No one spoke as they took their positions.Not a jest passed between teeth, not a sigh slipped into the air, not even the faintest sniff betrayed a trembling nerve.
It was the kind of silence that pressed on the eardrums, allowing each man to feel his heartbeat.
Laedio would have felt pride at their discipline, had his mind not been entirely swallowed by the task at hand.
It had taken time, something that he did not have at leisure, time his temper did not want to spare, but at last Sherman had folded into the plan. And gods, had it proven worthwhile: the two carpets in the tanning room, the ones they had dismissed as mere clutter, hid the very prize they'd been hunting for months.
A hatch.Flush with the floor, and the more they gazed upon the more they realised how damnedly clever it was.
No handle.No hinge.No grip.
A door meant to be opened only from below, unless one of course had a trembling shoemaker with a hostage at stake and no more room left for cowardice.
