The image of the tortured boy left to writhe in the mud haunted Sora's daylight. It filled itself out to the sound of his footsteps echoing off stone corridors, overlaid itself upon the blank faces of the other servants, and whispered lurid threats in the cold silence of his cell throughout those interminable dark hours. Determination forged out of despair did not melt; it hardened and condensed itself to a tight ball of bitterness within his gut, a burning intensity amongst perpetual fear and exhaustion.
A few more rounds of shadow—a week, possibly more—elapsed during which Sora worked again, but now for an ulterior purpose. Every trip to dispose of trash, every sweep of an abandoned courtyard, every tug on the well rope was now a clandestine scouting mission. No longer were his eyes just those of a prisoner observing his surroundings but those of a prisoner on the hunt for any crack in the confines of his cell.
He mapped out roughly and possibly inaccurately the patrol patterns in the off-traveled areas of the castle, especially along interior walls between service areas and main residential or military sectors. He paid special observance to a section of a low wall by the rear refuse grounds partially concealed by the dark ivy and partially loose or eroded stones. He also marked a large drain pipe leading out to the outer moat in a seldom-traveled sector, blocked by an old iron grill. He marked down the approximate time Kenji was typically missing for longer periods of time, usually at Vayne's summons or overseeing drill on the upper courts.
His plan was simple and perilous, based more on hope than strategy. He would wait for a stormy evening, when eyesight would be impossible and the guards more unlikely to make full rounds outside. He would approach that low wall by the grounds where trash was thrown and climb it by ivy and loose stones, then down and hope to be in that area which was more lightly guarded and from which one might attempt to get across to the moat and, last choice, the drain pipe to the outside world beyond the great castle walls. As to what to do outside—if, that is, he managed to get outside—that was a terrifying question he did not choose to explore in great detail. Escape from the castle was the first obstacle to overcome; speculation about the daunting outside world of Kurogane was a luxury which he could not indulge.
Opportunity, or so Sora hoped there would be, arrived on a particularly bad storm. A fury of a gale howled around the battlements, lashing barrages of cold, soaking rain that battered the stone like shrapnel. There was a growl of thunder that rattled the walls and lightning that illuminated dark corridors occasionally through tall arrow slits, casting more ghastly shadows than normally. It was the kind of evening on which the very Crows would prefer the relative cover of a roof above their heads. Moreover, Kenji had been summoned suddenly to the main hall by Vayne shortly before the night fell deep, no doubt tending to some matter of the storm or security. It was now or never.
Sora had scrubbed the last pot from the now nearly bare kitchen. The top staff had retreated to their miserable quarters. Seizing the instant when the overseer who was bald noisily snored in one of the corners by the fire, Sora crept stealthily to the door at the rear—a door out to storage courtyards and, finally, to the rubbish grounds. His heart pounded so fiercely that to his own hearing he was aware that that sound would give him away. Every shadow was a hidden guard, every gust of wind a call for alarm.
He pulled his lean gray woolen robe tighter around him, ineffectually against the slashing rain which wet him the instant that he stepped outside. He huddled low and ran across the storage court, holding to the shadows. Rain and wind screaming together drowned out the sound of his own wet splashes on the mire. He reached the junk ground, where the normal stink blended with the storm's fresh, crackling odor. The visibility was terrible, with only the sudden lightning flashes illuminating.
He glimpsed the wall he'd been targeting. It appeared shorter and more accessible below the shadows and rain. He climbed, numb fingers and sliding on the wet stones and rain-drenched ivy. His water-softened, ancient sneakers provided no traction. He slid all the way down twice, and fear and adrenaline lent him desperate strength. Gasping, he managed to clamber up to the top of the wall, which was broader than it'd looked from the ground.
He lay on his belly, panting for breath, the wind pummeling him mercilessly. He gazed across to the other side. There was a gap between this interior wall and the high main outside wall of the castle, a patrol route obviously used. It was deserted now, at least to where he could perceive it in the fitful gloom. He measured the drop: more than ten feet, he estimated, to what appeared to be solid earth and mud. He would be all right.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself to drop—
And then an iron hand clamped down on his ankle.
A choked cry escaped him. The violence of the hold was cruel, unmistakable. He pushed himself up to his elbows, his feet slipping on the wet stone, and made out a dark figure clearly silhouetted against a flash of lightning. Not one of the ordinary guards, no. Kenji.
The guard's face was half-hidden behind the dripping hood of his cape, but the cheekbone gash was evident, a white line across the shadows. His eyes, usually so steady, flared for an instant to the lightning, and reflected its cold back in an icy sparkle that cut Sora to the bone. There was no shock there, no fury, even. Only cold, hard resignation.
"Did you truly think…" Kenji's voice was a harsh whisper, barely audible over the roar of the storm, "...it would be that easy, boy?"
Sora struggled to remove his leg, vainly resisting the iron hold. Another flash of lightning, and Sora saw that there were two more guards, stealthy and standing at the bottom of the wall to the side that he climbed, gazing up at him. They waited patiently throughout. It was a trap. Or they didn't even use a trap to begin with; they simply knew that he would attempt and were waiting for the unavoidable mistake.
With a jerk that nearly dislocated Sora's shoulder from its socket, Kenji pulled him quickly up to the top of the wall, then scooped him up by his tunic collar like a soaking wet kitten. Sora did an instant hang, kicking out to one side, and then Kenji contemptuously tossed him again to the ground where he'd begun, dropping him with a sickening splat in the mud amongst the other two guards. The breath was knocked from him by the tumble. He attempted to pull himself up, coughing and spewing muck, but an enormous boot pinned him down, crunching against his spine. He gazed upwards and watched Kenji vault lightly from the wall, landing soundlessly for all his bulk. "Take him," Kenji told the other two guards, his tone impassive. "To the disciplinary cells. The Lady will surely wish to determine for herself what to do with this. Aggravating nuisance." Rough hands clutched Sora around the arms and dragged him upright. He did not struggle. The tiny, desperate spark of hope that pushed him through the storm was completely smothered, snuffed out amongst the wet mud and the cold reality of his complete failure. He was dragged back through the dark corridors, away from the howling of the storm and the shattered dream of liberty. Wet cloth clung to his cold skin, but the cold that spread to his marrow was deeper, an icy thing seeping within him now that they dragged him toward whatever hidden fury, toward the cold, calculating fury of Vayne Kurotsuki. He'd strained to push the cage, and the cage, neutrally, pushed him back within its maw.