‘Or nothing,’ Muss said cryptically.
‘What if we crossed up there,’ said Irisis, pointing to the next floor. ‘See the beam that’s fallen across?’
They went out and along to a stair that led to the next floor, then walked the beam in single file, a miniature nightmare to add to the rest of Nish’s horrors. It was precariously balanced on shifting chunks of stone and every movement made it wobble.
They passed diagonally across part of a prentice artisan’s training room, or so Irisis judged from the boxes and displays of crystals and other artefacts, each with its crudely lettered instruction cards. The front right and rear left corners of the room had been shorn off, replaced by a masonry wall on the one hand and a triangular section of room containing only a pair of butcher’s blocks on the other. The second block, illuminated by a puddle of moonlight, held a partly carved ham and a neatly severed hand and arm, still holding the carving knife. The arm had hardly bled at all, though the fingertips were as white as the ivory wand Nish had seen earlier.
At the door, Muss checked his instrument. This time Irisis, who had been watching for it, caught a quick glimpse of brass rods and mottled lenses. Muss pointed to the right, down a narrow hall.
They were just gathering behind him when Klarm said, ‘We’re being watched.’
‘What do you mean?’ Flydd asked in a low voice.
‘I don’t know, precisely, but I can feel it.’
‘It?’ whispered Flydd.
‘I believe so.’ Klarm cast a quick glance across the displays of crystals on the far side of the room.
Irisis followed his gaze. The reflection off one particular crystal, a deep green tourmaline, gave it a predatory look. ‘I think we should get out of here right away.’
No one argued. On the other side of the door, Flydd said, ‘I can feel the amplimet now. It may be contained but it’s not controlled. It’s extending a web of filaments throughout Nennifer. And it’ll use any crystal or device capable of drawing power. We’d better hurry.’
They hastened along the hall, but had just turned the corner when they heard a distant screaming that sounded as if it came from dozens of throats. Muss stopped so suddenly that they ran into him. He sniffed the air. ‘Phantoms and spectres from the dungeons. Nothing to worry about.’
Irisis shivered and moved closer to Nish. ‘I saw more than enough of them in Ghorr’s cells. Such torments the scrutators’ prisoners have suffered here.’
He took her arm. And we’ll be joining them before long.
‘The amplimet’s blocking us,’ said Flydd as they stumbled down another dark, shattered hall only to be confronted by yet another dead end.
‘How can it?’ Klarm replied. ‘We’re just following him.’ He directed another suspicious glare at Muss’s back.
‘Perhaps it’s blocking his eidoscope,’ said Irisis. She still hadn’t seen the device clearly, for Muss only used it in the shadows.
Eiryn Muss turned to face them. ‘Not even an amplimet can influence my eidoscope. Its Art is designed to see true, no matter what.’
‘How can you possibly know what an amplimet is capable of, and you a mere prober?’ Klarm said coldly.
The derogatory emphasis made Nish flinch.
‘I chose to remain a prober because that was how I could best serve my scrutator,’ said Muss without emotion. ‘Had I wished otherwise, I could have attained the highest position any spy can aspire to.’
‘More words,’ said Klarm.
‘But in this case, true words,’ Flydd interjected. ‘Muss could have been a master spy a decade ago. I recommended him many times.’
‘Does your eidoscope see the webs and meshes the amplimet has drawn throughout this place to spy on us?’ said Klarm. ‘How else could you know that it’s not controlling what you see?’
‘It’s not,’ Muss said stolidly.
‘Lead on, Muss,’ said Flydd.
‘It’s not far now, surr,’ said the prober.
‘Let’s plan our attack,’ said Flydd. ‘How many soldiers are guarding the warding chamber?’
‘None, surr. No one would dare enter that place without authority, and the entrance is closed with scrutator magic.’
‘Ah, but can we break it?’
‘Between you and me, I think so,’ said Klarm.
‘Fusshte will have his guard on call,’ said Flydd.
‘Many died in the dislocation,’ said Muss, ‘and others have been ordered to their posts, but certainly some will be nearby.’
‘Can you get us past them, Muss?’
‘I believe so, but you’ll have to be ready to fight.’
They went on, though after about ten minutes Muss stopped and stood to one side with his arm pointing down the corridor. ‘Go down there.’ He gave a series of directions. ‘Then follow your nose as far as it takes you, and go straight up.’
‘Muss?’ said Flydd.
‘You’re close, surr. You’ll smell the place before you go much further.’
‘Lead on, Prober,’ said Flydd.
‘I can’t go on,’ said Muss with a distracted look.
‘Why not?’ Klarm said.
‘I only spy. I don’t go into dangerous places.’
‘The hell you don’t –’ cried Klarm.
In a second, Muss morphed from his normal self into a shaggy, ape-like creature. As Klarm leapt at him, Muss skin-changed to the appearance of the wall behind him and vanished.
‘Grab him!’ Klarm yelled, but Muss was gone. Klarm stood there with clenched fists, breathing heavily.
‘You shouldn’t have pushed him,’ said Flydd.
‘He’s run, Xervish, which proves that my doubts were well founded. He brought us here for a purpose and the more I think about it, the more it worries me. What if he’s told Fusshte we’re here?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Flydd. ‘I believe what Muss said.’
‘And what he left unsaid?’ said Irisis. ‘He hasn’t brought us here to serve you. He wants something and he can’t get it from the scrutators.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ said Flydd.
TWENTY-SIX
Flydd hurried them across a series of dark rooms that had been chopped in half, stumbling over bodies on the floor. They did not stop to look at them. They climbed down into the next segment of the building, a dining hall that had been turned upside down and fitted neatly back into place, though what had been the ceiling was now strewn with upside-down trestles, benches, trenchers and cutlery. Oddly, the globes on the walls were still working. The place smelled of boiled turnip, the vegetable Nish hated most. It had been a staple back in the manufactory.
Something squelched underfoot. He had trodden in a bowl of yellow gruel, as sticky as glue. He kicked it aside and it skidded across the floor to shatter against a bench.
‘Quiet!’ hissed Flydd, appearing to look every way at once. ‘What was that?’
‘I didn’t hear anything unusual,’ said Klarm in a low voice.
To Nish’s mind, every sound was unusual and some were uncanny. The groan of timbers deformed under weights they were never intended to bear; the sporadic crash and crumble of plaster or masonry; the trickling rivulets of dust and grit; the alternate soughing, whining and whistling of the wind across the severed edges of stone and tile; the cascades of water from twisted pipes and the surging ooze and plop of waste from shattered drains. And then there were the wails and groans of those trapped in the wreckage and the shrieking of the spectres forced from their dungeon homes. The cries seemed to come from every direction.
They went on, Nish’s boot sticking to the floor with every step, through the far door into a frigid stone canyon. The roof was gone, as well as the floors above, while the walls to either side stretched up, bare and unclimbable, for a good twelve spans. The opposite wall was crusted with frozen runs of brown muck that had a sewer stink. Moonbeams angled along it, touching silver gleams here and there.