Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 378
Cold air lapped at his throat. He almost laughed.
"You’re cruel," he said to the Winds. "Now you’re going to
listen to me for a change."
He sat on the cot and wrapped the cloak around his
shoulders. There was no need to take deep breaths to enter the
visionary trance now; he closed his eyes and summoned it.
First he had to know where he was. He could see the
mansion around him in translucent outline. The basement was
indeed extensive, and he was next to a place with convoluted
shelves that must be a wine cellar. There were several stairs
leading up, and he instinctively chose the narrow servants’ way
as his goal. That led from the back of the wine cellar,
predictably enough.
There was a cistern down here, and a long room with a
high arched ceiling. Castor’s manor had an exercise room and
archery range in the basement, which was probably what this
was. All these rooms opened off the same corridor as Jordan’s
cell. In addition there were several side halls that ran to
lockers of various sizes.
The problem with this way of seeing was that it didn’t
seem to show people. Jordan knew there was a dog on the
main floor, almost exactly above his head; he could see it. The
rest of the rooms on that level were visible too, though in a
jumble of perspective as if he were standing at the base of a
huge glass model. He had to sort out what he was seeing, and
if he had not had ample experience reading architects’ plans at
Castor’s, he might not have been able to sort out hall from
room, chimney from garderobe.
It only took a few minutes to work out the shortest route
from here to the tradesman’s entrance. Night was falling; in a
few hours the area would be quiet. Then he could make his
escape--provided the next parts of his plan worked.