62. Escape from the Tavern
I opened my eyes. The darkness swirled. I didn’t know where I was. I lifted my head to look round, but when I did so, a sharp pain filled my skull. I flopped back and closed my eyes again.
There were muffled voices coming from the other side of the wall. Some I recognized. Hench and the other conspirators were in the middle of a heated argument. Mother Redwattle was trying to quieten them down, but without much success. Then I heard my own name, and winced. They must be deciding how to deal with me. So much for my attempts to glean information about the smashed loom…
‘You were a fool to come here in the first place.‘
The sharp voice inside my head came as a shock, and I sat bolt upright despite the stabs of pain at my temples and behind my eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Hedgethorn, but I had no option. When I saw that cloddertrog wielding that machete of his, I pretended to side with them. I hit you over the head and dragged you into the store-room. Better a sore head, I thought, than no head at all.‘
‘Threnodesse?’ I said. ‘Is that you?’
‘It is, Hedgethorn,‘ the voice said, and I heard a match being struck. Abruptly, flickering candlelight illuminated my surroundings, and I saw the windowless little store-room she had brought me to. Three of its walls were lined with shelves laden with goblets and tankards, and I was lying on a straw mattress that had been pushed up against the fourth wall, behind the door.
The waif emerged from the shadows. Carrying a candle-holder in one hand and a small black leather bag in the other, she crossed the room and crouched down beside me. She inspected the bump on the side of my head. It was tender to the touch, but as she smoothed in the ointment she took from her bag, the pain subsided to a dull throb.
‘You’re the Split-Willow’s tavern waif?’ I said.
‘For my sins,’ said Threnodesse with a sigh. ‘After our Great Glade mission, I’d had enough of corrupt bigwigs - then Mother Redwattle offered me the job here.’ Beyond the wall, the voices were getting rowdier. Threnodesse shook her head. ‘Trouble is, Hedgethorn, rich or poor, some folks are good and some…’ She paused. ‘Are just rotten.’
‘The Defenders of the First Age,’ I muttered grimly.
At that moment, there came a ferocious thumping at the door.
‘This place is a hot-bed of their rebellion,’ Threnodesse confirmed as the thumping grew louder. ‘They aim to put an end to any use of phrax-driven machines in the Farrow Ridges. Even if it means civil war.’
Just then, the wooden frame started to splinter. I leaped to my feet, seeing stars as I did so, and staggered backwards. Threnodesse caught me.
‘Quickly,‘ she said, speaking inside my head once more as she steered me across the room. In the shadows I saw a second door. She turned the key and pulled it open. ‘Your friend Bragsworn has promised to help you, she said. ‘He slipped out unnoticed and is waiting for you by the well out back. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.‘
She pushed me out into the cold night and locked the door behind me. A moment later I heard the inside door splinter and crash to the floor as it was kicked open. The shouting grew louder. I started running, dodging the empty ale kegs and wine casks. The angry voices grew fainter.
‘Bragsworn,’ I said, as a familiar figure stepped out from the shadows behind the well.
‘I gave them the slip, Hedgethorn,’ he began, his eyes looking round wildly. ’But we’ve got to get out of here before they track us down and finish us both off.’
I orientated myself. If we head left and keep to the forest, it should bring us out near to my hive-house,’ I told him. ‘We’ll be safe there.’
But Bragsworn didn’t move. Instead, he nodded back the way I’d just come, where swords, machetes and studded clubs glinted in the light of flaming torches and swaying lanterns as the baying mob blundered towards us.
‘I fear, Hedgethorn,’ he said, ‘it’s already too late…’