Page 1 of The Knotty Clause
CHAPTER 1
Gemma peered out through one of the cracks between the boards of her shack, watching the guards. The night was bitterly cold and they were huddled around a fire barrel. The clink of bottles was followed by raucous laughter. With Garth, the mine owner, away on business they were more interested in drinking than patrolling the mining camp. Good. That meant they stood a chance.
She unfolded the tattered map again, studying it in the thin stream of moonlight. She’d traded her only piece of jewelry—her mother’s silver chain—for this map from one of the supply runners, praying that it was genuine. The risk had been worth it.
A thin line twisted like a serpent between the surrounding peaks—a trail that would lead them through the mountains to an outpost on the other side. The only other alternative was the heavily guarded main road. Even if a guard didn’t spot them, a search party would head in that direction. With any luck they weren’t even aware of the mountain pass.
Not that luck had been in much supply for the past few years, but maybe it was time for that to change. She traced the path again,every twist and turn already committed to memory. If they made good time, they could reach the trading outpost within a few days. Hopefully she could find work there and save up enough to pay their way back to the city.
And then what, a despairing voice asked. Work had been hard to find before—it was one of the reasons she had fallen prey to Garth’s recruiter, a trustworthy looking older man with a charming smile.
“Good honest work,” he’d said, flashing neat white teeth. “Three meals a day and a roof over your head.”
His promises had shone like fool’s gold—beautiful on the surface, worthless underneath. The “roof” turned out to be a tiny, drafty shack that ate half her wages, and the meals were skimpy and barely edible.
She could have endured it all—the backbreaking work, the cold, the hunger—until spring arrived and they had a better chance of escape. But then Garth had visited their shack two days ago, his shadow filling the doorway as he’d looked at her son, pale and silent behind her.
“Boy’s old enough to work,” he said, running his thumb along the scar on his jaw. “Small hands are good for tight spaces.”
“Liam’s too young,” she pleaded.
“He don’t work, he don’t eat.” Garth gave her a malicious smile. “I’ll have to cut back on your rations.”
She bit back a sob as he left. Their portions were minimal enough already. How could they make do on less? But the thought of Liam in the mines was unbearable. They had to get away—and with Garth gone this was their best opportunity.
Her hands shook as she layered on every piece of clothing she owned. There weren’t many and they were all worn, but every little bit would help. The pack she’d hidden beneath the loose floorboard felt far too light as she pulled it free, but it contained everything she’d been able to save or scavenge. Her muscles ached from her last shift in the mine, but there was no time for rest. She moved silently to the narrow cot they shared.
Liam curled on his side, breath steady in sleep. The sight of him, so small and vulnerable, sent a fresh surge of determination through her veins. She touched his shoulder gently.
His eyes fluttered open, wide and green, just like hers.
“Is it time?”
“Yes, baby.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “Remember what we practiced?”
He nodded, his eyes huge and scared. He slipped from beneath the thin blanket without a sound and pulled on the extra pair of socks she’d scavenged last week. The sight of him moving with such careful precision made her heart ache—no six-year-old should need to know how to escape in the night.
She helped him into his clothes as well, layer by careful layer. His thin frame disappeared beneath the bulk of fabric, but better too warm than frozen. The sound of drunken laughter drifted through the shack walls. Her hands threatened to shake again as she fastened his coat, but she forced them steady.
“Quick and quiet,” he whispered, repeating their mantra.
“That’s right.” She rolled up the blanket and tied it to their pack, then took his hand. “Quick and quiet.”
She pressed a finger to her lips and peered out again. The guards passed another bottle between them, their movements sluggish. The icy air found every gap in her layers of clothing, but the cold was their ally. No one would expect an escape attempt in this weather.
“Remember what I told you?” she whispered.
He nodded, his small face serious. “Stay quiet. Hold your hand tight. Don’t let go even if—” His voice wavered.
“That’s right.” She pulled him close, breathing in his scent. “And if anything happens?—”
“Run to the big rock shaped like a turtle and hide in the cave behind it.” He squeezed her hand. “But nothing’s gonna happen, right, Mama?”
The bruise on his face seemed to darken in the shadows. One of the guards had given him that when Liam accidentally ran into him. The backhand she’d been too slow to stop still played in her mind.
“That’s right. Are you ready?”
He nodded, and she adjusted the small pack on her shoulders. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.