“Hobarth.” The guard squinted and shifted thepistol toward the shadows.
The only warning Basilard had of movement wasSicarius’s arm brushing his. A throwing knife zipped between theladder rungs and thudded into the guard’s eye.
In less than a heartbeat, Sicarius darted outof the shadows and up the ladder. He grabbed the dying man by theshirt, hurling him to the floor below, then disappeared through thehatchway.
Basilard leaped out and grabbed the fallenguard’s pistol. He clenched it between his teeth, tugged thethrowing knife from the eye socket, and climbed the ladder withSicarius’s blade and his own balanced in his hands.
He pulled himself onto the next floor,landing in a fighting stance, ready to help.
Two guards were sprawled on the deck, theirthroats cut. Sicarius was patting one down for keys or weapons or,for all Basilard knew, something to eat.
Feeling useless, he took the pistol out ofhis mouth and checked the charge. With his hands full, he had tojuggle the weapons to sign a question, Should we take theirclothes?
The guards were all bigger than Basilard, buthe felt vulnerable running around nude.
To what end? Sicarius took histhrowing knife from Basilard and sheathed it.
Pockets?
Sicarius flicked an indifferent finger,picked up the eyeball knife, and headed down the corridor. Basilardstripped the fatigue jacket off the smallest guard and put it on,grimacing at the sensation of cloth sticky with blood pressedagainst his skin. He hustled to catch up.
Sicarius stopped at a barrier before anintersection to fiddle with the reader. He glanced at Basilard’snew attire but said nothing. Clothes or not, he probablynever felt vulnerable. Between the eyeball in his hand and thestreaks of someone else’s blood smeared across his forearm andchest, he looked like nobody one would want to tangle with.
You better stick with Amaranthe,Basilard signed. She humanizes you.
The barrier dropped. Sicarius looked himselfover and considered the gory eyeball before stepping through.
Agreed, he signed.
There was no time to mull over the response.More footfalls and numerous voices rang throughout the structure.The alarm continued pulsing. If all they met were soldiers,Basilard and Sicarius might be able to handle them, but Basilardexpected practitioners at some point, and who knew whatotherworldly obstacles.
The corridor sloped upward. Closed hatchesmarked the walls to either side, each with a reader set nearby ateye level. Sicarius did not slow to try any of these. He obviouslyhad a destination in mind. Or maybe their eyeball only openedcommunal doors, not private laboratories.
They passed another ladder leading down, andBasilard tried to imagine a map of the place in his mind. Theycould no longer be above the tunnel they had run through on thefirst floor, because there had been no ladders leading up beforethe one they had taken. How much of a maze might this place be? Hehoped Sicarius knew where he was going.
After the ladder, the corridor continued onin a straight line. Its riveted, gray walls offered no alcoves orniches for hiding in, should someone come out shooting at them.
The narrow passage ended at another barrier.In a chamber on the other side, the back of a large black chair wasvisible before a control panel and a horizontal, oblong porthole.Dark water pressed against the glass. It could be night or day atthe lake surface and no one would ever know down here. Around thechamber, lever- and gauge-filled panels ran from floor to ceiling.Many held multi-hued glowing protuberances, all amorphous, morelike fungi that had grown there naturally than mechanical devices.Was this the navigation area? Basilard struggled to imagine thisunwieldy ship-if one could call it that-floating up a river, but ithad to have arrived somehow. Perhaps it could become compact fortravel.
Sicarius waved the eyeball before the readeron the wall, but this shimmering field did not fade away. Heplucked a piece of lint from the floor and tossed it at thebarrier. It burst into flame and disappeared.
Basilard stepped back, far back.
The owner of the eyeball didn’t haveaccess to that room? he asked.
Apparently not. Sicarius wiggled theeyeball about in front of the reader again. He must have expectedit to win him entry.
The chair rotated, and Basilard jumped. Hehad not realized anyone was sitting in it. A tall, gray-haired manin a white coat scowled at them. The navigator, perhaps, and maybea practitioner as well. Though he bore no weapons openly, he showedno fear at the prospect of intruders on his threshold.
Back? Basilard signed, aware of thealarm still throbbing, of shouts in the distance. It sounded likesomeone had discovered the dead guards.
Sicarius decided it was the time to engage ina staring contest. Maybe he thought the practitioner would witherunder an unrelenting gaze-or at least come over and open thedoor.
The gray-haired man lifted a hand. Acrackling yellow ball formed in the air before his fingertips.
Basilard backed further. That could only be aweapon, and if it could go through the barrier…
Sicarius crouched, ready to spring. He mustbelieve the barrier had to drop for the man to launch theweapon.
Boots pounded in the corridor behind them.Basilard gripped his knife and nodded to let Sicarius know he wouldprovide time for him-if he could. He did not know how he woulddodge pistols in the tight corridor.
He ran down the passage anyway.
Before he reached the ladder, two guardsstomped into view, one behind the other. In the narrow space,Basilard almost missed spotting a gray-haired woman in ablood-spattered white coat striding after them. She toted atwo-foot-long cone, and, judging by the way she held it over theguards’ shoulders, trying to target Basilard, it was a weapon. Hehad to focus on the first problem: the two guards and the pistolsin their hands.
The first man dropped to one knee, pointinghis firearm at Basilard, while the second remained standing andaimed over the first’s head. The distance between Basilard and themwas too far to charge before they could fire.
He focused on their fingers, trying to watchand anticipate when they would pull the triggers. One tensed.Basilard hurled his knife and threw himself into a forwardroll.
Pistols fired.
One shot clanged off the metal floor, butanother hammered into the back of Basilard’s shoulder. Pain searedthrough him, as if someone had thrust a hot iron into his flesh. Hegasped, eyes clenched shut, but managed to finish the roll and comeup running. He had to, or they would have him.
The closest guard was on his knees, hunchedagainst the wall, trying to work Basilard’s knife free of his upperarm. The man in back dropped his pistol and drew a serrated daggerwith a ten-inch blade.
“Move, Fiks,” the woman barked in accentedTurgonian. “Let me-”
Basilard charged. The second guard had onefoot in the air to step past his comrade, and one ear toward thewoman. It was Basilard’s best chance, to attack before the men hadtime to plan something.
The guard wasn’t as distracted as heappeared. He slashed at Basilard to keep him at bay, then yanked asmaller pistol out of his belt behind his back.
Caught off guard, Basilard was the one whohad no time to do anything but react. He lunged in and grabbed thedowned man, yanking him to his feet. The injured guard roared insurprise and pain. Basilard punched him in the face, hoping to stunhim and keep him as an obstacle. The movements stirred fresh agonyin his shoulder, and he nearly dropped from the pain. He forced itaside and yanked his knife free from the man’s arm, elicitinganother howl.
The rearmost guard thrust his pistol over hiscomrade’s shoulder. Basilard ducked and hurled his knife around theinjured man’s ribs. The awkward position gave the throw littlepower, but it was enough to slice into his target’s thigh. The manbellowed and dropped the pistol.
Further up the corridor, Sicarius shouted,“Down!” in Mangdorian.
Basilard hesitated. To drop to the floorwould be to put himself at a disadvantage.
Light flared down the corridor, as brilliantas a sunburst. Basilard dropped t
o the floor, dragging the closestguard with him for cover. Heat roiled down the passage, andbrightness burned his eyes, even through the lids. The man abovehim screamed. The scent of burning hair and singed flesh floodedBasilard’s nostrils.
He expected screams from the woman and theother guard but heard nothing. Had they been quick enough to hurlthemselves to the floor?
The light blazing against his lids lessened,and he pried an eye open, hoping to find his opponents vanquished.The woman had not moved, except to fiddle with something at herbelt. A transparent barrier, the same streaky yellow as those usedin the corridors, hovered around her and the guard. Heat shimmeringin the air parted around the defensive shield like water flowingpast a boulder in a stream.
Safe behind the barrier, the guard clenchedhis knife and glowered at Basilard. Blood dripped from his thighand splashed onto the floor.
Further up the corridor, Sicarius droppedfrom the ceiling where he had hung like a spider to avoid theblast.
Basilard scrambled out from beneath thesinged-and now quite dead-man. Every movement brought fire from thepistol wound; he could feel that ball in his flesh, grindingagainst the bone of his shoulder blade, but he gritted his teethand told himself he could deal with it later.
The remaining guard charged out of theprotective barrier and slashed at Basilard’s neck with the serratedknife.
Basilard had lost his own blade when he threwit, but he skittered back from the attack without trouble. He hadfaced many knife wielders without the benefit of a weapon. Hewatched the man’s collarbone-not the eyes; the eyes could lie-andkept the blade and free hand in his peripheral vision.
The man stabbed at Basilard’s chest. He sawthe feint for what it was. The man’s body wasn’t behind it; hewasn’t committed. Three more feints came, and Basilard began towonder if the man would attack in earnest. Then he committed, legscrouched to spring and dart in close behind a swipe.
Basilard crouched low and blocked thestriking arm, knocking it upward. He grabbed the man’s wrist,pulling it toward him as he stepped closer. His other elbow swungup, pounding the underside of the guard’s jaw. The man’s headwhipped backward with a crunch.
Basilard could have finished him on his own,but Sicarius slashed the man’s throat and shoved him to the floorso he could leap over him and spring toward the woman.
Before he reached her, an invisible blastslammed him in the chest. The edge of it caught Basilard as well, astiff blast of air so rigid it had the force of a battering ram,and it sent him stumbling against the wall. It hurled Sicarius adozen feet. Despite the power of the blow, he twisted and landed onhis feet, light as a cat.
Basilard crept close to the woman and tappedthe shield with the tip of his dagger. It buzzed and hissed at him.Hadn’t Akstyr once said a practitioner could not attack and defendat the same time? The dual task certainly wasn’t bothering thiswoman. Maybe because she was using a tool to attack instead of herown mind?
Sicarius sprinted back toward Basilard andthe woman. “Go by her,” he barked in Mangdorian. “Down the nextladder.”
The woman flipped a lever on her cone.Sicarius saw the attack coming and dove to his belly this time.That had to hurt without clothes on, but it worked. He skiddedunder the cone’s field of influence, and the wave did no more thanruffle his hair.
He jumped up, inches from the shield andjerked his arms up as if to attack, but he exaggerated themovements. Trying to startle her? To break her concentration so theshield would drop?
She watched him without flinching, thenominously reached for the lever on her weapon again. He tapped thebarrier with his knife. It buzzed at him. He stalked about theshield, like a prowling tiger checking his cage for a weakness.
Basilard picked up his knife and tried topass the woman in the corridor. The edges of the barrier extendedto the walls, so he had to slither on his belly to find anunblocked spot.
A string of words came down the hall.Basilard did not understand the language, but it sounded like aquestion. Without taking her eyes from Sicarius, the gray-hairedwoman answered in the same tongue.
Basilard thumped the wall to get Sicarius’sattention, We should go.
Where to he did not know. If the navigationarea was out, what else could they try?
The woman lifted the weapon at Sicarius’schest again. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but heanticipated the attack. He leaped over the woman, barrier and all,and avoided the blast.
Sicarius joined Basilard and they ran downthe corridor.
Before they reached the ladder, twobronze-skinned men with long, thin braids of black hair came intoview. They wore white coats and toted small canvas bags that bulgedwith balls. Each carried one of the balls in his free hand, palegreen globes with the icy dark depths of a glacier.
The men were on the other side of the ladder,and Basilard thought he could reach it before they did. Heincreased his speed, running ahead of Sicarius. Had they beenguards, Basilard would have challenged them, but he wanted nothingto do with practitioners.
When he reached the ladder, he dropped down,landing in a crouch, knife ready. A pair of guards running towardthe ladder almost crashed into him.
One started to lift a pistol. Basilardknocked the arm up, and the weapon went off, the noise deafening inthe metal corridor. The pistol ball ricocheted off the walls, andthe guard flinched. Basilard feinted toward the man’s face with hisknife, drawing a block, then lowered his blade and thrust towardthe unprotected gut.
The guard had fast reflexes and almostrecovered quickly enough to block the attack, but Basilard wasfaster still. The blade plunged through flesh and organs before hepulled it free again.
He shoved the injured man at his comrade,eliciting a new blast of pain from his shoulder. He need not havebothered. As Sicarius dropped down, he hammered his black bladeinto the top of the man’s skull. Bone crunched, and utter shockstamped the guard’s face-his last expression ever.
“Run!” Sicarius sprinted up the corridor.
As Basilard turned to follow him, two of thepale green balls dropped down from above. Busy running, he did notsee them hit the floor, but he heard cracks like breakingglass.
He hunched his shoulders, expecting anexplosion. But it was a stench that assaulted him. He snorted,trying to expel any intrusive gas from his nostrils. After that, heheld his breath as he raced after Sicarius. He might be fast on theClank Race, but he had the shorter legs, and he fell a few pacesbehind.
The long, twisting corridor seemed to go onforever. Ahead, someone leaned out of a hatchway, a compactcrossbow poised to fire. The attacker probably thought he was safe,that he could duck back behind a barrier as soon as he made theshot, but Sicarius dodged the quarrel and surged forward withstartling speed. He grasped the crossbow wielder’s wrist and yankedhim out before he could duck back. Sicarius spun the man about, ahand going to his head, and broke his neck before he could so muchas shout for help.
Basilard’s lungs burned from holding hisbreath. Sicarius stopped to grab the crossbow and pat the man downfor ammunition. It must be safe to breathe.
Basilard opened his mouth to suck in a gaspof air, but couldn’t. His lungs were frozen. He tried again. Andagain. Nothing. It was as if he had taken a blow to the solarplexus and his system was stunned. He thumped on his chest, notsure what else to try. Panic encroached upon him. Would he die forlack of the air all about him?
Before he reached the dead body, Sicariusrose and headed down the corridor again. Basilard thumped on thewall.
Sicarius stopped and turned. For a moment, hesimply stood there. Trying to ascertain what was wrong? Or thinkingthat, despite his earlier words, he was being given a chance toleave Basilard to die and to end the possibility of a threat?
Blackness crept into the edges of Basilard’svision, and the weight of a thousand pounds of sand filled hislegs. He stumbled and pitched toward the floor.
Hands caught him. Air that Basilard wanted somuch to inhale breezed past as he was hoisted from the floor anddraped over Sicarius’s sho
ulder. The darkness swallowed more of hisvision, and his pulse throbbed in his ears. Vaguely, he was awareof the floor skimming past as Sicarius continued running down thecorridor. He turned at an intersection and halted.
Another barrier to pass? Did Sicarius stillhave the eye? Basilard could not see, nor could he feel his limbsor move his head.
Metal squealed and they moved again, but onlya few steps. Basilard felt himself being lowered to the floor. Itscool smoothness pressed against his cheek. He wondered if it wouldbe the last thing he ever felt.
Abruptly, a massive spasm coursed through hisbody. His lungs surprised him by coming to life, and he gulped airin so quickly he almost threw up. He was so relieved he did notcare. A temporary paralysis of the lungs, thank God.
Shots rang out nearby. Basilard rolled to hisstomach and tried to get his hands and knees beneath him so hecould help, but his body was too busy breathing to obey. He didmanage to lift his head.
Sicarius stood beside the hatch, reloading apistol. The crossbow leaned against his leg.
White-coated figures milled several metersdown the corridor. One started forward. Sicarius sensed it somehowand leaned out, firing the crossbow. The figures did not even duck.The quarrel bounced off a shield identical to the one thegray-haired woman had used.
Sicarius slammed the hatch shut and spun around wheel, causing a thick bolt to clang into place. Though itsounded sturdy, there was no way to lock it.
Basilard staggered to his feet. He andSicarius were in a chamber dominated by an engine, boiler, andfurnace. Giant pistons pumped, and a flywheel turned, and the placemight have looked purely Turgonian, but unfamiliar tubes andsinuous pipes swept and twisted about the chamber like vinesamongst trees. Domes of various sizes punctuated the dull metal atpoints, emitting orange and red pulses of light. Whatever burnedinside the furnace emitted crimson flames instead of yellowishorange.
Welcome to the engine room, Basilard toldhimself.
Sicarius strode toward the engine controls,lifted a hand, but stopped a few inches shy of touching a lever. Hegazed at it for a long moment, the way Akstyr focused when he wascalling upon his science. Then he shook his head once and backedaway. He grabbed a wrench out of a toolbox and tossed it at thecontrol panel. It bounced off an invisible field and zipped acrossthe cabin. Basilard ducked as it shot over his shoulder. It clangedinto the bulkhead and bounced halfway across the room again beforeclunking to the deck. Singe marks blackened the tip.
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