The Final Project

This is actually and exert from a story that I've been working on. 

The Cutting Edge

I crept down the stairs of a large dark corridor. Thankfully the rebellion hasn't found its way into the castle walls yet. I don’t know who was leading them but I do know they are to kill me and my family because of my Father’s actions. He had allowed the kingdom to be neglected ever since my mother died. She was everything to us, and when she died she took some of the only life out of the castle. My Father had lived just long enough to see me married to my wife Ashlia, when he died I became king. Some king, since I spend it prisoner inside the secret passages in my own home. We don’t have any food with us so I volunteer to go into the scour the kitchen. After some arguing, Ashlia and our two closest friends agreed. To some degree, besides I’m in the best condition. Cautiously creeping down the stairs. It would normally be so easy when I could normally ring a bell I have to sneak through my own home. I used to play in these secret tunnels as a child.

I stop at the bottom of the stairs, I bend half way sitting to feel the wall for a notch. This would be so much easier if I had a torch but I don’t. My fingers brush a smaller handle carved into the stone and I grab hold. Holding my ear to the door I pushed the stone door open. The room was silent and empty though I stood patiently not wanting to be too hasty. The fire in the hearth on the far side had long since gone out so the room was cold. I heard no footsteps or sign of life and quietly crept into the room shutting the door behind. I never realized how ingenious the hiding place was, the small door blended perfectly with the stone wall, and the handle looked like an imperfection in the carving. Hidden in the corner behind barrels for good measure. The kitchen was large with brown wooden cupboards, plain wood counters with herbs and cooking utensils hung from the ceiling. What surprises me most is how silent it is. No chatter, or the usual sounds of a meal being prepared. Assuming they hadn’t rearranged anything since I was a child all the food should be kept in the same place. With a sense of urgency I searched the shelves, skipping over the door where meat was kept. Not likely anything would be good after a week or more of sitting there unattended, even if it was salted. Rummaging through the shelves I found recipe books, stale biscuits, I found an old (sadly) empty bacon sack and put the biscuits inside. Opening another cupboard I found a whole loaf of bread, I quickly shoved it into the sack. I heard a heavy door slam and I looked over fearfully.

Someone had just come through the servants’ door at the top of the stairs leading to the kitchen and was thumping down the stairs. His steps echoed down around the kitchen. The room was quickly growing lighter every second, my mind racing to find an escape. No time to get back into the wall. Spinning around I yanked open the nearest barrel, not enough space for the sack so I left it besides it. Inside were apples, I threw a few into the sack before I laid the lid on my head unable to close it all the way so I laid it as flat as I could. I sat silent not daring to breathe. Shuffling steps crept past, then stopped, gritting my teeth as someone pulled off the lid, his drunken dirty smile was grotesque in the poor lighting of his fire. I cursed myself for worrying about the apples. “Well well, what have we here? The gallant Mavis! Thought you could hide from eh? Now you know what it’s like to have to steal for a living.” “It’s King Mavis actually and I’m not stealing.” “Then ‘ow come you’re bottled up in a barrel like a caged dog?” Ignoring him I changed the topic. “You don’t belong here.” “And neither do you,” he said, words slurred. He motion for me to get up and I tumbled out of the barrel. “There now, I ‘ave orders to kill you but I believe in honor so draw your sword.” I tried and grabbed air then I remembered I’d left my sword with Ashlia for protection, yes some protection. “No?” He smiled cruelly unsheathing his. “This should be easy then.”

He lunged at me, I jumped back. He threw the torch into the fire place so he could have both hands free and kept advancing clearly in no hurry. But I am, mind racing I lunged for a kitchen knife stand on the counter. Grasping the weapon in a defensive stance I discovered it wasn’t really a knife at all. It was the sharpening rod. The burly man chuckled amused and he swung. I instinctively swung in defense, his blade collided sliding down my sharpener nicking my thumb. But I ignored the pain. I made a thrust out and the sharpener scraped the metal again. Leaping over the center counter to create distance, knocking over pans. The crash fell silent and the man lumbered around. Trying to look convincing even though every stroke was making his blade sharper and my death more imminent. The knives were just a few feet behind me, I could reach them but that would mean turning my back. A loud thump upstairs door opened and another voice called down. “George? What’s ‘ol that racket?” Seizing the moment of my attacker’s distraction, I lunged and clubbed him on the head and he fell unconscious. I should have known there would be others nearby. I dropped the sharpener I run the length to the passage door. “No!” Running back to the barrel to retrieve the bacon sack and ran back. Flinging open the door not worrying about subtly I closed the passage door just as the man entered the room, confused and outraged.