Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 151

                I do as I’m told. The woman’s form sits solid and opaque. I can only see the shadow of her in the blackness of the Edge.

                ‘Why are they keeping a woman down here?’ Elle asks. ‘A human woman. That’s not Teague for that matter.’

                ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Let’s find out. We’re not exactly revealing much talking to her. It sounds like she’s well versed with the council ghosts.’

                I knock my knuckles against a bar. It makes an almighty clang in the heavy silence.

                ‘What was that?’ The old woman jumps. ‘Stop it, is it you lot again. You can all go to hell where you belong.’

                I knock my knuckles twice hoping she understands.

                ‘What does that mean?’ She raises herself to her hands and knees. Her eyes shine white and milky in the darkness. It’s like she’s a mole or a bat, clearly used to this dungeon more that the world above. ‘Did that mean no? Please let it be someone else.’

                I clang once for yes.

                She sits up straighter. I hear a series of clicks as her back comes out of its obvious hunch

                ‘Who are you?’ she asks. ‘No wait, that won’t help. Think Robin, think.’

                Robin hits her head with the palm of her hand. She punishes herself for the slowness of her thoughts. I wonder how slow I’d become if I was shut up here until my nails grew into claws.

                ‘Are you prisoners?’ she asks into the darkness. ‘Maybe I’m mad,’ she says. ‘A prisoner of my mind, conjuring up some friends.’

                I clang once.

                ‘Was that a yes for prisoners or a yes for madness,’ she smiles. Her mouth twitches up at the corners. It doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s as though she’s forgotten the simple pleasure. ‘If you’re prisoners, does that mean you’ve escaped?’

                I rap once more.

                ‘Heavens,’ she curses. ‘Twenty years in this box and you do it before me. Unless you’ve been here longer? I always wondered if there were more.’

                I rap twice for no, hoping she gets the message.

                ‘Twenty years.’ Elle whistles. ‘How can they have kept her for that long? What could she possibly have done.’

                ‘It’s clearly hurt her,’ I say. I watch as she pulls at her white hair, then progresses to scratch at the stone floor, an area either side of her shows four long grooves per hand. Her nails must have grown as tough as a wild beast’s to make that kind of mark.

                ‘Poor woman,’ Elle says. ‘I’ll work on the door. We do like a stray.’