Free The Hostage Prince by Jane Yolen Page A

clinging to it, and headed toward Yarrow.
    Yarrow’s eyes had begun to roll so far back in her head, all Snail could see were the whites.
    Without thinking it through, Snail rushed toward the soldier, palms up as if pleading.
    â€œIt’s my fault,” she said. “I’ll calm her down.”
    But at that, Yarrow only screamed louder.
    The soldier pushed roughly past Snail, grabbed Yarrow with one hand, and with the other somehow managed to stuff the tail of his rag into her mouth and then tie the rest around her head to anchor it. Yarrow was so cowed by the action, she didn’t even try to tear the filthy thing away, only sank to her knees.
    Horrified, Snail was nonetheless fascinated by the soldier’s quick action and by the knot itself. She’d never seen one like it.
And best of all
, she thought,
it’s worked!
    The dungeon room was suddenly and eerily quiet.
    Too
quiet
.
    Even the Red Cap was silent, having stopped his giggling to watch the soldier, though now he was leaning toward Yarrow as if waiting to see if she was going to suffocate or live, and clearly he was hoping for suffocation.
    â€œThat’s better,” said the captain. “Now, all of you women—listen carefully. Your lives depend on it.” The scar on his face wriggled like a crawling worm as he spoke.
    They listened.
    It’s hard
not
to listen,
Snail thought,
with that incentive.
    The captain explained, almost if it pained him to say so, that he would take each of them out separately for questioning by the Master of the Dungeon, an ogre named Geck.
    â€œAnd when Master Geck is satisfied with your answers, and only then, you will be let go.” When he finished speaking, the scar worm was still.
    Of course
everyone
knew what happened to people whose answers an ogre didn’t like. And it wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be painless, and it wouldn’t be fast.
    Mistress Treetop went with the captain first. Not her choice, of course. His. He kept his hand on her shoulder. He did it for control but she seemed to take it as comfort.
    The other soldiers stayed to watch them, but from outside the cell, as if by separating themselves from their prisoners, they also separated themselves from their prisoners’ fates.
    *  *  *
    A FTERWARD, S NAIL UNDERSTOOD —though at the time she’d thought it very odd—that the women were questioned in a room close enough to the cell so their sobs could be heard as if the cell door had been left open, though not really close enough to understand what they were saying.
    It was another way to keep them all frightened and atremble, and it worked, too. Snail tried to hold on to her anger, but the fear kept creeping through, and she worried that if she let it set up camp in her brain she would start crying and never stop.
    And then I, too, will be munching on a soldier’s dirty snot rag.
    After each questioning session was done, Master Geck would rumble out to the captain to come and get the one questioned, take her back to the cell, and bring the next. This all of the midwives and apprentices could hear and understand full well, and it added to their fears.
    Mistress Yoke and Mistress Softhands went out in turn after Mistress Treetop. All were still disheveled from the tumble they’d taken in the birthing room, and a bit lame from the forced march down the stone stairs to the dungeon. But when they returned, they each looked . . .
    Well, wrung out like pieces of laundry before the laundress has touched the cloth with the hot iron
, was Snail’s first thought. Each came back with unkempt hair as if someone had tried to pull it out by the roots strand by strand. Their eyes were bright red with weeping. And the usually fastidious trio wore large blotches of sweat like dark wounds under the arms of their no-longer-well-starched dresses.
    In addition, Mistress Treetop’s hands wrangled together. Mistress Yoke twined her