“Maybe we don’t have to do any convincing,” Marcellious said, looking past my shoulder.
I pivoted to see what he was referring to.
Booted feet strode toward the cellar, and seconds later, the door creaked open.
“Sit down,” I hissed, and Marcellious and I sat, jerking our arms behind our backs.
The lone soldier clomped down the stairs bearing a platter of something edible. “Last meal, gents. Tomorrow we’ll put you out of your misery.”
He grinned, revealing blackened teeth.
“We can’t exactly eat it without using our arms, can we?” I said.
“Isn’t that a shame?” The soldier extended the platter toward us.
“Could you at least bring it closer?” I said. My stomach growled, liking the idea of food.
“Sure thing,” the soldier said, crouching before me to set the plate by my feet.
I whipped my arms from behind my back and seized his neck
His eyes grew enormous. I bore down on his neck as he struggled and kicked. Then his body went limp, and his eyes stared at nothing. I dropped him to the ground.
I picked up the food and gobbled some down before handing the platter to Marcellious.
“Here. I’m going to change into the soldier’s clothes.” I stripped him and donned all his garments, including boots and a bicorn hat. I gathered my hair back and bound it with some strips of the dead man’s shirt. “How do I look?”
“Like a fucking soldier with too-tight clothes,” Marcellious said through a mouthful of food.
I seized the pan from his hands and helped myself to a few more bites, using my fingers as utensils.
When no more food was left, I flung the platter across the room. “Get up. Now we put our plan in motion.”
Marcellious heaved himself to standing.
“Put your hands behind your back,” I said.
Grimacing, Marcellious did as I commanded.
“You ready?’ I looked Marcellious in the eyes.
“As ready as I’m going to be, considering.” His complexion was as pale as the snow, his forehead dotted with sweat.
I hoped he didn’t die before we had a chance to escape.
We tromped upstairs and veered away from the men milling about near the encampment consisting of at least thirty small tents and several larger ones. Campfires burned brightly before several tents and pots and pans had been placed over the flames.
The deer looked skeletal, stripped of its meat for the soldiers’ consumption.
“Hey!” someone yelled. “You there! Where you going with that prisoner?”
“Interrogation,” I called back. I had to think fast. I was making up the plan with each step I took.
“I hope your plan works, and you can start the wagon full of hay on fire,” Marcellious whispered to me over his shoulder. “If we get one wagon ablaze, that should keep them busy while we light others.”
“All right, good.” I headed toward the wagons near the horses, which stood beneath a copse of trees. I beelined toward one of the carts filled with hay. After retrieving the flint striker from my pocket, I struck it until sparks flew onto the dried grass.
Luckily, the soldiers seem distracted by a drinking game if their wild yells from across the camp were any indication.
