Page 180 of I Ran Away to Evil
I had a pitiful amount of health and mana. As I was reading, they brought me into a room where I was unceremoniously dumped next to two other people tied up with magical ropes and sitting on the floor: a kitchen boy andBrownie. I tried to call out to her, but I was still paralyzed.
[You have beenParalyzed. Time until effect wears off 00:00:34]
“A famous minstrel, a blackfog spy, and a crown princess.” Marquess Dorsetlooked down on us and let out an unpleasant giggle. “I always find the perfect souvenirs when I travel.”
“People arenotsouvenirs.” Brownie looked up, glaring. She was weeping quietly, her entire demeanor broken.
I couldn’t imagine what they’d done to make such a strong, confident woman cry … and I decided then and there that the marquess would pay for whatever cruelty he had—
“And I’m not much of a minstrel,” Brownie choked, “without an instrument.”
“You should have thought of that before you broke your lute over my servant’s back,” Chadwick chastised. The man wearing musician’s clothing glowered at the bard, rubbing the back of his neck. The marquess continued, “I’ll buy you a new lute. Or whoever buysyouwill buy you a new lute.”
“I play the lyre harp!”
“I do not care,” the marquess retorted.
Alright, more things were falling into place! Marquess Dorset was aslave trader. I finally remembered why his name felt so familiar! Madame Potts had mentioned him in one of her foretellings.
The Marquess Dorsetisthe slave trader you’re looking for…Something, something about orphanages.
Why was he standing here and not in prison?
[You have beenParalyzed. Time until effect wears off 00:00:06]
Only six more seconds! I needed a plan better than just “hit the marquess in the face with my manacles.” As much as that sounded satisfying. I relaxed and took a deep breath as I regained the ability to use my limbs. I sat up and inched toward Brownie.
“You won’t get away with this.” I started strong with a very cliché line, hoping that would get his attention. It didn’t.
“I already have.” Chadwick threw another scroll. “It’s time we departed. Activate: [Portal Door].”
Those one-time-use lesser portal doors cost a pretty penny. I could only imagine what a midlevel scroll cost. The marquess had his servant, who I realized was the flautist for the orchestra, haul each of us through the portal. The kitchen boy, who was apparently a spy, was sent through first, then a still crying Brownie, and lastly myself. I didn’t bother fighting, since they’d already sent Brownie through before I could do anything about it.
I fell to my knees on the other side and dry heaved; that portal was definitely worse than Gimtak’s skill. My head spun and my gut wrenched, and I had to wait for the queasy sensation to calm down.
I raised my head in time to watch the portal close … without the marquess. I was on the floor at the foot of a bed. There was a window ahead of me, and I could just barely make out the towers from Duchess Calisto’s palace over the treetops in the distance. It was still early in the evening, and sunset was a few hours yet.
The flautist downed some type of recovery potion. “That’s all of us.”
“About time you made it,” a woman’s voice drawled. I looked up to see a brunette woman in fine leathers wearing brass knuckles. Another slave trader, most likely. I struggled up onto my arms and knees, feeling a little less ill by the second. I sat up and slipped my hand across my boot, palming a silver needle.
I could do this.
“I didn’t seeyoudoing the carrying,” the flautist snapped. He looked past me. “I’m impressed our knight protector got here so quickly. You didn’t need to worry so much—we wouldn’t hurt the merchandise.”
“All the same,” a familiar voice spoke behind me, and I spun around to face him. “I’ll take the princess. The wagons are ready out back.”
Knight Commander Havork reached down and helped Brownie to her feet, gentle but firm. He pushed the bard toward the brunette with brass knuckles. Brownie tried to clock the woman over the head with her bound fists, but the brunette caught her fist easily and towed my friend outside.
The kitchen lad was still recovering from his portal sickness, and unfortunately, couldn’t hold in his dinner.
“Why do I always get the messy ones?” the flautist grumbled. He reached down and grabbed the boy by his tunic, dragging him to the door. He stopped in the doorway and waited for us. “Come on, then.”
Havork eyed me cautiously.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I accused, gripping the needle hard enough it pricked me. “You’re not seriously going to help slavers?I thought you had honor!”
My old mentor flinched but just said, “This will go easier for you if you don’t resist.”
