7
The floor of the cell was cold against Thomas’s face.
Thomas sat up, trying to gauge the time by the light. His only window was in the cell door and it looked onto the hallway. What little light filtered in was thin indeed, but the fact that it was still coming in at all meant that night had not yet fallen.
His arms were excruciatingly sore. He shifted his shoulders, but it didn’t help. At least the manacles weren’t cutting off his circulation. Thomas was thankful—for that, and for the lack of rats, so far. He struggled to a kneeling position, then pushed himself up to his feet. Walking in short, awkward steps, he began to pace.
The cell was small, perhaps eight feet wide and twelve long, with a single large steel ring bolted into the floor close to the wall opposite the door. There
