Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,47

some time, because he had to wait out in the corridor while a couple of apologetic men carried out jars of sauerkraut and pickled onions.

“Does this happen a lot?” he asked the guard commander curiously, pressing himself against the corridor wall so the men with the jars could squeeze past.

The guard commander was surprisingly friendly, considering Benji had busted his nose in his attempt to resist arrest. He looked a little abashed. “Honestly, no. We’re not really used to having prisoners here. Mostly we patrol town and make sure the geese aren’t biting people.”

“Oh,” said Benji.

“Nasty animals, geese,” the commander said. “Terrible tempers.”

Benji hummed sympathetically.

It took the men a few trips to clear the cell, and then Benji was shown inside. It smelled like pickle juice. He bounced on the straw mattress experimentally, because beds and the activity associated with beds was never far from his mind.

Not that anyone would be bouncing on this mattress with him, he thought, slumping into a sad heap. Calarian and Lars had escaped, but who knew where they’d gone or even if they’d landed safely? And even if they had, Gunther would definitely be on their tails.

“Sorry about the conditions,” the commander said.

“Oh, it’s not too bad,” Benji replied. “I’ve lived in worse.”

His charcoal house in the Swamp of Death came to mind.

“Oh,” said the commander, his eyes going wide. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” Benji said, and then remembered the commander was a tool of state oppression, and that he was personally oppressing Benji right now. “Fascist.”

“Well, sit tight, I guess.” The commander gave him an awkward wave and left the cell.

Benji eyed the slightly open cell door and contemplated making a break for it, but just then the guard popped his head back in the door and said with a chuckle, “Sorry, forgot to lock it. No need, normally.”

He slammed the door closed and then turned the key in the lock with a very final-sounding clunk, all the while whistling far too cheerfully for the gravity of the situation in Benji’s opinion. He tested his straw mattress again, enjoying the rustling sounds it made, and wondered how cold it would get down here at night. He hadn’t had time to put on more than his pants and his shirt. His feet were bare.

The cell was dark, illuminated only from a lantern burning somewhere outside the little barred window in the door. The shadows made strange shapes on the walls and the floor.

Benji decided to nap. It wasn’t like there was much else he could do to kill the time. He wished the kitchen guys had left him a jar of pickled onions.

He closed his eyes and listened to the silence for a while. The fact there was no other activity down here in the dungeon level was good news, because surely it meant that Calarian and Lars had got away. Benji hoped they were currently high-tailing it all the way to Callier for royal reinforcements, but he doubted it. Calarian was probably planning sixteen different rescue scenarios he’d tried out before in Houses and Humans, and Lars... well, Lars wouldn’t leave Maisy behind, would he?

They were probably cornered in a meadow somewhere hiding behind the stupid cow, he thought glumly, and immediately felt bad for calling Maisy stupid and hoped she didn’t get hurt. He really was going soft.

“Death to the oppressors,” he muttered, and felt a little better.

He dozed for a little while, jolting awake again when he heard the clank of the key in the lock, and the door opened. He sat up warily as someone stepped inside the cell.

“Gretchen!” he exclaimed, delighted.

Gretchen dumped a large bag down on the floor. It landed with a jangle of metal. She shook her head as she looked at him. “What have you gotten yourself into, cutie pie?”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Benji protested, and then wrinkled his nose. “Well, mostly. Anyway, are you here to rescue me?”

“Sorry,” she said. She crouched down and opened the bag. The faint light glinted on links of chain. “I’m here to shackle you. Apparently busting the commander’s nose is not the way to assure everyone that you’re not a threat.”

“Huh,” Benji said. “I guess not.”

“So what happened?” Gretchen asked. She fixed him with a challenging stare. “Did you really kill the duke?”

“I might answer that if you put your hammer down,” Benji said warily.

Gretchen snorted, but she put down the hammer she’d just picked up from the bag.

“It was an accident,” Benji said. “Honestly. Calarian and