by David Grace
"An ambitious plan, to be sure, but practical? I hardly think so. You speak as if all we have to do to free them from Hazar's dungeon is snap our fingers. Where shall we hide them once released? How do we get them out of the city? It is all madness."
Buster was about to answer Hanther's objections but Brax spoke up first.
"I agree the task should not be underestimated--but madness? Of that I am not convinced. Hundreds of Grays work in the city. A few of them armed with simple blades could easily catch the guards unawares. As for getting them in and out, there are always the emergency caverns."
"The emergency caverns! That I would like to see. Some of the openings are barely big enough for us to crawl through. How do you propose to arrange for the passage of one as broad-shouldered as the Fanist?"
"That could be arranged, I think," Velo answered in an abstracted tone. "Most of the passages are natural caves, with more than enough room for the passage of the prisoners. At only two or three points do they narrow sufficiently to block a human. If we arouse the community possibly we could enlarge these points. It is a bold plan, to be sure, but not an impossible one."
"Madness! Madness I said before and say again. You would condemn the whole tribe to extinction with this act. Did we ask the human or the Fanist to come here? No, of course not. Their fate is their own. I say leave them to it."
"And what of Castor?" Buster shouted.
"Castor was a troublemaker--always has been and always will be. He was warned, but he went ahead anyway. He has no one to blame but himself for the trouble he's in. Why risk all our lives for his perversity?"
"You call stopping the Gogols perversity? One of our own is betrayed to the devil-worshipers and you want to throw him away like an overripe fruit? What's become of us that we can think this way?"
"Calm yourself, Buster. Hanther did not mean his words the way they sounded. Of course we are not insensitive to our brother's plight, but, not to put too fine a point on it, the truth is that the question is not whether we can rescue the three but whether we should. Is the chance of the safety of the human, the Fanist, and one of our own worth the risk? Of that we must be convinced before we can turn our backs on our instincts."
Buster took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Passion and threats would not sway them.
"Very well, I will give you my answer as best I can," Buster began in an even, though strained, voice. "For the time being we will overlook the bondage under which we have labored for these hundreds of years, for even if we should succeed I cannot guarantee that our domination will cease. We will pass by the killings of our friends and mates, the casual tortures, the countless Ajaj killed for their pelts.
"All these tortures and terrors we will put aside, for the harm which this plan might wreak upon the Gogols will be too late to relieve the horrors already endured. I will not argue that to defeat Hazar's plans may improve our lot in the future, bring food to the bellies of those who have starved, or lessen those of our number who will die in the labor gangs when the Gogols decide that their city has grown too small and that they need a new wall beyond the one which now bounds Cicero. Hazar's defeat, the wrecking of his plans, the sowing of distrust and terror among the Gogol overlords, will no doubt distract them and turn them inward to feed upon each other, but I cannot guarantee that it will better our lot.
"Nor will I speak of abstract concepts. Not of courage, for we have not shown courage, merely cowardice, and thought to call it prudence. Not of pride or honor, for we have neither and have called their lack humility; nor of the strength needed to build a better life, for we have been content merely to survive to breed one more generation of slaves and thought to damn ourselves with the virtues of meekness and self-sacrifice.
"I will not praise the benefits to be gained from freedom or honor or the simple enjoyment of life, for none of us value these things. They are a burden too demanding to be borne. And lastly, I will not speak of the sweetness of revenge; of the extermination of those who glory in pain; of someday, after a struggle that might create terrors almost equal to those we face every day, expunging from Fane the curse of the worshipers of hell. Obviously none of these are important to you. If the lives of yourselves and your mates and your cubs, the prevention of your children's being ripped from your arms and disemboweled as an offering in a Black Mass, will not dissuade you from your course, then surely these abstract concepts can have no effect upon your decision.
"No. I will only say that if we do nothing our lives and those of our descendants will, in the coming generations, be slowly ground out until the lust of the Gogols has rendered us extinct. If that is to be our fate, better to suffer it now with at least a chance of defeating them than to do nothing and wait for the inevitable extermination of our people."
No sound disturbed Obron's chamber. Buster stood, twisted, ignoring the fiery ache in his knee. As if he were a wax figure whose eyes alone were alive, he glared at the decision makers with a look of both rage and infinite sorrow. Velo slowly turned his head to look at Hanther, then at Brax. Silently Brax extended his right hand and balled his gray-furred paw into a tiny fist. "The prisoners must be freed."
Velo, too, held out his arm and in a more restrained voice declared the same.
Hanther hesitated, and all stared at him. At last, shaking with fear, he, too, brought out a fist and in a squeaking whisper announced:
"So be it. The prisoners must be freed, and Kaneb protect us from the demons."
"Brax, rouse the Grays! Get them into the caverns. Break loose the bottlenecks. Remember, they must be wide enough for the Fanist. Open the box. We must choose a/ leader for the rescue party."
"No need there," Buster declared. "That job is already filled. It is my idea and my plan. I will be the one. Brax, lead me to the caverns. I'm an old Gray and it has been a long time since I've been out of Cicero. My memory fails me. Show me the way, and hurry. There's much to do before I can rest tonight."
Brax moved a few paces ahead of Buster, then halted and returned to the Gray. Placing his right arm around Buster's fragile waist, he helped the assistant keeper of the scullery limp to the hidden fissure which opened onto the secret ways to Cicero.
Chapter Forty-Two
Buster led the fugitives at a hurried pace through Hazar's dungeon. He negotiated the darkened corridors with a sureness bred of many hours of studying illicitly copied plans. Grantin lost all interest in asking how their release was effected upon spying the first of the guards' bodies still leaking blood. Just beyond a bend in the corridor two figures appeared, but Buster ignored them. As they passed Grantin was able to identify the hunched forms of two Grays scrubbing a line of stain from the flagstone floor. Grantin's eyes followed the direction of the smear and saw that it led to an opening in the grime-encrusted wall. Obviously the body of a wounded Gray had been dragged back into a hidden entrance.
Grantin increased his pace until he reached Buster's side then whispered into the old Gray's ear:
"There was an exit back there; why didn't we take it? Why don't we escape while we can?"
"You couldn't. You wouldn't fit. We didn't have enough time to enlarge the tunnel. The only thing we can do is make for an old cavern under the foundations of the northwest wall. Now be quiet! We must go up to the street level, waylay the guard, then make our way as best we can around the First Circle to the Gate of Mammon."
Buster increased his gait to a limping, pain-ravaged sprint. In a few minutes the fugitives had reached the end of the corridor. Ahead were bare stone walls. At their left a twisting spiral staircase led to the ground level.
Buster climbed the first few stairs and halted until the rest had crowded around the bottom of the well. Putting his finger to his lips, he pantomimed his intention to eliminate the guard. Buster, however, was not obeyed. As the old Gray adjusted the hem of his tunic so that it covered the dagger's hilt. Castor climbed to his side and removed the knife. Buster sought to regain the blade, but Castor pushed back his hand and shoo
k his head to indicate that the old Ajaj should remain with the others. Without waiting for agreement Castor loped noiselessly up the steps, followed a few paces behind by the other four.
When it had made one complete revolution of the spiral, the stairwell opened upon an identical hallway, this one also deserted. Castor motioned to his companions to follow. Castor maneuvered up the last steps with the greatest caution until he was able to peek over the edge of the wall. Another corridor dead-ended to the right. Across from the stone spiral, a short passage led to a guard post, then down several steps to a heavy door, presumably giving entrance to the First Circle.
Taking a deep breath. Castor strode directly up the stairs, across the hallway, and down to the guard. In this predawn hour the soldier was sleepy, more so than usual because of the extra duty. Castor approached within five feet of his post before he was noticed.
"Excuse me, my lord," Castor began before the guard could challenge him. "I have been charged to deliver a special message, but somehow I have become lost. If you could look at the writing on the paper perhaps you could give me directions." Castor set about patting his pockets as if in search of the document. "I had it here a moment ago--yes, here it is in my belt. If you would just bend over, my lord ... it seems to be stuck."
Castor grasped the dagger's hilt where it rode his left hip beneath the cover of his tunic. The guard bent forward, curious as to the nature of the Gray's errand. When Castor could stall no longer, he whipped out the blade and swung it upward in a semicircular arc. The tip sliced effortlessly through the guard's bared throat. The Gogol slumped to the floor without making a sound. Castor wiped the blade on the soldier's sleeve, then ran back to the stairway and excitedly motioned for the fugitives to advance.
The five sprinted across the hallway and down the short corridor and, using the guard's keys, slipped through the door. Once outside Castor re-locked the portal and hid the key ring in a pile of trash. The streets were dark, but the ribbon of sky above them showed a faint reddish hue, presaging Pyra's imminent appearance. Since the outer battlements were the most likely to be patrolled, the five crept along single-file as close as possible to the edge of the outer wall.
Their route required them to pass by Lord Bolam's Gate of Lust. If the guards were alert there, it might be impossible to pass. Castor and Buster would probably have no problem. Even Grantin and Mara might be able to brazen it out, but Chom's form could never be disguised or excused. Keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Castor led the party to within twenty yards of Bolam's gate. His surveillance revealed two well-armed and alert attendants. Castor slipped back to consult with the others.
"Two guards, and wide awake," he whispered to the fugitives.
"Maybe we should go back the other way," Mara suggested, but already Buster was shaking his head.
"Look at the sky. Pyra has begun to rise. It is too late for that. We have only a few minutes to get past."
"What if we just walked by and ignored them? Perhaps they wouldn't stop us," Grantin suggested.
"No. I am certain they would find my extra pair of arms an irresistible distraction," Chom replied. "The obvious answer is for the four of you to go ahead while I will use another route and meet you at our destination." Without pausing to consider his own self-interest, Grantin surprised himself by blurting out an immediate no. Buster threw up his hands in bewildered defeat.
"A diversion might work," Castor said as he studied the rapidly lightening sky. "The four of us could divert the guards' attention. The Fanist might be able to slip past the opening without being noticed."
"Unlikely," Buster whispered, "but since I do not have a better suggestion, and since it is going to be daylight in a few more minutes, we may as well try it."
A plan was hastily agreed upon. The Ajaj and the humans set out, leaving Chom to creep as close as possible to the point where the wall was broken by the Gate of Lust.
Castor and Buster led the way, with Mara and Grantin following a few paces behind. The guards heard their approach several seconds before the four became visible. Grantin and Mara swung into view, then stopped and examined all aspects of the small plaza that fronted on the gate. Directing the Ajaj to walk in front of them and arguing loudly with Grantin, Mara approached the guards.
"Well, where are they?" she demanded of the soldier who came forward to meet them.
"Where are who, my lady?"
"What the lady means, guardsman, is, you see, we were expecting--"
"--I know what I mean. Stop pampering these dolts! We are here for Lord Hazar's shipment. Where are they?"
"I know of no shipment for Lord Hazar, my lady."
"Incompetents, fools ...!"
"I'm sorry, soldier. Please excuse the lady. She is very tired. It has been a long night, and now this special duty. . . . This is the Lady Mara, Lord Hazar's chief enchantress, and . . . well, if the truth be known, he was less than pleased with certain of the companions with which he was provided. He roused my lady here and demanded that she immediately bring him the new shipment for his inspection. I am Grindle, one of my lord's under-apprentices. Since my Ajaj and I had an early errand at Topor's market we agreed to travel a bit out of the way and accompany Lady Mara."
"Shut up, you yellow-spined fool! That's why you arc only an under-apprentice. Come over here and look at this and you will learn something." Mara strode past the guards and walked to the closed inner panel of the gate.
"Look at this, just look at this," she said, pointing at the iron-reinforced timbers.
"My lady, no one is allowed to approach the gate," the guard ordered as he turned away from the First Circle and hurried to restrain Mara from touching the panel.
"How dare you lay hands on me, you oaf!" Mara shouted as she elbowed the guard in the stomach.
Now the second watchman came running. Together both struggled to remove Mara from the forbidden zone. As they wrestled a blurred gray-brown shadow sped across the small plaza and merged with the other shadows on the far side of the gate.
"Unhand me, unhand me! Very well, I shall leave you and your miserable contraption, but I warn you, Lord Hazar will hear of this ill treatment." Mara broke free from the soldiers and stalked off toward the center of the First Circle.
"I am sorry. You must forgive her," Grantin reassured the guards. "She will calm down in a few minutes. We will continue on around the circle and down to the market. The walk will do her good. She can come by again on her way back to see about Lord Hazar's shipment." Grantin trotted off and made a show of attempting to placate Mara.
Thirty feet past the edge of the gate Mara and Grantin exhaled a sigh of relief, veered to the edge of the wall, and increased their pace almost to a run. A few minutes later they approached their destination. Buster called a halt. On the far side of the street stood an alcove deeply recessed into the wall. At its back could barely be seen a worn plank door. Following Buster's lead, the escapees slipped into the recess while the Gray, using a tool which he carried slung inside his trousers, began to work on the lock. A few seconds later there sounded a metallic tinkle, followed by the noise of splintering wood. They bolted inside the darkened opening, and Chom used three of his four arms to force the door closed.
"Everyone stand still until I can find a light." Rustles and scrapes sounded in the shadowed chamber. The sounds of Buster's rumblings ceased as a dim green radiance glimmered in the far corner of the room. Grantin could see barrels, bales, packages, canisters, and boxes lining the chamber's walls. Obviously it was an infrequently used storeroom. Buster motioned the others to a point on the back wall opposite the window.
"Here,'' he whispered, pointing to an area piled high with wooden crates. "Under these crates the stones are loose. Beneath them is a metal plate which gives entrance to the cavern which leads to a cave in the hills a mile and a half northwest of the city. Hurry--we must move these boxes and be gone before the guards, at Bolam's gate make their report."
The fugitives began work on the crates
in shifts, as there was room for no more than two persons at any one time. Mara and Grantin soon tired and took their places at the end of the line while Chom and Castor spelled them, the Fanist's extra pair of hands making up for the Ajaj's diminutive form.
"How did you get involved in all of this?" Grantin asked Mara. "You seem like such a nice person. I can't picture you drenched in blood in one of the Gogol sacrifices."
"My mother was a Gogol," Mara replied somewhat defensively. "And your father?"
"A Hartford, but being a Hartford did not mean that he was good any more than my being a Gogol means that I am bad."
"He was an evil man, then? Did he beat you? Is that why you came here?"
"No, he didn't beat me! What a thing to say! He ... he loved me. I'm sure of it."
"And how did you end up back here? Did your mother kidnap you?"
"No, we just had to leave. My father threw my mother and me out. He was going to take me away from her. He hated her, so she brought me back here to the only place that was left for us."
"I don't understand. You say that he threw your mother and you out but that he also wanted to take you away from her. It sounds as though he wanted to keep you and just wished to be rid of her. What happened between them? Why did he want to throw her out?"
"I don't know."
"Well, he must have said something."
"My mother took me away before he could do the evil things that he was planning."
"I don't wish to butt into your private affairs, but in defense of myself and my fellow Hartfords, have you ever considered the possibility that your mother lied? Perhaps it was she who did not love your father and stole you away from him."
Mara's face contorted in a surprised expression, as if that possibility had never occurred to her. Just as suddenly a few seconds later she began to cry. Disconcerted by her tears, Grantin went back to the pile of crates and took over Castor's place.
