Flight From Blithmore by Jacob Gowans Page A

the wind slammed
the lid on the coffer shut.
    Isabelle
crawled back into the hole to help him grab handfuls at a time while Maggie did
her best to manage the bag. How much more time did they have? The absence of
constant coughs and sounds of Lady Oslan’s fitful tossing and turning would
certainly rouse Lord Oslan’s suspicion.
    When
the last gold piece finally fell in the bag, Isabelle slammed the lid of the
coffer shut. “We have to get the gold to a safe place inside,” she told Maggie.
    “My
house?” Maggie asked.
    “Yes!
Brandol, take it inside while we fill in the hole.”
    “I
cain’t carry that load with no help,” he told her.
    “Maggie,
will you help him?”
    “Me?
Are you mad?”
    Thundering
shouts came from Oslan Manor. Both Maggie and Brandol stared in that direction.
    “You
must go now!” Isabelle urged. “Run!”
    Together,
Brandol and Maggie heaved the bag, Brandol supporting it from the bottom, and
Maggie pulling from the top. Isabelle spent no time watching them, and began
shoving piles of dirt into the hole. From across the lawn, she heard the back
door of the house bang open.
    “Hurry
up, old man!” Lord Oslan yelled, his head turned toward the manor.
    Frantically,
Isabelle stood and stamped on the earth, then kicked leaves and grass over the
spot where the coffer was buried. It was a terrible job of disguising her
activity. Norbin appeared again at the back door, clutching his side and
gasping for air as he chased her father down the lawn. Isabelle grabbed the
spades and ran to Henry’s woodshop; Maggie and Brandol were only halfway across
Henry’s lawn, still struggling to move the bag of gold inside the backdoor to
the homestead.
    Closing
the shop door behind her, Isabelle leaned against it and let the spades clatter
to the floor. From inside, she heard her father shouting at a distance.
“Where’s the spade, Norbin? My spade!”
    She
could not hear Norbin’s response, but knew it wouldn’t be adequate.
    “We
have a spade! I’ve seen it. Go to the Vestin house and borrow one from them.”
    Isabelle
moved from the door and retreated to the darkest corner of the shop she could
find. Moments later, Norbin knocked on the door. Isabelle froze. Should she
risk handing Norbin the spade? She decided against it. Norbin could let himself
into the shop. The spades rested on the floor next to the door, right where
she’d dropped them.
    Norbin
knocked again. “Master Henry, are you there?” his aged voice wheezed.
    “Hurry
up!” her father shouted. He sounded louder than before, and Isabelle heard the
beginnings of rage in his voice.
    Norbin
knocked a third time, his raps now hard and urgent. Isabelle doubted her
decision. Her chest heaved in fear. What would her father do to Norbin if he
couldn’t find a spade? She made up her mind. Crossing the room, she opened the
door enough to peer outside.
    “It’s
about—” Her father stopped speaking when he saw her. “What are youdoing
here?”
    Even
at an early age, Isabelle had known she had little talent for lying. This
didn’t stop her from trying. “I—I’m helping—I’m watching the shop while Henry
is on an errand.”
    “The
devil you are!” her father yelled. He pushed the door hard enough that it upset
her balance, and she stumbled over one of the shovels.
    He
pushed his way inside and appeared genuinely surprised to find that Henry was
nowhere to be seen. When he saw her state—mud covering her hands, face, and
dress; his own spades beneath her; and the look of guilt she wore—Lord Oslan
became apoplectic.
    “What
have you been doing?”
    “I
told you, I’ve been watching Henry’s shop.” She watched his eyes as they flickered
once more around the room and braced herself.
    “You—!”
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. “—lying little whore!”
He swung her through the door using her hair as a rope. Isabelle cried out in
pain. Her scalp burned and the pain forced tears to her eyes, but her