Sacrifices - Chapter 3

[emmithar]

Chapter Three: A Way Out

He didn’t go easily. Fighting and struggling against every step of the way, Allan had tried every fleeting idea that had come to mind. Bitter accusations spilled from his lips, an attempt to goad the guards that hauled him, trying to find a way to distract them long enough so that he could slip away. Unsurprisingly, his attempts failed.

The floor of the cell broke his fall, Allan scampering round as the door swung shut. He grasped the metal bars in earnest, head resting between the small gaps as he spat out a few more rounds of obscenities. It earned him nothing but a few amused laughs between the guards as they left him there. Moments afterwards he was cast into darkness as the dungeon doors swung shut.

With a sigh he let go of the bars, wounded still from both the way he had been handled, and the ill betrayal. If the betrayer could even be betrayed, that was. Whether he had expected Gisborne to fully honor his initial request he wasn’t certain, but there had been a part of him that had honestly expected the man to do something. Even then he felt himself frowning at the notion that something had been done. It was the complete opposite of what he had planned, but even so it had granted him one small favor.

He was able to get to Robin. The man sat in the same cell, situated across the way, supported by the wall. He had not moved since Allan was brought in, had not even indicated that he was aware that he had company. It was almost as if he was…

Allan swallowed, banishing the thought as he crossed the gap between them. Crouching before the other he could feel his breath catch, his heart beating solidly in his chest. In the darkness it was hard to see, hard to tell if the other was still...

Tentatively he reached out, fingers brushing first against his face before sliding down to his neck. His skin was warm to the touch; hot would have been a more appropriate term. He was burning up with fever. But he was alive.

Allan felt his chest loosen, the breath leaving that he hadn’t even meant to hold.

“Robin,” he whispered, gently shaking the other in an attempt to rouse him. When no response came he repeated the motion, with more ferocity than before.

“Come on, Robs,” he pleaded, his voice thin now. “I can’t do this alone. You have to wake up.”

Sneaking in was Allan’s specialty. He knew most of the nooks and crannies that were left unguarded, and he could whip up a lie that would even impress his own mother. But getting out…that he was not so fine at. Getting out… that was Robin’s business.

He tried one more time to rouse the sleeping man, only earning a half-mild groan from the other. There was the briefest opening of the eyes, a mixture of hope and relief flooding Allan. It was gone the next moment, eyes closed once more, not even the faintest indications that any real change had taken place.

With a sigh he sat back on his heels, rubbing his forehead, trying to think. Getting out of this cell would be the first step in any operations, but that wasn’t very likely. These locks, they were not like the chains and irons used to bind a person, or the locks that were found on chests and such the like. Those he could break open with ease. He had held more than his fair share of practice. But dungeon locks were designed in such a way to prevent that. The sheriff knew that most men that ended up in the dungeons were already thieves and of the like, and would know how to work a simple lock.

The thought caused him to purse his lips, mildly irritated that so many before him had ruined the obviously perfect solution. There was no time to dwell on what couldn’t be changed, however. Robin didn’t have the luxury of time, and Allan knew that his was probably short as well.

His thoughts wandered then, knowing that the only way to open the lock was with the key. Of course he did not have one on him, only the jailer carrying the set that would allow him to escape to freedom. The jailer, of course, was a giving man. He rather enjoyed his measly job of locking up the prisoners, only allowing them freedom when their time came to walk to the gallows.

He reached up a hand, circling his neck with the slightest of grimaces. There was a definite need to get out of here…and soon. Death was the most common punishment in store nowadays. The sheriff did not much care for the methods of torture held by the jailer, proposing instead on something a little more…permanent. Too much screaming, or so it had been said, and so the cruel practices were only saved for the most pressing of individuals.

Allan couldn’t help but smile, knowing the plan was half as crazy as perhaps he was. Moving to grasp the bars he rested his head against them for a moment, calming his racing heart. It would do no good to panic, and he needed to sound confident. When he was ready he took in a breath, letting it out in a single yell.

Whispering to himself he reached the count of ten before yelling once again. He could hear it working, could hear the steps growing near, the snarling grumble that wafted through the hallways. The jailer looked irate, as though just woken from a nap which was very possible. Allan wasn’t even certain if the man ever left the dungeons.

“What is it?” he demanded, once seeing that nothing was amiss in the cell. “I’ve seen you before; Gisborne had fun with you the last time you was down here.”

The smile that creased the other’s lips was unflattering at best. But one could not dwell on such trifle manners in the situation Allan currently found himself in. He pushed aside the troubling thoughts, letting out a grin of his own.

“Had to be hard for you, considering.”

“Considering what?” the other growled.

“Well, you used to be the most feared man in all of Nottingham. Perhaps the most feared jailer in all of England. Every man that came through here, well, they felt your wrath. All those devices, the instruments you used. Yet now…you’re not even allowed to touch a prisoner unless the sheriff says so. And when does he do that nowadays, hmm?”

He could see the other man twitch, shifting his weight between his feet, a scowl setting into his features. “Happens far too infrequent,” he spat mildly. “The sheriff, he don’t like hearing the screams. Don’t like the blood. Too messy, too noisy. Well it’s my job. Then ever since he came around, there’s nothing I get to do. Sit and watch them prisoners. What good is that if I can’t even torture them?”

“A shame,” Allan shook his head, moving a pace back from the bars. “Well, if I were the sheriff, I’d let you torture anyone in your jail. It only seems fair, after all.”

“What would you know?” he asked angrily. “Just a prisoner you are. Hang in the morning, with the other there if he’s lucky enough to live. Been waiting for that one for a long time.”

Allan nodded, knowing that much was true. Time and time again Robin had been in the hands of the sheriff only to slip free. He was planning on having it happen, at least one more time. He forced himself to shrug then, taking on a placid look. “A shame still. Imagine what people would say, if only they knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Well that you had a famous outlaw in your dungeon. And that you weren’t even able to lay a finger on him. That you did nothing. Doesn’t sound like a high and mighty jailer to me now, does it?”

“I’ll tell you something,” the jailer responded, coming a step closer. “If I wanted to torture him, I could. There won’t be anyone that could stop me.”

“Of course,” Allan agreed lightly. “You can say that all you want. But who would believe that a jailer, the most feared jailer in all of England, did not want to torture a famous outlaw? You know what they’ll say. They’ll call you a coward.”

“I am no such thing!” the man declared heavily, pulling out his keys with a fumbling hold. “And just for you, I’ll give a little show.”

No sooner did the man have the keys in the lock that Allan moved. It was easy to reach through the bars. Even easier to grab a fistful of mussed hair, pulling back with a sharp motion. The crack was easy to hear, the thud following shortly after as the man sank to the ground completely unaware. The keys were still in the lock, making it easy to turn, and Allan wasted little time in depositing them in a spare pocket. There was no telling when, or even if, he would need them again.

Quickly he dragged the jailer in, depositing him on the floor before turning to Robin. Removing his own his cloak, he draped it over the still form, before sliding an arm around the man’s torso.

“Come on, get up,” Allan whispered under his breath as he lifted the man. It was difficult to balance their weight, even more so that Robin wasn’t offering any sort of help. He paused here for a moment, situating them so that he could at least make some forward progress. Once out of the cell, he stayed only long enough to close the door behind him. The jailer would be in for quite a surprise when he woke.

The only problem now was getting out of the castle. The dungeons were easy enough. It was rare for anyone other than the jailer to be down there, and that man was already taken care of. Waltzing through the castle corridors and dragging along a half-dead body was only slightly suspicious. The only hope was finding out the quickest way possible.

Taking on a secure hold, Allan started to climb the stairs, hefting Robin along with him. The man was leaning on him heavily, feet dragging on the ground without any real resistance. Like this it was easy to feel the fever that burned in him, and hear his ragged breaths as his body fought to keep breathing. Allan was no physician, and certainly not knowledgeable like Djaq was, but at least he knew that these were good signs. If Robin was still alive, they still had a chance…

“Just do me a favor,” he whispered, shifting his weight to press open the dungeon door. “If you’re going to die, don’t do it here; wait until we get back to camp. If I come dragging you out like that, then the others will think I’ve done something. You wouldn’t want them to be mad at me, now would you?”

He peered out into the hallway then, looking first one way, then the other, before moving out. His gait was slow, much more than he cared for, but carrying another was harder than he had first anticipated. He came to a rest, in a crevice of the corridor, catching his breath as he leaned against the wall.

In the flickering of torchlight he could barely make out Robin’s features. Eyes closed, hair matted against his forehead where sweat still ran, his features hid nothing. If the man was aware of the world around him, it was only just so. Perhaps that was a blessing, for Robin at least. For Allan, it was curse and a half. With no idea of where to go, or how he was even going to reach it at this pace, he was struggling with just the very thought of it.

Taking in another breath he nodded to himself, the slightest of encouragements, and wound his arm around Robin once more. The way was quiet, indicating that now was the best time to move. Still he could not stand the silence or the fierce pounding of his heart as he moved along. It caused his mind to wander, to think over what Gisborne had said to him. He frowned, scowling at the thought, shifting weight once again as he came around another corner.

“You know,” Allan breathed, keeping his voice low. “Not being funny, but I should be honest. In case this doesn’t work out. There are some things I probably shouldn’t have done…well, more than just some, but we’ll get to those later. What I’m sayin’ is, well, what was between me and Gizz…that’s gone now. After what he went and did. Can’t trust the man, I’m telling you. So no worries, alright? We’re square and all?”

There was, of course, no response from Robin, but Allan had to admit he did feel better about confessing. Even if it wasn’t a true confession, and he would not garner any forgiveness in that manner. Still, he decided that forgiveness wasn’t something needed if one did not truly know about the deed. And he was honest this time. Once given the choice, and seeing where Gisborne had stood in their so called ‘relationship’, was more than enough to convince the outlaw otherwise.

“No hard feelings…I mean…I know I can’t have the both of you. But I didn’t want to have to choose between you and Gisborne. It’s not like he had anything you didn’t…well, there was the silver. He did have that. So I guess you could say it was all about the money.”

He came to another stop, nearly out of breath. Where they were now he could not say, thankful only that they were still alone. He turned and glanced at the other man with a bit of a frown. “Not the conversational type, are we?”

Again there was no response. He expected none, but perhaps he was merely trying to fool himself. False hopes, as Robin would call it. Part of him was thankful the man was unconscious; there was no telling what he would do if he truly knew of Allan’s betrayal. This was a secret that would be left behind them in the castle. There would be no more switching of sides. He would be honest, and loyal from now one .

“I swears,” he whispered, “just let me get him out of here alive, and I promise I will never cheat again.”

That was about as close to a prayer as he had ever said. He was fully convinced that if he made it, he would turn to religion and instate himself as a monk in the abbey. Allan couldn’t help but smile when he saw the opening, letting out the slightest of breaths as he moved towards it. Perhaps becoming a monk would be overdoing it just a bit. After all, Robin would still need his help, and he couldn’t just abandon his friends, now could he?

With renewed vigor, he moved across the hall, slipping inside the room hurriedly. Thus far they hadn’t been seen, but Allan was not certain how much longer that luck would last. The further they went into the castle, the more chances that they would be caught. And he could not fight while supporting Robin. This here…this was a bit of salvation. A rancid one at that. A privy was not the most welcome of escape routes, but it did lead outside.

“Well Robs, if you have any better ideas, I’m all ears,” Allan stated, gagging on the slight smell. It would only be worse down at the bottom. “Take your time, we’re in no hurry.”

There would be no response. He had kind of figured that one on his own. But this route of escape wasn’t one he wanted. Still, it was one that was assured. He would risk that rather than walking the halls unarmed. Robin would understand, would probably vote for it as well if he were awake.

He laid Robin down, keeping a single hand on him as he sat on the side, legs dangling over the edge. It was hard enough to do this on your own, but this time he would have company. Robin couldn’t very well get himself down, and Allan wouldn’t just leave him behind. Taking a few breaths he pulled the other man up, holding him against his chest as he closed his eyes.

Whether he screamed or not he couldn’t be sure. It was a rather involuntary action when one was falling. But Allan knew all too well what lay in wait at the bottom and did not care to sample it anymore than he must. Still, he somehow managed to get some in his mouth. An amazing feat for one who was determined to keep his mouth shut all the way down.

He stood up, thigh deep in the sludge, sputtering, trying in vain to wipe his mouth clean. It covered his hands, his face, and anything he tried to do didn’t provide any help. Still he shook, shaking his hands in the air in an attempt to fling off the filth, at the same time trying to convince himself that he could in fact breathe despite the smell. It was the strangest of feelings though, almost like he had forgotten something…or somebody.

“Robin?!”

He seized the other man, pulling him to his feet. With a sleeve he tried to wipe away the gunk, succeeding more in smearing it than anything else. He had taken the worst of the fall, which was only to be assumed. Almost completely coated in filth it was hard to imagine how the man could even stand it. Allan only grimaced, assuming the former position and starting to move through the sludge.

“You are so lucky you are not awake for this,” he muttered dryly, trying to keep his breaths shallow. It was bad enough to smell it, but the stench hung so heavily in the air it was as though one could taste it as well. That, or there still was some of it lingering in his mouth. He spat at the thought, trying to hurry the gait if only a little. It was difficult to move, and he did not want to fall.

Ahead he could see the light, indicating a way out, and perhaps fresh air. Both of which he needed, and desperately. Not only that, but Robin needed help, help that only Djaq could provide. The man was not responding at all, though Allan could still feel the fever radiating from him, telling him that he was still very much alive, but at this pace, it was only questionable how long he would stay so.

Allan’s only hopes now were that he could find the others, and return to camp in time. Robin just had to do him the favor to hold out long enough.

TBC