The Four Crowns

Tunnel Refuge

 

In Vosj’s fourth kingdom, in the year 1468, just days before the end of King Attim’s reign, preteen Jisana would face torture in the afternoon.

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However, that morning, she sat in the pouring rain outside the Emerald Tower tavern with the too-colorful shingle depicting the green-tinted West Tower. With lightning flashing across the sky, she huddled, waiting for the summer storm to pass, which seldom took over thirty minutes.

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Her small corner between the tavern’s wall and the stone steps offered shelter because the wind came from behind her. Still, she scrunched her knees into her chest to keep herself warm. A few people passed along the cobbled roads with shoulders hunched against the deluge. One man climbed the inn’s stairs. Jisana didn’t bother with her begging bowl, as the normal wouldn’t see street folk on days like these.

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The lags between a lightning flash and its thunder grew as the storm moved beyond her. Soon, the rain was little more than a drizzle, then it stopped. The torrent had washed the streets, leaving them fresh for the next hand. Jisana liked these brief renewal periods as they took her away from the boredom of begging for her existence.

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She remained awestruck after talking to her hero two days ago. In the briefest of conversations, the Green Wizard promised to find her when she was older. Later, Jisana met the Bone Crusher himself, who asked her to join his team. Now she was helping Roon, the One-Armed Wizard, who treated her like she was a normal. No one had done that since her parents died of the fever last year.

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The wizards offered a chance to return to the place she cherished. She grew up in the servant’s quarters in the South Tower of the keep, less than fifty feet from here, so being inside the keep’s walls was like going home for her.

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Two boys came along the washed street; the shorter one was a beggar boy, a grist, with a limp. The taller lad wore ordinary clothes and walked with a confident stride. Something about them held her attention as they approached.

Jisana realized the limping grist was the lad who attacked her a few days ago. On that day, she cut his leg twice, giving him the hobble he still had. She stretched out the muscles in her legs before tucking them under her, ready to jump up. The tall boy looked familiar, though she couldn’t remember where she had seen him.

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When they faced her from the street twenty feet away, she stood, knife in hand. This was turning into a fight. A peek at the king’s keep gateway revealed two poppy-red guards. Neither was big like the one who helped her before. She was alone.

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“I’s owes ya, poke,” the grist said, taking out his cubbie. The long bastard waited, though she knew he’d get involved if she beat the beggar.

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“Ya brings yar mama to helps ya then,” she called out using her street language.

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“I’s gonna tap ya,” limper said, although he hadn’t moved toward her.

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Jisana stole another glance at the tall boy. “I know you,” she said, dropping into her old dialect. “You’re the royal servant I saw in the tunnels yesterday.”

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She should have kept silent.

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“Kill her, Nip,” the palace attendant snapped as he pulled out his cubbie, a strange weapon for someone working there.

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In that second, Jisana knew this wasn’t a fight over a begging spot. These two intended to murder her. She had stumbled on something so secret that they would execute her. Her assailants closed in, trying to corner her. But she jumped, pulling herself onto the head-height top step. The dull thwack of a cubbie hitting the stonework behind her propelled her to greater speed.

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After jumping down on the other side, she sprinted along the cobbled street. Hopefully, the grist wasn’t so fast with the limp she’d given him. Ignoring the first alley, she made for the second one, dodging into it. She heard their heavy footfalls as they ran after her.

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“Don’t let her escape,” the leader said.

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This alleyway curved right before splitting, which was why she chose it. After taking its left fork, she raced for the stairs leading into an abandoned storeroom. Jisana half slipped down the steps, finding an unlocked door. Inside, she took a few seconds to pick the entrance locked. Lock-picking was one skill she practiced to compensate for her small size. She considered herself the fastest on the streets.

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The cellar was blacker than a moonless night, but she found empty barrels hiding the tunnel doorway through touch alone. Jisana already had her picks in the lock when the storeroom entrance opened. She couldn’t prevent the click, so she hastened to open the heavy door and relock it from its other side before they discovered it behind the casks.

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In the darkness, she trusted her memory, running for the stairs and stopping at the step’s edge. Down the spiral staircase she scampered, sliding her left hand around the inner column. If she made it into the bottom tunnels, she might survive.

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Jisana completed three revolutions before the lock clanged above her, and a faint light permeated through the utter darkness. The boys had stopped to fire a torch, giving her extra time.

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She skipped down the stairway in a rhythm, unable to see the steps. Twice, she almost lost her balance. When she neared the bottom, she was tired. She stumbled when the end of the stairs surprised her, banging her knees hard on the stone floor.

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Without dwelling on the pain, she crawled to the tunnel entrance, feeling for the lock. Working blind, she picked it to slip inside, relocking the door from the other side. Now, she needed a hiding place.