Free The Flame in the Mist by Kit Grindstaff Page B

look in them that made Jemma feel strange, as if he, like her, dreamed of distant places. A large bump was peeking through his wispy hair, like a mountaintop through clouds.
    “Drudge, I’m sorry about hitting you with the chamber pot,” she said, remorse prickling her skin.
    “Guilt, baaad.” He looked at Jemma’s torn fingers and shook his head. “Weazzl baaad!”
    “How did you know the weasels did that?”
    Drudge smiled and tapped his forehead. Then he took her hands in his. At any time before, Jemma would have pulled away, but now she was transfixed. Warmth spread through her body; the soreness in her fingers subsided. He released them. The wounds had completely healed, and the weasel bites on her ankles were also free of pain.
    “Drudge! How did you
do
that?”
    “You … let me,” he said.
    Jemma thought of all the times she had been disgusted by the old man, and felt ashamed. Perhaps she really
was
bad, having such horrid thoughts about him.
    “Gnaaa!” Drudge frowned and shook his head. “Bad thought … not make you … bad. Shhhame … not good. Make weak!”
    “And now you’re reading my thoughts? Drudge, I’ve been so wrong about you—who
are
you?”
    “Me, good. Red. Here … For you. Now, time.” He delved into his pocket and pulled out two shiny, cylindrical objects, pointed at each end.
    “The crystals! You knew where they were.… You
see
things too, don’t you?”
    Drudge nodded and handed Jemma the crystals. She gasped. Their former cloudiness had faded to a silvery gray.
    “Maaaa … paaaa … Ssso … they,” he sputtered. “Free! You … Sssso they!”
    “ ‘
You, so they
.’ You said that yesterday, in the Vat Room.” For the first time, Jemma realized how frustrating it must be for him not to be able to speak coherently. “I’m sorry, Drudge. I never could understand you very well. I’ve been too impatient—”
    “You … SSSSO-they! Mussst … sstrong! Essscep. Tunlll—”
    “Tunnel?” Jemma’s heart flipped. “Do you know where it is?”
    “Gnnnnaaa. But … Trusssst,” he said, tapping his forehead again. “I sssee. You—free! Go, sssooon!”
    “But how? I’ve no idea where the tunnel is either.”
    “Gnnnnn—
trusssst!
L-l-look!” Drudge pointed to the back of the cell. Noodle and Pie were still scratching away, a pile of mortar lying on the bench between them.
    “Rattusses, what are you up to?” Jemma went to the bench, put the crystals down, and scraped around the stones with her fingers. Chunks of mortar fell away, revealing a small crevice. Noodle hopped into it and disappeared. Heart pounding, Jemma pushed on the stone. It thudded to the ground on the other side of the wall, and she knelt on the bench and peered into darkness. Noodle’s ruby eyes met hers, then he ducked and disappeared again. Seconds later, a loud squeak echoed out of the hole.
    It was more than just a small space.
    “Mother of Majem—can it be …?” Jemma shoved away the surrounding stones until she had made an opening large enough to climb through. “A cave! This must be where that prisoner Majem wrote about hid to do his digging!” she said. “Thank you, Zacharias Bartholomew! He made a wall within the walls … and over there—there’s a hole in the ground!” She turned to Drudge, hope surging through her.
    “Sssseee!” he said. “Ratssses know too!”
    Noodle scurried back out into the dungeon, and he and Pie ran in excited circles.
    “This is really it? Oh, Drudge!”
    A smile cracked across the old man’s face, then he pointed to the floor. “Fffood.” At his feet was a wineskin, several packages, and a loaf of bread with a knife sticking out of it.
    “You’ve thought of everything!” Jemma picked up the wineskin, took out its stopper and sniffed. Sour milk! With hope came hunger, and she swigged it back, then poured alittle onto the floor for Noodle and Pie. They lapped it up as Jemma tore off a chunk of bread for them, then