by Martha Wells
“That quadrant is inhabited by creatures that make the howlers look like domesticated cattle.” Verim hesitated, eyeing Gervas. “If we had a way to control them as well...”
Gervas’s eyes narrowed. It was a good idea and he wished he had thought of it. “Very well. I’ll question our informant. Get your men ready to leave.”
Gervas left the cell, going down the corridor past the guardroom, taking the turn that led further back into the rock. The lights were spaced more widely here, allowing the darkness of the caves to creep in, and moisture ran continually down the walls. He hated to have to do this, but Harman, the Scientist who had first discovered the thing and insisted it would benefit them to communicate with it, had been one of those killed in the fire. The Scientists’ directives took precedence over Command orders, so Gervas was bound by Harman’s decision, even now that he was dead.
A man stood guard at the door that had been fixed across the entrance to the cave. They could ill afford to waste anyone in guard duty right now, but Gervas didn’t trust the thing that lived behind that door.
As he approached, the Service man unlocked it for him and moved aside. Gervas drew a deep breath and stepped in. It was a small chamber carved from the solid rock, poorly lit. When they had first discovered the thing here, it had lived in pitch darkness; even now the lights were only for the convenience of Gervas and the Scientists who had to speak to it. The equipment it lived in was primitive and all apparently of the thing’s own design. The vat that bubbled with milky white liquid in the center of the room was a large cast-iron cauldron; the pipes that connected it with the clay pots and other cauldrons around the edges of the chamber were wooden, secured with twine or linen wrappings. The whole slapdash affair leaked, making the chamber echo with the constant sound of dripping liquids. Gervas grimaced at the odor of corruption; if it had been up to him, he would have tipped the thing into a rubbish bin and set it afire. But it wasn’t up to him.
He made his way to the central cauldron, careful not to step in the glistening puddles. “Are you there?” he said impatiently. “I need to speak with you.”
The fluid splashed as the thing in the cauldron undulated, arranging itself so the orifice that served as its mouth was near the surface. “Where exactly do you think I would go in this state?” it said, its voice thick and raspy.
Gervas grimaced and reined in his temper. The thing had taught itself civilized speech with amazing rapidity; the sarcasm was evidently an innate talent. Whatever it was now, it considered itself a man, even a Scientist of sorts. He knew Command had been right to let it live, if only for the information it had supplied that allowed control of the howlers and the other creatures of these caves. But once its usefulness had ended he meant to see the foul thing destroyed as soon as possible.
Pretending patience, Gervas said, “We have a report of spies in the upper east quadrant of these caves. Tell me how to control the creatures there to assist us in finding them.”
“Oh, that’s where the grend are. I did love the grend.” It choked, cleared its air passage with a sickening noise. “Did you catch the men who set your flying contraption on fire?”
Gervas’s jaw tightened. “How did you know about that?”
“Oh, I hear things. Chat with people who stop by, that sort of thing.” Its voice hardened. “Did you catch them?”
Gervas pretended to hesitate, considering. “We caught one native. He escaped with two Rien spies. The spies will attempt to make contact with the others in the east quadrant.” He lifted his brows and added, apparently carelessly, “If you tell me what I need to know, we will recapture—”
“Yes, yes, I got that already, thank you.” It sloshed in the vat and Gervas caught sight of a long white limb and a very human-looking eye. His stomach tried to turn and he was glad he hadn’t had time to eat today. It said, “I’ll tell you what you need to know; in fact, I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you. If you save any natives you catch for me.”
Gervas laughed sharply. “Save them for you? What exactly would you do with them?”
Fluid splashed out of the cauldron, then suddenly long-fingered, spidery hands clutched the sides. Gervas stepped back, his gorge rising, as the thing heaved itself out of the vat. “I’ll think of something,” it said, the thick white liquid running down out of the orifices in the round face. “And as we’ve become such good friends now, you can call me Ixion.”
They climbed through narrow crevices, struggled through passages that were barely larger than their own bodies. Crossing a long stretch where dim light leaked up through chinks in the rock below, Tremaine heard shouts and running footsteps. Well, they know we escaped, she thought, surprising herself with a tight grin.
Then she heard a low hungry howl. It echoed off the rock and ahead of her Ilias stopped abruptly, muttering what had to be a curse.
Oh, no, Tremaine thought in disgust. Of course the Gardier would use their hunter-creatures as bloodhounds again. Those things made the ghouls she had encountered in the bombed-out buildings of Vienne look positively civilized.
Ilias changed direction, leading them in a long scramble down a dark narrow cleft that gradually flowed into a wider passage. The keening gained volume and was joined by another voice howling in a different key. Then another, and another. This is how we got into this, Tremaine thought in annoyance, ducking a low thrust of rock.
They rounded a sharp bend and suddenly the tunnel dropped off into complete darkness. Ilias leapt down the sloping rock into the lower passage without hesitation, but Tremaine stumbled to a halt. A vicious cacophony of howling and snarling echoed from behind, reminding her there was no other option. Florian grabbed her arm with an urgent look and Tremaine nodded grimly. They slid down the gritty stone together.
A few more steps and they were blind. Tremaine forged on, stumbling over the uneven ground, glad for Florian’s firm hold on her shoulder. For a bad moment she thought Ilias had left them but an instant later she just managed to bite back a yelp as he grabbed her outstretched arm. He took her hand and hooked it through his belt. That was reassuring. He’s not going to leave us, Tremaine thought, profoundly relieved. The hand that had gripped hers briefly had been rough with callus and hard as a rock.
They stumbled along in the dark, Tremaine bouncing off the rough stone surface he was evidently using as a guide. He stopped abruptly and she bumped into him. It was like running into a wall except that his hair tickled her nose. He started moving again and she heard the chuckle and splash of running water and was jerked forward as he jumped down. A moment later she almost fell as she staggered knee deep into a running stream. It was lukewarm and the scent rising off it was sulfurous. Florian lurched in after her and they sloshed downstream.
Tremaine stumbled along the uneven gravelly bottom, Florian gripping her shoulder. The water soaked through her boots and stockings, and into the heavy tweed of her knickers. Ilias stopped suddenly with a whispered warning, half turning back. Tremaine froze and Florian bumped into her. His words had been unintelligible but the tone conveyed everything she needed to know. From back the way they had come she heard a low yowl, sending a chill through her. It was very near. Ilias reached around to grasp Florian’s arm and pull them both close behind him.
High-pitched growls and furious splashing erupted from somewhere nearby, the echoes making it impossible to tell how close, how far. The urge to run was overwhelming. Willing herself not to move, Tremaine bit her lip until she tasted blood. She felt Florian tremble as the other girl’s fingers knotted in her jacket. Pressed against Ilias’s back she could feel his heart pounding.
It was forever until she could tell the sound was moving away, until the cacophony of their pursuers’ disappointment gradually faded. Finally he whispered a relieved comment and tugged lightly on Tremaine’s arm, signaling they should move forward again. Tremaine took a deep breath and reached up to squeeze Florian’s hand. She wasn’t sure if her own hand was numb or if the other girl’s fingers were ice-c
old.
They continued down the stream. Still reeling from the narrowness of their escape, Tremaine just hoped she didn’t fall; wet underwear would definitely not improve the situation. Finally, after her feet were waterlogged and her head ached from the sulfur smell, they staggered back up onto the rocky bank. Tremaine bumped into Ilias again when he stopped and she fell back a step and tromped on Florian’s foot. He said something softly and detached her fingers from his belt.
Her hand was cramped from holding on so hard. Shaking her fingers to get the blood moving again, she whispered to Florian, “Those things must hunt by scent and that’s why he’s got that mud all over him.”
“I hope we don’t have to roll in it to get out of here,” Florian replied, her voice hushed. “Of course, if it’s a choice between that and being torn apart or captured again, I’ll do it and like it.”
They crept along the wall after that. After what seemed a long time with no further sound of pursuit, Tremaine called a halt and dug the matches out of the satchel. She lit one carefully, shielding the flame behind a rock, to show Ilias that they had a source of light.
He looked relieved and turned to search energetically along the edge of the stream until he found something that looked very like a femur bone to use for a makeshift torch. Florian sacrificed a wad of her handkerchiefs to tie onto the top for fuel. It wouldn’t last long, but it was nice while they had it.
The light revealed the passage to be fairly wide, with the water running in a dark channel down the center. They made quicker progress with light and after a time of navigating the twists and turns of the tunnel, Ilias stopped and pointed at a narrow opening about ten feet up the wall ahead. He glanced at them, saying something urgently.
Tremaine nodded, hoping that was the right response. It seemed to be, since he handed her the torch and turned to climb lightly up to vanish into the crevice.
Florian followed his progress with lifted brows, then turned worriedly to Tremaine. “Where’s he going?”
“Ah ... I don’t know.” Tremaine awkwardly fumbled with the makeshift torch. Even with its smoky light the cave seemed much darker than when they had first come down into this warren; maybe night was falling outside. Or maybe knowing now what was down here just made the shadows press closer. She peered at Florian and wondered if she looked that owl-eyed, hollow-cheeked and exhausted, with dark smudges under her eyes. Probably worse.
Ilias scrambled out of the crevice and dropped to the ground next to them. He gave them both an encouraging smile and pointed up at the opening.
Florian sighed wearily. “Here we go again.” She leaned against the wall, fumbling to reach the first ledge, feeling for hand or footholds.
Tremaine handed Ilias back the torch and followed her, self-consciously stretching for a handhold, annoyingly unsure whether she wanted him to help her or not. She faltered at the top when her hand slipped on the lip of the crevice and a sudden boost from behind pushed her forward. She scrambled the rest of the way in, cursing herself.
Now she could see the crevice wound back for a short distance into the rock and dim light came from the far end. It was only about four feet at its widest and not quite high enough for Tremaine to stand up in. As she awkwardly crawled further in, Florian turned back to report, “There’s another tunnel back here and it looks like there’s an opening to the surface too. That must be moonlight we can see.”
“Good.” Tremaine felt her stomach unclench a little. She moved on up to where Florian had settled in the widest part of the little cave and sat back against the opposite wall, pulling the satchel off. She thought they badly needed to rest and hoped Ilias thought so too. Her jaw throbbed, the strap felt as if it had left a permanent groove in her shoulder, her feet squelched in her sodden boots and she was acutely conscious of every bruise and ache.
Ilias scrambled into the crevice and crouched near the entrance, digging into a cranny in the wall. After a moment he fished out a sheathed knife, a couple of wooden stakes, a little leather bag and a fat yellow candle. Lighting it from the dying torch, he fixed the base down onto a flat rock.
“That’s a relief,” Florian commented and Tremaine nodded. Their makeshift torch wouldn’t have lasted much longer. She continued, “He must have stayed here before.”
Tremaine leaned over, glancing up at him to make sure he didn’t mind. At his “be my guest” gesture, she picked up one of the stakes. She saw the knobby end was covered with pitch and realized it was a prepared torch. She looked in the bag and found flint chips, an odd-sized bit of metal and some straw. She told Florian, “It’s a tinderbox. No wonder he thought the matches were so nifty.”
Florian peered past her, watching Ilias. In the candlelight he was examining some marks roughly carved on the rock above the niche, brushing the dirt away as if hoping against hope to find more. Then he sighed, drew the knife and used the point to begin a new set of marks next to the older ones. Tremaine edged closer, craning her neck to see the figure he was carving into the stone. It looked like the others already there, but with a couple of extra symbols. She wondered if it was a ward.
Ilias twitched aside the tangled muddy curtain of his hair, caught Tremaine looking at him and grinned, then went back to his task. This close she could see there was a faint scar on his forehead, mostly hidden by his hair and the mud, and his nose looked like it had been broken a time or two. The knuckles of his hands were thickened from fighting, like a prizefighter’s. Like the men who used to come at odd hours of the day and night to deliver mysterious messages for her father and receive even more mysterious orders. Except his expression was more open, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth from laughter. He shifted a little, leaning down over the markings, his hair shielding his face.
“You’re making him shy,” Florian said, smiling.
“What?” Tremaine asked blankly.
“Staring at him. He’s using his hair to hide. But he likes it too, because he’s smiling. I can see from this angle.”
“Oh.” Tremaine hadn’t realized she was staring. She moved back to lean against the wall. “I should probably stop, then.”
“Probably.” Florian blinked. “I’m doing it too, now.”
“All right, all right.” Tremaine deliberately moved around to face Florian. “Let’s look at each other.”
Florian shifted too, folding her hands in her lap. “I hope Gerard has a place like this to hide out. I hope the Gardier didn’t—” She broke off, shaking her head.
Tremaine hugged her knees. She didn’t want to say it aloud either, but she hoped Gerard was still alive to hide out.
Florian must have read Tremaine’s expression, because she said, “I’m sure he’s all right.” She added a little wanly, “I just wish we could look for him now. He probably thinks we’re dead.” She looked away, her expression turning bleak. “I just... That man I hit. Maybe he wasn’t dead?”
“What?” Tremaine stared at her blankly. “Oh, the Gardier. No, he was dead.”
“Oh.” Florian took a deep breath.
Tremaine hesitated. She realized belatedly that what Florian had really wanted her to say was that maybe the Gardier wasn’t dead after all, no matter if neither of them believed it. She could pretend to be upset about it too and probably convince herself as well as Florian. She was good at that. There had never been anything wrong with her imagination. But it would be just pretense. And in this place, it just didn’t seem worth it.
And you haven’t thought once about killing yourself since you‘ve been here.
“Tremaine?” She looked up to see Florian watching her worriedly. “You all right?” she asked.
Maybe nothing had changed. But she couldn’t leave the other girl here alone. “Uh, yes, just thinking of something.” She shook her head, putting it aside.
Florian stole a quick glance to the right. “He’s staring at you now.”
“He is?” To her annoyance, Tremaine realized she was tucking back her hair. It had never looked t
hat good even under the best of conditions and after the past day it had to be hopeless.
“He’s not looking anymore.” Florian absently dug in her coat pockets, pulling out one of the wax-paper-wrapped ration packages hastily collected from the mess the Gardier had made of their supplies. “I’m not really hungry, but I feel like we should eat.”
Tremaine pulled the satchel around to root through it. She felt a little sick, but maybe that was hunger. She pulled out a water flask and a couple of ration packages. I hope Gerard has something with him. Suddenly the idea of being solely responsible for their remaining supplies was too much for her. “We should divide this up in case we get separated.” She pulled out some waterproof packets of matches to give to Florian. “Here, put these in your pockets.”
Florian obediently accepted the matches, but said, “Don’t even say that. We’re not getting separated.” She scooted closer and tore open the ration package, shaking out some dried fruit.
Tremaine glanced up from sorting out items to stuff into Florian’s pockets and found herself looking at Ilias. He was staring at the food like he was having a religious experience. He saw she had noticed and looked away abruptly, taking a sharp breath.
Tremaine and Florian exchanged a horrified look. Florian handed her the open package of fruit and turned back to the satchel, digging through it for more. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this earlier,” she said, contrite.
“I know. I feel like an idiot.” Tremaine scooted over to Ilias. “Hey, look, we’ll share.” She pressed the open package into his hands. He looked uncertain and she nodded rapidly. “No, really, we’ve got plenty. Well, sort of plenty. Enough. Go on.”
With another quick glance at her to make sure she was serious, he tore into it like a starving wolf.
Tremaine sat back. “I wonder how long he’s been here, avoiding the Gardier.”
