"It was Eejakrat," Caz said from across the cell. His clothing was torn and clumps of fur were missing from his right cheek, but he still somehow had retained his monocle. "He knew us for what we were. I presume he has taken special care with Clothahump. One sorcerer would not place another in an ordinary cell where he might dissolve the bars or mesmerize the jailers."
"But what he doesn't know is that we still have the services of a wizard." Flor was looking hopefully at JonTom.
"I can't do anything, Ror." He dug his boot heels into a crack in the floor. It kept him from sliding down toward the central drain. "I need my duar, and it was strapped to the inside back of my insect suit."
"Try," she urged him. "We've nothing to lose, verdad? You don't need instrumental accompaniment to sing."
"No, but I can't make magic without it."
"Give 'er a shot anyway, guv'nor," said Mudge. "It can't make us any worse than we are, wot?"
"All right." He thought a moment, then sang. It had to be something to fit his mood. Something somber and yet hopeful.
He was fonder of rock than country-western, but there was a certain song about another prison, a place called Polsom, where blues of a different kind had also been vanquished through music. It was full of hope, anticipation, whistles, and thoughts of freedom.
Mudge obligingly let out a piercing whistle. It faded to freedom through the bars of their cell, but whistler and singer did not. No train appeared to carry them away. Not even a solitary, curious gneechee.
"You see?" He smiled helplessly, and spread his hands. "I need the duar. I sing and it spells. Can't have one without the other." The question he'd managed to suppress until now could no longer rest unsatisfied.
"We know what probably happened to Clothahump." He looked at the floor, remembering the descending iron bottle. "Where's Talea?"
"Thatpwto!" Hor spit on the moss. "If we get a chance before we die I'll disembowel her with my own hands." She held up sharp nailed fingers.
"I couldn't believe it meself, mate." Mudge sounded more tired than Jon-Tom had ever heard him. Something had finally smashed his unquenchable spirit. "It don't make no bloomin' sense, dam it! I've known that bird off an' on for years. For 'er t' do somethin' like this t' save 'er own skin, t' go over t' the likes o' these… I can't believe it, mate. I can't!"
Jon-Tom tried to erase the memory. That would be easier than forgetting the pain. It wasn't his head that was hurting.
"I can't believe it either, Mudge."
"Why not, friend?" Bribbens crossed one slick green leg over the other. "Allegiance is a temporary thing, and expediency the hallmark of survival."
"Probably what happened," said Caz more gently, "was that she saw what was going to happen, that we were going to be overwhelmed, and decided to cast her lot with the Plated Folk. We know from firsthand experience, do we not, that there are human allies among them. I can't condemn her for choosing life over death. You shouldn't either."
Jon-Tom sat quietly, still not believing it despite the Sense in Caz's words. Talea had been combative, even contemptuous at times, but for her to turn on companions she'd been through so much with… Yet she'd apparently done just that. Better face up to facts, Jon boy. "Poor boy, you're goin' t' die," as the Song lamented.
"What do you suppose they'll do with us?" he asked Mudge. "Or maybe I'd be better just asking 'how'?"
"I over'eard the soldiers talkin'. I was 'alf conscious when they carried us down 'ere." Mudge smiled slightly. "Seems we're t' be the bloody centerpiece at the Empress' evenin' supper, the old dear. 'Eard the ranks wagerin' on 'ow we was goin' t' be cooked."
"I sincerely hope they do cook us," Caz said. "I've heard tales that the Plated Folk prefer their food alive.' Flor shuddered, and Jon-Tom felt sick.
It had all been such a grand adventure, marching off to save civilization, overcoming horrendous obstacles and terrible difficulties. All to end up not as part of an enduring legend but a brief meal. He missed the steady confidence of Clothahump. Even if unable to save them through wizardly means, he wished the turtle were present to raise their spirits with his calm, knowledgeable words.
"Any idea what time it's to be?" The windowless walls shut out time as well as space.
"No idea." Caz grinned ruefully at him. "You're the spellsinger. You tell me."
"I've already explained that I can't do anything without the duar."
"Then you ought to have it, Jon-Tom." The voice came from the corridor outside the cell. Everyone faced the bars.
Talea stood there, panting heavily. Flor made an inarticulate sound and rushed the barrier. Talea stepped back out of reach.
"Calm yourself, woman. You're acting like a hysterical cub."
Flor smiled, showing white teeth. "Come a little closer, sweet friend, and I'll show you how hysterical I can be."
Talea shook her head, looked disgusted. "Save your strength, and what brains you've got left. We haven't got much time." She held up a twisted length of wrought iron: the key.
Caz had left his sitting position to move up behind Hor. He put furry arms around her and wrestled her away from the bars.
"Use your head, giantess! Can't you see she's come to let us out?"
"But I thought…" Hor finally took notice of the key and relaxed.
"You knocked me out." Jon-Tom gripped the bars with both hands as Talea rumbled with the key and the awkward lock. "You hit me with a metal bottle."
"I sure did," she snapped. "Somebody had to keep her wits about her."
"Then you haven't gone over to the Plated Folk?"
"Of course I did. You're not thinking it through. I forgive you, though."
She was whispering angrily at them, glancing from time to time back up the corridor. "We know that some humans have joined them, right? But how could the locals know which humans in the warmlands are their allies and which are not? They can't possibly, not without checking with their spies in Polastrindu and elsewhere.
"When the fighting began I saw we didn't have a chance. So I grabbed a hunk of iron and started attacking you alongside the guards. When it was finished they accepted my story about being sent along to spy on you and keep track of the expedition. That Eejakrat was suspicious, but he was willing to accept me for now, until he can check with those wannland sources. He figured I couldn't do any harm here." She grinned wickedly.
"His own thoughts are elsewhere. He's too concerned with how much Clothahump knows to worry about me." She nodded up the corridor. "This guard's dead, but I don't know how often they change 'em."
There was a groan and a metallic snap. She pushed and the door swung inward. "Come on, then."
They rushed out into the corridor. It was narrow and only slightly better lit than the cell. Several strides further brought them up before a familiar silhouette.
"Clothahump!" shouted Jon-Tom.
"Master, Master!" Pog fluttered excitedly around the wizard's head. Clothahump waved irritably at the famulus. His own attention was fixed on the hall behind him.
"Not now, Pog. We've no time for it."
"Where've they been holding you, sir?" Jon-Tom asked.
Clothahump pointed. "Two cells up from you."
Jon-Tom gaped at him. "You mean you were that close and , we could've…"
"Could have what, my boy? Dug through the rocks with your bare hands and untied and ungagged me? I think not. It was frustrating, however, to hear you all so close and not be able to reassure you." His expression darkened. "I am going to turn that Eejakrat into mousefood!"
"Not today," Talea reminded him.
"Yes, you're quite right, young lady."
Talea led them to a nearby room. In addition to the expected oil lamps the walls held spears and shields. The furnishings were Spartan and minimal. A broken insect body lay sprawled beneath the table. Neatly piled against the far wall were their possessions: weapons, supplies, and disguises, including Jon-Tom's duar.
They hurriedly helped one another into the insect sui
ts.
"I'm surprised these weren't shattered beyond repair in the fight," Jen-Tom muttered, watching while Clothahump fixed his cracked headpiece.
The wizard finished the polymer spell-repair. "Eejakrat was fascinated by them. I'm sure he wanted me to go into the details of the spell. He has similar interests, you know. Remember the disguised ambassador who talked with you in Polastrindu."
They stepped quietly back out into the corridor. "Where are we?" Mudge asked Talea.
"Beneath the palace. Where else?" It was strange to hear that sharp voice coming from behind the gargoylish face once again.
"How can we get out?" Pog murmured worriedly.
"We walked in," said Caz thoughtfully. "Why should we not also walk out?"
"Indeed," said Clothahump. "If we can get out into the square we should be safe,"
XIV
They were several levels below the surface, but under Talea's guidance they made rapid progress upward.
Once they had to pause to let an enormous beetle pass. He waddled down the stairs without seeing them. A huge ax was slung across his back and heavy keys dangled from his belts.
"I don't know if he's the relief for our level or not," Talea said huskily, "but we'd better hurry."
They increased their pace. Then Talea warned them to silence. They were nearing the last gate.
Three guards squatted around a desk on the other side of the barred door. A steady babble of conversation filtered into the corridor from the open door on the far side of the guard room as busy workers came and went. Jon-Tom wondered at the absence of a heavier guard until it came to him that escape would be against orders, an action foreign to all but deranged Plated Folk. But there was still the barred doorway and the three administrators beyond.
"How did you get past them?" Caz asked Talea.
"I haven't been past them. Eejakrat believed my story, but only to a point. He wasn't about to give me me run of the city. I had a room, not a cell, on the level below this one. If I wanted out, I had to send word to him. We haven't got time for that now. Pretty soon they'll be finding the body I left."
Mudge located a small fragment of loose black cement. He tossed it down the stairs they'd ascended. It made a gratifyingly loud clatter.
"Nesthek, is that you?" one of the administrators called toward the doorway. When there was no immediate reply he rose from his position at the desk and left the game to his companions.
The excapees concealed themselves as best they could. The administrator sounded perplexed as he approached the doorway.
"Nesthek? Don't play games with me. I'm losing badly as it is."
"Bugger it," Mudge said tensely. "I thought at least two of them would come to check."
"You take this one," said Clothahump. "The rest pf us will quietly rush me others."
"Nesthek, what are you…?" Mudge stabbed upward with his sword. He'd been lying nearly hidden by me lowest bar of the doorway. The sword went right into the startled guard's abdomen. At the same instant Caz leaped out of me shadows to bring his knife down into one of me great compound eyes. The guard-administrator slumped against me bars. Talea fumbled for the keys at his waist.
"Partewx?" Then me other querulous guard was half out of his seat as his companion ran to give the alarm. He didn't make it to the far door. Pog landed on his neck and began stabbing rapidly with his stiletto at the guard's head and face.
The creature swung its four arms wildly, trying to dislodge the flapping dervish that clung relentlessly to neck and head. Ror swung low with her sword and cut through both legs.
The other who had turned and drawn his own scimitar swung at Bribbens. The boatman hopped halfway to the ceiling, and the deadly arc passed feet below their intended target.
As the guard was bringing back his sword for another cut, Jen-Tom swung at him with his staff. The guard ducked the whistling club-head and brought his curved blade around. As he'd been taught to, Jon-Tom spun the long shaft in his hands as if it were an oversized baton. The guard jumped out of range. Jon-Tom thumbed one of the hidden studs, sad a foot of steel slid directly into the startled guard's thorax. Caz's sword decapitated him before he hit the floor.
"Hold!"
Everyone looked to the right. There was a waste room recessed into that wall. It had produced a fourth administrator guard. He was taller than Jon-Tom, and the insect shape struggling in the three-armed grasp looked small in comparison.
The insect head of Talea's disguise had been ripped off. Her red hair cascaded down to her shoulders. Two arms held her firmly around neck and waist while the thud held a knife over the hollow of her throat.
"Move and she dies," said the guard. He began to edge toward the open doorway leading outside, keeping his back hard against the wall.
"If he gives the alarm we're finished, mates," Mudge whispered.
"Let's rush them," said Caz,,
"No!" Jon-Tom put an arm in front of the rabbit. "We can't. He'll—"
Talea continued to struggle in the unrelenting grip. "Do something, you idiots!"
Seeing that no one was going to act and that she and her captor were only a few yards from the doorway, she put both feet on the floor and thrust convulsively upward. The knife slid through her throat, emerging from the back of her neck. Claret spurted across the stones.
Everyone was too stunned to scream. The guard cursed, let the limp body fall as he bolted for the exit. Pog was waiting for him with a knife that went straight between the compound eyes. The guard never saw him. He'd had eyes only for his grounded opponents and hadn't noticed the bat hanging above the portal.
Caz and Mudge finished the giant quickly. Jon-Tom bent over the tiny, curled shape of Talea. The blood flowed freely but was already beginning to slow. Major arteries and veins had been severed.
He looked back at Clothahump but the wizard could only shake his head. "No time, no time, my boy. It's a long spell. Not enough time."
Weak life looked out from those sea-green eyes. Her mouth twisted into a grimace and her voice was faint. "One of… these days you're going to have to make… the important decisions without help, Jon-Tom." She smiled faintly. "You know… I think I love you…"
The tears came in a flood, uncontrollable. "It's not fair, Talea, Damn! It's not fair! You can't tell me something like that and then leave me! You can't!"
But she died anyway.
He found he was shaking. Caz grabbed his shoulders, shook him until it stopped.
"No time for that now, my friend. I'm sorry, too, but this isn't the place.for being sorry."
"No, it is not." Clothahump was examining the body.
"She'll stop bleeding soon. When she does, clean her chitin and put her head back on. It's over in the corner there, where the guard threw it."
Jon-Tom stood, looked dazedly down at the wizard. "You can't…?"
"I'll explain later, Jon-Tom. But all may not be lost."
"What the hell do you mean, 'all may not be lost'?" His voice rose angrily. "She's dead, you senile old…"
Clothahump let him finish, then said, "I forgive the names because I understand the motivation and the source. Know only that sometimes even death can be forgiven, Jon-Tom."
"Are you saying you can bring her back?"
"I don't know. But if we don't get out of here quickly we'll never have the chance to find out."
Hor and Bribbens slipped the insect head back into place over the pale face and flowing hair. Jon-Tom wouldn't help.
"Now everyone look and act official," Clothahump urged them. "We're taking a dead prisoner out for burial."
Bribbens, Mudge, Caz, and Hor supported Talea's body while Pog flew formation overhead and Jon-Tom and Clothahump marched importantly in front. A few passing Plated Folk glanced at them when they emerged from the doorway, but no one dared question them.
One of the benefits of infiltrating a totalitarian society, Jon-Tom thought bitterly. Everyone's afraid to ask anything of anyone who looks important.
Th
ey were on the main floor of the palace. It took them a while to find an exit (they dared not ask directions), but before long they were outside in the mist of the palace square.
The sky was as gray and silent as ever and the humidity as bad, but for all except the disconsolate Jon-Tom it was as though they'd suddenly stepped out onto a warm beach fronting the southern ocean.
"We have to find transport again," Clothahump was murmuring as they made their way with enforced slowness across the square. "Soon someone will note either our absence or that of our belongings." He allowed himself a grim chuckle.
"I would not care to be the prison commandant when Eejakrat leams of our escape. They'll be after us soon enough, but they should have a hell of a time locating us. We blend in perfectly, and only a few have seen us. Nevertheless, Eejakrat will do everything in his power to recapture us."
"Where can we go?" Mudge asked, shifting slightly under the weight of the body. "To the north, back for Ironcloud?"
"No. That is where Eejakrat will expect us to go."
"Why would he suspect that?" asked Jon-Tom.
"Because I made it a point to give him sufficient hints to that effect during our conversations," the wizard replied, "in case the opportunity to flee arose."
"If he's as sly as you say, won't he suspect we're heading in another direction?"
"Perhaps. But I do not believe he will think that we might attempt to return home through the entire assembled army of the Greendowns."
"Won't they be given the alarm about us also?"
"Of course. But militia do not display initiative. I think we shall be able to slip through them."
That satisfied Jon-Tom, but Clothahump was left to muse over what might have been. So close, they'd been so close! And still they did not know what the dead mind was, or how Eejakrat manipulated it. But while willing to take chances, he was not quite as mad as Jon-Tom might have thought. I have no death wish, young spellsinger, he thought as he regarded the tall insect shape marching next to him. We tried as no other mortals could try, and we failed. If fate wills that we are to perish soon, it will be on the ramparts of the Jo-Troom Gate confronting the foe, not in the jaws of Cugluch.
The Hour of the Gate Page 20