Chapter 11: No Way Out
Her head hurt. That was her first thought. She groaned, sat up rubbing her head. Where was she? Odale's first thought was the Observatorium, DomDaniel's old lair, since it was so dark and damp. Perhaps Pullman had had a companion. Perhaps...
No. The place rocked far too much to be the Observatorium. It was also dark. Odale, trying to get some light, snapped her fingers. Nothing happened. Her heart begun beating very hard, she bit her lip and swore. Why hadn't it worked? Insisting on keeping calm, Odale took a deep breath. From memory, she begun mumbling the original Spell. When she was done, she shut her eyes. She didn't want to see the result.
Odale felt a light sizzling in the air, then a pang in her hands. It was a sharp pain, and she quickly shut her hands. Carefully, she opened her eyes. Still nothing, and Odale cursed again. Looking down on her hands, she could see two bands of cold metal around her wrists. There was no link, no seam on them, and no key hole. They, Odale thought, was most likely the reason why her Magyk didn't work. The feeling they gave her was the same feeling that the ropes Pullman had pulled around her wrists.
She knew how to ropes worked. The metal bands, they had to work the same way. But she couldn't stay where she was standing.
Once Odale had become resigned to the light, she could make out some of her surroundings. The walls were stacked with big boxes, probably making the area appear smaller than what it was. There was a big door in front of her, with bars covering a small window which let in some light. Odale herself thought she was standing in some sort of room for the cargo, except it was very secure. Most likely, Odale thought, she was on a boat, judging by the rocking and the water leaking. Water leaking...
Odale looked to the wall behind her, pulled her hand over it. If it was salt water... Darke Magyk had a habit of, at least momentarily, not working in salt water. That was why some Darke witches melted in salt water, and why necromancers and other Darke people preferred not to be close to it. Odale could, probably quite easily, drench the bands in salt water. If they then would stop working... It was only a theory, though, Odale thought. She'd have to try... Later.
Someone was pounding on the door, and Odale didn't feel like finding out who it was. Yet. To find a route of escape, Odale looked around. The boxes covering the wall, she thought, had spaces between them. Maybe they were a bit too tight, but if she really squeezed herself into them, then maybe she could hide.
There was no time to find something better, instead Odale rushed towards the boxes, pushing herself into the small area that was between. Panicking, she pushed herself all the way into the wall and sat down there. Her heart had begun beating like a little drum. She hoped that no one would hear it. "Where are you, kitty-cat?" a boy said. Odale recognized the voice, it was the same boy that had attacked her earlier. The boy said something in a foreign language, and by the tone of it she could tell it was a swear. At the end of the small space she was in, she could see a light.
Odale'd like to shut her eyes, but couldn't. She just stared. The boy looked briefly into her small area, but didn't see her. He'd probably thought that it was too small to push into.
She could see the warm, red light going back-and-forth and guessed it was a torch, not Magyk. "Come on!" the boy shouted out. "I'll make it worse if you don't go out here. Right now."
Odale didn't move an inch. Instead, she pushed tighter against the wall. That wall, too, was wet. Even more than the other one, she could even feel the water roll over her back. Afraid that she would be heard, Odale put a finger on the wall and then tasted the water. It was salt. Her chest was about to burst with joy, but she was afraid that he would hear her.
Quietly, Odale turned around and let the water flow over her wrist. She closed her eyes, and counted. One, two, three, four... she heard steps, coming from behind the door. They were heavy. Five, six, seven, eight... Someone fiddled with a key, she heard the clinging of metal against metal. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve... The door was opened. Thirteen... Odale felt an odd jolt, and she bit her tongue trying not to yelp. "Light," she whispered into her cupped hands. A small orb of light appeared in her hands. Her Magyk worked.
She quickly put it out, and instead whispered a spell of invisibility. Odale quickly rose. It was time to find a way out.
Septimus had, actually, been looking forward towards being Marcia's apprentice again, despite missing being Marcellus's. Though he hadn't expected that Odale, just after briefly talking to him, would be gone. Not only that, but Marcia was awfully anxious, too. She'd asked people all day, looked at all the thinkable places in the Wizard tower... even the sixth floor. "Have you looked in the Port?" Septimus finally suggested.
Marcia shook her head. She was pale. "No, I haven't had the time," she mumbled. "I just... she wasn't even upset when she left! Why would she do this?"
"Maybe something happened along the way?" Septimus offered. "And then she went to be angry for a little while, and she will come back tonight."
His tutor sighed, shook her head. "Something just isn't right," Marcia said. "She should be back. If someone else would make her angry, then..."
Marcia's voice trailed of. "Keep calm," Septimus told her. "Even if it was something, Odale would make it. She usually does."
Odale wasn't sure she'd make it out. The door was locked, wouldn't budge, and she'd tried about every Spell she knew that wouldn't cause too much noise. It was useless. Frustrated, Odale kicked a big box.
There was nothing happening. She was stuck. The boy, after looking after her, threatening her and cursing, had went away. He, Odale thought, wasn't as smart as he'd first seemed. At the same time, if he'd captured her, what'd that make her? Well, at least she'd gotten rid of the wristbands. She'd hurried to take them off, and then pushed them in underneath the big box.
In that moment, Odale wished she had a clock. Or perhaps a small window which she could see out from. The window would be preferable. Very much so. But, of course, there was none. She didn't dare to gaze out the small, barred one on the door in the fear that someone would see her. If they would... Odale looked up. Her heart skipped a beat.
It was her solution. Her escape. A vent. It was, most definitely, big enough for her to crawl through. The catch? It was in the ceiling. But, Odale thought, she could push through. Odale knew she could.
She scanned the room for a ladder. There was none. At least none that Odale could see. She cursed under her breath. What else could she do? She returned to the shadows behind the boxes to think. Odale sat there for hours.
That night, Cashmére couldn't sleep. She tossed herself from side to side, but couldn't be laid to rest. Marcia'd said that Odale was gone, and had been the whole day. Staring up in the ceiling, she tried to tell herself it wasn't so bad. Odale was probably on a bad mood. Yes. That was had probably made her daughter cross. She'd slipped away for awhile. It was typical Odale-behaviour. Cashmére tried to smile to herself, but didn't quite manage to do it. Instead, she burst into tears.
A few months ago, Cashmére perhaps wouldn't even have noticed. It most certainly wouldn't have bothered her so much, but with all these other girl ending up murdered... Cashmére shivered. It felt as if she'd found one daughter, and then lost the other one. She cursed. Nothing ever went well for her.
Odale was thinking about the same thing, as she tried to clamber the big boxes. Fortunately for her, the boxes were put so that they all reached the ceiling. But the sides of the boxes were hard and not very good for climbing on.
Her hands were bloody and covered with splinters. Odale didn't care. Once again, she put her hands and feet on the side and climbed. In reality, she wanted to give up, fall down and fall asleep. But she couldn't. She had no idea what that boy would do to her if he found her.
To her big surprise, she finally pushed herself over the top of the biggest box. She laid there on the box for a moment, catching her breath. Then, she rose. The vent was almost within her reach. Almost. She watched it, trying to figure out how on earth to open it. Could she do it by Magyk? It was worth a try, she thought, as she stretched out her hand and pointed at the hatch covering the vent. "Open!" Odale demanded.
The hatch flew open with a sharp pang. Odale smiled. Now, it was only a matter of reaching it. She thought hard. She watched the hatch, slowly swinging back and forth, while it squeaked. Most likely, no one had ever oiled it's hinges. Swinging... Odale bit her lip. Perhaps she had another idea.
Once again, Odale pointed her hand at the hatch. Focusing hard, she made the metal hatch turn into a metal hatch. It was still swinging from the Magykal force, and only a few feet from Odale. She leapt, grasping the ladder hard in her hands. It was then, she heard him approach. She stopped dead. If he caught her there... The fall would be well over ten feet, perhaps fifteen feet.
With renewed energy, Odale practically ran up the ladder and then, once in the vent, reversed the Spell. She shut the vent tightly behind her, praying he hadn't heard. "Little girl?" the boy was back. "I heard you did something. I know you're here..."
She kept completely still.
Jerome couldn't see her anywhere, and wondered if she was even there. Perhaps the sound had been rats, he thought, despite knowing that it wasn't rats. It was the girl.
In that moment, he regretted taking her onboard the ship. He'd only wanted vengeance, for her fighting Jerome and his brother. His brother, Alistair, hadn't seemed interested in doing anything. So, Jerome had taken matters into his own hands. And now regretted it. Great. He looked around, again. "Come on out, you witch!" he yelled. He didn't feel comfortable using that language, but it seemed to be the one she used.
No sound, no movement. Nothing. "You won't get out this way," he growled. "Come on!"
Still nothing. He growled angrily, kicked a box, and went out to get Alistair. Alistair would know what to do.
Odale heard the door slam shut. She sighed with relief. He was gone. She looked up. The space she was in was a long, narrow tunnel, about twice as wide as her. It went upwards for about five feet, Odale estimated, and then it bent. Putting her feet on either side of the tunnel, she started to climb. Her hands, legs and feet protested, but Odale didn't stop.
When she well had reached the vertical part of the tunnel, Odale was exhausted. She laid down flat on her belly, breathing hard. At least she was away from that horrible boy. Her hands bled furiously, she noticed, and she'd left a small trail from half the tunnel up. She clasped her bloodied hands together and fell asleep.
It was early in the morning, and Zamir was already up. He washed himself, put his clothes on. Orianne, his new tutor, had told him that he could sleep a little longer than usual. She'd told him that he was a teen, he needed it, and then that she had to go to her son's school. Because whatever reason, Zamir wasn't exactly sure. He'd never attended a real school.
Zamir, careful not to show the cursed skin, put his eyepatch on. He'd finally found a new one, after the previous one getting lost on sea. He still regretted coming with, but only a little.
The new one, though, he thought looked better. The other one had been deep blue, with a pale-white star covering it. The new one was black, with a gold-lining. But he knew he shouldn't be picky. He was far luckier than most Cursed people, especially people who happened to have the same Curse as him and the eyepatches were hard to get by. It was much more likely that the merchant you asked would try to push a fake Fatima's Hand on you, or perhaps a lucky charm. If they didn't have you lynched, or arrested. Or perhaps even have you sold as a slave, to a circus or perhaps a necromancer, or anyone else that thought you could be useful.
That didn't happen much in the Castle, Zamir knew that, but about everywhere else he had been. In the Castle, people didn't even seem aware. It just seemed like they thought he'd lost his eye. Maybe they even did, Zamir didn't know. Still, he finally felt accepted.
And when Marcia, instead of putting him in exile for knowing that Merrin had the Two-Faced ring, or worse, had given him an apprentice ship to one of the ordinary wizards, Zamir had cried. It was better than anything he'd hoped for.
He thought of that, as he begun walking down to the Ramblings.
