He did have a visitor, but not a human one. One of the tiny spiders observed from the tunnel leading to the higher levels. As soon as he spotted it, the creature scurried off.
Books clenched a fist. He might have fooled it before, but it would not fail to report his escape this time.
He sprinted across the cavern. With legs much longer than the spider’s, he had little trouble catching up. Before wiser thoughts could stop him, he jumped and stomped on the device.
Shards of metal tinkled against the rock walls. Books lifted his boot. In his enthusiasm-or perhaps desperation was the better word-he had smashed the thing to bits. Good.
He ran back to the cavern. It would take time for the water in the boiler to heat enough to produce steam to power the vehicle.
Books tried to work calmly and efficiently as he stoked the fire, but he could not keep from glancing at the tunnel entrance every few seconds. His expectations were answered.
A heavy clank, clank, clank echoed from the passage.
Books ticked the gauge on the boiler. It was close but not ready. No choice. He threw more wood on the fire and climbed over the borer’s treads and into the cab. The number of levers daunted him, especially considering how little time he had to figure out how to drive the vehicle.
Something metallic glinted in the mouth of the tunnel.
Books threw a lever. In front of the cab, a great rotating cylinder started to spin.
“Forward,” he muttered. “How do we move this thing forward?”
A massive cast iron creature clomped out of the passage, scraping rock and dirt off the sides with its broad body. Though reminiscent of the small spider Books had squished, this mechanical beast had more features. Such as fangs.
Black, iron teeth as long as his forearm gnashed together in a protruding jaw shaped like a dog’s snout. Not two but six eyes glowed above that snout. Each of the eight legs below its bulky carapace had the heft of a pillar. Twin arms stuck out of the front, and crab-like pincers snapped. Steel razors gleamed, reflecting the light from the wall orbs. Without hesitation, the great spider clanked toward Books.
He tried another lever.
The tunnel borer lurched forward. Surprised, Books tipped backward, ramming his naked shoulder blades against unforgiving metal.
On the gauge, the needle wobbled beneath the ready mark, but Books had no choice. He set himself and pushed the lever to maximum. The borer picked up speed.
He chose one of two paired levers, figuring they must be for steering. His first try angled the machine into the wall. He lurched, nearly thrown back again. Pulverized stone flew, pelting the cab, and the noisy grinding drowned out the spider’s approach.
Books pulled the other lever, and the borer veered away from the wall. He steadied the machine and drove it toward the spider. He curled his lips in a grimace of anticipation, anticipation that this might be messy. For him. The drills could handle rock, but what about cast iron? Cast iron possibly enhanced with magic?
Maybe he should wheel the borer around and try to outrun the spider to the pump room. If he could destroy the machinery before-
No time. The spider snapped its jaws and increased its speed, lunging like a wolf.
At the last second, Books hurled himself from the cab.
Metal screeched and squealed. He rolled away, arms sheltering his head. Shrapnel hammered the rock all around him and splashed into the pool. A fist-sized chunk slammed into his naked shoulder. Warm blood flowed down his arm.
Grinding noises and the smell of scorched metal filled the cavern. Books lifted his head and opened an eye.
The borer had crunched into the carapace of the spider, leaving a massive concave dent. The snout and pincers were missing, fallen to mingle with wreckage from the vehicle: shards of metal and broken drill bits. The construct was not dead yet though. It wobbled to the side as the borer, despite a snapped tread, continued to advance.
Books jumped to his feet and sprinted back to his vehicle. He ducked his head to avoid the newly warped frame of the cab and grabbed the levers, turning the machine to angle for the spider again. Even damaged it might be able to hobble back up to deliver a message to the shaman.
He braced himself and rammed the construct again. The collision jolted him, but he hung on. He pushed the spider before him, steering it toward the pool.
Even headless and eyeless, the creature seemed to sense its trouble for it tried to shamble sideways. Books kept it pinned and pushed it ruthlessly over the tracks and into the water. Once it was immersed to its carapace, he backed up and rammed it again. After three heavy jolts, it finally stopped moving. It slumped, smoke pouring from cracks in its seams.
Books backed the borer away. A cloud of black smoke swallowed the cab and made him cough. His own exhaust. Operating a steam vehicle in closed confines was probably not wise, but he did not plan to linger.
He veered toward the lower tunnel. The borer limped and lurched, and metal rattled with each chug of the pistons. He held his breath, not positive it would fit into the passage without having to drill, a task it was no longer fit for.
The borer knocked a few stones loose, but it squeezed into the tunnel. It smashed light orbs on the walls, causing blinding flashes that made Books’s head ache. When he made it to the smaller cavern, he aimed for the pumping machinery with single-minded intent. He enticed every bit of speed he could get from the borer as it plowed into the deeper water.
Again, Books jumped free before the crash. This time he expected the screech of metal and the flying parts, but something heavy fell on him from above.
He staggered and lost his balance. He tried to catch himself, but the weight drove him down, forcing his face into the water. Not metal but a hand pressed on his back.
Shocked, Books spun onto his back and kicked out with his legs. His boots collided with flesh. He struggled to lift his head out of the water, but a solid grip held him. Water flooded his nose, burning his nostrils. He grabbed his assailant.
A shout sounded, distorted by the water. The hands let go.
Books came up sputtering-and swinging. His fist smashed into someone’s abdomen. Water streamed into his eyes, but he glimpsed his opponent grunting and bending over. From his knees, Books drew his arm back for another blow.
“Books!” a familiar voice cried.
Books froze. He dashed water out of his eyes and gaped at the array of men before him. Basilard, Akstyr, and-
“Emperor’s balls, Booksie, haven’t we told you not to wander around with your shirt off?” Maldynado asked, a hand to his stomach. “Nobody wants to look at that hairy rug of yours.”
Books groaned and climbed to his feet. “Good to see you too, you fodder-for-brains ignoramus.” He peered about, confused as to where they had come from, then gazed up at the shaft. A rope dangled from the shadows. “You climbed down here?”
“We’re here to rescue you,” Akstyr said.
It was an obvious statement, but Books found himself surprised by it-by their presence here. That they actually cared enough to climb down that long shaft, risking a drop to their deaths, to get him…
“Though it looks like you started without us.” Maldynado pointed at the smoking borer and the smashed pumps. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know you had a knack for destroying things.”
“You should see the spider,” Books muttered. “Where’s Amaranthe? Is she…doing all right?”
“Uhm.” Maldynado traded uncertain looks with Basilard and Akstyr.
“She’s not…” Books swallowed.
“Dead?” Maldynado asked. “No, no. At least, she wasn’t when we parted ways, but she…”
“Has an infection I couldn’t cure,” Akstyr said. “So she’s going to ask the shaman to heal her.”