"Forget I was here. . . Forget I was here. . . Forget I was here. . ." The phrase ran over and over through the slave's head as he walked quickly, but not so quickly as to draw attention to himself, up and down the narrow halls of the small palace. His master's plot had been found out. His master had been confined. His master was still smart. He didn't need to worry. Instructions for this situation had been written on the carefully folded paper dropped on Kamet's desk weeks ago. Kamet clutched the pile of incriminating papers closer to his chest as he hurried to the rooms where his master was imprisoned. When he was nearly to the spot where the entrance to the rooms was, he stopped. Slowly, reviewing the plans in his head, carefully, then again and again in a more panicked manner, he realized that there had been nothing about how he would escape. All the plans were about his master. In one single moment, Kamet turned and was about to run, to save himself, and curse whatever stupid plan he was supposed to be following when he felt a hand on his back. He jumped nearly a whole foot in the air, and came down facing the noble who had touched him. "Jumpy, jumpy," murmured the man sleepily, before continuing onward, away from the center of the palace and presumably towards his living quarters.
Kamet took several huge breaths to calm himself, and turned back in the direction of his master's rooms. His master would not abandon him to the fire they would start to burn all of the important papers. Surely he would take his loyal slave along with him. It was a good strategy not to write down all the details of your plans, nothing more. Kamet was nearly sure now, that he was not going to be abandoned. The details were left out for safety. With these comforting, if not entirely convincing thoughts in mind, Kamet walked calmly into a tiny, nearby alcove and proceeded to soak two fabric scraps with the bottle of sleeping drugs he had hidden there earlier. He then walked directly up to the door guards, and simply stuffed the rags into their surprised faces. If they had thought to have their visors down, more violent measures would have been necessary, most likely involving the guards getting a statute to the head. Kamet was glad that had not been needed. He was a desk slave, not a warrior. He felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at the faces of the unconscious guards. The one on the right looked so young, and his face was still in an expression of surprise and utter betrayal. Kamet glanced at the stolen messenger uniform he was wearing and winced. Perhaps, there had been a better way to be unnoticed. Shaking thoughts of this out of his head, he carefully pulled the key out of the guard's belt and unlocked the door.
Two steps into the room, Kamet was greeted by his master, "Kamet, it seemed that you would never arrive. Those are the correct papers, I assume? Grab a torch so we can light them all." Back into obedient slave mode, Kamet trotted out into the hall and grabbed a torch out of its ornate bracket. Back in the room, his master gestured for him to toss it into the pile of oil soaked papers. The fire flared, engulfing the papers and the desk they rested on before beginning to spread to the rest of the room. "Now, Kamet, we take our leave!" The master grabbed his slave's arm and together they ran, away from the conflagration and towards the unused corridor that would take them to the harbor.