But he was quick. By the time the soldiers did look up, he was already hiding behind a rain barrel on the other side of the cobbles. Breathing hard, he waited as long as he dared, then snuck down a crooked, narrow space between two buildings, and then into a gap behind the inn. There were some greasy windows here, small and thickly-paned, but broken in places too. If he climbed up on a bit of timber and put a foot on the wall behind, then pushed himself up he would just be able to see into the inn through a broken hole. He did this, but found only a dark space. There was nothing within. It might have been a store room or cupboard.
He considered trying to get in, but the gaps in the broken glass were too small, even for his scrawny frame.
Instead, he got a foot up on a long, level exposed beam and inched along. He was able to peer into a laundry room, but saw nothing. Then, he got a view into the stables. He was quite some distance from the main stalls, but had a reasonable view of a space lit mostly by a handful of low-burning torches.
There were soldiers here. They were the ones holding the torches. They were all wearing those chalky white and sooty black leathers with the emotionless leather masks. It looked as if there were some sort of animated conversation. Perhaps, an argument even. Though the boy couldn’t make out clearly what they were saying, he was able to gather that they were debating something intently.
Searching the shadows in the stable, his heart sank. A huge, black shape that was clearly Dapplegrim lay crumpled up against the far wall. A shimmer seemed to lie over him. It seemed to be some manner of strange looking net, made of silvery thread, and knotted with off-white flowers. Caewen was nearby. She was slumped too, with her hands clearly tied behind her back. Fleat’s foot was just visible behind her. Nothing more of the owl-boy was visible, but presumably he was also bound and unconscious.
One of the men was wearing Caewen’s sword at his belt. Hanging from the same belt was a sort of bottle with gold filigree cage-like patterns on it. It seemed to be stuffed with a churning darkness. They had even caught the shadow-thing then. They had everyone.
Only the boy remained.
Whether his friends had been taken by surprise, sorcery or force, the boy couldn’t guess. He spent some time studying them. Although none of them showed any sign of consciousness, they all seemed to be breathing at least. Dapplegrim’s flanks were clearly rising and falling, and the boy was certain he could Caewen stirring just slightly too.
Easing himself back to the ground, the boy thought over his choices. He might have no more than minutes to do something.
And then a thought occurred to him. It was a risk, but if he didn’t act quickly, the others were certain to be killed. Or worse.
He crept away from the windows, squeezed through the gap between walls, and twisted himself through the narrow back-lane, out into the open, then a dash to the rain barrel, and one more dash to the safety of the crumbling brick wall: and then he was off sprinting.
After some hard running, he arrived back at the wayhouse where Moliagul and his men were still eating and drinking.