Chapter II
Koon shoved the shovel into a mound of coal, mumbling to himself. The sky burned hot on his small body, while only a stunted pine tree gave shade. He threw the shovel-full of coal into a large wagon, and filled the shovel once more with the black lumps.
“Koon! Hurry up with that load!” A tall, rough-looking blacksmith stormed towards him, carrying a whip. “If you’re to be eating my wages, then you can’t just stand there loafing!” He cracked the whip over Koon’s bare back, and he cringed away.
“Yes, master.” Koon sped his shoveling rate faster, although he could barely see without sweat pouring into his eyes. The blacksmith walked back inside the shop, snorting at the slave’s stupidity.
After filling the coal bin inside the blacksmith shop, Koon’s job was to clean some of the tools, then feed and water the horses. The first and second job usually took until dusk, while the third job took about twenty minutes.
Stumbling in from the raging heat of a July day, he expected his master to have brought a small drink of water before he began working on the tools. This time, the blacksmith stood at his forge, too busy to get water. Koon sneaked around him, and was able to get a glass before he called again. Then it was back to work.
“Those tools over there need scrubbing. I want them to shine this time, unlike the job you did yesterday!” He pounded away, sparks flying and metal clanging. The forge burned hot, and Koon worked at cleaning the tools that needed to be cleaned. All the time though, his head pounded like the hammer with thoughts of freedom, freedom once the blacksmith dies, freedom once the blacksmith shop burns down by his own hand. No. None of that. I’m going to escape this week! Koon set his mind upon his work, thinking that once he was gone, his former master would have clean tools to work with until he hired someone else.

After each tool was scrubbed of its soot and grime, then washed in cool spring water, Koon’s master gave him a rest. He examined the work Koon had done on the tools, and merely gave a nod of approval. The time ticked by, while Koon ran idea after idea through, finding flaws with each one. Until, a small rod lying by the forge fire caught his attention.
It was only about six inches long, and about ½ inch thick. The black iron had a small tag attached to it, with the words: Tent Pegs. Which clearly meant that the blacksmith had intended to hammer tent pegs out of this rod, or others he might have lying around.
But it also could mean escape. Around the perimeter of the shop, probably fifteen feet away from the building, a tall wall stood in between Koon an freedom. He was kept in the shop, although locked out of the forge itself, but anyone with the right tools could break through the lock.
That night, while he fed the skinny horses which really needed a proper owner, Koon discussed the idea over and over in his head. He would break into the forge, hammer a tip onto four or five rods, and then pound them into the wall. From there, it was just a matter of fleeing town before morning, as the people didn’t chase runaway slaves very quickly. After that, life in the forest sounded like an excellent proposition, and he could eat such wonderful foods, meet new creatures and people, start a whole new life out there. But there was that wall, blocking his way. If only night would come sooner! If only the moon would move faster, to push the clouds over the sky quicker!
An hour later, the thick fog rolled over the town, and night time was announced by the city’s watchman. He marched up and down the streets, carrying a small bell, with a sword at his side. The clouds soon thickened enough that sunlight was blocked, and Koon was finally locked inside the slaves’ quarters. His master left to get home before the lower fog set in, and to eat even more delicious foods than what he ate during his noon breaks.

The lock on the slaves’ quarters door was tricky. Although made out of wood, the small oak beam held firm against most kicks. However, that beam wasn’t strong enough for leverage. Before he had been locked inside the building, Koon managed to grab one of the iron bars. Now that he had it, he made short work on the lock. Slipping outside into the chilly air, he made his way across the open grass to the forge.

Soon though, he realized that pounding on the iron was harder than he thought. An hour later, the metal was still just as flat as before. Time running out, Koon heated the iron for ten minutes. Then fifteen, then at last, his patience stopped, and the iron was pounded to a crude point by twenty-five minutes. The first point made, he shoved a new bar in the furnace. After another twenty-five minutes or so, he pounded a new spike. Then, just as the fine mist began to fall, signifying a new day, Koon was finished. Four spikes, all ready for the break out.

That day passed slow as a snail, since Koon had the pressure of not giving away his secret. Each blow of the hammer, each time his former master bent down to grab hunk of metal, Koon was sure that he would find that some of it was missing. But still the day moved on, and the blacksmith didn’t realize his slave had the means to escape under the straw in his mattress.
And yet, as he cleaned the tools, as he filled the wagon with coal, as he fed the horses, never did his master come shouting, swinging that whip. At every moment the tension grew, while Koon was sure that before the nighttime fog came, he’d be beaten within an inch of his life.

But still, after waiting and waiting, the moment was his.

Except that it couldn't be yet. The spikes were hidden safely in the slaves' quarters, and he was with them. And his former master had gone home to rest, so there was no trouble in those two areas. But the lock on the other hand...

“It's metal!” Koon slammed the spikes against the door. “Too soon!”

Then it occurred to him that other places in the cramped and drafty shed could hold an escape for him. Peering under the bed, he noticed some rubble, a mouse, and a few nails. Looking at the window, only cracked mud around the iron bars showed any chance of escape. So without stopping, Koon hacked away at the mortar, until pieces fell on the straw mattress of his bedding. Then, pulling with all his might, the first bar fell. After a while, the second came, with the third quickly following. Koon slid himself out, holding the bars tight against him.

Then, running across the grass, he met the wall face-to-face. It loomed over 5 feet tall, glaring at Koon's size and strength with contempt. However, Koon ran over to the forge, picked a large hammer, ran back to the wall, picked up a spike, and drove it into the mortar. After several minutes, every spike was in place. And Koon put the hammer back where it sat at night, then climbed over the wall. And promptly hit the hard cobblestones on the other side and sprained his ankle.

“Yahhh!” He screamed, falling on the stone. Fortunately, the watchman was in a different part of the city, otherwise Koon would have been caught.

Slowly, he eased himself onto his ankle, and hobbled away. A fine mist drifted down, covering the stone in water. Still, after reaching the forest, Koon hobbled on, trudging painfully among the trees, then splashing through a small creek.

He reached a tiny cave, and stepped inside. It had room enough for him to hide until nightfall, when the safety of night could allow him to find provisions. He grabbed some handfuls of leaves from around a tree, laid the last iron rod beside him in case of attack, and flopped down.

The night glistened with fog.

Another nicely-done chapter, V.

Fewer typos... The sentence where Koon grabs the hammer before escaping over the wall is a little awkward. I don't think the however opening does it justice.

I liked this chapter very much too. I was surprised to see a different character but I liked this one as much as the first and am interested to see how the two eventually connect.

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