Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [50]
He looks at me to check his interpretation. I nod, still so tired that I feel close to sobbing. I can’t let Grey Brother or Abalone know or they will insist that I stay out and this I cannot bear. I must go in and help—these people are in trouble because of me.
I ease myself back against the Jungle wall and try not to let my friends see how heavily I am leaning.
“One of the Lesser Trails comes up there,” Grey Brother says, mostly to Abalone. “I could go in and you could kill the lights.”
“We go in,” Abalone says with a scowl that does not accept argument. “I’ve rigged the lights so that I can kill them remote. Besides, you’ll need the extra hands.”
Grey Brother does not contradict and together they lay out their plans. I am too tired to make much sense of what they are saying and after learning that I am to come up last and cut any prisoners free who need help and then lead the way to an upper port—the same, I realize idly, that Abalone first brought me through—I let myself drift.
My next clear memory is soft Spanish curses and Grey Brother struggling to lever up a rusty access port. After Abalone jumps on the lever a few times, the lid lifts and a damp, caustic smell rises. I wrinkle my nose as I tuck Betwixt and Between into my pack.
“Some water down there,” Grey Brother explains unnecessarily as he climbs down. “Smells crappy, but won’t hurt you none.”
Abalone doesn’t say anything but ties a bandanna over her lower face before starting after him. I shrug and follow, listening to my dragons bicker about how best to describe the putrid odor that wafts up.
At least they don’t have to wade in the stuff, I think as I slog along behind Abalone. The water is cold and glows faintly in the pale light of the green chem stick Grey Brother holds in one hand. A strange, glittering sludge sticks to my jeans where they cut through the water.
After a half dozen steps, my wet skin begins to burn.
Grey Brother and Abalone do not comment, so I follow without complaint. Finally, we stop before another short series of rungs set into the wall. Grey Brother wedges the chem stick into a crevice and climbs.
Abalone comes after, one hand on the ladder, one unbuttoning the flap on the tappety-tap’s case. I wait at the ladder’s base.
Grey Brother looks down, his eyes dark pits with burning embers smoldering at the bottom.
“Ready,” he hisses, his hand holding the hasp that will open the trapdoor.
“Light’s out.” Abalone nods, touching an icon. “Now!”
Grey Brother opens the trap so quickly that the first cries of astonishment come clearly to me. Unbelievably, he pauses, halting his first leap out. Then he twists and apparently reorients himself.
“Fuck! Map’s backward!” he yells before launching himself out.
Abalone repositions herself without question and as she clambers up and out, I follow. Through shouts of “Cover the door!” and “Where the hell did they come from!” I hear the glad howls of the Pack.
I am just out of the tunnel when Abalone touches another of the icons on her computer. The lights come on again. And then cut off. And on. Off. Somehow she has reprogrammed the lights so that the effect is similar to that of a strobe.
Around me, I can see a baker’s dozen of people dressed in midnight blue jumpsuits moving jerkily about. Near the room’s center are seven or eight Pack members, Midline among them.
Then the lights go out again, but I have my bearings. I cut Midline’s bonds first and he tumbles back, unable to catch himself on numbed hands. But I do not waste my time apologizing. In the dark, it is difficult to cut the bonds. I must feel first to find the rope by touch and saw at that rather than the hands that it binds.
By the time everyone is freed, Midline has regained his feet, but he is the least of my concerns. Grey Brother and Abalone have been quite busy. As well as varying the lights between strobe and darkness, Abalone is forcing her tappety-tap to emit squeals and wails that echo