Escape from Evil (5 page)

Olu nodded, slowly withdrawing his arm. However, just as he was about to step back, a slamming door somewhere at the end of the corridor caused him to start . . . and the keys flew off and clattered to the floor.

For a few seconds, both prisoners froze, praying that their silence would be echoed along the corridor. Fortunately, despite the clatter of the keys, nothing stirred.

“Can you get them?” Decimus whispered.

Olu dropped onto his belly and reached out with the wood: Decimus could almost hear his muscles straining. Eventually, he gave up and raised himself onto his knees.

“They're too far away now,” he said, shaking his head.

Decimus thumped his fist against his leg.

He hung his head in despair. “We were SO close. Now what are we going to do? When Truli finds those keys in the morning, he'll—”

“Shhhhh!” Olu put a finger to his lips.

“Just wait! We're not out of the game, yet—my visitor should arrive any second n—”

Skrag trotted out of the shadows, his claws tip-tapping on the stones. The little dog padded over to Olu's cell door and sat down, his head bowed and his eyes turned hopefully upward.

Olu reached under a hay sack and his arm came out holding the soup bowl. This time, however, he paused before the door, holding the bowl just beyond the little dog's reach.

“Get the keys, Skraggy,” he whispered, using his other arm to point at the iron ring in the middle of the corridor. “You see those, boy? Do you?”

Skrag moved his head slightly, but his attention quickly returned to the soup bowl.

“Over here, Skraggy!” Decimus whispered. He had crept across to the front of his own cell and was now reaching an arm through the bars to point at the ring from a second angle. “See them, boy? Can you get them?”

Skrag was surprised by the second voice, and quickly trotted up to investigate Decimus in case he had his own bowl to offer. On the way, the dog stopped briefly to sniff the key ring, but quickly dismissed it in favor of the talking figure now crouching in the final cell.

Olu continued to call softly, urging Skrag to make a second detour for the keys. In order to illustrate his point, he reached out again with the wood.

Skrag looked from the edge of the stick to Olu, and back.

“You KNOW what we want, don't you, Skraggy?” said the slave, holding out the bowl with his other hand. “If you want THIS, all you have to do is bring them! Bring them, boy—come on!”

“Go on, boy! Please! Get them for us! You can do it! Good boy! Clever Skraggy!” said Decimus.

The little dog hesitated once again, then reached down and carefully fastened his jaws around the iron ring.

“Good boy!” Decimus called, almost raising his voice in the excitement. “Goooood boy!”

“Here, Skraggy!” said Olu. He put the bowl on the floor beside the bars. “Here's your soup, you good dog!”

Skrag trotted over to claim his reward, dropping the keys in the process. They weren't near enough for Olu to reach, but he used the wooden slat to snare them, dragging the iron ring over the stones and snatching it through the bars.

Decimus was shaking with anticipation.

“Do you know which one it is?” he whispered as Olu rifled through the keys.

The slave nodded. “I've been watching very closely,” he said, flashing the hyena grin once again. “You boys talk, Ruma listened, and I watch . . .”

D
ecimus and Olu crept along the moonlit corridor, keeping their backs to the far wall as they progressed past rows of empty cells and a few that still contained the surviving slaves.

Once they reached the end of the corridor, Olu made to turn left toward the arena, but Decimus grabbed hold of his arm.

“Not that way,” he whispered. “That tunnel leads to the arena. The other must lead up to the stalls.”

“But we need to get out into the arena!” said Olu, impatiently. “We can escape through the north portcullis!”

“And wake half the guards in the process?” Decimus shook his head. “We wouldn't get more than a mile away with Doom's servants bearing down on us. Our only hope is to find another way out and do it quietly. If we can sneak out under their noses, we'll be in Calabria by the time Truli makes his breakfast run.”

Olu nodded, and the pair began to move along the corridor.

They soon came to a set of stone steps that led upward. A sliver of moonlight played over the top flight, and the two slaves took the steps three at a time.

They emerged through an archway that led out to the stalls, and it only took Decimus a second to realize that it was the very same arch through which Slavious Doom and Drin Hain had appeared before the Trial of the Hammers.

A black sky yawned overhead and, if anything, the arena appeared even vaster in the moonlight than it had in the bright morning sun. To the fearful slaves, every shadow contained a watchful guard, and every noise was the jailer awaking to check on his prisoners.

Decimus and Olu sped along the stalls, stopping at each intersection in order to race up a new set of steps. Eventually, they reached the highest circle . . . and yet another staircase that disappeared into the dark.

“It leads to the roof,” said Decimus, visibly deflating. “It will have to do. There is no other way out.”

He hurried after Olu as the quiet slave reached the top of the new staircase. The pair emerged onto the outer wall of the arena. Nearing the edge, Decimus peered over and studied the distant road below. Olu noticed that the shadow of another great arena loomed in the distance.

“It's too far,” said Decimus, heaving a sigh of despair. “If we only had a rope or something . . .”

Olu thought for a moment.

“There is
something
we could use,” he said as Decimus turned to stare at him. “You remember the ring Hrin dropped on the sand during the combat trials?”

“Yes!” Decimus snapped. “I remember it because it was full of spikes! We can't use—”

“They didn't run all the way along,” Olu interrupted. “There were gaps; hand-sized gaps between each two.”

“How do you
know
that?”

Olu shrugged. “As I said before, I watch things carefully . . . I pay attention to detail.”

“That's obvious—but how in the name of the gods are we going to find it?”

“It can't be difficult,” said Olu. “It has to be in the arena, somewhere . . . possibly in a supply room, though Ruma would probably have heard if such a place existed. It's more likely that it's kept in Hrin's quarters . . .”

“Right,” Decimus nodded. “But so is Hrin . . . and I really don't want to go sneaking around in a room where a trial-master is sleeping.”

Olu smiled nervously. “Do you think we have a choice?” he said.

The handle turned, and the door creaked open on tired hinges. When the gap was just large enough to accommodate a head, one appeared through the gap.

“Any luck?” Decimus whispered.

Olu withdrew from the doorway and quietly closed the door behind him.

“It's Mori's room,” he explained, speaking so silently that he was almost mouthing the words. “Shall we go in?”

Decimus shook his head. “We could search through all of them, but I really don't want to do that unless we draw a blank with Hrin. The combat trials are his, after all.”

“The room seemed pretty bare, anyway. If there was a massive spiked chain in there, I'd have seen it. Let's move on.”

The next three doors revealed two separate servants' quarters and the private chamber belonging to aging trial-master Falni. There was no sign of Hrin or the chain.

“This is insane!” Decimus whispered when they arrived back at the intersection with the arena and the main cell corridor. “We've checked every room! In the name of the gods, where IS he?”

“Maybe he doesn't live here like the others. It's pretty obvious that Slavious Doom and his weird friend don't!”

Decimus thought for a moment. “You could be right,” he said. “He always seemed to be dressed a bit grander than Mori and Falni . . . and his breastplate looked a lot more expensive. Maybe he was the chief trial-master? He's probably got a house in town or something! This is a nightmare!”

“Shhh!” Olu waved down his companion. “What about that other door—the one back in the prison block?”

“That's Truli's chamber,” said Decimus sarcastically. “I doubt Hrin sleeps in there.”

“Maybe not, but it's the only room we haven't tried so what have we got to lose? It's either that or the portcullis . . .”

“Fine, let's go . . .
quietly
.”

The two slaves retraced their steps and crept along the cell corridor, amid the distant sounds of snoring and groaning wood.

Decimus put his hand on the door handle and slowly turned it clockwise. Fortunately, the door didn't creak as it was opened.

Truli was sprawled on a makeshift bed that wasn't greatly different from the ones in the cells. The jailer's massive stomach looked like a small mountain rising and falling in the shadowy room. The chamber itself was immense, at least twice the size of the others they had seen. One wall was stacked with the wooden platforms that had claimed Gladius, and the floor next to it was piled with the long poles that had supported them. At the back of the room was a collection of shields, hammers, and, curled in the farthest corner like a giant python, the spiked chain from Hrin's combat trials.

Decimus froze when he saw it, and made a quick and silent gesture to Olu, who tried to sneak past him but found his way barred.

“No,” he whispered. “Let me go. You watch the corridor.”