White Collar Fic: Out of the Dungeons (Part I)
Title: Out of the Dungeons (Part I)
Author: sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART I
“I have to say, this is so much pleasure, Caffrey. What a damn shame that we can’t do this for real.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Hagen.” Somehow, Neal managed to keep his voice steady despite the shackles around his hands.
One last long look before Hagen finally set down the arrest papers. “They look just like the real deal… Well, your work is up to your usual standards. Which means that we’re good to go.”
“I’m thrilled,” Neal replied dryly while he worked on the lock to his chains.
Hagen smiled. “See, I detect a distinct lack of enthusiasm. You do realize that if you screw me, you can say goodbye to the good Lord Burke?”
“I’m not stupid. I want this to succeed as much as you do. Besides, your baroness would kill me if I messed up the plan.”
“I knew you were smart. Now relax, Caffrey. We’re both working towards the same goal. Smile a little!”
Suppressing a shudder, Neal tossed the now opened shackles on the table. “Here. Now show me the floor plans.”
“Impatient,” said Hagen with mocking disapproval. “But fine.” Motioning Neal to move closer, Hagen unrolled the map of the dungeon complex. “Your dear friend Peter is being held in the lowest level of the northern end. He’s chained to the wall and his cell is locked, but that shouldn’t be a problem for a resourceful man like you.”
“Picking locks takes time. You could just give me the key.”
“Ah, but where would the fun be in that?” said Hagen smugly. “Besides, I like to keep my hands clean, just in case you try to backstab me or get yourself caught.”
Neal barely kept his temper in check. “Of course you do. So where do they keep your merry murderess?”
“Lady Rachel is being held in this cell,” Hagen pointed to a spot in the east wing. “The afternoon shift gives us three hours. The hard part will be getting them out. I’ll have clothes ready for you, but it won’t be long before the other guards realize that we’re having a jailbreak. Your horses better be really fast.”
“The best money could buy - or not,” said Neal with a crooked smile.
“Nice,” Hagen chuckled. “I thought you said you didn’t steal.”
Neal smiled back. “I lied.”
“That’s why I like you, Caffrey.”
After they said goodbye, Neal left Hagen’s house and then rode his horse to a nearby inn. He had several hours before he had to meet with Gordon Taylor and his men, so he ordered a fish for lunch. The day was still young and the alewife had a beautiful smile, so Neal made himself comfortable and simply enjoyed the day.
The wine they served him was bitter, not what he would have chosen for what could well be his last day on Earth. Neal drank it anyway, knowing that if he succeeded, he would be drinking the finest beverages in less than two days. If he failed tomorrow, then nothing else would matter anymore.
Suddenly Neal’s wrist began shaking, and he had to put down the utensils before he accidentally dropped them. Old fears aside, it would not do to attract attention now.
Even though the mere thought of the dungeons made a cold sweat run down his spine.
But Peter was his friend; more than that, Neal owed him too much. Peter hadn’t just prevented his death - he had given Neal his life back; took a chance on him when everyone else would have turned away.
It was Neal’s turn now to return the favor.
* * *
Their story had begun some seven years ago, when Neal and Kate had still been living in their home country on the other side of the sea. Apprenticed to a carpenter, Neal had talented hands and little to his name other than a likeable smile and an easy way with people. He knew it would take years before he and Kate could be together - and often at night he made plans about speeding up the process, grabbing his tools and leaving if he could only somehow get the money to start his own shop.
When Count Adler noticed him, Neal saw it as a miracle, a divine intervention, and a chance to fulfill his dreams.
Adler introduced him to Lady Alexandra, an illegitimate daughter of a powerful nobleman who got around the court by her charm and sharp intelligence, and to Sir Winters-call-me-Mozzie, an ingenious master of “acquisitions” who was hiding his night job behind a façade of a moderately successful poet. Between the three of them, they had six weeks to transform Neal from a commoner into someone who could reasonably fit into the higher society - and teach him how to be a thief in the process.
Adler had a plan for him, an “audition,” or so he called it. He wanted Neal to accompany Alex and Lord Fowler to a foreign country, posing as one of their entourage, then steal some documents that belonged to one of their noblemen. When Neal revealed that he couldn’t read the foreign alphabet, Adler explained it didn’t matter - he showed Neal what seal to look for, and the less he knew the better.
Mozzie had been suspicious when he found out - Neal would remember years later how his new mentor had expressed his doubts about the Count and the job. But Neal had been too trusting, too much of an optimist to heed Mozzie’s warnings; he saw a bright future for himself either as one of Adler’s people or as a man with his own shop, and he wasn’t going to be deterred by the paranoia of someone whom he’d only known for weeks. He would succeed, and as soon as he got back, he was going to ask Kate’s father for her hand in marriage and the two of them would live happily ever after.
They reached the other country and infiltrated the court with no trouble; all that was left was for Neal to steal the documents. That was when it had all gone wrong.
It was a week after their arrival when he sneaked into the room of the Queen’s favorite cousin. He didn’t even have the time to locate the letter box when the guards barged into the room. Instead of escaping, Neal froze like a fool and let himself be arrested and bound.
It took them four days of torture to convince him that Count Adler had set him up, and another three days before Neal finally broke and told them all he knew - which wasn’t much. From hints and scraps of information, he deduced that Adler’s aim was to cause a war between their nations - to what ends, he didn’t know - and that Neal was always intended to be the fall guy in this plan.
When he was finally battered enough that they believed he had held nothing back, the interrogation came to an end. At that point, Neal didn’t dare to ask why they stuck him into the dungeons instead of killing him outright - maybe they wanted to keep him in case they needed new information. For years, that thought had been both a source of nightmares and a solace.
He had survived, and they might need him again.
The dungeons had been hell. The chilling cold, the lack of food, the rats and the confinement of his tiny cell - well, Neal was young and he could withstand those. It was the isolation and loneliness that had him crawling the walls within a week. His nightmares only made matters worse.
Then despair seeped in.
He was locked in this hellhole for the rest of his life. Kate would get married while his years passed away; he would grow old here if he didn’t starve to death first. It might take a decade, three or four, but when he finally died, nobody would even remember his name.
He tried to hold on to his anger, but soon even that slipped away and then he had nothing to keep him going.
And then he got Mozzie’s message.
Someone had left their money for the guard to improve Neal’s food; they had also delivered a cloak for him, and a foreign book of poems. Oh, he never saw any of it - food, clothes, the book - but he knew who it was from and he understood the message. He could barely read and write in his own language, so a foreign book would be completely useless to him - and anyone who cared about him would know that. Which meant it was a clue, and there was only one poet-slash-thief whom he considered a sort of a friend.
That knowledge alone gave him back the hope that he had lost. The next day, Neal had begun to plot his escape. After several months, he finally had a plan.
The skills Mozzie had taught him came in handy then. A few locks, a bit of acting and Neal was free, his hopes and dreams flaring back to life with a powerful fire.
His happiness would not last long.
Back then he had too little experience to know how to successfully disappear. He had escaped only to be caught three weeks later. When Lord Burke finally tracked him down, Neal had pointed a knife at his own heart, telling himself that he’d rather die than be captured again. He was going to stab himself, bleed out, anything but to go back to the fortress. His decision made, he had pressed the knife against his body until his forehead was sweating; the blade had pierced his skin and he felt the blood trickling down his chest; he pushed, pushed and twisted; his hands were shaking but he had to finish it somehow-
Peter had knocked the knife out of his hand, but Neal wouldn’t have succeeded anyway. He was too much of a coward; he loved life too much to actually kill himself that way. He didn’t want to die; there was always a way out, there had to be another option-
And then, miraculously, there was.
* * *
“Whatever your plan is, why would anyone willingly walk into that place… Well, it’s your life. If you’re sure-”
“I am, Mr. Taylor. Let’s get it over with.”
Taylor gave him a searching look before nodding slowly. “All right.”
In reality, Neal’s confidence was just a thin mask hiding his own terror. Rusty might have recommended Gordon Taylor, but Neal didn’t know him. The less his accomplices knew the better.
Taylor had asked for forty golden pieces to act as Neal’s escort to the fortress; Neal had laughed at him and countered with a third the amount. Finally, after a short bartering, he bought himself six fake guards and a promise that Taylor’s group would remain silent about his task.
For a brief moment, Neal contemplated how, years ago, the gold would have seemed like a small fortune; something that could have fed a small family for a good six months. Then he abandoned that thought and focused on the important matters. Money was the least of his concerns today.
The fake beard was itching. For a moment, it was like he could feel all of his old scars, thankfully hidden beneath his clothes. His coat felt tight over the padding that was supposedly “added weight”; he looked fat, as far as he could tell, but what if someone thought to check just to be safe…
All it would take was one pat down from the wrong person and everything would fall apart.
“Here are the arrest papers,” Neal said and handed them to Taylor. Afterwards he climbed aboard his horse and let Taylor help him lock the shackles around his own wrists. From now on, he had to look like their prisoner - it was the quickest way to get himself into the fortress without arousing suspicion. After all, who would be stupid enough to intentionally get themselves locked up in the country’s worst prison? You would have to be a desperate fool to even consider that plan.
Moving his hands to rest the chains as comfortably as possible, Neal admitted that he fitted well into both categories.
When Taylor moved away from him, Neal wondered whether this was the moment - if one of Taylor’s men would stab him in the back now that his hands were bound. Involuntarily, he felt his shoulder-blades clenching a bit as if in expectation of a deadly blow. After all, why would Taylor’s people risk their necks posing as fake guards if they could simply murder Neal and dump him in a ditch? They’d already been paid and collected their reward.
“Let’s move, then,” Taylor called and his men climbed aboard their horses. Neal then forced himself to relax and preserve his strength.
He had to focus on Peter.
Part II
Author: sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART I
“I have to say, this is so much pleasure, Caffrey. What a damn shame that we can’t do this for real.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Hagen.” Somehow, Neal managed to keep his voice steady despite the shackles around his hands.
One last long look before Hagen finally set down the arrest papers. “They look just like the real deal… Well, your work is up to your usual standards. Which means that we’re good to go.”
“I’m thrilled,” Neal replied dryly while he worked on the lock to his chains.
Hagen smiled. “See, I detect a distinct lack of enthusiasm. You do realize that if you screw me, you can say goodbye to the good Lord Burke?”
“I’m not stupid. I want this to succeed as much as you do. Besides, your baroness would kill me if I messed up the plan.”
“I knew you were smart. Now relax, Caffrey. We’re both working towards the same goal. Smile a little!”
Suppressing a shudder, Neal tossed the now opened shackles on the table. “Here. Now show me the floor plans.”
“Impatient,” said Hagen with mocking disapproval. “But fine.” Motioning Neal to move closer, Hagen unrolled the map of the dungeon complex. “Your dear friend Peter is being held in the lowest level of the northern end. He’s chained to the wall and his cell is locked, but that shouldn’t be a problem for a resourceful man like you.”
“Picking locks takes time. You could just give me the key.”
“Ah, but where would the fun be in that?” said Hagen smugly. “Besides, I like to keep my hands clean, just in case you try to backstab me or get yourself caught.”
Neal barely kept his temper in check. “Of course you do. So where do they keep your merry murderess?”
“Lady Rachel is being held in this cell,” Hagen pointed to a spot in the east wing. “The afternoon shift gives us three hours. The hard part will be getting them out. I’ll have clothes ready for you, but it won’t be long before the other guards realize that we’re having a jailbreak. Your horses better be really fast.”
“The best money could buy - or not,” said Neal with a crooked smile.
“Nice,” Hagen chuckled. “I thought you said you didn’t steal.”
Neal smiled back. “I lied.”
“That’s why I like you, Caffrey.”
After they said goodbye, Neal left Hagen’s house and then rode his horse to a nearby inn. He had several hours before he had to meet with Gordon Taylor and his men, so he ordered a fish for lunch. The day was still young and the alewife had a beautiful smile, so Neal made himself comfortable and simply enjoyed the day.
The wine they served him was bitter, not what he would have chosen for what could well be his last day on Earth. Neal drank it anyway, knowing that if he succeeded, he would be drinking the finest beverages in less than two days. If he failed tomorrow, then nothing else would matter anymore.
Suddenly Neal’s wrist began shaking, and he had to put down the utensils before he accidentally dropped them. Old fears aside, it would not do to attract attention now.
Even though the mere thought of the dungeons made a cold sweat run down his spine.
But Peter was his friend; more than that, Neal owed him too much. Peter hadn’t just prevented his death - he had given Neal his life back; took a chance on him when everyone else would have turned away.
It was Neal’s turn now to return the favor.
* * *
Their story had begun some seven years ago, when Neal and Kate had still been living in their home country on the other side of the sea. Apprenticed to a carpenter, Neal had talented hands and little to his name other than a likeable smile and an easy way with people. He knew it would take years before he and Kate could be together - and often at night he made plans about speeding up the process, grabbing his tools and leaving if he could only somehow get the money to start his own shop.
When Count Adler noticed him, Neal saw it as a miracle, a divine intervention, and a chance to fulfill his dreams.
Adler introduced him to Lady Alexandra, an illegitimate daughter of a powerful nobleman who got around the court by her charm and sharp intelligence, and to Sir Winters-call-me-Mozzie, an ingenious master of “acquisitions” who was hiding his night job behind a façade of a moderately successful poet. Between the three of them, they had six weeks to transform Neal from a commoner into someone who could reasonably fit into the higher society - and teach him how to be a thief in the process.
Adler had a plan for him, an “audition,” or so he called it. He wanted Neal to accompany Alex and Lord Fowler to a foreign country, posing as one of their entourage, then steal some documents that belonged to one of their noblemen. When Neal revealed that he couldn’t read the foreign alphabet, Adler explained it didn’t matter - he showed Neal what seal to look for, and the less he knew the better.
Mozzie had been suspicious when he found out - Neal would remember years later how his new mentor had expressed his doubts about the Count and the job. But Neal had been too trusting, too much of an optimist to heed Mozzie’s warnings; he saw a bright future for himself either as one of Adler’s people or as a man with his own shop, and he wasn’t going to be deterred by the paranoia of someone whom he’d only known for weeks. He would succeed, and as soon as he got back, he was going to ask Kate’s father for her hand in marriage and the two of them would live happily ever after.
They reached the other country and infiltrated the court with no trouble; all that was left was for Neal to steal the documents. That was when it had all gone wrong.
It was a week after their arrival when he sneaked into the room of the Queen’s favorite cousin. He didn’t even have the time to locate the letter box when the guards barged into the room. Instead of escaping, Neal froze like a fool and let himself be arrested and bound.
It took them four days of torture to convince him that Count Adler had set him up, and another three days before Neal finally broke and told them all he knew - which wasn’t much. From hints and scraps of information, he deduced that Adler’s aim was to cause a war between their nations - to what ends, he didn’t know - and that Neal was always intended to be the fall guy in this plan.
When he was finally battered enough that they believed he had held nothing back, the interrogation came to an end. At that point, Neal didn’t dare to ask why they stuck him into the dungeons instead of killing him outright - maybe they wanted to keep him in case they needed new information. For years, that thought had been both a source of nightmares and a solace.
He had survived, and they might need him again.
The dungeons had been hell. The chilling cold, the lack of food, the rats and the confinement of his tiny cell - well, Neal was young and he could withstand those. It was the isolation and loneliness that had him crawling the walls within a week. His nightmares only made matters worse.
Then despair seeped in.
He was locked in this hellhole for the rest of his life. Kate would get married while his years passed away; he would grow old here if he didn’t starve to death first. It might take a decade, three or four, but when he finally died, nobody would even remember his name.
He tried to hold on to his anger, but soon even that slipped away and then he had nothing to keep him going.
And then he got Mozzie’s message.
Someone had left their money for the guard to improve Neal’s food; they had also delivered a cloak for him, and a foreign book of poems. Oh, he never saw any of it - food, clothes, the book - but he knew who it was from and he understood the message. He could barely read and write in his own language, so a foreign book would be completely useless to him - and anyone who cared about him would know that. Which meant it was a clue, and there was only one poet-slash-thief whom he considered a sort of a friend.
That knowledge alone gave him back the hope that he had lost. The next day, Neal had begun to plot his escape. After several months, he finally had a plan.
The skills Mozzie had taught him came in handy then. A few locks, a bit of acting and Neal was free, his hopes and dreams flaring back to life with a powerful fire.
His happiness would not last long.
Back then he had too little experience to know how to successfully disappear. He had escaped only to be caught three weeks later. When Lord Burke finally tracked him down, Neal had pointed a knife at his own heart, telling himself that he’d rather die than be captured again. He was going to stab himself, bleed out, anything but to go back to the fortress. His decision made, he had pressed the knife against his body until his forehead was sweating; the blade had pierced his skin and he felt the blood trickling down his chest; he pushed, pushed and twisted; his hands were shaking but he had to finish it somehow-
Peter had knocked the knife out of his hand, but Neal wouldn’t have succeeded anyway. He was too much of a coward; he loved life too much to actually kill himself that way. He didn’t want to die; there was always a way out, there had to be another option-
And then, miraculously, there was.
* * *
“Whatever your plan is, why would anyone willingly walk into that place… Well, it’s your life. If you’re sure-”
“I am, Mr. Taylor. Let’s get it over with.”
Taylor gave him a searching look before nodding slowly. “All right.”
In reality, Neal’s confidence was just a thin mask hiding his own terror. Rusty might have recommended Gordon Taylor, but Neal didn’t know him. The less his accomplices knew the better.
Taylor had asked for forty golden pieces to act as Neal’s escort to the fortress; Neal had laughed at him and countered with a third the amount. Finally, after a short bartering, he bought himself six fake guards and a promise that Taylor’s group would remain silent about his task.
For a brief moment, Neal contemplated how, years ago, the gold would have seemed like a small fortune; something that could have fed a small family for a good six months. Then he abandoned that thought and focused on the important matters. Money was the least of his concerns today.
The fake beard was itching. For a moment, it was like he could feel all of his old scars, thankfully hidden beneath his clothes. His coat felt tight over the padding that was supposedly “added weight”; he looked fat, as far as he could tell, but what if someone thought to check just to be safe…
All it would take was one pat down from the wrong person and everything would fall apart.
“Here are the arrest papers,” Neal said and handed them to Taylor. Afterwards he climbed aboard his horse and let Taylor help him lock the shackles around his own wrists. From now on, he had to look like their prisoner - it was the quickest way to get himself into the fortress without arousing suspicion. After all, who would be stupid enough to intentionally get themselves locked up in the country’s worst prison? You would have to be a desperate fool to even consider that plan.
Moving his hands to rest the chains as comfortably as possible, Neal admitted that he fitted well into both categories.
When Taylor moved away from him, Neal wondered whether this was the moment - if one of Taylor’s men would stab him in the back now that his hands were bound. Involuntarily, he felt his shoulder-blades clenching a bit as if in expectation of a deadly blow. After all, why would Taylor’s people risk their necks posing as fake guards if they could simply murder Neal and dump him in a ditch? They’d already been paid and collected their reward.
“Let’s move, then,” Taylor called and his men climbed aboard their horses. Neal then forced himself to relax and preserve his strength.
He had to focus on Peter.
Part II