His foot caught on the edge of the tub and he felt himself falling to the floor like a felled tree. It seemed to take several seconds for the crash to happen though he was certain that it was nearly instantaneous. He found himself splayed out on the floor, dripping wet, towel held in an outstretched hand, and his foot still hooked on the tub’s rim.
Though she didn’t turn around, an act of pity that Kre would forever be in her debt for, he knew the look on her face. He could read it as well as if she had tattooed it to the palm of her hand and smacked him across the face.
He didn’t wait for her to tell him to correct his misstep. He was already dashing to the table near the tub where his clothes were sitting and frantically trying to get everything put on at once. “What’s going on?” he asked, trying to whisper. His voice was frantic, mostly out of fear of embarrassment, but also because he was concerned at just how concerned she appeared to be. He felt that anything that could make her this anxious was certainly something to be afraid of.
“The chimney,” she muttered flatly. “Grab your stuff.” She snatched the towel that he had carelessly dropped to the ground and whipped a skinning knife from her boot.
It wasn’t the way she said it, it was simply the fact that he had finally learned not to question her in matters like this. He grabbed the bags that had been brought in, finished tucking his shirt in, and knelt down next to Kitalia. In front of her were long strips of towel in a fluffy pile.
“When we go out into the other room, make for the fireplace. Follow me and climb as best you can. Hold out your hands.” He did as she directed, and she wrapped his hands with the strips of towel, tying them off tightly with the knots in his palms. She took the last two strips, which were wider than the others had been, and dunked them in the tub along with a second, complete towel.
“Dunk them,” she said, gesturing to his hands, “and be silent.” She tied one of the wet strips around Kre’s head, covering his mouth, and did the same for herself. Then she made for the door.
When she pulled open the door to the central chamber, Kre could finally make out the sounds that she must have heard earlier. It sounded very much like a bar brawl.
“Rangers,” Kitalia breathed, her voice muffled by the wet makeshift mask. She darted across the room, followed closely by Kre. At the fireplace, she threw down the soaked towel on the still burning fire, which kept the flames from licking at their feet. The air sizzled and steam started to immediately rise from the towel.
As Kre looked up from marveling at her ingenuity, he caught a glimpse of her boot vanishing up the chimney. “Downstairs!” called a voice from somewhere outside the main door.