Free Shades of Red by K. C. Dyer Page B

function dictated fashion. Even with all the layers of clothing she found herself wearing, she still thought enviously back to the heavy woollen robes worn by the friar, her captor.
    Her captor — where was he? Twice over the course of the long, frigid night she had heard scurrying noises in the hall outside her door. Raised voices and running feet, but no sound of a sliding bolt. What if he never returned?
    A gentle tapping sound made her raise her head sharply, but after a moment she realized that the noise came from outside. Rain had started to fall. Not quite snow, in spite of the cold. Bone chilling didn’t even begin to describe it. Darrell’s fingers ached with it, her feet had gone numb from it, and her brain felt rattled from all the trembling.
    A few drops pattered onto the stone windowsill and slid down the walls along cracks and fissures in the rock. Darrell curled up as tightly as she could manage on the straw mattress, tucking the thin blanket carefully around her cold foot. Fear that had sprouted in the dark was wrapping its tiny, fast-growing vines around the edges of her conscious thought. Unable to sleep again, she slipped into a reverie, listening for the sound of freedom but hearing only rain.
    Even without the fear, the cold was bad. Bad enough to kill? Darrell had read in her
National Geographic
magazines of how freezing was supposed to be a gentle way to die. You warm up by the end, the stories said. You just go peacefully to sleep and then stay that way. Well, if that was the case, she must have a way to go yet. This cold
hurt
.
    She looked around the tiny stone cell. No food. And worse, the small clay jug of sweetened water stood long empty. Perhaps since the cold hadn’t yet managed to kill her, fear might just step in and finish the job.Some of the
National Geographic
types had drunk their own urine when their water ran out.
    That got her moving. She staggered to her feet and started pacing, six strides one way, seven the other. “Disgusting,” she said aloud. “If I ever make it home, I am cancelling that subscription.”
    The wooden prosthesis creaked a little as she paced, and though the space was small, she worked hard to master the knack of walking with it. Instead of the peg she had been forced to wear on previous journeys, this foot actually resembled its function. The wood was somewhat roughly shaped and the approximation looked more like a boot than a foot, but it was stiffly jointed at the ankle and sanded smooth where it was bound to her leg — both vast improvements on past incarnations.
    She peered up at the minute patch of sky she could see through the window. Pale pink dawn had given way to a thin winter blue tinged with grey. And the air smelled so cold — perhaps it would snow. “That’ll finish me for sure,” she muttered.
    Anxiety had kept her quiet when she’d heard the night-muffled voices outside her cell. Now thirst and cold drove past her fear, and she pounded against the door, crying out for help.
    Nothing.
    She was falling, falling.
    Time had swept her up once more and she twisted and whirled, no control of arms or legs, her head snapping backwards. She awoke with a jerk to the sound of the scrape of metal on wood. Hunger and crying had finally given way to exhaustion, and Darrell had fallen asleep stretched uncomfortably sideways across the straw mattress. Befuddled by her dream and sore from sleeping without removing the wooden leg, she took a moment to remember where she was. The darkness of the room was complete, and the open door showed no light from the hall. The rain had stopped, and a thin white sliver of moon gave only enough light for Darrell to make out the shape of a person standing over her in the darkness.
    â€œWhazt?” she managed blearily.
    â€œ
Silêncio!
If you value your life, speak not a word,” a voice breathed in her ear.
    Darrell hurriedly pushed her foot into the soft leather shoe