The journey had been uncomfortably long, and even considering the handholds and the neat underplanks to slip his feet into, Will thought he would let go and lose the warcarriage an hour ago. It was only, legitimately, through sheer for of will that helped him stay still and quiet for so long. It seemed an eternity, but finally, when the buttertub halted and he heard the rattling of chains and the heavy thuds of feet, he gently lowered himself to the ground, having snuck under the wagon and kept himself hugging its bottom for miles upon miles. He let his burning arms drop to the cobblestones, and he lay panting quietly as the woman was presented before the Viscount. Evidently it was a blackguard named Cranbon, a name he had never heard before, but then again he had only been back on the mainland just over a week. 

Had he pulled this stunt at noon, he would have been seen and executed immediately. Luckily, even accounting for the moon, his dark cloak and similarly dark features helped him blend into the shadows of the courtyard as he slunk away, finding himself crouching behind barrels of unknown use, though they smelled strange, and watching the woman be led away into the confines of the fort. 

He held no love for any men of the Grand Army, but as a soldier himself, he knew what it was like to be a small cog in a larger machine, and when the opportunity presented itself, he merely knocked out a watchman rather than killed him. He still had a small sense of honor, he often lied to himself. He knew it was beyond repair, but old habits, and values it seemed, died hard. He hastily donned the helmet and breastplate, and the baldric as well. He couldn't change apparel fully. He did not have the time or space. But it would do unless he was inspected closely, and he made his way into the fort, the oaken doors leading into a warmly lit but otherwise very spartan and stark stone architecture. 

Within minutes, he understood why there were so many stories of the horrors of this place. Every hall, every room was built with chokepoints to keep a prisoner in rather than hold an enemy from without, and the claustrophobia of various rooms felt overwhelming. Impenitrable darkness and heavy doors reinforced with iron were almost every dozen feet. Luckily, a few men off duty let slip that a comely prison was placed on the far end of this very wing, in rooms with a bit more space. He hurried off into the darkness, before finally finding what he sought. 

There was a corridor lit with torches, with cells of iron bars and loose piles of hay in various corners. Chains hung from the ceilings, that could be used to shackle a prisoner at a guard's convenience. Glassless gaps in the walls, also barred, let the moonlight stream in. It caught the glitter of green eyes watching him with contempt, the gypsy's body swathed in her multiple layers of clothing, before Will approached the cell and dramatically unburdened himself of his helmet. He saw her beautiful eyes blink in incredulity, before widening with recognition. She swiftly got to her feet, tumbled waves of black hair cascading off her shoulders bounced like liquid shadow as she approached the bars. 

"How?..." She started, but Will placed a finger to his lips. This close, he could smell her breath, and her fingers curled around the bars as she whispered. "Your hair..." 

"Don't see many Albanic men, aye?" He asked her softly, fishing for his assortment of lockpicks. 

"Who are you?" She asked. 

"The only one that you can trust, at this point." He said, but his eyes met hers, and his sense of urgency gave way for a moment. "Will... Will McTaggart. You?" 

"Emmeralda." She said. He had begun to try and pick the lock, feeling the latches within fall and go rigid from a poor try.

"Beautiful name." He said. "Far better than William."

"No, I like it. Good, strong name." She said with a rough imitation of his accent, and he smiled even before he saw her grin. Will silently cursed himself. He was not supposed to be finding a rapport with her. She could be in league with whatever the hell was arriving in just two days time, for all intents and purposes. Yet somehow...he knew she was not. The hags never mentioned such a thing, either. It was hard, and he was new to this entire thing. 

"Who's there?" A rough voice called, and a wan light appeared at the end of the corridor. Emmeralda gasped, and a guardsman stepped into the corridor, eyes peeled.

The corridor was empty. He walked over to Emmeralda, who was now lounging against the iron bars. He glared at her, the torch in his hand hot as he approached. "Get back to the floor, witch." He told her, and when he reached for her, she danced away and stuck her tongue out. He gave her a lewd gesture, and sneered. "I don't know what they intend for you, but it's less than you deserve. Your kind sucks at the Protectorate's throat like a leech." 

"Trust me, little [i]mush[/i], you and your protectorate simply couldn't handle a woman like me. Why else would I be in these chains?" 

He growled, and took out the keys. Whatever he was going to do to her, it would not be pleasant.

Above him, Will hung precariously upside down from one of the dangling chains, holding his breath. He watched both like a hawk, and thought Emmeralda was quite clever for not even daring to look up, and to keep the man's attention on her. As soon as he spied the keys, he found his chance. Will let his feet, once planted on the ceiling, swing downwards and strike the man full in the face like an iron ball. He felt teeth break and bones shatter, and the torch dropped as a gurgle sounded from the fallen guard. Will hit the floor with an athleticism that had Emmeralda whisper '[i]Kushti[/i]!' appreciatively, though he didn't know what that meant, exactly. As Will gathered up the keys, Emmeralda rushed to the door, eager to be out of these bars. 

"Do you have a plan to get out of here?" She asked. 

"Yes," he said, opening the door. She tried to squeeze past him, but he stopped her with an upraised hand. "Through the window." 

She raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the small opening. "Excuse me?" 

He lifted a small vial of liquid from his pocket. "It leads outside, yes?" He asked her, closing the door behind them. Striding over the moonlit stones, he wiped some mud off his face from the journey to the fort, and uncorked the vial carefully. Slowly, he dabbed green liquid onto the bars, and used straw the coat the entirety of the iron with it. Even as the straw moved, the iron began to erode before their eyes. "Alchemical acid. Now if only we..." 

He turned and looked at her, considering. 

"What?" She asked. 

"You go first. I want to make sure yer, um..." She looked at him expectantly. He sighed, exasperated. "Ye got huge chebs and a rump that can swallow a man whole, I want to make sure ye can fit top an' bottom!"

Her jaw dropped, but footsteps drew both their attention away, along with a distant exchange of words. Emmeralda gathered her skirts, not having time to process whether she should be flattered or offended. "Let's find out." 

With a few shoves from Will, they were out in the countryside beyond the road before anyone knew what had happened.