Not the governor’s.
A simpler one, made of bronze, with a small engraved mark: the prison emblem. It was the type of ring worn by the chief guards. Near it were old, brown stains and scraps of cloth.
Bruno realized that the place had been used for something sinister. A hiding place. A secret passage. Perhaps a route to bring people in or take them out without going through the main entrance.
The rat squeaked from the corner.
Bruno turned around and found, behind some fallen boxes, a small side door half-hidden by rubble. It was secured with an iron bar, but the wood was rotten from the damp. He gathered his strength and pushed until the bar gave way.
Behind it was a service corridor. Far in the distance, a dim light could be seen.
Bruno started walking, staggering.
Each step was a lash of pain.
Each shadow seemed like that of a guard on the prowl.
He reached the end of the corridor and found himself behind an inner grate that opened onto a large room lit by oil lamps. After a few seconds of confusion, he recognized the place: it was the warden’s office, located one level above the basement. The main door was ajar. Two men were arguing inside.
Bruno remained motionless.
One of them was the warden.
The other one, Gaston.
Bruno felt the world closing in around that name.
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Gaston wore a dark cloak and carried a heavy bag that clinked when he moved it. His voice, honeyed and low, wound its way through the room.
“I’ve paid you plenty for your silence, Rodrik. Tomorrow at dawn they’ll hang him and it’ll all be over. No one will look any further.”
The warden snorted.
“I don’t like him. I didn’t like him when they brought him in with that story about the ring. And I like him even less since the scribe asked why the governor’s signature wasn’t on the execution order.”
Gastón took a step forward.
“The governor will sign whatever you put in front of him if he thinks it clears his name. Just make sure the boy doesn’t make it back alive to give explanations, if for some reason someone wants to hear him.”
Bruno felt a buzzing in his head.
Gastón continued:
“I’m not going to lose my job because of a servant with a reputation for being a saint. If that idiot had just kept looking at the ground, none of this would have been necessary.”
The warden remained silent for a moment.
—Where is the rest?
Gaston opened the bag and revealed coins.
—Here. And there will be more tomorrow when the body is hung up.
Bruno gripped the bars until the metal pierced his skin.
I had it.
The confession.
The truth.
Living proof of betrayal.
But he was still locked behind bars, weak as a ghost, and if he made any noise too soon, they would both kill him right there and bury the secret under another lie.
The rat then appeared next to his foot.
Bruno looked at her.
The animal raised its snout and slipped between the bars with insulting ease. It ran into the room, skirting the wall, invisible to the two men engrossed in their negotiation. It leaped onto a low table where several bottles of wine rested and, in its flight, knocked one of them over.
The bottle exploded.
The warden and Gaston turned around startled.
“Damn rats!” shouted Gaston.
In that split second of distraction, Bruno reached through the bars and grabbed the bunch of keys hanging from a nail on the outside. He only grazed the iron at first. Then, with a brutal effort, he managed to hook it with two fingers and pull it toward him. The keys fell to the ground with a jingle.
