Chapter 23

“I’ve been in worse jails,” Malek said as he rotated his shirt next to the fire.
“Well I’ve never been in jail. How about you, Lasser?” Iber held his hands out over the fire.
“No, but any place has got to be better than up there.” Lasser pointed up. The man had led them a mile more through the grasses before they’d come to another grass hole. He’d led them down a set of steps that the rain had turned almost to a slide of mud. After about three staircases, the stairs became stone lit with large torches. They leveled out to a large cave that teemed with people. The side of the cave was lined with houses that were fashioned of metal, stone and brick. Instead of flower boxes, they had boxes of moss lining the windows that faced the street. Chimneys rose from each house to a center vent. Men moved about, some selling meat from carts, some carrying packages under their arms. None of them wore more clothing than a pair of oddly fashioned trousers and a fur cape.
The man who had led them removed his hat, and marched them through the main hall of the cave. They became the center of attention as they reached a small structure in the back with a small tin sign that proclaimed it the jail.
The cell they were placed in was about ten foot square with four bunks, a basin of water, a table, and a fire merrily crackling away in the center. Three of the walls were built into solid rock. The fourth wall was barred and contained a door that Malek had eyed as they entered. The lock was basic and he was unconcerned as the door slammed shut with a clank.
The three had quickly peeled off the layers of their clothes and hung them to dry on every available surface. Unlike the top of this new country, the caves were warm, well ventilated and most importantly as far as Malek was concerned, dry.
The man had come back once to bring in a large meal of bread, meat and cheese that the three had immediately dug into. Malek still stood in nothing but his dragon cloth underwear, which though fortunately impervious to dragon fire, was not waterproof. He’d have to talk to Mitty about that when he got home.
His heart tightened in his chest. He’d so far managed to keep her pushed to the back of his mind. She was probably busy in the cottage humming and making Masonae a hot meal of stew. Masonae would be teasing her about her cooking, as he often did. The family knew that Malek was the better cook.
Malek sighed and put another hunk of moss on the fire. They had no wood here. Instead of logs they managed their fires on hunks of dried peat cut into rectangles. They didn’t smoke as much as a wood fire, which is why they hadn’t seen any sign of the smoke rising out of the vents which probably covered the entire prairie.
“And how do we plan to get ourselves out of his one?” Lasser said placing his linen covered backside closer to the fire.
“Well, it’s definitely better than having my foot stuck in a rock or trudging through the pouring rain. Perhaps they know where we can find this tree.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how keen I am on being locked in and at their mercy,” Lasser said.
“I can take care of getting us out of the jail. That’s easy. Getting out of this maze of tunnels will be the hard part.”
The two of them looked at him with a bit of shock.
“I am a locksmith, you know.” And a former thief, which they knew as well. They seemed to forget it most of the time, as it came in handy to ignore it rather than deal with it. Malek decided he was dry enough to lie on his bunk.
“I suggest we get some sleep and attack this problem in the morning.”
“I agree,” Lasser said as he hopped into his own bunk. “I mean what could the penalty be for killing a dragon that attacked us first.”
“Knowing our luck? Probably death.”
“Don’t you ever look on the bright side?” Iber asked.
“My bright side is sitting at home in a comfortable chair waiting for me to come out of this alive,” Malek said, his thoughts once again returning to his wife.
“That’s sweet,” Iber said as he headed for his bed.
“It’s not meant to be,” Malek grimaced.
“And I’m sure Masonae is back home as well,” Iber said. Malek’s stomach complained again.
“You’re not helping any, poetry boy.”
Lasser stifled a laugh from his bunk. Malek felt better. He always felt better after picking on Iber. He was such an easy target.
“You’re not going to start that again, are you guys?”