‘Perfectly sure,’ he said.
They made their way into the sewers, sticking to the walkway. Crake hadn’t gone ten metres before he had to stop and throw up into the water. When he was done, he stood there wheezing, leaning on his knees, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.
‘You alright?’ Frey asked him.
Crake gave him an accusing glare. ‘I thought I’d given up all dignity long ago when I joined this crew,’ he said. ‘But this? This is a new low, Frey.’
‘It’s character-building,’ said Frey. ‘Does you aristocrats good to get down in the shit with the rest of us every now and then.’ He gave Crake a comradely slap on the back of his pack, which inspired the daemonist to bring up what little was left in his stomach.
Pelaru led them deeper into the sewers. They passed through junctions and over little arched bridges that crossed the still water. The dark was oppressive, but it held no terrors for Frey, who’d seen plenty worse. Rats squabbled and splashed out of sight. The conflict in the streets above was too far away to be heard. Once, Frey spotted a pair of shining eyes watching them from beyond the range of the lantern light, and his heart jumped in his chest; but it was only Jez, who’d dropped behind and was tailing them.
Frey’s reservations about the mission began to fade. There didn’t seem to be any Awakeners down here. If darkness and stink were all they had to worry about, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
He was about to say as much when a dreadful howl echoed through the sewers. It rose and fell like a klaxon; a bone-chilling, deathly sound that sawed at the nerves and set their teeth on edge.
‘Um,’ said Ashua, when silence had returned. ‘What was that?’
‘The wind?’ said Frey. It was a wishful suggestion at best.
‘That,’ said Crake, ‘was not the wind.’
Frey looked at Pelaru. ‘You said something about fictions?’ he prompted.
‘Tales,’ said Pelaru. ‘Rumours. That’s all.’
‘Enlighten us,’ Crake said.
‘Ever since the quake, people have told stories about this place. A ghost city must have its ghosts.’
‘But Blinn believed in them,’ Frey pointed out.
‘Blinn believed in a lot of things. Not all of them were real,’ Pelaru snapped, suddenly harsh.
‘Might be you thought that before,’ said Silo, his deep bass voice echoing in the tunnel. ‘Might be you were wrong.’
Pelaru cast him a poisonous glance, but said nothing.
‘Eyes peeled, everyone,’ said Frey, and they made their way onward.
They hadn’t gone far before they found a fissure in the tunnel wall, wide enough to enter one by one. Pelaru headed inside without explanation, and Frey went after him, holding his lantern up. He heard Crake struggling through, the pack on his back clanking, and Malvery squeezing in with a grunt.
‘Least we’re getting away from that damned stink,’ the doctor said, huffing out his moustaches.
The fissure widened quickly, opening out into an underground grotto. As their lanterns came through and light swelled, they saw that a chasm split the grotto from side to side, ten metres wide at its narrowest point.
Then Pelaru cried out, and Frey swung his lantern round to see what had excited him. Strung across the chasm were two thick ropes, one above the other. The first was set at shoulder-height, secured by pitons in the walls of the grotto. The other was at ground level, wrapped around spikes driven securely into the stone floor.
‘They were here!’ said Pelaru. He hurried over to examine the pitons. ‘Yes, yes. This is Yort metal; he had a set of these. It’s him!’
Malvery had gone over to the edge of the chasm and was looking down doubtfully. Silo tested the ropes, yanking on them hard, and tried his weight on the lower one.
‘Looks secure, Cap’n,’ said Silo.
But Malvery shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. You’re not gettin’ me on that. Not a chance.’
‘You scared of heights or something?’ Pinn
They made their way into the sewers, sticking to the walkway. Crake hadn’t gone ten metres before he had to stop and throw up into the water. When he was done, he stood there wheezing, leaning on his knees, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.
‘You alright?’ Frey asked him.
Crake gave him an accusing glare. ‘I thought I’d given up all dignity long ago when I joined this crew,’ he said. ‘But this? This is a new low, Frey.’
‘It’s character-building,’ said Frey. ‘Does you aristocrats good to get down in the shit with the rest of us every now and then.’ He gave Crake a comradely slap on the back of his pack, which inspired the daemonist to bring up what little was left in his stomach.
Pelaru led them deeper into the sewers. They passed through junctions and over little arched bridges that crossed the still water. The dark was oppressive, but it held no terrors for Frey, who’d seen plenty worse. Rats squabbled and splashed out of sight. The conflict in the streets above was too far away to be heard. Once, Frey spotted a pair of shining eyes watching them from beyond the range of the lantern light, and his heart jumped in his chest; but it was only Jez, who’d dropped behind and was tailing them.
Frey’s reservations about the mission began to fade. There didn’t seem to be any Awakeners down here. If darkness and stink were all they had to worry about, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
He was about to say as much when a dreadful howl echoed through the sewers. It rose and fell like a klaxon; a bone-chilling, deathly sound that sawed at the nerves and set their teeth on edge.
‘Um,’ said Ashua, when silence had returned. ‘What was that?’
‘The wind?’ said Frey. It was a wishful suggestion at best.
‘That,’ said Crake, ‘was not the wind.’
Frey looked at Pelaru. ‘You said something about fictions?’ he prompted.
‘Tales,’ said Pelaru. ‘Rumours. That’s all.’
‘Enlighten us,’ Crake said.
‘Ever since the quake, people have told stories about this place. A ghost city must have its ghosts.’
‘But Blinn believed in them,’ Frey pointed out.
‘Blinn believed in a lot of things. Not all of them were real,’ Pelaru snapped, suddenly harsh.
‘Might be you thought that before,’ said Silo, his deep bass voice echoing in the tunnel. ‘Might be you were wrong.’
Pelaru cast him a poisonous glance, but said nothing.
‘Eyes peeled, everyone,’ said Frey, and they made their way onward.
They hadn’t gone far before they found a fissure in the tunnel wall, wide enough to enter one by one. Pelaru headed inside without explanation, and Frey went after him, holding his lantern up. He heard Crake struggling through, the pack on his back clanking, and Malvery squeezing in with a grunt.
‘Least we’re getting away from that damned stink,’ the doctor said, huffing out his moustaches.
The fissure widened quickly, opening out into an underground grotto. As their lanterns came through and light swelled, they saw that a chasm split the grotto from side to side, ten metres wide at its narrowest point.
Then Pelaru cried out, and Frey swung his lantern round to see what had excited him. Strung across the chasm were two thick ropes, one above the other. The first was set at shoulder-height, secured by pitons in the walls of the grotto. The other was at ground level, wrapped around spikes driven securely into the stone floor.
‘They were here!’ said Pelaru. He hurried over to examine the pitons. ‘Yes, yes. This is Yort metal; he had a set of these. It’s him!’
Malvery had gone over to the edge of the chasm and was looking down doubtfully. Silo tested the ropes, yanking on them hard, and tried his weight on the lower one.
‘Looks secure, Cap’n,’ said Silo.
But Malvery shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. You’re not gettin’ me on that. Not a chance.’
‘You scared of heights or something?’ Pinn
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