His captors had brought him here last night, trussed up in a burlap sack like a kitten waiting to be drowned. He was surprised when dawn came and he could see where he was. He’d never been inside the abandoned cathedral, but every Kennian knew it. Zach had walked past it dozens of times, and had even tried unsuccessfully to break in once or twice, just to satisfy his curiosity. It was big and dark and deserted, which made sense, but it was also within the city walls, which didn’t. It seemed awfully brave of his captors to bring him back into the city when the hounds were out looking for him. Then again, maybe they knew that the walls were too thick for anyone to hear him scream. He’d certainly tested that theory.
Zach had no idea why they’d moved him, but he liked to think it was because Lenoir was getting close. Not that whisking him away would help; Lenoir would track his captors down wherever they went. Zach imagined the inspector kicking open the ancient wooden doors of the cathedral, a pistol in each hand, his figure silhouetted against the sunlight. Pigeons would erupt from the rafters in fright as Lenoir strode boldly between the rotting pews, his eyes burning with righteous fire. Zach’s kidnappers would try to flee, but Lenoir would bring them down with a puff of smoke from his flintlock. Over and over Zach pictured this scene, his imagination refining it a little each time. Maybe Lenoir would carry a saber instead of a pistol? No, the inspector was no swashbuckler—even Zach could see that. Besides, a pistol was better; it could drop a man from clear across the room, so the kidnappers wouldn’t have a chance to escape.
That was assuming there would be anyone around when Lenoir arrived. Zach hadn’t seen his captors since before dawn. For all he knew, they’d left the cathedral altogether.
His captors were planning something big for him, and soon. They probably meant to do to him what they’d done to the other boy, the one who’d screamed and screamed. Only this time, whatever had gone wrong was supposed to go right. Though no one said so, Zach knew instinctively that if it didn’t go right, people would die, and he would probably be one of them. He had to get out of here before that happened. Lenoir was coming for him, but that didn’t mean he had to sit around and wait, did it? If nothing else, it was probably a good idea to come up with an escape plan so he knew what to do when Lenoir started shooting.
Zach decided to map out his new location, as he’d done in the cellar and the farmhouse before it. Planting his heels and dragging his bottom, he inched his way out of the chapel and into the main body of the cathedral.
It was even spookier out here. Thin blades of light sliced between the boards covering the windows, casting the nave in ghostly relief. Wind moaned and wailed through unseen cracks, echoing eerily under the vaulted ceiling. Zach was uncomfortably aware of the space around him, of the empty gaze of stone generals peering out from the gloom, and he shivered against a chill that had little to do with the cold. He wondered if it was possible for churches to be haunted. He’d heard somewhere that the cathedral sat upon a vast web of catacombs, the walls of which were stuffed with corpses. It certainly seemed like the kind of place that would be haunted.
He dragged himself forward until he came to a sort of dais, a short set of steps that led to a pulpit fringed with a wooden rail. It was from this spot, he supposed, that the high priest once lectured everyone about their wickedness. It had long since been stripped of anything valuable or fine, yet it still seemed to radiate judgment into the shadows beyond, a virtuous island in a sea of sin. Zach paused to rest against the stairs. He was surprised how tired he was. He was used to going without much food, after all. On the other hand, he wasn’t used to being tied up and going without sleep for days on end.
A glint of metal caught his eye. It lay on the floor a few inches from his boot, lined up with the stairs. He shuffled closer. A metal cylinder about as big around as his fist was embedded in the floor, its top protruding about two inches from the tile. The rim was uneven, as though it had been filed down in a hurry. Something had once stood here—the Golden Sword, maybe?—that had been looted sometime in the past. Whoever took it hadn’t bothered to make a clean cut. However much time had passed, the metal still looked sharp.
Zach’s stomach did a little flip. Spinning on his bottom, he turned his back to the ring of metal, waving his fingers around until he located it. He shimmied back until he was almost sitting on top of it. Then he started to work at the ropes binding his wrists.
It didn’t take long, and when the ropes finally came free, Zach yanked his arms apart in triumph. The pain took him by surprise, so sharp and sudden that he nearly cried out. His wrists screamed in protest at their prolonged imprisonment, and his shoulders burned and tingled. Gingerly, he rotated his aching joints until they moved more smoothly. Then he started in on the bonds tying his ankles.
That was harder. He couldn’t get the leverage he needed against the metal ring, and his fingers were weak and uncertain. Eventually, though, he managed to get the knot free, and his legs came apart. Carefully, having learned from the experience of his arms, he tested his weight against his legs. Sure enough, he was wobbly, and he was grateful to have the stairs to lean against. But his legs had been less awkwardly situated than his arms, and after a few seconds, he was able to stand upright without much trouble.
“Maybe I won’t have to wait for Lenoir after all,” he whispered to himself, hearing the sound of his own voice for the first time in a very long time. How proud would the inspector be if Zach managed to get out of this all by himself?
He headed for the massive doors at the bottom of the cathedral. Shadows gathered around him as he drew farther away from the windows, and soon he couldn’t see anything at all. He had to feel along the wood until he found a metal ring, which he hauled against with all his weight. The doors did not so much as rattle. Zach patted and groped, but he couldn’t figure out where the two panels came together, much less how they were secured. He heaved against the ring again, but it was pointless. The doors stayed put.
There had to be another way out. He cast his mind back to the last time he was in a church, but it didn’t help. The church in the poor district was much smaller and laid out differently, and anyway he hadn’t exactly gone exploring. He had no idea where to look for another door. But there had to be one in a building of this size—he was sure of it. He just needed to find it.
He kept close to the walls, ducking through any archway or opening he could find. There were many, each one leading to a dead end, and it wasn’t long before Zach started to get frustrated. How many separate nooks did a single place of worship need? Zach didn’t know a chapel from a vestry, a library from a study, but this cathedral had them all, and none of them had an exit. The first fluttering of panic began to stir in his belly. He could feel the minutes hurtling by, a scary and unfamiliar sensation. Time had always felt like a vast desert stretching endlessly before him; now it slipped through his fingers like a fistful of sand. He started to consider the awful possibility that his captors might return before he could take advantage of his good fortune. He needed to find a way out, and he needed to do it now.
Finally, at the bottom of the south wing, Zach found a door. It wasn’t much more than a slab of gloom in the shadows, and stood ajar, judging from the chill air that gusted from it. Zach leaned into it with his shoulder and was rewarded with a slight shudder. Gathering his weight, he threw himself against it, hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. With a loud bark, the door swung free, sending Zach stumbling into a short corridor. He could see sunlight at the far end. A swell of triumph fueled his limbs, and he dashed forward.