All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive feedback and frequent "fives".
Please read Part 1, or you might be a bit confused.
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After Baron Olaf and Bruno left, Dara forced herself to wait until the sliver of moonlight traveled a good four hands across the far wall. She sat in the damp cold, clutching the skeleton key to her breast, anxiously straining her ears for any sound or commotion that might tell her that Olaf had realized he had been duped.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, Dara finally stood up and went to the cell door. Reaching her hand through, she slid the key into the lock and turned it. To her immense relief, the lock clicked and the heavy barred door swung into the cell, squealing on rusty hinges.
Dara slipped out the door and silently padded her way down the narrow hall, keeping one hand on the wall to guide her through the near impenetrable darkness. Passing several other cells along the way, she didn't hear or sense any other prisoners, for which she was grateful. She didn't need someone yelling for the guards, or pleading for her to help them. She wanted to make her escape as uncomplicated as possible.
At the far end of the long hallway, she stopped at the closed door and listened intently. On the other side, muffled by inches of thick wood and metal, she could hear the sounds of snoring. Any loud noise or squealing of hinges would be sure to wake the sleeping Bruno, and Dara hesitated at the door. Snapping her fingers softly, she turned back around and practically ran back to her cell. Inside, she rooted through the pile of moldy straw until she found the remnants of her glob of lard.
Back at the door at the end of the hall, she slathered lard in and around the large rusted metal hinges, working it in for several minutes. She hoped this might soften any sound the door made upon opening.
As quietly as possible, Dara eased the passkey into the lock and cranked it around. There was a muffled "clank", and the door swung silently into the hallway an inch or two. Through the crack, she could see Bruno leaned back in a large wooden chair, his immense booted feet propped up on a sturdy plank table in front of him. One hand idly scratched his hairy belly, the other dangled to the side, hairy knuckles almost touching the floor. He sputtered and mumbled, then went back to snoring loudly.
Dara slipped through the doorway, eased it quietly shut behind her, and tiptoed past the large table, making for the stairs on the far side of the room. Keeping her eye on Bruno, her heart in her throat, she made the stairs and darted silently up.
She dredged her memory for anything she could remember of Olaf's keep. As a child, it always loomed on the hill, casting its baleful shadow on the town below. Never having been inside it, she could only piece together a rough floor plan based on what she could see from the outside. It had a high crenellated stone wall with open towers on the corners. It had a portcullis and a drawbridge, which were usually open after midmorning til dusk. She knew it had a large courtyard, where the men-at-arms practiced during the day, and a large hearth hall for the baron to entertain guests and to preside over legal matters.
Other than that, she had no idea how to make her escape. Dara realized she couldn't hardly waltz out the front door and bang on the portcullis, asking for it to be raised. Even if she waited until it was opened for keep business, many of the guardsmen would recognize her at sight; after all, she had serviced most of them during her two month stay. Perhaps in the dark she could climb onto the battlements and scale down the outside into the town below. The thought of falling fifty feet onto sharp rocks below caused her to quickly disregard that plan.
Dara shuddered, and swore to herself that if caught, she wouldn't go down without a fight. The top of the stairs opened into a long hall with doors along its length. At the far end was a wide, double door, presumably leading to the great hearth hall. Dara started down the hall, pausing at each door to listen intently. At the third and final door closest the hall's end, she paused and thought she heard a slight scraping sound. Leaning in to the door, pressing an ear against the worn wood, she almost fell in as it abruptly opened.
Standing there, one hand on the door handle, the other at her throat in fright, stood a young girl dressed in the uniform of a scullery maid -- long brown skirt, white peasant blouse, and stained apron. For a moment which seemed to last an eternity, they scanned each other up and down. The girl was short and plump, with curves and bumps in all the right places. Her mousy brown hair was done up in a bun at the back of her head, with stray strands and wisps framing her pretty, dumpling-like red-cheeked face. Her ample bosom heaved, her large brown eyes widened as she took in Dara's appearance.
"You! You're the prisoner all the guardsmen have been going on about," she exclaimed.
"Please don't t-turn me in! I can't go back th-there," Dara implored, choking on her words, her eyes welling up with tears.
The maid stuck her head out into the hall, looked up and down, seemed to come to a decision, and motioned Dara inside.
"Hurry, before someone comes! Ohh, we better not be caught, or they'll flay me alive -- after they use me like a common wh— Oh, sorry! You probably have more reason not to want to be caught."
The room they entered was the kitchen prep area. A huge oaken table, probably fifteen paces long by five paces wide, took up most of the space. On the table were pots and pans and utensils being readied for the keep's morning repast. Dara's mouth began to water as she smelled the delicious aroma of baking bread. On the far side of the room stood another wide door, probably leading into the kitchen.
"Here, under here! Go under the big table and hide! I'm supposed to be dicing celery and carrots for guardsmans stew," the maid pointed under the huge table and spun around as a voice yelled through the door.
"Martha! Are you not done with the carrots yet? Gods girl, you have to be the slowest woman on the face of the earth!"
As Dara dove under the table, a large huge-breasted woman poked her head through the door. Jabbing with a long wooden spoon, the woman continued scolding Martha.
"Hurry, girl, or I'll demote you to chamber pots!"
