Part of the grating turned out to be a gate, old and rusted. A padlock sat in grimy pieces on the floor next to it, the broken hasp still clinging to the latch. No one had been through here in ages. She wondered if the royals even knew that this way existed.
Amira passed through the gate and pushed it shut behind her. She turned around, then jerked back when she noticed the steep drop just inches before her feet. She slipped on some unidentifiable muck, but held tight to the grating, which groaned in protest.
The flow of wastewater dripped down over the edge. A stagnant pool lurked below. She’d have to jump; there was no ladder. If the pool was shallow, she might break her legs on landing. Of course, if it was deep, she’d be up to her neck in shit.
The only way out was down. She took a deep breath, gagging on the smell, and lowered herself backward over the edge, to shorten the fall. Then her hands slipped, and panic flared as she plunged downward.