An Arranged Marriage - 22

     The night was a long one for Detlef.  His only companions were the rats and beetles, and the hard stone floor amplified the aches and wounds from the fight the day before.  Sleep came and went and finally disappeared altogether just before dawn.

     Detlef propped himself against the iron bars and watched as a gray light softened a barred window high above him.  A guard came with some foul-smelling sop in a bowl for him, and then stalked away without a word.

     Detlef watched in silence as the guard disappeared.  Then he sighed and rubbed his stiff shoulder.  “I haven’t given up yet, Ilona.”

     But what else could he try?  He had thrown his weight against every bar of his cell yesterday without success.  The guards were numerous.  The viscount made it clear that the only way out was to testify falsely against an innocent man who had dared to speak out against the viscount’s injustices.  And that was one thing Detlef would never do.

     Despite his best efforts, he caught an image of himself in twenty years -- with long hair and beard -- escaping this dungeon by some miracle and making his feeble way to the castle to find Ilona married to Emil.  He grimaced.  He’d have to find a way out sooner than that.

      The tiniest noise caught his ear – so small it could have been made by a mouse – and he turned to see a woman standing by a door opposite the steps.  She wore a pink-striped apron over her faded blue dress.  Detlef stared in amazement as she pulled keys from her apron and hurried to open his cell.

     She swung the door open, and the metallic squeak echoed in the stillness.  “Come on, then,” she whispered impatiently.  “You’ve got five minutes before the guard finishes the pie I made him.”

     Detlef jumped to his feet, hoping he wasn’t dreaming.  “How can I ever thank you!”

     She brushed him away.  “No thanks needed.  You’ll find your horse behind the barn.”

     “Will you be safe?” Detlef paused, looking down at her.  “…If the viscount discovers what you have done?”

     “I won’t suffer.  The Derwalds will make sure of that.”

     The Derwalds?  Detlef grasped her shoulders, searching the round, honest face.  “I need to talk to the Derwalds.  Can you tell me where to find them?”

      She smiled up at him with a snaggle-tooth grin, almost incredulous at his question.  “Lands, child!  You don’t find Derwalds.  They find you.”