She now had a good notion of how to make her escape and how many guards would stand in her way, not to mention which ones she felt wouldn’t present much of a problem.
Burke had entered her mind a few times during capture, but she had chased him away. She’d had to; she couldn’t allow her thoughts to be diverted at such an important time. Her only concern now was to find Cullen and somehow manage to get them out of there by tomorrow night.
The buffoons who had captured her never bothered to search her boot for weapons. They were satisfied as well as surprised by the sizable sword she carried, and assumed it was her only weapon.
She now sat chained to a wall in a cell that held another prisoner who was not Cullen. He was older, thin, and white-haired.
“The angel’s wings have been clipped.”
Storm looked over at the man, who could barely lift his head. “What did you say?”
“You’re the angel who rescues prisoners. You must be, for only the infamous angel would be brought to the likes of Weighton. Who have you come to rescue?”
Here was her chance. “Cullen. I look for a man named Cullen.”
The man managed to keep his head up straight. “If I tell you where this man is, will you take me with you?”
He looked as if he could barely stand on his own, and Storm knew then and there she would not see him die in prison.
“I give you my word.” He smiled, though Storm saw that it pained him to do so.
“The word of an angel is a good thing.” He coughed, and again pain was visible on his thin face. “You will find Cullen in the torture chamber. The guards seem to delight in punishing the man.”
She sighed and shook her head.
“You have no choice?” the man asked.
She knew what he meant. In order for her to free Cullen, she would have to be sent to the torture chamber. By morning at the latest, though tonight might be better, but then she took the chance of being tortured to the point of being useless.
“They like to torture at night,” the man advised. “It would be best if you waited to be sent there tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow night is the escape.”
“I will be ready.”
She laughed along with the man, since how ready could he be?
“When you free me, I will walk on my own. I give you my word,” the man assured her.
“Do not worry. Regardless of whether you can walk or not, you will come with Cullen and me. I will not leave you behind.”
“Bless you,” he said, and Storm caught the glisten of a tear in his eye.
She had a decision to make. Did she take a chance and be sent to the torture chamber tonight, giving her time to see to Cullen’s condition and to determine their escape? Or would tomorrow provide her with enough time?
“Don’t go tonight,” the man cautioned. “Anger them tomorrow and they will take you and leave you there to think about your fate. It will give you the time you need and spare you the torture.”
“You are wise in their ways.”
“I have been here many months. I know their ways and how they think. Many of them like to gather at night to watch the tortures.”
“Which leaves the other guard posts empty,” she said, happy to learn that bit of information.
“The guards believe themselves safe since there are many guards that patrol the outside.”
“I need not worry about the outside.”
He nodded. “You have help.”
“Plenty of it once we leave here,” she assured him.
“Then it’s up to you, me, and that Cullen fellow.”
The night proved difficult for Storm. Sleep eluded her, her thoughts on Burke and her aches painful, not to mention that the guards took great delight in coming into the cell throughout the night to deliver a few more blows to her body.
She wasn’t sure when morning came since the cell had no window, so there was perpetual darkness, but her fellow inmate alerted her to sunrise.
“It is the workings of the prison that keeps me informed of time. Wait a few hours and cause a commotion that will irritate them. They will remove you fast enough.”
“How do I determine nightfall?” she asked.
“The guards gather at sunset to fill themselves with food and drink before torture.”
Storm nodded. “I will return for you.”
He nodded. “Be careful. You are a wee wisp of a thing.”
“An observation that usually proves fatal to many,” she informed him with a smile and began to make a commotion.
It was spitting at the guards and calling them cowards that got her yanked from the cell, but not before she sent the white-haired man a wink.
The revolting smell in the torture chamber nearly had her heaving. She didn’t want to think of the many things that produced such a repugnant odor or that she could very well be the cause of one of the odors if she remained too long.