Piper

Piper's big eyes widened when Figrid the fat gaoler unlocked the bars that had divorced her from freedom since the last three months. But that was nothing compared to the proportion her eyes chose to take when she tried to process what he said next.

"Glinrin, the General, wants ye to be squire to him. Well more servant than squire, but that what he calls it."

The expressions on Figrid's pudgy face were hard to read. They always were. But after six months Piper had cracked this lock as well, and in all honesty it wasn't as easy as all the other locks she was renowned for picking. His expressions now were more of concern and anxiety, than anything else.

"What?" she said, her tone clearly reflecting the confusion her mind was victim to.

"Yes. Ye come out now," Figrid requested more than commanded. Faint light from the torch he held lit up her cell. She was more than happy to marry the open again, and bid her humble goodbye to the cramped little cell that stank of rust but there was something absurd about this whole situation; and Piper had seen enough absurd to last her one lifetime. She was well trained for sniffing out anything and everything out of place, her sense of intuition was no laughing matter either; one cannot simply survive in the thieving business without such after all.

And this situation had triggered her natural alarms she had long learned to trust.

"What, did he run out of squires or servants or whatnot? The strongest man in the Empire has to request a lowly thief to squire for him?"

Somehow, Figrid had no expression of surprise at all. She had seen surprise on his face in grand clarity when a new prisoner had threatened to lodge a knife in his 'fucking fat face' (his words, Piper had later joked about how he didn't say neck, for he never saw one), and then proved it was no void threat when he actually managed to conjure a knife he had hidden, only Gladin knows how. But no sign of that could be read now.

He knows what is going on here then.

Figrid started walking her out of the prison cell before he spoke, "Well, his last squire died."

"May his soul rest in peace," she said with no hint of emotion.

"A prisoner. It was that Koben," he said.

Yeah, damn right, I know every fucking inmate, don't I?

"Koben?" her eyes now wide with pretentious inquisition.

"That feller with four scars on his face. The murderer who killed his employer," he informed walking at a slow pace that his plump legs allowed.

He recruited a murderer to be his squire?

"Ah! That son of a bitch," recognition flashed as she recalled him. No doubt about the fact that he was the murderer, he had admitted so in open court thereby claiming record for the shortest court trial in history of the Empire, or at least the parts of history Piper knew, that weren't too many to begin with. He had a firm set jaw protruding outwards, bulging sleep deprived eyes that never seemed to blink, posture as if he was ready to cave your face in, so much so that he reminded her of a leopard on guard. He was a murderer, and he looked the part. "How did he die?"

A legitimate question, if there was one. She couldn't imagine many men capable of accomplishing the feat, that too he was squire to Glinrin then. Who would even dare touch a squire of the strongest man in the Empire?

"Glinrin," he said as if the answer was obvious.

Oh! Just when I thought the situation couldn't get more absurd than this.

"What the fuck, is going on Figrid? Care to give me a teeny tiny glimpse? You are making less sense with every sentence," she said, not attempting to hide her anger at all. His face showed he was embarrassed. A common inmate wouldn't be able to talk back to a gaoler in such tones; but Piper was no common inmate. Ever since she was imprisoned, she had contrived her escape, and Figrid was the big fat key, literally in this case. It was a plan that involved gradual change and was slow in coming, but Piper was always patient. Some supposedly 'unintentional' flashes of her womanly charms and Figrid had started frequenting her cell more often. At the end of three weeks, he had become more of a friend than a gaoler. At the end of first month, Piper knew which colour his mother liked and what wine his father preferred, and that he was new to this 'jailor' business (which came as absolutely no surprise to Piper, considering how easily he had slipped into the whole scheme). By the end of second, he would come back every night to talk to her, expressing his loneliness and isolation that was a part of his new job. She had planned to elope by the end of four months. But now here she was, wondering if this new development would benefit her or further complicate her plans.

"Well, he appoints a squire from the prisoners, mostly it is a murderer or such and gives a condition. If ye can kill him anytime while ye are his squire, ye will be officially free. But of course if ye are caught in the act ye will die. If ye escapes in that time, ye will be wanted for direct execution at a substantial reward. Also ye have to return to yer cell to sleep and report to him every morning."

"Why does he put himself in risk?" a perplexed Piper asked.

"He is a strange man, says it puts him on guard throughout, without a moment of rest. And being on guard such, is most essential quality a General must possess or so he says," Figrid said.

"Strange man he is, who would reject knighthood? But he did. And am I to assume no one has ever escaped him?" She further asked.

"All of them dead. Most are murderers so they choose the 'Kill Glinrin' option. But no one has yet succeeded," Figrid had anxiety flashed on his face again. Now Piper understood why he was concerned. He was concerned for her. That was a good sign.

"No one ever tried to poison him?"

"I don't know but he has tasters, and where will ye get poison from, anyhow? It's not as easy as ye assumes."

Her inner gears started whirring.

So one thing is we can't murder him so that flies out of the window. And what's more, I am no murderer. I am a smuggler of the rich, and pride myself as one. Next sounds relatively simple, escaping when his squire should be no problem but then the Major Wanted symbol will be. There is one way though. He said 'while I am his squire' so if I elope at night from my cell then only a 'common Wanted' which will soon be forgotten. So all I have to do is play squire by day and lover by night, no substantial change in the scheme as of yet.

"I am no murderer, Figrid. I didn't know you held such a lowly opinion of me," her voice as if she was going to break into tears, her big round eyes showing how inconsiderate Figrid's comment had been. She knew how this act would get to Figrid.

"I know that," the torch showed that the turnkey was embarrassed again, but he had considerably eased.

But I am a good thief. And if I don't get my freedom, I will steal it.

****