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sheenianniTitle: Out of the Dungeons (Part III)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
PART III
“So where do we stick him?”
“Listen, this is a mistake. I swear I shouldn’t be here–”
“Right, we haven’t heard that before. Shut up or we’ll toss you in the hole.” Taking a few steps away, the guard focused back on the paperwork in front of him. “See this? It’s weird, is what it is. What’s a smalltime crook like him doing in here? There has to be something wrong–”
“I bet it’s because of the fire,” the other guard interceded. “With the Esla jail being rebuilt, they have to stick these bastards somewhere. How about that cell after that old man who died last week? Let’s put him there for now and let the warden sort this out when he comes back tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me, Hagen,” said the first guard with a chuckle. “Well, Rydell, it looks like we have a cell for you after all. Cheer up, it’s a nice one. You even get a window and a bed.”
Gary Rydell looked at them, almost in tears. “You don’t understand, there has to be something wrong–”
“Isn’t there always?” said Curtis Hagen shortly. “How about I write up this mess, and you and Anthony and take this one away?” He nodded at another guard who had yet to join their discussion.
“Sure.”
The two guards pulled up their prisoner and pushed him towards the door. “All right, let’s go.”
Gary Rydell – or, by his usual name, Neal Caffrey – gave them a last half-hearted plea before following them out of the room, but nobody was moved by the display. As the door closed, Hagen watched them with an unreadable expression. When the other guards weren’t looking, Neal gave him a subtle nod.
The first part of their plan was a success.
* * *
Neal’s backup plan involved waiting for the guards to split, then faking a collapse and forcing the remaining guard to bend over him, close enough so he could push the chloroform-induced handkerchief into his face. However, that particular course of action was highly dangerous – separating the guards would be a problem, and there was always a risk that the narcotic wouldn’t work fast enough and the guard would be able to raise alarm.
Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that.
So now he was locked in a cell on the first floor, his guards were gone, and he had roughly three hours to get out, find Peter, and escape before anyone noticed them missing. Piece of cake.
For a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in on him. Shutting his eyes, Neal took a few deep breaths before he regained his composure. He would rescue Peter, and they would get out of here before his panic overcame him.
He opened his eyes, feeling almost calm once again. Good.
He had plenty of work to do.
But first, he had to get rid of his shackles…
* * *
The first time Neal had escaped the dungeons, he not only had to unlock the door, but also to remove the four latches that were preventing it from opening. Since the latches were outside and the door almost never opened (except from the tiny flap at the bottom, which they used to pass him food), it had taken him three days to merely determine the latches’ exact location; then two months of careful digging through the thick, iron-bound wood until he was able to pass his makeshift hook through and open each of the latches. It had been a toilsome, trying work with the constant danger of being discovered, and Neal didn’t think he could have done it if not for his skills as a carpenter.
Which was one of the reasons why Hagen’s help had been so crucial.
As Neal vaguely remembered from his brief stroll through the dungeons, there were a few cells that were a bit more accommodating. Those rooms had a bed, a chair and even a small table, but more importantly, there was a single lock and even a small grated window in the door that offered an (albeit limited) view on the dungeon’s corridors. Hagen not only provided the much needed information (there were six such cells, all on the first floor), but he also made certain that Neal ended up in one of these instead of somewhere with heavier security.
Of course, the downside was that anyone who took a look inside could notice him missing, which meant he had to move fast.
As soon as he got rid of his chains and the ridiculous beard that was supposedly part of his “disguise,” Neal arranged the covers on the bed on the chance that it would fool someone who only gave the room a quick glance. A few minutes later, he was standing in the corridor with free hands, his set of lockpicks (previously sewn into the leg of his trousers), and with steely determination as he recalled the dungeons’ outlay. He wanted nothing more than to head straight to where Peter was held; however, the plan demanded that he took a detour first.
Neal swallowed. Nothing like sneaking through a prison when being caught would mean disaster for him and death for his close friend. No pressure, right?
Seven years ago, his own escape had ultimately failed. But he was a different man now. He had new set of skills taught to him by some of the best, including Peter; he had far more experience now than he had had then. Most importantly, he had friends, people backing him up, allies waiting for him once he managed to get Peter out of this hellhole.
Straightening his back, Neal cast his fears aside and focused on the task ahead.
* * *
The last time Neal had escaped the dungeons, one of his biggest concerns had been his appearance. He had combed his hair, then shortened it and also cut his beard with the tools that he made from the scraps around him; he had repaired his clothes and then waited until it rained one night so he could collect water into his soup bowl and wash his clothes and himself. That had been one of the more memorable events from that time, when, wet and naked, he had shivered in the freezing-cold cell under his one thin blanket and waited for over a day until his clothes dried. But it had all paid off when he walked out of the dungeons through the front gate; his escape was so mysterious that, to this day, the guards weren’t entirely sure what had happened. Despite his capture a few weeks later, the memory of how he had fooled his captors still made Neal smile.
Unfortunately, the security had gotten tighter since (and his escape undoubtedly had something to do with that), so that option was no longer available to him. Moreover, Peter’s face was simply too well-known in the kingdom, so that particular trick wouldn’t have worked anyway.
But there were other ways.
Before entering the dungeons again, Neal had memorized the map that Hagen had shown him. While he had done his best to confirm that the crooked guard hadn’t lied to him, he still felt his heart hammering as he searched for the storage room, all the while avoiding the guards as he sneaked through the dungeons’ corridors. If Hagen had lied to him…
After a short but tense walk, Neal finally reached the door that matched Hagen’s description. He deftly picked the lock and swallowed his fear before opening the door. He smiled in relief as he realized that, once again, Hagen had been true to his word. Stepping inside, he closed the door and swiftly but quietly started inspecting the storage room.
His first concern was stealing one of the spare lanterns, filling it with oil, and then lighting it using a splinter of wood and the burning torch outside the door. Once he was done, Neal could finally breathe a little easier. The guards didn’t wear any specific clothes, so in the gloom and dark of the fortress, their lamps were their most distinguishing feature, especially from afar. While most of them knew each other, having the lantern should be enough to fool anyone who didn’t specifically see his face.
Hidden under some old rags, there was a bag and rope ladder just as Neal had requested; there were also two sets of clothes for Peter and Lady Turner. Finally, Neal saw the knives on one of the shelves. He took two of them before hesitating over the third one, but in the end he ignored his queasy feeling as he opened the bag and put the knives in.
It would not come to that. Besides, he had to stick to the plan.
Quickly packing everything, Neal took a deep breath before picking up his lamp.
Hold on, Peter. I’m coming.
Part IV
Author:
sheenianniFandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART III
“So where do we stick him?”
“Listen, this is a mistake. I swear I shouldn’t be here–”
“Right, we haven’t heard that before. Shut up or we’ll toss you in the hole.” Taking a few steps away, the guard focused back on the paperwork in front of him. “See this? It’s weird, is what it is. What’s a smalltime crook like him doing in here? There has to be something wrong–”
“I bet it’s because of the fire,” the other guard interceded. “With the Esla jail being rebuilt, they have to stick these bastards somewhere. How about that cell after that old man who died last week? Let’s put him there for now and let the warden sort this out when he comes back tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me, Hagen,” said the first guard with a chuckle. “Well, Rydell, it looks like we have a cell for you after all. Cheer up, it’s a nice one. You even get a window and a bed.”
Gary Rydell looked at them, almost in tears. “You don’t understand, there has to be something wrong–”
“Isn’t there always?” said Curtis Hagen shortly. “How about I write up this mess, and you and Anthony and take this one away?” He nodded at another guard who had yet to join their discussion.
“Sure.”
The two guards pulled up their prisoner and pushed him towards the door. “All right, let’s go.”
Gary Rydell – or, by his usual name, Neal Caffrey – gave them a last half-hearted plea before following them out of the room, but nobody was moved by the display. As the door closed, Hagen watched them with an unreadable expression. When the other guards weren’t looking, Neal gave him a subtle nod.
The first part of their plan was a success.
Neal’s backup plan involved waiting for the guards to split, then faking a collapse and forcing the remaining guard to bend over him, close enough so he could push the chloroform-induced handkerchief into his face. However, that particular course of action was highly dangerous – separating the guards would be a problem, and there was always a risk that the narcotic wouldn’t work fast enough and the guard would be able to raise alarm.
Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that.
So now he was locked in a cell on the first floor, his guards were gone, and he had roughly three hours to get out, find Peter, and escape before anyone noticed them missing. Piece of cake.
For a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in on him. Shutting his eyes, Neal took a few deep breaths before he regained his composure. He would rescue Peter, and they would get out of here before his panic overcame him.
He opened his eyes, feeling almost calm once again. Good.
He had plenty of work to do.
But first, he had to get rid of his shackles…
The first time Neal had escaped the dungeons, he not only had to unlock the door, but also to remove the four latches that were preventing it from opening. Since the latches were outside and the door almost never opened (except from the tiny flap at the bottom, which they used to pass him food), it had taken him three days to merely determine the latches’ exact location; then two months of careful digging through the thick, iron-bound wood until he was able to pass his makeshift hook through and open each of the latches. It had been a toilsome, trying work with the constant danger of being discovered, and Neal didn’t think he could have done it if not for his skills as a carpenter.
Which was one of the reasons why Hagen’s help had been so crucial.
As Neal vaguely remembered from his brief stroll through the dungeons, there were a few cells that were a bit more accommodating. Those rooms had a bed, a chair and even a small table, but more importantly, there was a single lock and even a small grated window in the door that offered an (albeit limited) view on the dungeon’s corridors. Hagen not only provided the much needed information (there were six such cells, all on the first floor), but he also made certain that Neal ended up in one of these instead of somewhere with heavier security.
Of course, the downside was that anyone who took a look inside could notice him missing, which meant he had to move fast.
As soon as he got rid of his chains and the ridiculous beard that was supposedly part of his “disguise,” Neal arranged the covers on the bed on the chance that it would fool someone who only gave the room a quick glance. A few minutes later, he was standing in the corridor with free hands, his set of lockpicks (previously sewn into the leg of his trousers), and with steely determination as he recalled the dungeons’ outlay. He wanted nothing more than to head straight to where Peter was held; however, the plan demanded that he took a detour first.
Neal swallowed. Nothing like sneaking through a prison when being caught would mean disaster for him and death for his close friend. No pressure, right?
Seven years ago, his own escape had ultimately failed. But he was a different man now. He had new set of skills taught to him by some of the best, including Peter; he had far more experience now than he had had then. Most importantly, he had friends, people backing him up, allies waiting for him once he managed to get Peter out of this hellhole.
Straightening his back, Neal cast his fears aside and focused on the task ahead.
The last time Neal had escaped the dungeons, one of his biggest concerns had been his appearance. He had combed his hair, then shortened it and also cut his beard with the tools that he made from the scraps around him; he had repaired his clothes and then waited until it rained one night so he could collect water into his soup bowl and wash his clothes and himself. That had been one of the more memorable events from that time, when, wet and naked, he had shivered in the freezing-cold cell under his one thin blanket and waited for over a day until his clothes dried. But it had all paid off when he walked out of the dungeons through the front gate; his escape was so mysterious that, to this day, the guards weren’t entirely sure what had happened. Despite his capture a few weeks later, the memory of how he had fooled his captors still made Neal smile.
Unfortunately, the security had gotten tighter since (and his escape undoubtedly had something to do with that), so that option was no longer available to him. Moreover, Peter’s face was simply too well-known in the kingdom, so that particular trick wouldn’t have worked anyway.
But there were other ways.
Before entering the dungeons again, Neal had memorized the map that Hagen had shown him. While he had done his best to confirm that the crooked guard hadn’t lied to him, he still felt his heart hammering as he searched for the storage room, all the while avoiding the guards as he sneaked through the dungeons’ corridors. If Hagen had lied to him…
After a short but tense walk, Neal finally reached the door that matched Hagen’s description. He deftly picked the lock and swallowed his fear before opening the door. He smiled in relief as he realized that, once again, Hagen had been true to his word. Stepping inside, he closed the door and swiftly but quietly started inspecting the storage room.
His first concern was stealing one of the spare lanterns, filling it with oil, and then lighting it using a splinter of wood and the burning torch outside the door. Once he was done, Neal could finally breathe a little easier. The guards didn’t wear any specific clothes, so in the gloom and dark of the fortress, their lamps were their most distinguishing feature, especially from afar. While most of them knew each other, having the lantern should be enough to fool anyone who didn’t specifically see his face.
Hidden under some old rags, there was a bag and rope ladder just as Neal had requested; there were also two sets of clothes for Peter and Lady Turner. Finally, Neal saw the knives on one of the shelves. He took two of them before hesitating over the third one, but in the end he ignored his queasy feeling as he opened the bag and put the knives in.
It would not come to that. Besides, he had to stick to the plan.
Quickly packing everything, Neal took a deep breath before picking up his lamp.
Hold on, Peter. I’m coming.
Part IV
