Escaping the Underworld I

"Take them to Red Mother," bade the jailor.

Clement surveyed the cult members in their red garbs. They're clumping like ants - just waiting for him and Claudette to try something. 

His gaze landed on a tall man, on the gun in his hands. It was a rudimentary weapon - a flintlock, but a gun was a gun. This was how one put down a dog. He would have laughed.

Claudette had taken to observing the scene herself, too preoccupied to notice Clement's gaze had returned to her. 

The tension was evident in her brow, but she kept her chin lifted, her shoulders squared. Death might come to them in the throes of battle, bathed in blood, or at the end of a long life after all the battles had been fought. They've got to be ready.

"Hey," he murmured, and her head snapped to him.