As darkness fell in Elshaw, Cathryn was sat on the floor of her room, with her back pressed to the door. Earlier she had scouted around the house when she was sure everyone else was down in the bar, and found the family had a small set of rooms on the second floor – above the guest rooms. She had nosed into each of the bedrooms, and worked out which belonged to her target. This was easy to work out; it was the one with large bags scattered across the floor. So here she sat, waiting for the family to go to bed. She had heard them go up to their rooms several hours ago, and now, from the creaking of the age-old floorboards, she thought they might finally be heading to bed. She waited a further hour after the creaking had ceased before taking up her dagger and a small phial of colourless liquid and creeping from her room.
She had earlier dropped her bundle of belongings from her window into the shadow below, and planned to leave before she was caught.
She hurried as quietly up the old stairs, sticking as close as possible to the wall where they were best supported. Counting the doors under her breath, she stole along the corridor to the right room. She placed her hand on the door knob and pressed her ear to the wood. Muffled snoring emerged from the other side. Her eyes lit up, and she silently turned the handle. She tip-toed a few steps into the room, and closed the door behind her. She edged slowly closer to the bed, loosening the stopper of the phial. A slight scent of almonds arose as she pulled it out. She tripped over an uneven floorboard, pitching the poison over the bare arm of the man lying in the bed, dropped the dagger with a clatter, and she landed on one knee with a loud thump. She hastened to get up again, and ran for the window. Forcing it open, she perched on the sill, hoping there was another way out, but faced with a very angry man waving a hunting knife or a twenty-five-foot drop, she chose the drop. She landed lightly and stood, pressing her back against the wall. She looked wildly all round her, and realised she was the wrong side of the building for her bag. She took three steps forward, and noticed a large dog ploughing towards her, towing a large man and several furious women with him. She whisked around, but saw a similar thing heading in her direction from the other side.
“Put down your weapons and put your hands against the wall.” The local regulatory force rounded the corner, their short capes, tunics and leggings flapping in the slight night-time breeze. The dogs were pulled back from where they were worrying her legs, her hands were bound behind her back, and her ankles tied together with a length of rope free between her feet. Three burly men dragged her away from the building and towards a safe house on the outskirts of the village.
“This one’ll be going up to Gilhœd in the morning. We have a cart leaving with the conscripts for King Kædrid’s new force. She’ll be safe enough there. We’ll send a warder with her for good measure.” Cathryn grimaced. Gilhœd was known for its filthy prisons, savage warders and unfair trials.
As she was dragged off by the three soldiers, a further three were up in the room, studying what evidence remained. She was going down, and she knew it.
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