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. His eyes
were dull with fatigue. Thin and tall, about six feet in height, the
tailor had stooped shoulders from years of leaning over his nee-
dles.
The guards may have been careless, for the leg irons around
Old Tom's ankles were loose.
Suddenly, without attracting attention, the tailor stepped out of
the leg irons and bolted from the shuffling line of prisoners. His
escape would have been successful, if he had not stumbled over a
rope and fallen to his knees.
"Seize him!" cried the hobgoblin officer.
Now, Tom the tailor was up and running across the weathered
boards of the wharf, heading for the street ahead. There was a
moment's confusion among the guards before they began running
after the old man, so Tom had a head-start.
Even so, one soldier began to overtake the tailor. As William,
Sintk, and Harum El-Halop watched helplessly, the grim-faced
draconian thrust its hand out to grab the tailor's flapping tunic. The
tailor stopped abruptly, spun around, and swung his fist at the dra-
conian.
The force of the blow knocked both the tailor and the draconian
off their feet. The tailor fell back on the cobblestones. The
draconian weaved to a halt on rubbery legs, its hands clawing at its
injured throat.
Within moments, the desperate tailor got to his feet and fled up
the street, past the Missionary's Downfall, where William and his
friends were still standing, mouths agape
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