the width of two fingers, then climb the stairs, cross the kitchen passage behind the servants' stairs, and leave through the small servants' door. Follow that order exactly and you will be outside the walls before anyone notices you are gone. ~
He thought the answer sounded too smooth, like a story told by someone who had already seen the ending, so he tested it the same way he had tested the count.
The staircase is dark and old, so which steps will make noise if I put my weight on them?
~ The third step from the top creaks under any weight, and the fifth step from the bottom is loose on its left side, so place your feet only on the right edge of both. ~
He crawled to the foot of the stairs with grit biting into his knees and candle smoke stinging his nose, then pressed two fingers against the fifth step. The left edge shifted with a dry scrape, while the right edge held as firmly as the floor beneath him. A shiver ran down his back, because nobody could guess which edge of a plain wooden stair was loose.
The guard in the kitchen is still eating, so I need to know when he leaves and what he does after that, because I want to avoid him completely.
~ He finishes his meal soon and walks to the storeroom at the end of the passage, where he pleasures himself for about a quarter of an hour with his back to the door. The safest path is the one he walks, because the floor there is swept and quiet, and the door he uses is never bolted. ~
He wrinkled his nose in disgust, yet he understood the use of it, since a man busy with his own appetite is a man who never looks at doors.
Then he tried to stand, just to see whether his legs would obey him. The room swung like a boat on rough water, black spots bloomed across his vision, and a thin ringing filled his ears while his stomach clenched around nothing at all. He dropped back down with cold sweat running along his neck and his fingers trembling against his knees.
My legs shake and the room spins whenever I stand, so how can I possibly walk that far tonight?
~ Your blood is low from the wound and from an empty stomach, so sit for a slow count of one hundred, drink the water that drips from the wall, and rise with one hand on the stone. If you pass the shelf left of the kitchen door, take a heel of bread and eat it as you walk. ~
He shuffled to the wall where the drops gathered, cupped his hand beneath them, and let a few mouthfuls run over his tongue. The water tasted of cold iron and old stone, and it was not much, but the spinning eased enough to make the plan feel possible instead of foolish.
When he turned back, the nineteen small shadows stood exactly as before, their breathing still thin and even in the orange light. A strange heaviness settled in his chest as he looked at them, and he chose his next question carefully, because he wanted it to sound like caution rather than guilt.
If I take them with me, would they follow quietly, or would one of them cry out and ruin everything?
~ They will follow any order they hear, but they will also answer any adult who questions them, so one of them would give you away within the hour. You are far safer going alone that is if they woke up. ~
I will be honest with you, because he was not as cold as he wished to be, and he felt that answer land like a stone in his stomach. He pushed it down and told himself that a boy who gets caught can save nobody, and that was reason enough to keep walking.
One more question remained, and it was the one that worried him most.
If a door is locked or the guard changes his habits tonight, what should I do instead?
~ Neither will happen, because the path I gave you is the safest one and it has no failure in it as long as you do exactly what I say. ~
A path without failure is something no sensible person believes in, and that doubt sat beside his fear like a second heartbeat. Still, the voice had been right about the count, the guards, and the loose stair, so he decided he would walk its path while keeping his own eyes open.
He sat in the shaking orange light with his back against the damp wall, counting slowly under his breath, and watched the candle shrink toward the width of two fingers.
Let me take you through this part slowly, because every step of the journey matters.
When the candle shrank to the width of two fingers, he pushed himself up from the wall with one hand flat on the damp stone, exactly as the voice had told him. The room tilted for a moment and then settled, and he stood there breathing through his nose while the black spots faded from the edges of his sight.
He walked to the foot of the stairs without looking back at the children, because he knew that a single glance could drain whatever courage he had gathered. The fifth step took his weight on its right edge, silent and firm, and the wood felt as cold and rough as bark under his bare feet. By the time he reached the third step from the top, his pulse was pounding hard enough that he could feel it tapping against the metal at his throat, and he placed his foot on the right edge and let out a breath only after the wood gave nothing more than a faint, dry whisper.
A thin door waited at the top, with a line of weak yellow light glowing along its bottom edge.
Is this door locked, and will it make any noise when I open it?
~ It is unlocked and the hinges are oiled, so press it open slowly with your palm flat and stay low. ~
The door swung inward without a sound, and a wave of warm, greasy air rolled over his face, carrying the smell of boiled onions, woodsmoke, and cold porridge. He crouched behind a barrel beside the servants' stairs, where the lantern light did not reach, and listened to the guard chewing somewhere ahead of him with the slow, wet rhythm of a man who had no worries at all. A spoon scraped the bottom of a bowl, a chair groaned, and a long satisfied belch echoed along the passage before heavy boots began to walk away.
Should I cross right now, or should I wait until his footsteps have faded completely?
~ Wait until you hear the storeroom door close, then count to twenty before you move. ~
The storeroom door shut with a dull thud, and soon afterward came faint sounds from behind it, a restless creak of wood and a low, quickening breath, that he did his best not to understand. He pressed his lips together and counted to twenty in his head, because some things are better left unidentified when you are small, hungry, and trying to stay alive.
Then he crossed the kitchen on the very path the guard walked every night. The stone there was swept smooth and free of grit, so his feet slid over it without a whisper, and he kept one hand trailing along the edge of a long wooden table to hold the dizziness away. Halfway across, the whole room swam like a reflection in disturbed water, and he froze with his fingers clamped on the table until three slow breaths had passed and the floor became solid again. (I will tell you that this was the longest moment of his life, and it lasted only a few heartbeats.)
On the shelf to the left of the door he found the heel of bread, hard as bark, and he tore at it with his teeth while he walked. It tasted sour and salty, and the crumbs scratched his dry throat, but warmth spread slowly through his stomach and his legs steadied beneath him.
The servants' door was heavy and old, with an iron latch so cold that it stung his fingers. It lifted without resistance, and the night air rushed in at once, damp and sharp, smelling of wet grass, horse dung, and distant smoke. Crickets sang somewhere in the dark, a thin wind combed through the leaves, and above a narrow dirt lane running along the outside of the wall, a handful of stars glittered like scattered salt.
He stepped out and eased the door shut behind him, holding the latch so that it would not click.
Which way should I walk now so that nobody sees me or follows me?
~ Go left along the wall and stay inside its shadow until you reach the trees, and do not stop for anything. ~
So he went, with the dirt cool and soft under his feet, the stolen bread crumbs still in his mouth, and the bandage itching against his forehead. He did not run, and he kept his shoulders low and his steps even until the black shapes of the trees closed over his head.
Only then did he stop and lean against a trunk, shaking, and realize what had just happened. He is now outside, with no guard behind him and no wall in front of him, and for the first time since he had opened his eyes, nobody in the world knew where he was. Yet the metal collar sat cold against his throat, tapping against every beat of his heart, and he understood that he had escaped the cellar without escaping whatever had put it there.
To be continue.