Forsaking the Prize (The Wild Randalls 2)

The man stiffened. “I cannot go outside, as I’m already dead. I must inhabit this place.”

A madman? Still, he couldn’t leave him here to burn. Tobias hauled himself over the sill until he stood inside the room. He flexed his shoulders. He couldn’t assist this man out via the window—they’d both tumble to their deaths. However, there might be a way out through the house that could leave them largely unscathed if there was another staircase at this end of the building. “There is no time to wait. The fire will be here in minutes.”

The figure turned another page with a sigh. “Then that is my fate. I can do nothing to save myself without terrible consequences for others.”

“Like hell you can’t.” Tobias crossed to the door. He tested the handle, found it locked, and then backed up a few steps. It didn’t look too stout. He rushed the door and slammed into it. It didn’t budge. He backed up again.

“Ah, excuse me, but if you should like to leave through the door then I would imagine you would have more luck by using the key.”

Tobias spun about, surprised to see the old man held a key between his skeletal fingers. Tobias moved closer, bringing the man’s face into view. His features were gaunt, as if he’d been marooned for months with the poorest of nourishment to sustain him. Tobias had seen a slave in this condition once. He hadn’t lived for long after. He’d been too weakened to recover his strength. But whoever this man was, he didn’t deserve to die in a fire. He took the key. “Come with me. I’ll set you free.”

“Freedom is denied me.”

“Look, I’ll not let you roast in this hell. What is your name?”

“I am Seventeen.”

“Seventeen. Great. Well, get off your arse, Seventeen, and lets go. I’ve a good woman waiting, an angel, and I’d like to keep my eyebrows.”

“An angel, you say? Wonders will never cease.” Seventeen’s eyebrow rose as he removed a strip of ribbon from the book, placed it in his pocket, patted it, and then stood. To say Seventeen was unsteady on his feet was an understatement. A light breeze could have blown him over. Tobias caught him about his waist, grateful that they were of similar height. They shuffled to the doorway and he unlocked the door.

Smoke flowed over them and the man at his side coughed violently. The main stairs were lost in the swirling cloud. “Is there another way down through the servant’s stairs? Anything other than the main staircase?”

Seventeen pointed. “I believe there is one in that direction.”

They shuffled along, but found a dead end. Tobias looked about him frantically. There was no other way out. His companion had been mistaken.

“Old houses hold many secrets,” Seventeen whispered as he crumbled against the wall paneling.

He kept falling as the paneling gave way to reveal a darkened staircase. One free of smoke. At last, some good luck. He could get Seventeen out and continue to search for Oliver.

However, rather than get up, Seventeen remained where he’d fallen.

Tobias hauled him to his feet, noticing with a sickening feeling that Seventeen offered no resistance whatsoever. He’d have to be carried. After some careful juggling, Tobias managed to place him over his shoulder, as he would a sack of grain, and blindly made his way down the stairs.

“Now I know why the complaints were so loud when I was younger,” Seventeen grumbled. “This isn’t pleasant at all.”

Tobias didn’t respond. The poor fellow had rocks for brains. When he reached the bottom, he groped around for a doorway. He found the latch just as he was beginning to despair. Smoke rolled over him as he pushed the door wide and he stumbled out, his eyes watering madly.

“Toby!” Blythe’s voice reached him and he hurried toward the sound.

Hands caught him and urged him further away from the burning building. He lowered Seventeen from his back and others took him, carrying him between them until they reached the trees closest to the village. Blythe clutched at his arm.

“There is still a chance,” he croaked.

Behind him, Skepington groaned and the crackle of flames sent a chill through him. He had to go back for Oliver. He took one step toward the house, but was stopped by Blythe wrapping herself around him. “You can’t go back inside.”

“No. I’ll find him.”

She set her hands to his chest and held him back with her whole slight weight. “It’s too late.”

Tobias stared at the house. Tongues of flame licked the window frame of Seventeen’s chamber. A remnant of drape, caught by the stirring breeze, floated into the night as flame consumed it. A growl left his throat. Blythe was correct. He couldn’t make it inside and back again without burning himself in the process. He drew Blythe against him and held her tightly, staring as the house collapsed in on itself and the poor souls contained inside. He’d failed.

He closed his eyes tightly and prayed that Oliver did not suffer, that the smoke had taken him before the flames had touched his skin. Burning was a terrible way to perish. No one deserved that. He eased his grip on Blythe as Seventeen’s hacking cough reached his ears.

“He’s coming round, Mr. Randall. Thank the lord for t

hat,” Mr. Drake murmured.