Free Bazil Broketail by Christopher Rowley Page B

sullenly, silent and fogged with alcohol. A smell of sour beer and sweat emanated from them.
    His handcuffs were removed and the guards logged him in with the disciplinarians, who emerged briefly from inside the door to collect the next young criminal. From within the doors there came briefly the cries of pain associated with the place. Relkin shivered to himself. There was nothing to be done about it as far as he could see. This anteroom was locked even though the guards now left him.
    The inner doors opened again. A middle-aged woman in the shapeless grey robes of the Discipline Order came in. Her heavy arms were wrapped in gold bracelets of rank. Wordlessly she pointed the way for the first of the young louts. With ill grace he got to his feet and went inside ahead of her. Relkin glimpsed the stocks set up inside, with seats for the Recorders of Justice in rows in front.
    The doors closed again. The other youths stared at the floor; they made no effort to converse.
    Relkin was left with his own naturally gloomy thoughts. Ahead lay the hope of curing Bazil’s condition, and for that he was grateful. Before that, however, he faced an uncomfortable period.
    A key turned in the lock to the outside corridor. The door swung open and a face slid into view. He stared at it dully, for a moment and then snapped to attention.
    “Lagdalen!”
    “Ssh!” she whispered, and bent down beside him. “Come with me, I know a way out of here.”
    The others barely looked at her—she wore the grey robe of the Sisterhood with a novice’s blue borders. She endeavored to look as official as possible, walked over and pushed open the door into the gymnasium. A punishment was in progress and the apprentices looked down, intent on their own thoughts.
    Relkin followed Lagdalen inside and together they slipped past the backs of the Recorders of Justice, who were intent on the stocks and never turned to look at them. A few feet further on and they entered a narrow stairwell that opened at one side of the room. It led to changing rooms filled with equipment for the gymnasium’s primary usage.
    “Quickly, we don’t want to be caught in here,” said Lagdalen in an urgent whisper, pulling him through the dark room and into another passage. They came to a window that looked out on a narrow alley.
    “That passage leads out to the kitchen. If you keep straight on you’ll come out by the stables.”
    Relkin was momentarily overcome with gratitude. He told Lagdalen about the woman with the pale, lank hair and the packet she had given him.
    Lagdalen’s eyes widened.
    “What floor was this woman’s apartment on?”
    Relkin shrugged, did it matter?
    “Near the top of the tower, maybe three floors down.” Lagdalen bit her lip and shook her head. “You are lucky, Relkin. Those are powerful people’s apartments. She might have turned you into a frog for your troubles.”
    “But she didn’t. She was kind, I think.”
    “Probably one of the High Witches. Again, I say you have been very lucky. You should be more careful, Orphanboy, next time I may not be around to get you out of trouble.”
    “Thank you, Lagdalen of Tarcho.”
    “Well then,” she said nervously, pressing her hands together. She would have to return the key to the guard-post, before its absence was noticed. “Why did you save me?” he said. “I was passing on the landing and I saw you and I just hated what those other girls were saying and I knew that I had to try and free you if I could.”
    “You have risked a drubbing yourself.”
    “I don’t think anyone who could recognize me saw me enter. The boys there were too depressed to notice.”
    “I thank you again, Lagdalen of Tarcho.”
    “Goodbye, Relkin, try to be more careful.”
    “Goodbye, Lagdalen, until we meet again.”
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    By midmorning the witchbrew was ready and Relkin’s patience was stretched to breaking point. Relkin had a very sulky dragon on his hands.
    “This damn tail hurt too