The trolley, loaded down with foul victuals, was cumbersome to maneuver and made Seymour feel painfully conspicuous; still, he was glad to be clear of the kitchens and their goblin master. Anyway, he could use the excuse of meal delivery to scout out the way and revise his next move.
Before he had stopped at a single cell, he passed another slave, this one pushing a large wooden cart laden with corpses. There was a human guard accompanying her, apparently there to unlock the cells so that she could remove their deceased occupants. The powers that be were not going to entrust an Aechyed slave with a weapon so dangerous as a key.
Which was inconvenient, because Seymour had just had an idea.
That corpse cart would have to pass through the gates in order to reach the crematorium. And what better way of smuggling out two living bodies out of a prison than to disguise them as dead ones? Here in front of him were both the means to get his charges out of their cell and to remove them from the premises. But that Rezyn-damned guard!
It wasn’t just a matter of obtaining the cart and the keys. That would have been simple enough; all he would have to do would be to deliver one swift punch to the temple of the guard, another to that of the slave, and take what he needed. But if anyone saw him later with a corpse cart and without a guard, he would look awfully suspicious. And if anyone came across the unconscious bodies, alarms would be raised.
Anyway, the act of knocking out that poor, innocent slave struck him as uncomfortably Ancient-ish.
Seymour blinked hard. He had to think. But his brain was not cooperating, and soon the slave, guard and corpse cart had all passed from view.
Dammit, Seymour, he scolded himself. But all was not yet lost. The corpse-cart would come this way again. It had to in order to reach the gates. And maybe by then, his brain would be working again.