Page 71 of Sergi
The shifters stared at each other then pitched in as they pulled the table into position.
Sergi jumped on the table and studied the vent.
“I need a chair and something to release these screws.”
Someone lifted a chair onto the table, and the first shifter who’d questioned him dug into his pocket and handed him a small Swiss Army Knife. “I found this in one of the guard’s rooms.”
Sergi took it and, within a minute, had the screws removed and the vent opened. It wasn’t a large opening, but he’d fit.
He bent down to return the knife, but the shifter refused.
“We’re still searching the rooms and lockers for weapons and tools. You might need that later.”
“I’m planning on coming back this way, but be prepared in case it’s not me.”
“How will we know?”
He grinned as he had with Cadfael. “You’ll know.”
He lifted himself into the vent and, after glancing left, crawled in the opposite direction. He traversed the vent, moving quickly until he came to a cross-section with a vertical vent coming up from the third level and stretching up to the first. This vent was wider than the one he’d been crawling through, which would make it easier for his large frame.
He pulled himself out of the horizontal vent until he was able to sit up, using his forearms and upper shoulders to prevent him from slipping downward. This was the tricky part, but it wasn’t the first time he’d had to shimmy up something.
Taking a deep breath, he released it and, applying pressure on the vertical shaft, slowly moved his body upward. Once hisknees cleared the horizontal vent, he was able to use his feet to leverage his body and push up to begin his ascent.
He chuckled as he slowly rose, remembering being in a similar position with Devon. It had been centuries earlier, and they’d sneaked into the castle of an enemy House to steal documents. He’d questioned Devon why he was going on the mission rather than assigning someone else.
“Don’t you trust your warriors?” Sergi had asked.
“Of course I do.” Devon had growled his response, but it hadn’t shaken Sergi. The first few years as Devon’s Captain of the Guard, he braced himself for a punch that never came. Over those years, he watched Devon, learning everything he could about his new general.
Devon was young, though truth be told, he wasn’t that much younger than Sergi. But Sergi had fought more battles and was more seasoned. Yet, over time, Devon proved to be intelligent, strategic, daring, and worthy of leadership. He was also headstrong, and while he listened to his commanders, he couldn’t always override his emotions, though, with time, he learned to control them.
Devon was also one of the few generals Sergi had served under who also led with compassion and understanding, which made him a stronger leader. One who made others loyal to him, not out of fear but with the confidence he instilled in them.
Sergi squinted at Devon. “Did your Father request you do this yourself?”
Devon turned away from him and picked up a clay pitcher, pouring wine into two brass cups. He slammed one of the cups on the table in front of Sergi, who lifted a brow.
“Father asked that I send the most reliable. Males who had the best chance of not getting caught.”
“I can think of several off the top of my head. Yet, you chose yourself and me.” When Devon didn’t respond, Sergi’s eyesnarrowed. “I can understand why you chose me, so tell me the rest. Who else do you have to confide in?”
Devon’s eyes glowed with the icy blue of his beast. That didn’t scare Sergi, either. “Maybe I want to do something more than sit in this damn chair and give orders.”
Sergi held it for as long as he could before he burst out laughing. The memory made Sergi chuckle again as he glanced down the shaft. He could see the junction below, and when he looked up, his target was within sight.
Their escape from the castle required descending a stone shaft with a drop a lot farther down than the two floors he’d fall if he lost traction. He reached the junction, and with a slight twist of his body, he was once again moving along the air shaft, searching for the first vent opening.
When he reached it, he tilted his head to get an idea of where he was. There was a room to his left, and he was just able to read the number on the plaque—134. He moved quickly toward the next vent, repeating his actions to find a room number—142. He wasn’t sure whether that meant he was getting closer to the director’s office, but he noted that he hadn’t seen or heard anyone in the hallway. He passed two more vents, and at the third one, he did the one thing that was sure to alert anyone close. He punched through the vent cover.
It hit the floor with a metallic sound that reverberated through the corridor. He jumped down and landed in a crouch, pulling out his daggers as he scanned both directions. The only sound was a soft shuffle from the door to his left.
Curious, he opened the door, prepared to engage a guard. Instead, the lab, no bigger than a bedroom, appeared empty. Except for the tip of a shoe that bounced up and down. Not a guard. A terrified staff member.
He glanced over the island counter. Two sets of horror-stricken eyes stared up at him. He put a finger to his lips tokeep them quiet. Their fear faded, and he assumed the guard’s uniform had something to do with it.
It could be a fatal mistake to assume he was on their side simply because of his clothing. But he wasn’t here as their judge, jury, or executioner as long as they didn’t interfere with his plans.
