The rat dropped the web in front of him and then ran toward the crack, pausing to look at him. It took a step back, as if inviting him to follow. Then it disappeared.
Bruno took the piece of cloth between his fingers.
His heart raced.
I recognized that color. I recognized that golden border.
The governor’s high-ranking butlers wore uniforms with a dark red velvet lining and gold thread embroidered trim.
Like Gaston.
Bruno froze.
The rat returned to the crevice and came out again, restless, backing away and looking towards him.
Then he understood.
He crawled to the hole. It was narrow, barely big enough for a rat’s body, but around the crack the stone showed a different kind of dampness. Bruno ran his hand over it. The mortar was softened.
For weeks, maybe months, rats had gnawed there. Perhaps the seeping water had weakened the bond between the stones.
Bruno began to scratch desperately.
At first, she only managed to break her nails and kick up dust. But she kept going. The stone around the crack shifted slightly. She knocked off a loose piece. Then another. On the other side, she felt a draft of cold air.
The rat appeared and disappeared over and over again, as if it were in a hurry.
Read More
Bruno worked in the darkness with a ferocity he didn’t know he still possessed. He used the water bowl as a tool, striking the weakened area. Finally, a stone the size of his head gave way with a crack.
Behind it was a narrow conduit, an old drain or abandoned service tunnel.
Bruno breathed heavily.
He couldn’t get through there… not in the normal way. But perhaps, if he pulled out two more stones and took off his jacket…
Hope is a dangerous thing when one is close to death. It can drive a man mad.
However, the rat kept going back and forth, and Bruno knew he had no other choice.
He worked for hours.
The skin on his hands was torn open.
The straw was mixed with blood and dust.
The darkness seemed to grow thicker with each passing minute.
Finally, he managed to open a gap wide enough to squeeze through first an arm, then a shoulder. He took off his jacket, held his breath, and began to slide down.
The tunnel smelled of mold, excrement, and stagnant water. It was so narrow that the stone scraped his back and chest at the same time. Several times he thought he was stuck. Several times panic almost forced him to retreat. But each time he was about to give up, he saw the rat a few steps ahead, waiting for him in the darkness like a live spark.
“Don’t leave me now,” she gasped.
The animal continued moving forward.
The tunnel descended at first and then curved. It took Bruno an eternity to traverse it. He didn’t know where he was going. He only knew that he wasn’t in his cell and that, if dawn came before he was discovered, perhaps there was still a chance.
The passage eventually led to an old chamber, a kind of forgotten storeroom beneath the prison. There were rotten crates, rusty shackles, and a half-collapsed stone staircase leading up to a trapdoor.
The rat climbed onto a broken barrel and began sniffing around a corner.
Bruno, panting, approached the staircase.
The trapdoor was closed.
He pushed.
He did not give in.
He looked around for something to force her with, and then he saw, on the muddy ground, something that made his blood run cold.
A ring.