CHAPTER 52: CHAPTER 52 - TO THE GATE

Morena leaned her back to the wall, hood lowered, listening for every creak of timber outside. Yet all she heard was the singing of bugs and the brushing of wind, nothing else; no one was even close to the granary due to its obscure location.

This worked out in their favor because it meant they could avoid as many eyes as possible.

Hark had not yet returned, which meant Adolf was still moving on her word. She trusted the man to act quickly, as the longer he took, the more danger they could run into.

For every second that passed, the risk to the man’s life and her own would only rise.

The clerk sat slumped near the corner, knees drawn, his bandages damp and foul-smelling. His eyes flicked toward her every so often, wide and restless, but he never dared speak.

The memory of the pill forced down his throat still clung to him; he hadn’t stopped swallowing, as though the motion alone might keep the poison from settling in his belly.

Morena didn’t pay much attention to him. He feared her, and that was good; fear was better than loyalty in this instance. Fear moved faster.

As for Corin, the man paced the narrow room with the leather tube in hand, his steps uneven. He had been silent since her last words, but she felt the tension in every movement of his shoulders.

He was a man bound between desperation and mistrust, and both made him sharp.

"They’ll find the body soon."

His voice was low, but the words cut through the quiet.

"Shouldn’t you do something by now?"

"I’m aware, that’s why I sent Hark to deliver the letter for me. It should be done by now."

Morena’s eyes lingered on the man for just a second, but then she turned towards the door again.

Corin stopped pacing and bit down on his jaw.

"And the boy? Are you going to send him now?"

"Soon. If I send him too early, they will find the body before we start moving. We need to be careful with timing; if we mess up, we can be exposed."

She narrowed her eyes as she heard a sound come from outside, her enhanced hearing allowing her to pick up on it before anyone else could.

She brushed dust from her cloak and stood up, ready to act if it was someone else.

The latch scraped, and the others turned as Hark slipped back inside. He said nothing until the door was closed and barred again.

"Adolf read your letter, and he moved quickly. He says there’s a caravan leaving before midnight—grain to the river towns. One of their wagons will be notified so that you can slip into it. They’ve been informed and paid off."

He stepped forward and set a token on the table, a small carved wooden disc scorched faintly on one side.

"He said that the driver will look for this. If you show it, then he won’t ask questions. He’s been paid enough not to care and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut."

Morena picked it up, running her thumb over the burn mark. It smelled faintly of pitch and old smoke. She expected him to be quick, but he was much better at his job than she had hoped him to be.

Though one had to assume that with the years of experience he had, this much was anticipated.

"When?"

"Soon," Hark replied. "They’re nearly loaded, you can slip in as they finish up. You’ll meet them at the east produce gate. Two guards on post, no more. Fewer eyes than the main road."

Morena nodded once.

Her plan was already tightening in her mind.

They would set off towards the carriages, then part midway with the clerk so he could carry the message. Using the chance, they would slip into the wagon and out of the city before the search began.

Morena walked to the table, tucking the scorched token into her pouch. She lifted her dagger, checked the edge, then sheathed it again.

"Gather your things," she said, not just to Hark, but to Corin and the clerk as well.

"We move now."

They didn’t complain, at least they didn’t voice it if they had any. Corin quickly gathered his stuff and was already at the door waiting to go. Hark helped the clerk to his feet and aided him in moving.

Then they left the old granary behind.

The streets near the ropewalk were narrow and hushed. Most shutters were drawn, most lamps extinguished, but the city never slept entirely. Somewhere, dogs barked, and a drunk sang off-key. But here, where the cobbles sagged and moss slicked the stones, no one looked too closely.

Morena led, Corin behind her, his satchel pressed to his ribs, the leather tube hidden beneath his cloak. He glanced back often, nerves sharp, but she didn’t chide him.

Better to be nervous than blind.

When they had made some progress, around halfway to their destination, she stopped moving; the group clattering to a halt behind her.

She stepped toward the boy, whose breathing quickened as she drew near.

"You know what you’re to say," she told him.

He nodded frantically.

"The knife-man moved too soon. Corin slipped away. He wounded me, and the knife-man hunts him to hide his shame. That’s all. That’s all I know."

"And if they press?"

His voice cracked.

"I—I’ll say I lost him. That I panicked. That I didn’t see. I’ll say what you told me."

"Good. Do that, and you live another day. Fail, and you won’t live to regret it."

His lips trembled, but he nodded, hands gripping his clothing until his knuckles went white.

"Off you go."

At her words, Hark released the boy, and he stumbled for a second. Quickly, he caught himself, and he practically ran away in the direction of the chapel.

Morena straightened and watched as his back faded in the distance, then turned to Hark.

"Follow him. Stay close enough to see him reach the chapel, but not close enough to be tied to him. If he runs, kill him before he speaks a word."

Hark gave no reply but the dip of his head. He didn’t hesitate to follow her order, leaving after the boy and soon enough fading along with him.

Morena adjusted her cloak and started moving again.

Corin looked at them leave, his thoughts filled with worry.

"If your man fails, if the boy falters—"

"Then we’ll already be past the gate." Her tone carried no hesitation.

"Let’s go."

He followed after her, but he wasn’t done with the questions.

"And you? Are you going with me?"

Morena’s lips pressed thin.

"No. My name ties me here. If I vanish, questions fall on my house, and problems will arise. I will follow you to the first town, but beyond that, you will be on your own. That’s the only way both of us survive this."

For a heartbeat, something passed through his eyes—relief tangled with unease. He knew that if she came with him, things might be easier, but he also didn’t trust her enough; he knew that she was only using him.

But he was also using her.

They cut through three alleys before reaching the yard where wagons clustered under a flickering light. Horses stamped against the chill, snorting plumes into the air. Men heaved sacks, muttering curses at the weight.

At the far end stood the cart they needed, plain wood, wheels scarred by years of travel. The driver leaned against the side, chewing something that clicked against his teeth.

His eyes flicked up when Morena approached.

She drew the disc from her pouch and tilted it between two fingers; the lantern-light caught its scorched edge just enough for the man to see.

The driver grunted, spat to the side, and jerked his head toward the back of the wagon.

"Load quickly. We leave soon."

Morena nodded once and climbed onto the back of the wagon, offering a hand to the man. Corin hesitated, then took it, climbing into the wagon’s dark belly, settling between sacks of grain.

She pulled the canvas flap down, leaving only the faintest gap for air. Then she turned back to the driver.

"If anyone asks, he’s cargo."

The man shrugged.

"Coin says I don’t see faces."

Morena let the token fall back into her pouch. She stepped away, cloak folding tight around her.

Corin was hidden, the clerk was gone, and Adolf’s hand had done its part.

Now all that remained was getting past the gate.

By the time the wagons began to roll, night was thick over the city. The wheels creaked, the horses snorted, and the caravan moved slowly toward the east produce gate.

The guards at the gate shifted in their posts, spears gleaming faintly under the torch. Two men only, as Hark had said.

If luck held, they would see nothing but wheat leaving for the river towns.