THE WIZARD HUNTERS

by Martha Wells

  “Yes,” Tremaine breathed. She pushed the door open, shoving the pins into her pocket and climbing awkwardly to her feet. Florian stepped out behind her, carefully pushing the door to again and turning the lock. Tremaine nodded approval and looked around. She saw their bag on the table, the contents spread around, some of the ration packages torn open. At least we didn’t have the sphere, she thought, grabbing the satchel and holding it as Florian hastily scooped in the remaining rations, medical kit, boxes of matches and the other intact supplies.

  “I want to check that room that looked like it had cells.” Tremaine jerked her chin at the door that led to the larger prison chamber. Gervas had made his comments about natives when they passed through there, as if he was reminded of the other prisoner. She slung the satchel over her shoulder as Florian turned to the door.

  Breathless with fear and excitement, she listened at it briefly, then tried the handle. “Locked,” she whispered.

  Tremaine was still reeling over being able to get them out of their makeshift prison; she just hoped she didn’t fail now. She stepped past her to peer into the keyhole and thought, Oh yes. The key was still in it. She looked down and saw the door wasn’t flush with the floor; there was a nearly half-inch gap. Good thing this place is jury-rigged. She glanced up at Florian, holding her hands about a foot apart. “I need a piece of paper, about this big.”

  Florian bolted back to the other room and reappeared a moment later with a large square torn from the papers on the wall. Tremaine slid it under the door, then used a pin to poke the key out. It fell onto the paper with a faint clink and she carefully drew it back under the door and into reach.

  With Florian performing an abbreviated victory dance behind her, she quickly unlocked the door and peered through. What she could see of the large room below the catwalk appeared to be unoccupied. As she opened it further a voice just on the other side of the far wall turned Tremaine’s blood to ice. She froze for an instant but Florian’s frantic pounding on her shoulder galvanized her.

  Tremaine stepped hastily out onto the catwalk. Florian slipped after her and they both pushed the door shut. Tremaine leaned over the railing to look down into the lower part of the room and saw with relief that it really was empty.

  They both stood frozen as the voices grew louder. After an endless moment when Tremaine was ready to throw herself off the catwalk just to bring it to an end one way or another, they heard the voices fade as the speakers moved away. Florian leaned against the door in relief. Tremaine made herself breathe and turned to walk softly toward the ladder at the far end of the catwalk. She winced as the metal creaked with each step. Her palms leaving sweaty marks on the metal ladder, she started down, Florian right behind her.

  At the bottom Tremaine got her bearings. There were three cell doors in one metal wall, two in the other, and one solid door under the catwalk. I bet that leads to a guardroom. If they got caught now, not only would they look stupid, they would have simply saved the Gardier a few steps.

  Tremaine peered through the grates on the first two doors, seeing empty cells, bare except for the usual electric bulb set high in the ceiling. From the other side of the chamber Florian whispered her name and waved urgently. Tremaine hurried over.

  Florian was looking through the grate and Tremaine stood on tiptoe to see over her head. He was sitting back against the wall on the far side of the cell, his hands pulled above his head and the heavy manacles encircling his wrists fastened to a ring set in the stone. He looked startled, then delighted to see them. Florian waved at him.

  “All right,” Tremaine muttered, stepping back to look over the door. “So far so good.” There was a wheel instead of a handle and it was set low in the door, so there was no possibility of an occupant reaching it through the grate, even if he had hands small enough to work through the narrow mesh of bars. So therefore... She tugged on it experimentally. It turned sluggishly and Florian glanced at her, saying ruefully, “I could have done that.”

  A door banged nearby and Tremaine flinched. “Oh no,” Florian whispered. Muffled shouts sounded from somewhere through the metal walls, then running feet.

  Tremaine swore as she pulled the cell door open and they slipped inside, dragging it hastily shut. There was an inside handle but the heavy door didn’t want to stay closed without the outside wheel being turned. Tremaine swore and crouched as low as she could, clinging to the handle to keep it shut. Florian dropped down beside her and they both flattened themselves against the door.

  The prisoner stared at them, his expression torn between admiration and severe doubt, probably of their sanity. Tremaine couldn’t blame him for the latter; she didn’t feel very sane at the best of times and the circumstances of the moment weren’t helping. Heavy boots thudded on the catwalk, Gardier voices called to each other, the ladder creaked. If there was some way to look at those wheel handles and see they were unlocked this was all over. Tremaine’s heart pounded painfully and her own breathing sounded loud in her ears; her stomach tried to lurch and the unpleasant odor of the cell floor wasn’t helping. She clutched the satchel to her chest with her free hand though it made a very inadequate object to hide behind. She heard footsteps cross the lower level of the chamber toward the cell door. This could be really, really humiliating.

  The footsteps stopped just at the door. The prisoner glared murderously at whoever was looking in through the grate, his eyes carefully not straying down to his new cellmates. A voice commented harshly in Gardier, then the footsteps receded.

  Tremaine let out a slow breath, her knees weak. She looked at Florian, who slumped against the wall, and the man, who shook his head in amazed relief at their escape.

  Tremaine waited until she heard a door slam again, then listened to the quiet in the chamber for another few moments, just to make sure. “All right, let’s get him loose so we can get the hell out of here.” Tremaine pushed away from the wall, thinking, God, I’m turning into an optimist. She advanced cautiously toward him, stopping about a pace away. “I’m going to try to get you out of there,” she told him, trying to convey what she was saying with pointing and gestures.

  “We came to rescue you,” Florian seconded, stepping up beside her and gesturing too. The man lifted a brow inquiringly, his expression bemused, his blue eyes warm and unwavering. No, he doesn‘t mean us any harm, Tremaine thought.

  More confidently, she took the last step, digging the pins out of her pocket and managing to stab herself in the thumb in the process. She tugged on the lock that fastened his chains to the wall. The man twisted around to try to see what she was doing, hopeful curiosity on his face. Close enough to feel his body heat, Tremaine realized she couldn’t smell anything but the bitter odor of the mud he was covered with. Telling herself all right, don’t mess up now, she braced the lock against the wall with the heel of her hand and poked the pins into it, feeling for the tumblers. Florian leaned over to help her hold the lock and Tremaine forgot to be self-conscious in her concentration.

  Florian touched the man’s arm and when he glanced at her she pointed to Tremaine. “Tremaine.” Indicating herself, she said, “I’m Florian. Florian,” then pointed to him. “You . . . ?”

  He held her gaze, smiling a little, and said, “Ilias.”

  She smiled back and repeated. “Ilias.”

  Tremaine couldn’t tell if the tumblers were moving just a touch or if it was her imagination. Then one of the pins snapped. Tremaine swore, then looked down at the man in guilt.

  He jerked his head toward the doors, speaking rapidly. Telling them to go. This made Tremaine even more determined not to leave him and it evidently had the same effect on Florian, who said in frustration, “We have to think of something.”

  With no warning the cell door flung open. All three of them yelped, Tremaine and Florian swinging around. Tremaine found herself staring at a Gardier. “Shit,” she said, mildly surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

  The Gardier stared at them in blank surprise, then smile
d. He looked bigger than the others but maybe that was just her nerves. He wore one of the plain brown uniform coveralls and had a pair of goggles pushed up on his forehead. He started toward them, still smiling, pulling something that looked an awful lot like a billy club off his belt.

  Tremaine struggled to think of something clever to do, but her body was already pulling the satchel off her shoulder and flinging it into his face.

  He batted it away, shouting angrily, and she dived for his knees, trying to tackle him. He staggered backward and lifted the club but Florian flung herself on that arm, sending him staggering around.

  He shoved Florian away, the other girl slamming into the wall, but the club went flying too. He dragged Tremaine to her feet to throttle her and she twisted, instinctively clawing for his eyes. All she could think was that if he killed her, first she had to make damn sure he didn’t walk away from it. Her fingers stabbed into his goggles and she grabbed them, yanking back with all her strength before letting go. He yelled as the goggles smacked him painfully in the eyes, stumbling backward and dragging her along. Suddenly he dropped, Tremaine falling with him. He landed heavily on top, knocking the breath out of her. He yelled, twisting around and trying to struggle up, but something prevented him.

  Tremaine managed to lift her head and saw Ilias had tripped the Gardier, that his chains were stretched taut as he had one leg hooked around the other man’s knee. His face feral in fury, he slammed a second kick into the Gardier’s chest.

  The Gardier snarled in rage and tried to roll away from him. Tremaine grabbed a fistful of his uniform collar, throwing her weight the other way to drag him further into Ilias’s range, pummeling his head with her free hand. She didn’t have the leverage to do much damage but it must have annoyed him because he turned from his struggle long enough to try to slam her head into the floor. Tremaine ducked and tried to bite him, knowing she was about to get a cracked skull. The Gardier sat up to get a better grip on her and she saw Ilias’s bootheel slam into the side of his head.

  The Gardier fell back. Before Tremaine could move, Florian loomed up behind him, clutching the club stick. She lifted it high, bringing it down to strike the Gardier’s head with a loud crack. He slumped on the floor, motionless.

  Tremaine stared up at Florian and Florian stared down at her, both breathing hard. Ilias said something urgently, nudging Tremaine with his knee when she didn’t respond. She looked at him blankly and he repeated it more forcefully, jerking his chin toward the open door again.

  He still wants us to go. “Not without you,” she muttered, lurching forward on her hands and knees toward the fallen Gardier. The uniform didn’t have any pockets but she tore open the pouches on his belt. She found cartridges for a pistol the man wasn’t wearing and knew that if he had been armed, she and Florian would be dead or locked into another cell by now. He didn’t seem to have any of the little square devices that the patrol leader had carried. Then she found a heavy oddly shaped key and pushed to her feet.

  Florian still stood there and Tremaine gave her a push to get her moving. She blinked, shook her head, then hurried to collect the satchel and their scattered supplies.

  “This is it.” Tremaine turned to Ilias, who was watching her intently. “I hope this is it,” she told him, stepping over to grab the lock and insert the key.

  The lock turned.

  “It worked!” Tremaine said, then was too startled to react when Ilias jumped to his feet and grabbed her around the waist, swung her around and kissed her on the mouth, then released her. She staggered; it had happened too fast for her to take in any sensory information and her jaw was still too numb to feel anything. Florian had just enough warning to drop the satchel before he repeated the process with her.

  All right, now that we’re all better acquainted, Tremaine thought, as a red-faced Florian fumbled to collect the satchel again and their new friend bolted for the cell door. He gave the outer chamber a quick assessing look before motioning for them to follow him. He rapidly checked the other cells, looking through the grates, though Florian waved and whispered, “There’s nobody else here.”

  The door under the catwalk was open, revealing what was surely only a temporarily unoccupied room and corridor. Tremaine started for it but Ilias caught her arm, shaking his head and pointing toward the ladder.

  “Back up?” Florian asked, watching him dubiously.

  “I guess.” Tremaine was just glad at the moment that somebody knew where they were going.

  They followed him back up the ladder, where he paused on the catwalk, looking up intently at the rocky ceiling of the cave. There were openings in it, Tremaine realized, following his gaze. She hadn’t noticed that before, but they were too high up to reach and too small. Surely they didn’t go anywhere. She looked at Florian who shrugged, equally puzzled.

  He stepped to the door that led back into the room where Gervas had started to question them, easing it open carefully. The room was still empty, and without pausing to look around, he jumped to catch the top of the door. Using the knob as a foothold, he boosted himself up to reach the wooden panels in the ceiling. He pushed the nearest one up, revealing a dark crawl space. Cool damp air flowed down. Of course. Tremaine smacked herself in the forehead. This whole place is just jury-rigged walls and panels blocking off the tunnels and caves. The darkness and damp foul odor of the air was almost homey and welcoming.

  Florian nudged her with an elbow. “We should have thought of that.”

  “Next time we’ll know,” Tremaine told her.

  “You mean the next time we’re captured, because I’d rather not—”

  Ilias leaned down, holding out his hand. Tremaine made a stirrup with her hands for Florian. “Time to go.”

  Boosting Florian up, Tremaine staggered because the other girl was heavier than she looked. But the man hauled her up until she could steady herself on top of the door, handling her as if she didn’t weigh an ounce. Florian awkwardly scrambled up into the crawl space, reporting, “There’s a ceiling beam up here you can step on.”

  “Careful,” Tremaine whispered back, with visions of the entire ceiling coming down and alerting every Gardier within earshot. The man leaned back down and Tremaine took a deep breath and grabbed his arm. He swung her up just as easily, until she could get a purchase on the door and push herself through.

  The light from below revealed furrowed rock stretching up over her head. Florian was perched precariously on an outcrop, grinning in nervous triumph. Tremaine grinned back. We did it. Screw the Gardier. She got hold of another outcrop and dragged herself up onto the slimy stone.

  The man climbed up after them, crouching on the beam to nudge the ceiling panel back into place, leaving them in darkness.

  Chapter 8

  Gervas cursed as he looked down at the dead man sprawled on the floor of the cell. The other guards still searched the surrounding passages and chambers but there was no sign of the escaped prisoners. He spent a moment considering if the summons that had caused him to leave the women alone had been a diversion of some kind. The message had been from one of the perimeter patrols reporting signs of the Rien spies they were searching for. Surely not. The Rien would have needed magic to coordinate such a trick and the alarm device at his belt would have detected it.

  “I told you they weren’t labor,” Verim said as he came back into the cell. He grimaced at the dead man, shaking his head. “They were the Rien spies. And now we know they’re in league with the natives.”

  “Those women weren’t strong enough to do this,” Gervas argued. He nudged the dead guard with the toe of his boot, his lip curling in contempt. “It was the native. We know they’re little better than animals.” They weren’t even useful as a potential labor pool, since they spoke no civilized language and the translators wouldn’t work on their speech. Once Command had the resources available, the plan was simply to eliminate them. The airships were already under orders to destroy any shipping or coastal habitations they encountered. He wish
ed he had had the option to eliminate this one, but Command had ordered any potential saboteurs be held for examination. And Verim, damn him, had argued that the creature was a saboteur.

  Verim strode to the chains that still hung from the wall and lifted the lock, shaking it at Gervas. “This was opened with the key, the guard’s key. After his skull was broken.” He dropped the chains in disgust. “First the sabotage, then this. If the natives aren’t in the service of the Rien, how do you explain it?”

  Gervas couldn’t explain it and that fact made him even angrier. “If your men had found their boat sooner, we would have known where the Rien came ashore.”

  Verim glared. “We were lucky we found it at all, as shorthanded as we are.”

  Gervas grunted, looking away. The supply vessel from the main base wasn’t due for another seven days and there was no chance of reinforcement until then. And more important, no chance to replace the dead Command personnel and the Scientists who should be in charge of all contact with the Rien, or the avatar that had been destroyed in the airship explosion. Gervas had ordered the other two avatars removed from their airships and stored in different secure locations on the base when not in use aboard the craft, but he knew Command wouldn’t appreciate that hindsight.

  The sabotage had caught them at the worst time. The base had only recently been established and was still being stocked with supplies and personnel. They had been warned that the Rien had managed to create a portal nearby and had set the storm to catch any craft that came through, but the loss of one airship and so many personnel had badly hampered their effort.

  If Gervas was to stop the attack that would come through the Rien portal, he needed more information. He would have liked to blame Verim for some part of this, but the man had still gone out on patrol, despite the burns he had received fighting the fire, despite the fact that he was Command too and should stay back at base while the Service risked themselves in the tunnels. He said, “They will go to the east quadrant to meet the other spies the patrol detected there. Recapture them.”