Adventure of Shimo 1

In the service house’s dim spill of lantern light, the three men catch their breath. Dust drifts through the open door, and the billet’s noise feels distant for once.

Wulf rubs his wrists and glances toward the threshold, then back to Shimo. Kaelen stays near the wall, bow lowered but not put away.

Wulf gives a short, tired nod. The lantern shakes a little as someone moves far off in the yard, but no one comes near.

Shimo rises from the threshold and goes to the fallen guards. He works fast, stripping a dagger, a loaf heel, and a coil of cord from their gear before binding their wrists and stuffing cloth into their mouths.

Wulf watches the cord tighten, then nods toward the spoils with hungry interest. The floor shudders again under a distant удар, and dust sifts from the beam above.

Shimo finishes the search and sets the extra food and spare blade within Wulf's reach. Outside, boots scrape past somewhere in the yard, then fade. Kaelen lifts his bow and angles his head toward the door, waiting for the next move.

The waiting turns useful. Wulf leans in low and names the workmen’s habits, which doors creak, which posts are often left thin, and where the company stacks oil and pitch when they mean to burn. He taps the floor once to mark the route toward the gatehouse yard.

Kaelen gives a short, approving grunt and checks the string on his bow. Dust shakes from the beam again, but the far bootsteps do not return.

Wulf pulls the loaf heel apart, shares it cleanly, and points out a side hatch that opens onto a service lane. The route is set, and the trio ready themselves to move.

Shimo leads with care, and the others match him step for step. No one speaks above a breath as they slip out through the side hatch, keeping to the wall and the cart tracks.

The service lane opens ahead, narrow and muddy, with stacked casks and broken crates forming a ragged screen. Somewhere beyond it, men shout over the battering at the yard.

They move on. A pair of laborers rushes past the far end of the lane, never looking their way, and the three of them hold still until the footsteps fade.

When they move again, the gatehouse yard is right there, busy with shifting carts, splintered timber, and men hauling oil toward the inner doors.

Shimo studies the yard in silence, counting pauses between shouted orders and cart wheels. The busiest men cluster near the inner doors, while the far side of the yard thins every time a runner crosses with a torch.

He lifts two fingers, then lowers them, timing the next gap as a pair of laborers drag an oil barrel across the muck. Kaelen shifts at once, and Wulf gives a short nod without breaking his gaze.

The three of them slip from the lane into the yard at the same moment a shouted command turns every head toward the inner doors. No alarm rises. No one looks their way.

Shimo sees it clearly now, the gatehouse path opening under the noise, and the service traffic hides their passage for a breath or two longer than it should.

Shimo takes Wulf’s advice and hugs the left side, sliding between a cart and the wall. Boots scrape and voices trade above him, but the yard keeps looking the other way.

He passes under a sagging awning, then another stack of crates. The gap stays open, and the gatehouse wall comes up beside him, close enough to touch.

Shimo reaches the barrel line without a glance drawn his way. From here, the gatehouse doorway sits in plain view, busy with Iron Company traffic but unguarded at the threshold.

Kaelen settles into cover behind a cart, bow half-raised, while Wulf angles toward the wall to join Shimo. A torch-bearer turns at the far end of the yard, and the service door ahead waits for Shimo’s next move.