Chapter 16

The group crept quietly through the cavernous underbelly of Bayonne's castle. The labyrinth of weathered maroon brick snaked out in front of them. The flames cast ghostly shadows on the spider web-covered walls. It was evident that this area of the palace hadn't been explored in years. Zin's heavy boots left large footprints in the dusty floor. The only sound to be heard was shaky breath. It reeked of mildew and decay, and a slight draft tickled any bare skin it could find. 

After almost fifteen minutes of sudden turns, stairs that came out of nowhere, and backtracking when reaching dead ends, Henri squinted his eyes at a small glimpse of light shining down into the catacomb-like secret path. It came down from the top of a flight of stairs, which led into the main parts of the castle. Henri turned around and raised his hand to the rest of the group, telling them to wait. He climbed the stairs one by one, watching and listening for any sign of guards or others lurking within the castle. He made it to the last step and peered into the long hallway. It looked clear. He waved the others up, and the four of them gathered at the top of the stairs. 

"Okay." Henri whispered. "Split up, and find Thérèse and Bernard, then we'll regroup. If you get lost, don't panic. The castle is only so big. Just keep moving. You're much more likely to get caught standing still. If you are taken prisoner, reveal nothing." He accentuated the last word. The group split and went their separate directions. Henri went left down the long hallway, Mehala went opposite him. There was another set of stairs adjacent to the ones they had just exited. Caram and Zin took those, separating on different floors. 

—

Henri was searching the various bedrooms on the first floor of the palace. He figured if he was looking for Thérèse and Bernard, this would be as good a place to start as any. He held his breath every time he grasped a new doorknob, praying that if anyone was inside it would be who he was looking for. Henri pushed open a large white door. The room had burgundy walls and ugly furniture, but no people. The next door was yellow with black detail. Nobody. An oak door with intricate carvings also led to nothing. Henri was becoming frantic. He began bursting into rooms with reckless abandon, not caring who heard or saw him. He was shouldering the doors open, showing little regard for the doorknob. Suddenly, he heard footsteps nearby. Henri froze. 

They sounded heavy and uneven. A few seconds later, a man stumbled around the corner and into the bedroom hallway. He leaned against the wall for support as he walked. A bottle was still clutched in one hand. He reeked of alcohol and sweat. He wore a thick brown shirt and had somehow lost his pants, leaving his white linen underwear on full display. He walked with one foot in a ratty sock, the other completely bare.He looked up and made eye contact with Henri. In his drunken stupor, the man stumbled towards him. 

Henri reached for his sword at his hip. The man lifted his arms high and bellowed something that resembled "Revolution!" He tripped and stumbled into Henri. Both of them fell to the ground. Suddenly, the man turned violent. He pinned Henri down and swung the heavy bottle downward at him. Henri grabbed his forearm and threw him to the side, then scrambled to his feet. The man recovered surprisingly quickly. He staggered a bit, no doubt waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. 

After regaining his bearings, he lifted the bottle again. Henri prepared himself for another attack, but it didn't come. The man was gulping down some of whatever was in his precious container. He grunted and wiped his face on his sleeve. Spit dribbled down his face. The pantsless man held the bottle high above his head, holding it like some kind of trophy. 

"Listen," Henri started. The man hurled the bottle at Henri. Henri dodged it, and it shattered on the floor behind him. Shards of black glass glittered on the perfectly polished hardwood floors. Pools of viscous red liquid oozed from amongst the broken glass. 

"I guess we're not in the mood to listen, then?" Henri asked sarcastically. It looked like the man had wet his pants. He ran full speed at Henri. Henri grabbed one of the man's shoulders with one hand and looped the other around his waist. He drove his right knee into the man's stomach. Henri dropped his left knee to the ground. He now had the drunkard in a chokehold. 

"I'm looking for two people." Henri hissed into the man's ear. "A woman, and a man. They arrived this morning. Where are they?" The man garbled something incomprehensible. Henri loosened his arms a bit to give the man more space to speak.

"Say it again." Henri commanded. The man opened his mouth and vomited all over himself, and partially on Henri. Henri groaned in disgust. He lowered the man onto the floor and stood up. The man rose to his feet and again lunged at Henri. Henri sidestepped him. The man spun around and came at him from a different angle. He was met with a punch square in the face. The man howled and grabbed his now-bloody nose. Henri punched him in the stomach, then reached forward and, with one brisk movement, snapped the man's neck. His body crumpled to the floor. Henri let out a deep breath. He smoothed back the several strands of hair that had fallen into his face during the fighting. 

"For fuck's sake." he muttered. From behind him, Henri heard footsteps crunching on the broken glass. He whirled around to see who else had arrived in the side hallway. As soon as he turned, he was met with a hard blow to the side of the head. He felt the smooth wooden floor beneath his hands and knees. A swift kick to the ribs came next. He instinctively grabbed at his midsection, causing him to topple sideways. A hand seized the collar of his shirt. He was lifted slightly off the ground. His head tilted back. One quick punch in his scarred-yet-handsome face turned the world to black. 

—

Henri woke to a splitting pain in his temples. He blinked his eyes hard a few times, trying to clear his vision. He moved his hand towards his head. But for some reason, his hand stopped. Henri looked down. He saw that his abductors had bound his hands. A short, rusted chain connected to a thick metal band on each of his wrists, with a small keyhole on each band where the chain connected. Henri sighed in defeat. 

The floor beneath him was grimy and damp. His mouth was dry, and the dim light that reached through the iron bars in front of him was enough to hurt his eyes. The air was thick and musty. Somewhere on the other side of the dungeon, a rat scurried across the floor. Henri heard the scuttling of small feet and a few miserable squeaks. He bit his lip, thinking. He couldn't break through the bars, they were too thick and too close together. There were no windows in the cell. He didn't see anything he could use to pick the lock on his shackles. The rat certainly wouldn't be of any help. Henri had no choice but to wait. 

Henri sat in his cell for what seemed to be hours. This feels a bit ironic, he thought, being held prisoner in my own home. He leaned his head back against the cold, gray wall. His eyelids felt heavy. The stress and fatigue from all of their recent travel had caught up with him. Despite his best efforts, his chin dropped to his chest, and Henri drifted off to sleep. 

He awoke to the sound of footsteps approaching. Henri had no idea how long he had been asleep, or if it was even still daytime. He scrambled to his feet to see who was coming. Out of the darkness emerged a large man. He was bald, with a graying beard and cold eyes. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the hallway he strode down. He held a torch in one hand. A sword hung from his left hip, and a key ring jangled noisily on his right. His sharp nose contributed to an intimidating profile. 

"Well, well." The man sneered. Henri took a few steps closer to the bars the man stood behind. 

"Why have you come?" Henri demanded. 

"I was sent to come check on our newest little prisoner." the man replied. "I'm the prison warden. You're my responsibility until your imminent execution."  He spat at Henri, and Henri flinched. The warden laughed. He placed the torch in a metal holder on the wall. Lazily, the man leaned one shoulder against the metal cell bars. He crossed his meaty arms. 

"So, you've only come here to mock me?" Henri asked. As he spoke, he took a few steps closer to the warden. Henri was now halfway between the wall he had been sleeping against, and the man. 

"Why else would anyone want to be in your presence?" the warden replied. As he continued, Henri kept slowly inching forward. "You're a failure, the laughing stock of Bayonne's royal family. Your father was weak and useless, and it's obvious that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." The warden seemed to be unbothered by Henri moving towards him. He likely felt secure on the other side of the bars. 

"Those are bold words." Henri replied. "I hope your sword is as sharp as your tongue." 

The man threw his head back and laughed. "What do you intend to do?" He asked. The man pulled his sword from its hilt and held it in an en guarde position. "From behind those bars, you have no power here." 

"I disagree." Henri smirked. The warden's expression shifted from amused to enraged. He jabbed at Henri through the cell bars. Henri lifted his wrists high. He brought them down over the tip of the sword, and the metal chain in the center of his cuffs caught onto the blade. Henri jerked his wrists down. The sudden disruption of a familiar movement caught the warden off guard. He froze, but only for a second. He pulled the sword back and took another strike at Henri. Henri ducked, and the warden received a swift kick to the groin. The sword clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees in pain. Henri's heel barely fit through the bars, but it was able to deliver a hard blow to the man's temple. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. 

Henri dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled towards the warden, in hopes of reaching the key ring on his belt. He stretched his arms as far as he could, but the chains on his wrist were making it difficult. He couldn't fit both arms through the bars at once. Finally, Henri resorted to grabbing a handful of the warden's shirt and pulling him closer. His left hand grasped the thick fabric of the man's clothing. Henri strained as he painstakingly dragged the man across the grimy floor. It was only a few inches, but it felt like a mile. After a few laborious minutes, Henri could reach the key ring. His nimble fingers loosened it from the warden's belt and pulled the keys back through the bars. There were more than fifty keys, and there was no guarantee any of them would unlock Henri's restraints. But right now, this was his only hope. 

The first key didn't work. Neither did the second, third, or fourth. The fifth was close, but still no match. Henri was getting frustrated. Surely one of them had to fit! Finally, the sixth key slid smoothly into the cuffs on his wrists. After a few jerky turns, Henri's hands were free. Tossing the shackles aside, he sprang to his feet. He could see that the warden was still breathing, and knew it was only a matter of time until he awoke. The next step was to escape the dungeon. 

The cell bars were split into two halves, meeting in the middle at a large padlock. This had to be removed in order for the doors to swing open. Henri frantically began trying the keys. The warden stirred groggily in the corner. Henri's hands were shaking with eagerness to escape. He could feel nervous sweat running down his forehead. He slid key after key into the padlock, to no avail. The warden let out a loud grunt. Henri jumped at the sudden sound. The keys fell from his hands. As Henri bent over to retrieve them, he clumsily kicked them under the cell wall. They slid through the small space between the floor and bars. Freedom was once again out of Henri's reach. 

"Great, Henri. Real fucking great." he said out loud. He paced the cell for a few minutes, thinking. God only knew how much time he had left before the warden regained consciousness. If the warden woke before Henri could escape, he would surely kill Henri. As he looked over at the still-sleeping man, Henri had an idea. The sword was still on the floor, and Henri was sure he could reach it. He got to his knees and grasped the hilt. He could see bruises from the shackles forming on his sore wrists. Henri carefully pulled the sword into the cell. 

After carrying it back over to where he'd dropped the keys, Henri slid the tip of the blade under the cell wall. He was just barely able to hook the key ring on the end, and pull them back towards him. Back on his feet, Henri hurriedly searched for the right key. Somehow, he found it. The rusted lock sprang open with a loud clang. Henri pushed the door outwards. Before he left, he looked again at the warden. Henri gave him one last vicious kick to the ribs, then sprinted down the dark hall and up the stairs into the castle.