Page 99 of Charmless
I was almost at the staircase when the wings shifted and the creature’s head poked up, but it was no kind of bird at all. The face that peeked through the bars was human-like, with pale, sharp features. Two pointy ears poked through a stringy fall of dirty blond hair.
I had only ever seen pixies depicted in books before. My breath caught in my throat as I realized I was looking at one now and she was looking straight back at me. My invisibility shoes did not fool her any more than they had deceived the aura cat.
This must be the unfortunate Mimsy Peasecod, the Chieftana of the pixies that the Warder had mentioned. Her demeanor was one of exhaustion and despair, but a spark of hope lit up her almond shaped eyes at the sight of me. Struggling to her feet, her tiny hands circled the bars of the cage as she whispered, “You, there! Are you a witch? Whoever, whatever you are, can you not help me? Please.”
I drew closer to the cage and pressed my finger to my lips, trying to warn her to be silent. But Mimsy’s pleas only waxed more desperate. “I will reward you. I can pay you anything you ask. Please, please save me. Get me out of here.”
The guard reading the book glanced up in annoyance and growled, “Quiet, you! You ought to know by now we can’t be bribed.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, you stupid oaf,” the pixie snapped. She lowered her voice, begging, “Help me. Florian had me imprisoned so he no longer has to pay for my dust, but I can’t keep making as much as the prince wants. He’s draining all the magic from me.”
Huge tears trickled down Mimsy’s cheeks. But I could not even reach the lock on her cage without standing on one of the stools. If objects in the room started moving about by themselves, even these thick-headed guards would be able to surmise something strange was going on.
“I am sorry,” I mouthed to the pixie. “I have to go but I promise I will find a way to help you after I release my friend, Mal, from the dungeons.”
“Mal? You mean Hawkridge?”
“Yes, you know him?”
Despite her tears, Mimsy smiled. “Who doesn’t know that handsome rogue? Get me out of here and I’ll help you find him.”
“I am sorry, but I can’t.” I whispered, casting an anxious look in the direction of the guards.
Mimsy wailed and shook the bars of her cage in sheer frustration. One of the guards playing cards looked up in annoyance and flung his empty cup at her. The tankard banged against the cage and sent it swaying. Mimsy lost her balance, landing on her bottom. All three of the guards erupted into coarse laughter.
I hated abandoning her this way, but I could not risk trying to help her until I freed Mal. The pixie’s eyes filled with tearful reproach as I retreated toward the curving stairs that led down to the dungeons.
The worn stone steps had never been designed for a woman wearing dancing shoes made of glass. I had to mince along carefully, my only illumination provided by the flaming torches set at infrequent intervals along the walls. Somehow, I arrived at the bottom without taking a tumble or twisting an ankle.
The dim lighting revealed what looked like an endless corridor of cells. The odor down in the dungeons was a noxious combination of mildew, unwashed bodies, and excrement. I had to fight the urge to gag as I hurried from one cell to the next, peering through the iron bars. Most of the cells were empty except for piles of dirty straw and chains hanging slack from the wall. That didn’t surprise me. Most people unfortunate enough to be incarcerated in the Dismal Dungeons were eithersentenced to exile or to a far worse fate at the hands of the Royal Garrotter.
I didn’t see how anyone could survive long in this miserable place, cut off from sunlight and fresh air. Some of the prisoners I glimpsed looked like the hardened sort of rogue one would dread to meet in a dark alley, but others were enough to break my heart. An old man huddled beneath a ragged blanket, shivering in his sleep. A boy looking barely old enough to sport his first beard, cradled a young lad in his arms. Despite the filth matting their hair and faces, I could detect a resemblance that marked them as brothers.
This was one thing I had not taken into consideration in my plan to rescue Mal, the sorrow and guilt I would feel at abandoning these other wretched souls to their fate. I had to fight the urge to begin unlocking all the cell doors. The only thing that stayed me was the realization that it was going to be difficult enough just getting Mal out of this place alive.
As I hastened from one cell to another without finding my friend, I grew more and more desperate. Finally, there was only one left to check. Gripping the bars, I peered through the semi-darkness at a prisoner who was chained to the wall in such a way that he could not even lie down. He slumped over in a sitting posture, his back braced against the wall. His face was so battered and bruised I barely recognized him.
“Mal!” His name escaped me in a choked cry.
For one horrible moment, I thought he was dead, but he stirred a little, mumbling, “Ella?”
My hands shook as I fumbled to locate the bone pick inside my pouch. I nearly dropped the tiny shard as I inserted it in the keyhole, but the device worked its magic. The lock clicked and I shoved the cell door open, rushing inside.
“Oh, Mal, what have they done to you?” I cried.
He forced his swollen eyes open a slit and muttered, “Scrambled my brain. Making me imagine things, hear voices.”
“No, I am really here.” Remembering that I was invisible, I slipped off the magic shoes. Kneeling beside him, I caressed his face, brushing a gentle kiss against his cheek.
Mal groaned. “This is a really good dream.”
Much to my dismay, he sounded half-delirious. Neither Delphine nor I had anticipated that. Despite his imprisonment in the Dismal Dungeons, somehow, we had expected Mal to be his usual sharp-witted self. I should have brought a flask of brandy or an herbal tonic from Mal’s shop in case I needed to revive him. But there was nothing in his barren cell to help me, not even a bucket of fetid water.
“Listen to me, Mal. You are not dreaming,” I said as I applied the bone pick to his wrist manacles. “I have come to rescue you.”
“That’s nice.” His eyes fluttered closed. As I released him from his shackles, his hands fell limp to his sides. He would have keeled over if I had not clutched at him, using all my strength to keep him sitting upright.
“Mal,” I cried. I dreaded causing him any more pain, but I needed him to wake. I shook him as gently as I could, repeatedly calling his name.
