Steelhands - Jaida Jones [183]
It seemed that we were going to be the cause of more harm to the city than the Esar. We’d certainly be responsible for more fevers in the coming days.
Then Laure grabbed my arm, practically dragging me through the snow, and I realized that the light on the bottom floor of the building we were meant to enter had been snuffed out.
“If that’s not our sign,” Laure muttered, “then I’ll eat my scarf.”
We left the uproar in the streets behind—and all that snow, which I was only too glad to see the back end of—and slipped unnoticed into the warm building, just as Ghislain had done earlier. Behind me, I heard Raphael lock the door—those who’d run out probably hadn’t thought to take their keys. It would provide a momentary setback, in any case.
“This way,” I heard Ghislain whisper in the dark.
We followed him.
I very nearly tripped over something that was not a piece of furniture—it gave too much, and groaned when I kicked it—and I was suddenly grateful Ghislain had not lit a lamp again. First of all, our shadows would be visible from the streets, framed by the windows; second of all, I did not want to see the corpses of our enemies strewn across the floor. At least I didn’t step on anyone else, clinging to the back of Laure’s jacket in the dark so as not to become lost.
“Watch the stairs,” Ghislain said, and I tightened my hold.
“You’re gonna knock us both over if you’re not careful,” Laure muttered, but she didn’t shake me off.
The six of us crept slowly down the stairs, Ghislain and Balfour in front this time, presumably because the latter was small enough to get out of the way of the former if we ran into any trouble. Laure was right behind them in the narrow pass, which meant I was considerably nearer to the front than I might’ve liked, with Luvander and Raphael bringing up the rear. They were guarding us, I realized, keeping the two civilians who certainly didn’t belong in this kind of operation well flanked on either side. It was very thoughtful of them, but it did little to soothe my nerves.
At least I no longer had to worry about the Dragon Corps’s most infirm member slipping on any stray patches of ice. And if there were any troubles on the rickety steps, I had a feeling that Luvander would help him, if only for the sake of his second-favorite jacket.
As we came to the end of the narrow stairwell, Ghislain halted, nearly causing a pileup when Laure didn’t take the hint and almost crashed into Balfour, nearly bowling him over like a ninepin. Up ahead, I could see a well-lit hallway with iron doors set into the white walls. The lights lining the ceiling flickered every so often, which gave the impression of candlelight. At least there was some light to see by, though when I glanced down at my fingertips to see how much dust had come away on my hands, I was very nearly ill. Not only was there dust, but there was grime, as well, and a slimy streak on my thumb from where I had been forced to guide myself along the uneven wall.
Being too deep underground was one of my private nightmares—I couldn’t imagine being buried in all that awful dirt—but I wasn’t about to cause a fuss for personal reasons. At least we were in some semblance of a building, no matter how things dripped and dropped in the distant dark. I laid my hand against one of the stones, and it seemed sturdy enough; then I quickly drew my hand away.
I was secretly, guiltily grateful that Margrave Royston hadn’t come along with us. After seeing his work firsthand, I knew that I did not want to be anywhere underground with him at my side. It was nothing to do with the man personally, and not a comment on his control over his Talent. I merely had no wish to end up accidentally buried alive should something startle him and force him to cause a cave-in.
After giving us a chance enough to take stock of our surroundings, Ghislain began to