He tried another door. It was she, rising surprised from the floor in a whirl of dresses. Rodvard pushed past the small man to grip her by the hands. “Come, and quickly.”
She made small uncomprehending sounds. Rodvard put an arm around her and drew her toward the door. Reverse of the stair by which they had been brought in; in the torchlight Rodvard saw a pair of feet at the base. A dead man, one of the guards. In spite of the hurry, he paused to unbelt the fellow’s dag, and rushed with the rest, feeling more a man again now the lost knife was replaced.
At the outer gate stood two more men, hoods pulled over their faces. They saluted Demadé respectively and led across the street to where a carriage stood, pushing Lalette into the back seat. There were three horses, one in front of the pair, according to the Mancherei fashion. One of the hooded men cracked his whip, and they were off at a bumping pace, as Demadé Slair said; “It is as well you were placed in arrest and proclaimed this afternoon. We should not have known how to find you otherwise.”
“Who sent you—Dr. Remigorius?”
A shadow winked across the man’s face, even in the dark. “The High Center; I say the revolt has begun and they are in rule. But you shall be told everything soon.” He would say no more; the carriage bumped across cobbles, and they were at the dock, with a man holding a candle-lantern by its side. Slair leaped down without offering a hand to Lalette and sprang across the plank of a ship with “Hurry!” Already, as she and Rodvard reached the deck a whistle was blown, and men were moving rapidly among the ropes. They followed their guide’s beckoning down a ladder to a cabin; he set the lantern on a table.
“Let yourselves be placed, and hear me carefully,” he said. “It is of the utmost moment to the cause and everything that you are not caught or even held back. If the guards come aboard, if we are stopped by a galley as we leave the harbor, you are strictly to go down the ladder leftward of this cabin. At its base is a pile of bales of goods, of which one is hollowed out to take a man, with a flap at the edge that can be pulled to from inside. Insert yourself and pull the flap.”
(A thrill more of excitement than apprehension shot through Rodvard; the thought of being as important as this to the great enterprise.) He said; “If this ship’s invaded, they will likely have an Initiate or at least one of their diaconals with them, and from the mind of anyone aboard, he will be likely to know where the hiding place is.”
Slair grinned. “That has been thought of. No one knows of this hollow but me. I made it and can take care of myself.”
Lalette said; “And I; what shall I do?”
Slair frowned. “You are a problem, demoiselle. We came for friend Rodvard and his Blue Star, imagining you were still in Dossola, and there’s no preparation.” He put an index-finger on his chin. “You have the Art. Could you not—”