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But Valera’s parchment was not.
Peter went back into his sitting room. He glanced at the door and saw that the spyhole was closed. Dimly he could hear the warders at cards below. He crossed to the window and waved twice, hoping that De
Peter went back to the bedroom, pulled up the loose stone, and after some reaching and fumbling, retrieved the locket and the parchment. He turned the parchment over to the blank side… but what was he to do for ink?
After a moment the answer came to him. The same thing Valera had done, of course.
Peter worked at his thin straw mattress, and after some tugging opened a seam. The stuffing was of straw, and before long, he had found a number of good long stalks that would serve as pens. Then he opened the locket. It was in the shape of a heart, and the point at the bottom was sharp. Peter closed his eyes for a moment and said a brief prayer. Then he opened them and drew the point of the locket across his wrist. Blood welled up at once-much more than had came from the pinprick earlier. He dipped the first straw in his blood and began to write.
102
Standing in the cold darkness across the Plaza, De
He settled in to wait, feeling numbness slowly creep over his feet and kill the feeling in them. The wait seemed very long. The Crier called ten… then eleven… finally twelve o’ the clock. The clouds had hidden the moon, but the air seemed strangely light-another sign of a coming storm.
He was begi
De
But thinking about such things did no good, and so he tried to put them from his mind. Of more immediate concern was just finding the thing that Peter had thrown. The area at the foot of the Needle below Peter’s window was a featureless white snowfield.
Feeling horribly exposed, De
As the seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, De
A little late for hide and seek, isn’t it, De
Don’t think his name! For the gods’ sake, don’t think his name!
But it was hard to stop. Where was it? Oh, where was it?
Back and forth De
Dimly, he heard the Crier call one o’ the clock. He was now covering ground he had already covered before, becoming more and more panicky.
Stop, De
His Da’s voice, too clear in his head to be mistaken. De
You’re not SEEING anything anymore, boy. Stop and close your eyes for a moment. And when you open 'em, look around. Really look around.
De
Nothing. Nothing at-
Wait! There! Over there!
Something glimmered.
De
He tried to pluck it from the snow and on his first try only pushed it farther in. His hand was almost too numb to close. Digging in the snow for the metal object, De
He touched it, forced his fingers to close, and brought it out. He looked at it wonderingly. It was a locket-a locket which might be gold, in the shape of a heart. There was a fine chain attached to it. The locket was shut-but caught in its jaws was a folded piece of paper. Very old paper.
De
At last he reached comparative safety and stood in the shadows for a while, panting and shuddering. When he had gotten his breath, he returned to the castle, slinking along the Fourth Alley in the shadows and entering by Cook’s Way. There was a Guard of the Watch at the doorway leading into the castle proper, but he was as sloppy about his duties as his mate had been the night before. De
Twenty minutes later, he was safely back in the storeroom of the napkins. Here he unfolded the note and looked at it.
One side was closely writ in an archaic hand. The writer had used a strange rust-colored ink and De
“Oh, King Peter,” he moaned.
The message was smeared and blurry-the “ink” had not been blotted-but he could read it.
Meant to try Escape tonight. Will wait r night. Dare wait no longer. Don’t go for Ben. No time. Too dangerous. I have a Rope. Thin. May break. Too short. Will be a drop in any case. 20 feet. Midnight tomorrow. Help me away if you can. Safe place. May be hurt. In the hands of the gods. I love you my good De
De
tears of joy. That light Peyna had sensed was now shining brightly
in De