Chapter 7: Fight, Then Flight

The temperature had fallen from pleasantly mild to windy and chilly by the time Lefou got back into town. An autumn storm seemed to be on its way. The only reason he wasn't shivering at the moment was the sweat he had worked up from running as fast as his legs could carry him, which wasn't very fast. Gaston had been adamant about wanting to leave for the lodge as soon as possible, and Lefou knew better than to keep him waiting. He was panting by the time he arrived.

His mind and his heart were both racing the closer he got to the stables. What was everyone going to say about Gaston's defeat? What kind of story would he have to tell to save the hunter's reputation? Lying wasn't one of Lefou's strong suits.

Then again, he thought, I don't have many strong suits. Unless you count scrubbing out pots and cleaning stalls.

He was debating whether to give the townsfolk either a story about Gaston going to hunt a huge trophy buck in the woods or else being sick with some strange illness. He finally decided on the latter, since it might account for Gaston's unexpected loss in the fight. He was ready to march straight into a crowd and make the announcement when it occurred to him that nobody, absolutely nobody, was around. He was the lone soul in the town square.

They had to be at the tavern, Lefou guessed. The hour had almost passed. They would want their gold and silver back and they were going to get it one way or another. M. Arsenault would be ruined and run out of town.

And what about the girl? What would happen to her?

Lefou had been only a child when a man named Jean-Paul had been hung publicly in Ste.-Eulalie for horse theft. He had never forgotten the horrible snap of the condemned man's neck as he dangled from the gallows. Lefou silently prayed that wouldn't happen to Sable. She had done something almost no one in town had ever done for him: treated him kindly. Beneath the mask she wore and the tough exterior of a melee fighter, Sable was a little like him. She was someone who didn't belong, someone who had the bad luck to serve a master stronger and crueler than herself. She was an outcast doomed to a life of misery and servitude.

In the end, though, it didn't matter. Nothing he could say or do could help her. He'd either be laughed at or worse, punished by Gaston. So, he heard Gaston's voice saying in his head, hurry up and do what you were told. He had to somehow forget about her. There were horses to be saddled and packs to be stuffed and weapons to be loaded.

From the corner of his eye, Lefou saw the flash of something darting down the narrow alley behind the tavern. He turned just in time to see the trailing folds of a green cloak. It was the same cloak he'd seen yesterday in the stables, a fine-spun wool. Monsieur Arsenault, it had to be, and he was clearly in a hurry. But what was he doing going the back way? The only thing back there, besides the livery, was…

!tavern, and occasionally locked up a rowdy drunk or two. Lefou knew that had to be where Sable was. Gaston had ordered him to find out where the girl was being kept. Technically he wasn't disobeying.

He scurried after the green cloak, hoping nobody would see him.

Sable wasn't surprised to hear the click of the key in the lock; her only surprise was how long it had taken. She knew her hour was up. She was painfully thirsty and her head pounded from the one massive blow Gaston had inflicted. Despite her pain and weakness, terror kept her alert. In the dark room, after some searching, she'd managed to stumble upon a shard of wood with a satisfyingly pointy end. She'd shoved it up her tunic sleeve…just in case. It was a pathetic weapon against a dozen angry men with a grudge, but it would have to do.

If I have to die, at least let me die fighting. On my own terms.

And she knew she was going to die. The only question was whose face Death would present. As it turned out, the face she saw when her eyes readjusted to the brightness was a familiar one.

"Sit down, and be quiet," Adrien said, his voice dangerously soft. It was not a request but an order.

"Can I please have some wa…"

She didn't see the blow coming. Her master struck her with an uppercut to the jaw before she'd had a chance to finish. She lay face-down on the dirt floor, gasping and retching.

"You have put me in a very difficult situation, one which has no good outcome for me. Winning honorably is one thing, but these bumpkins don't take kindly to losing all their money because of a cheat. You did cheat, didn't you?"

"No, monsi…"

Wham! Another snake-quick strike to her midsection. His blow was nearly as powerful as Gaston's had been. "I told you to be quiet, girl. Now, they're going to want blood payment. I don't intend it to be mine, so whose does that leave?"

Sable felt the taste of blood in her mouth. She had never imagined so much pain. Adrien had beaten her before, of course, but never like this. Even Gaston's strike hadn't been half as painful. She knew then that she had nothing, absolutely nothing, to lose. Adrien had lied to her and beaten her and taken her, like an animal, in chains from place to place. She'd had enough.

And all this time, I let that happen. I've been a fool for thinking he ever wanted to help me, much less let me go.

She lunged at him, half-speed, and he easily put her down again. Somewhere, through the haze of agony, she could hear Adrien talking to her in that oddly calm way of his.

"Do you even know who you are? What your real name is? You are nothing, you stupid bitch. Nothing but a bastard child of a diseased whore. The only reason I ever took you from that cell was because I was told you were a half-decent melee fighter. And what do I get for my generosity? I get ingratitude. I cannot tolerate ingratitude." He punctuated his disgust with a knee to Sable's face.

"What about…the money?" she wheezed. One or more of her teeth was broken, she knew. "All that money I made for you?"

He stopped to consider this. "That's true. But you have lost it all in one day with your stupidity and lack of control." His left hand raised to strike her again.

Instinctively Sable curled into a ball. If her master intended to kill her, he was going to have to do it the hard way. Every part of her body seemed to be on fire, and a curious stabbing pain, like a knife wound, throbbed along her left forearm. Then she remembered the broken piece of wood up her sleeve. It was a weapon, however small, and it might give her a slim chance at escape. She'd have to time it just right, and get lucky.

Adrien's hand never came. He only looked down at her with what she guessed was either disgust or pity. Maybe he wasn't cruel enough to kill a helpless, beaten girl. Sable tried a different approach; she'd need it if her crazy idea would work.

"Please, monsieur, I'm sorry," she said, injecting real regret into her voice. "I'll never do anything like that again. I swear it."

His eyebrow raised cautiously. "What do I have, other than your word?" He was toying with her again, waiting for another excuse to strike.

"My life. I'll serve you for as long as I live, monsieur."

"I have no use for a servant, or a fighter, who is disobedient and wild. It is like keeping a wolf as a pet: an interesting idea, but not a practical one."

"Come…come closer, please. I have something I need to tell you…"

Luck must have been on her side, because Adrien did just that. He dropped to one knee to get closer to Sable, who'd managed to somehow rise to a sitting position. It had to be now, or never. From some deep reserve of strength and quickness, she withdrew the stake and, in one smooth motion, plunged it into Adrien's chest , right above his heart, and withdrew.

His eyes widened and he uttered a short gasp of surprise. He looked down to see the ragged hole in his green jerkin. Then, inexplicably, he began to laugh.

"I underestimated you, sable one. That's…that's a good trick."

She was about to shove the weapon in again, finish him off, or even use her pinching move. Then she looked into his eyes. Beneath all the callous cruelty and sadism she'd come to know, there was fear and shock.

Is that how I've looked for all these months? Afraid?

She backed away, watching with horror as the bloom of red in Adrien's chest widened and darkened. It was the first time she'd killed since all those many months ago in New France. That seemed like some other lifetime now. But if anyone deserved to die, it was this man, her personal demon and tormentor. And die he did. It was unremarkable: one moment he was still breathing and chuckling softly, the next he had fallen with a thump like a sack of grain to the dirt floor.

Sable hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. When she remembered, it came out as a throaty mix of panting and sobbing, then crying. She still clutched the bloodied shard tightly in her right hand.

Only then did it dawn on her how stupid and poorly thought out her escape plan had been. She was still surrounded by a whole village who wanted her dead. She was injured and bleeding. She had no idea of the lay of the land, no horse or cart, no money, no friends, not even a cloak to keep warm. Just a piece of wood still wet with Adrien's blood. When the villagers saw what she'd done, what would happen then? If justice in Old France was anything like home, she'd hang before sunset.

The creak of the door startled her. "Miss Sable? Are you in here?" a voice whispered in the gloom.

It was the squeaky voice of the ostler's apprentice, the funny little man she'd met the day before. "Yes," she said. If she could trust anyone in town, it might just be him.

Lefou's hands went to his mouth when he caught sight of Adrien's sprawled body. "What happened? Is he…?"

"Yes, he is. I was," she paused, "defending myself." It was somewhat true, she supposed. "Where is everyone? All those people from town?"

"I dunno. The tavern, maybe?"

Sable knew time was short. She had to stop making small talk and convince him to help. "Can you get me out of here? Hitch up that horse and cart? I promise I won't say a word, and I'll never come back here again. Tell them I broke out, knocked you out or something. That doesn't have to be a lie."

Lefou looked down, embarrassed. "Gosh, I mean, Gaston sent me here to see where you were, and everybody's gonna ask questions. Besides, I don't think that horse is healthy enough to travel yet," he said.

She still held the wooden dagger. Sable knew she could simply overpower him even in her weakened condition. But this man, even if he was Gaston's friend, was different. It wouldn't be right. He was a kind soul in a world full of cruel bastards.

"Lefou. That's your name, right?" He nodded. "Please. I'm asking you for help. I'll do anything you want."

He looked at her with sad brown eyes. "Gaston would never let it go."

Sable thought she heard men's voices somewhere close. Time was not on her side, and it was starting to get dark already. A sudden thought danced across her mind. She reached inside her tunic for the one thing she'd always kept secret from Adrien, the one thing of any value she owned. How she'd managed to keep it hidden all this time was a miracle. From its worn leather pouch, she held it out to Lefou. It was a worn silver token with the emblem of a heron in flight.

"I'll buy a horse. You can't say I stole one. Please, I'm begging you. That, a cloak, and a way out of here."

There were definitely voices now, and they were close. It took Lefou what seemed like forever to speak again, but when he did, he said the last thing Sable expected.

"Follow me."

Lefou's heart raced. Even he knew this was uncharted territory. He was helping a stranger who'd just killed a man. He was taking a horse that didn't belong to him for a piece of silver. But most dangerously of all, he was disobeying Gaston. The consequences of that alone were enough to make anything else pale in comparison.

Why in the world am I doing this? For a girl I don't even know? Somehow, the urge to help someone in need was greater than the urge to follow Gaston's orders. Lefou had no idea where it came from. Maybe, in his own way, he decided he was just as tired of being kicked around as the poor girl was.

That was worth the risk. It had to be.

The stables were empty of people but held perhaps two dozen horses and ponies. All of them swiveled their heads to look at the two figures, the little man and the rangy girl, who slipped in through the open door. One of them was a huge black, who whinnied loudly.

"Not now, Leonidas," Lefou muttered as they passed the black's stall.

Sable had very little experience with horses. The one she'd come to know best was the old nag who pulled the cart. She had no idea which one was good or which one not. All she knew was she needed a fast one who knew the terrain. This was Lefou's area, not hers, and she was putting her life in his hands.

"There you are, cheri. Isn't she beautiful?" Lefou said to her as they stopped at the end of the row. The mare before them was a deep bay with no white markings. She had, at least to Sable's untrained eyes, a kind look to her.

"Is she fast? I need to hurry," Sable whispered. The men could be on to her any minute. She felt like a fox who'd been scented by the hounds.

"Rossignole is the fastest horse I know. Well, maybe Leonidas is faster, but you can't take him, and…"

Sable cut him off. "I'll take her. Which way is the safest way out?"

"I'm terrible with that sort of thing, but, the direction the sun goes down? Isn't that east?"

"West," Sable corrected him, grabbing the saddle hanging on Rossignole's stall door. There was also a wool blanket, which she gratefully wrapped around her shoulders. The temperature had dropped even more. "I don't know how to thank you."

Lefou blinked. He wasn't used to being thanked. "It's nothing," he said, blushing.

It took only a few minutes for Sable to saddle the mare and mount. Fear was still coursing through her veins. She had no idea where she would go, or how she would survive a freezing night. Maybe the villagers would sent a lynch mob after her. Maybe wolves would track her down and finish her wounded body off.

Maybe. Maybe, I will actually get out of this mess and start a new life. There is always hope.

She turned to Lefou. "Tell them I've gone east. Tell them I knocked you out and stole the horse. I don't want you getting hurt because of me."

He nodded, his round face solemn. "I'll try. Good luck, Miss Sable."

Sable spurred the mare, who shot out of the stables like an arrow from a bow. She was a fast horse; Lefou hadn't lied. In a matter of minutes she'd tracked the light from the setting sun and was galloping to points west.