Ash & Bramble by Sarah Prineas Page B

shoulder. “They are coming,” he whispers urgently. “Run!” He reaches through and shoves me away from the door and slams it closed.
    I stumble into Shoe, lose hold of a corner of my apron, and all my supplies tumble to the floor.
    â€œOh, curse it, Pin,” Shoe says in a strangled whisper. He’s already on his knees gathering the things, stuffing them into the knapsack. I keep hold of the grappling hook, and I have the rope over my shoulder. He snatches up a candle and shoves it into the bag.
    â€œShoe, leave it,” I say. “You have to get back to your workroom.” I reach out to take the knapsack from him, but he jerks it away and, wincing, slings it onto his back.
    â€œNo,” he says. In the dim light, his eyes are intensely green. “I’m coming with you.” He grabs my hand and pullsme down the hallway, toward the courtyard. Behind us, I hear pounding at the workshop door. The Jack must have blocked it somehow; the guards are trying to get through, to come after us.
    â€œCome on,” Shoe says.
    We race around a corner. From behind, I hear the workshop door burst open, and the pounding of feet.
    Panting, I follow Shoe. He rounds a corner. I grab his arm. “No, this way,” I gasp, and he whirls and follows me down another corridor to another, smaller door, one that I scouted when I was sent out for candles. He flings the door open and pulls me through, and we set off across the courtyard. Halfway, I pull Shoe to a stop.
    Wild-eyed, he pauses. “Pin, they’re coming!”
    â€œJust a moment,” I say, and I set down the rag-wrapped hook. I can hear shouts and crashes coming from the fortress. “Shoe, face in the direction of the wall,” I order. “Know exactly where it is so we don’t lose it.” Without arguing, he does it.
    I grope in my apron pocket for the thimble. As I slip it onto my finger it flares with heat.
    Crouching, I tap my thimbled finger against the slick courtyard cobblestones. “I need more than heat,” I whisper. “Give me smoke.” For just a moment I close my eyes; if this doesn’t work, we won’t even make it as far as the wall. “Thick smoke to hide us.” Quickly I stow the thimble in my pocket,pick up the hook, and take Shoe’s hand. “Don’t let go,” I tell him.
    As we start toward the wall on the other side of the courtyard, a heavy smoke seeps from the cobblestones. With every step it grows thicker. I glance behind us, and see the fortress as if through a foggy curtain; when I look again it is gone, and we are surrounded by a hot, billowing cloud. I pull closer to Shoe. “Do you have the wall?” I whisper. My eyes water in the thick air.
    He coughs, then nods, and we go on.
    The smoke swirls around us. From the direction of the fortress I hear guards calling to one another; their voices sound very far away. My stout boots are sure on the cobbles, and Shoe guides us steadily onward. The air grows quieter; even our footsteps are muffled. Suddenly a tall, thin shape looms at our left. The post, with its chains hanging down. I check to be sure Shoe is all right, but he grips my hand and keeps his face set resolutely forward, and he leads us on.
    At last we reach the wall. Shoe releases my hand. The smoke is another wall behind us; above us the sky lowers, dark gray and threatening. Thick gray brambles snake across the wall, naked but for a few grayish leaves. I can’t see any thorns; I can’t see Marya’s body, either. Quickly I drop the grappling hook onto the cobbles and unwrap it from the rags. It is matte black metal and has four sharp prongs for clinging to the top of the wall. Once it’s anchored, we’ll be ableto climb up, and over. Uncoiling my silken rope, I tie an end through the eye at the bottom of the hook. Then I stand and face the wall. It is very high.
    â€œI’ll do it,” Shoe says. I trade him the