Free The Dark Citadel (The Green Woman) by Jane Dougherty Page A

Providence
to men who have seen more than you have dreamt of in your worst nightmares.”
    The principal bowed his head, but not before the
Protector had seen the furious glitter in his eyes.
    “We must hope, then,” the principal said,
struggling to master his anger, “that her stay in your House of Correction will
not give the Serpent’s daughter rash ideas, and she will soon be able to take
up her sewing lessons again.”
    “I should not have to remind you, Principal,” the
short man said hotly, puffing out his military chest, “that the girls in your
charge should be chaste, demure maidens with thoughts only of obedience and
motherhood. There should be nothing taught in your establishment that could
turn them towards bloody and traitorous rebellion.”
    “I assure you—”
    “Naturally,” the Protector interrupted, adding
graciously, “and your idea of bringing forward her betrothal, it’s a good one.
That brute of a boy Hector Deodato will see she dances to the right tune. So
get her out of the ridiculous mess you’ve organised and get her married. Right
away!”
    “Excellency!” The principal bowed his way out of
the room, his white robes swishing the glistening stone flags like the tail of
an angry cat.

Chapter
14

 
 
    Zachariah
pushed the door open to the deafening wail of the alarm siren. At the end of a short
corridor was another door, heavier than any he had so far encountered.
Listening carefully, he could hear the rumble of handcarts and the purr of
motor vehicles. The door opened onto the street and was certain to be guarded on
the outside. In any case, he had run out of keys.
    At either side of the outer door were two high,
windowless rooms. The right-hand room contained wheeled baskets filled with
linen. Zachariah peered inside one of them; the smell was fresh, the linen was neatly
folded. Each basket was labelled with the name of a wing. He reckoned this must
be the linen store for the entire House of Correction.
    He put his head around the door across the corridor
and wrinkled his nose: the smell was decidedly less fresh. The linen baskets
were brimming over with crumpled bedding and stained sheets. Large cloth bags
of dirty laundry were piled against the walls, stacked almost up to the
ceiling. There was scarcely enough empty floor space to manoeuvre the
heavy-wheeled baskets. The laundry must be due for collection.
    Zachariah pressed his palms and his cheek against
the outer door and listened. The thick steel plate muffled the sounds from the
street outside, but what he could hear drove his heart into the pit of his
stomach. Hoarse laughter rang out intermittently amid the sound of tramping
feet. Heavy-shod boots kicked the door, followed by more laughter and swearing.
The footsteps tramped away, a commanding voice barked an order, the loud voices
died to a low murmur of discontent.
    Guards. Disgruntled Black Boys. Zachariah closed
his eyes, and as the adrenaline subsided and the pent-up tension eased, he felt
like weeping.
    The siren howled like a demon, filling the entire
prison with its call to search, search, and find. Zachariah clapped his hands
over his ears, but still he imagined the demon voice denouncing him, prying
demon eyes discovering his hiding place. Soon he would hear the sound of
marching boots in the corridor that led to the laundry. All Zachariah could do
was pray to whichever minor deity looked after escaping prisoners that today
was a washing day. There was nothing else for it; he had nowhere else to go. He
would have to go out with the dirty sheets and just hope the alert would not
interfere with the laundry timetable.
    He was about to climb into one of the big baskets
when a thought struck him. The things were on wheels, but he couldn’t be
certain they ever left the prison premises. What if they were just unloaded
manually onto the carts he’d seen occasionally pulled by Ignorant workers?
They’d find him and turn him in. No Ignorant would risk his skin to