Chapter 22
It was only five days until the next new moon, and it was with some difficulty that Eleanor climbed onto the tannery roof to check for messages from Lauren. As she’d expected, there was a slim package tucked beneath the tiles.
She slipped the pouch into her pocket and set off home. Only when she got back to her room in the Old Barrel Yard did she carefully unwrap it to pull out the note and see what Lauren had to say.
L. in gaol. Under special guard, treason charges, investigation ongoing. Not looking good.
Eleanor lay on her back and stared up through the skylight, searching for inspiration in the gathering clouds. If Lucille was being tried as a revolutionary then she had to do something. Treason against the Empire carried a non-negotiable death penalty.
She could just imagine trying to get this one past the council. Springing conspirators from the Imperial cells would set a dangerous precedent; it would never be practical if everyone came to expect a rescue. But this was different. Lucille hadn’t signed up for this. She gave a mental shrug and told herself there wasn’t time to go back and discuss it with the council anyhow. It didn’t really matter what they would’ve said, because they weren’t going to have chance to say it. Just like she wouldn’t have chance to find someone less pregnant to run the rescue mission.
“Are you ready for this, Martin?” she asked the bump. He kicked her hard, which she decided to take as a sign of his agreement.
“Just as well,” she said, rolling onto her side. “It’s not like we have much choice.”
On the back of Lauren’s note she sketched out a quick map of Almont’s main Imperial prison, or what little she knew of it. She didn’t know where they’d put a rogue assessor... would Lucille really be treated as a dangerous rebel just because she’d been willing to pass along a list of names? The fact that Lauren had been able to find something out so easily suggested the Shadows might have been involved already, which wasn’t a good sign. And even with that information there was little chance of tracing a single prisoner before being spotted; the gaol was huge and well guarded. She tore the paper in half and set the corner alight with the flame of her lamp.
On a fresh sheet she scribbled a reply to Lauren, asking for details of where precisely Lucille was being held and when the trial was expected to conclude. It would be useful to know what deadline she was working to.
She went to tuck her reply safely inside the pouch, when her fingers brushed against another scrap of paper. Wondering how she’d missed it before, she unfolded it and read the four short, unfortunate words: Too late. Don’t come. It was Lauren’s writing but in contrast to the neat and measured lines of the longer note, this message was scrawled untidily across the page.
Eleanor cursed and ripped apart the message she’d just written. This changed everything. Lucille was dead, and it was all her fault.