Chapter 8: In Which There Is an EscapeHoyle turned the little knife over and over in his pocket. He had a headache from how his eyes kept darting around, looking at Oliver, looking frantically away lest he be noticed looking at Oliver, then, terrified he’d miss the signal, looking at Oliver again. He’d told Sybil the night before, while Ada tossed and muttered and squeaked in her sleep, that there was a plan to escape, and instantly regretted it as she began to grill him on the particulars. Which direction? Which maps? How would they be able to get all their gear all packed and ready to go without anyone noticing? What would they do after the food ran out? Hoyle had merely gaped helplessly.
In the morning, she’d found Oliver washing a large pile of laundry in a battered tub, and pitched i
