[Ealasaide]

The closet in the Eorl’s wine cellar was small and damp with no windows, very little light, and no way out other than through the stout oaken door that had been locked securely from the outside. What’s worse, the place stunk of rotten cabbage. Ghem guessed that the Eorl’s people must have used the closet at some point to store fresh vegetables, but that it had since fallen out of use. They must have forgotten one of the cabbages, he decided grumpily. It stunk. And now he along with his cohorts, Ulric and Withold, had been bound with ropes and tossed in there with it, elbow to elbow on the floor like three sacks of potatoes.

“Left in here to rot…” Ghem muttered. His head still ached brutally from the pounding he had taken earlier from one of the Eorl’s men, and the rotten cabbage stench in the closet had done nothing to make it feel any better. He was in a foul mood that was getting fouler by the second.

Ulric elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Shut yer mouth,” he growled. “We’d be lucky to be left to rot. They’ve got the rope in mind for us.”

“That’s right,” agreed Withold from somewhere in the darkness on the other side of Ulric. “We don’t get outta here, we’ll be dangling for sure.”

“Not me,” argued Ghem. “I’ll go down fighting first.”

“Yeah? With what?” asked Withold with a sarcastic snort. “Yer breath? I noticed you didn’t bring yer sword.”

“Laugh it up, funny-man,” retorted Ghem. “When you’re swingin’ from the gallows, I’ll be enjoyin’ a nice pint of ale in a cozy pub a long ways from here.” Ghem smiled to himself. Withold obviously didn’t know it, but Ghem had the means to escape hidden inside his left bracer and in the hollow behind the buckle of his belt. All he had to do now was figure out how to get at them. The guard had done a disappointingly good job of binding him. In fact, the ropes were so tight around his wrists that his fingers were beginning to go numb. Ghem flexed his hands, trying to get the blood flowing through them again. He was going to need his dexterity.

“Yeah, you and yer mama’s ghost,” persisted Withold. “You’ll swing with us.”

“Shut up, both of you,” snapped Ulric. “We need to find a way to cut these ropes.”

“I’ve got a way,” said Ghem. “I just can’t reach it.” He went on to describe the miniature dagger and the lock picks to Ulric, not caring whether Withold heard or not. He’d decide later whether or not to let Withold come with him and Ulric when they escaped. He and Withold had been at odds for weeks, and it was about time that Withold learned to watch his mouth. In the meantime, though, the dagger, which could cut through their bindings like a hot blade through butter, needed to be retrieved from its hiding place behind Ghem’s belt buckle. With his hands tied behind his back, Ghem needed Ulric’s help, and possibly Withold’s as well, to find it and draw it out. The three of them soon fell into a hushed but intense discussion of how best to do that. Finally, they hit upon a workable scheme.

So intent were they on constructing their plan that none of them noticed a slender shadow pass across the keyhole as a young woman pressed her ear against the outside of the door, listening. Quickly, the shadow flitted away, unseen.

The three outlaws squirmed from their haunches on to their knees and, with slow careful movements so as not to fall, began to knee-walk toward the door. The idea was to position Ghem’s belt buckle so that the tiny spot of light allowed into the closet through the keyhole would fall on his buckle. With Withold to direct him, Ulric would retrieve the dagger. With this plan in mind, Ulric backed up to Ghem and groped blindly for Ghem’s buckle with hands that were tied behind his own back. Withold, as the only one of the three with a clear view Ghem’s belt buckle, gave directions.

“Straight back now… that’s right... I can see the hilt. Up just a bit. There!”

Ulric chuckled as his thick fingers closed around the bone handle of the delicate knife, and he grinned as he drew it out of the hidden sheath. Within seconds, he had cut his own bindings and those of his companions. It rankled Ghem a bit to wait as Ulric cut Withold’s binding before his own, but there was no arguing with Ulric on the matter. After all, Ulric was the boss. Ghem put his anger aside. There would be plenty of time later to settle old scores. For the present moment, escape was all that mattered.

As Ulric pressed his face to door, peering out through the keyhole to the wine cellar beyond, the closet fell into complete darkness. Needing no light, Ghem felt for the lock picks he had concealed in his bracer. He smiled as his fingertip grazed the one that he needed.

“All clear?” he asked as he pulled the pick from its slot and turned it between tingling fingers.

“Clear,” said Ulric. “The fools have left us unguarded.”

Ulric rose to his feet and took as step back as Ghem assumed his place at the keyhole. Ghem inserted the pick into the lock and, after only a few deft turns, was rewarded by a resounding click as the tumblers fell into the place and the lock fell open. Cautiously, he pushed the door open.