“Then there’s no more to discuss, is there?” They entered the cavern again, and Books chose a spot in the middle.
“I don’t know,” Maldynado said as Akstyr and Basilard veered toward the ledge. “We could discuss strategy. Maybe you should try to look extra enticing so you keep his attention riveted.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Show some leg?” Akstyr caught the ledge and pulled himself on top.
Maldynado snickered. “Nah, this is Books. He’s more likely to entice someone by keeping his body fully covered.”
“Have I mentioned how grateful I am you lads came to rescue me?” Books asked.
“No.”
“Excellent.” Books shoved Maldynado toward the ledge.
The first bulky, hard-edged shadow appeared in the tunnel ahead. Others followed. Books did not see the shaman or anything human-sized.
Ker-thunk.
Metal glinted as it flew toward him. Books lunged to the side. A harpoon clattered down inches from his feet. Sparks flew as it skidded, snagged, then flipped end over end.
Books raced for the shelf. He jumped, caught the lip, and cleared the edge without so much as scraping a shin against the rock. He rolled and hit the back wall before coming to a stop.
“Problem?” Maldynado asked, tone bland, though he lay on his belly, rifle butt nestled into the hollow of his shoulder, ready for action.
“The shaman isn’t with them,” Books said. “I don’t think I can entice machines. No matter how much clothing I take off. Or leave on.”
The first construct clanked out of the tunnel, continued several paces, then pivoted and faced Books. Glowing crimson eyes bored into him.
“Oh, I think they’re downright enticed by you,” Maldynado said.
Other constructs walked or rolled out, displaying a variety of means of ambulation. Each carried a barrage of weapons ranging from harpoon launchers to rotating saws to small cannons.
Akstyr whistled. “I want to learn to create artifacts that could power machines like that. So impressive.”
“I’d admire them more of they weren’t trapping us.” On his belly, Books scooted up to peer over the edge between Maldynado and Akstyr.
“Look at the detailed etching on that cannon arm,” Maldynado said. “Only a very bored or very obsessed man could have made all these machines.” He tapped the frame of his rifle. “Or a man with an overbearing wife he’s avoiding.”
The mention of a wife made Books think of Vonsha. He hoped she was somewhere safe, preferably not the same somewhere as the shaman. “Either way,” Books said, “it doesn’t look like he’s coming.” He did not know whether to feel relieved or concerned. How did one negotiate with machines?
The constructs formed a line in the center of the chamber, facing Books and the others. The eight-foot-high ledge offered a modicum of protection, but not enough. Not against that firepower.
Basilard, on his belly beside Books, rifle readied, turned questioning eyes his way.
“I don’t know,” Books said. “I had all my brilliant ideas before you boys showed up.”
“I can only think of one brilliant thing to do alone in a cell,” Maldynado said, “and I don’t want your details describing it.”
“I meant escaping and destroying the pump, you nit.”
Ker-thunk!
A harpoon hammered the wall a foot below the ledge. The construct’s arm whirred, and another projectile rotated into place.
“Whose idea was it to climb up here and get ourselves trapped?” Akstyr asked.
Basilard pressed his cheek against the stock of his rifle, sighted, and squeezed the trigger. The ball smashed into the crimson eye of a bipedal construct with spinning saw blades for hands. The cylindrical head twitched, but the saws continued to whir, sharp steel teeth a blur.
The construct next to it in line slung a harpoon toward Books. He flattened, pressing an ear to the damp stone. The projectile stirred his hair on its way by. It cracked against the rock wall behind him, and the broken shaft landed on his leg.
“Why’s it targeting me?” Books asked. “ I didn’t shoot one.”
“You’re the escaped prisoner,” Maldynado said.
Something similar to a blunderbuss fired, and a burst of pellets hammered the ledge.
“Lucky me,” Books said. “Given the enhanced attention I’m getting, it would have been even more thoughtful of you to bring me a weapon.”
His comrades fired and reloaded. The rifle shots had little impact on the metal constructs, but nobody offered better suggestions. Akstyr closed his eyes at one point, as if trying to work some magic, but he shook his head and opened them again soon. The shaman’s devices must be beyond his ability to tamper with. Books would have to come up with a plan.
He scooted back, careful not to lift his head-or anything else the machines might target. He grabbed one of the rusty lanterns abandoned on the ledge. A faint sheen of lamp oil residue smeared the inside of the cache. He hoped it was enough. He swiped the wick through it and made himself a couple of fuses.
Shots and curses peppered the air while he worked. A harpoon skimmed over Basilard’s head and cracked against the wall behind Books.
He dropped onto his belly and slithered back up between the men. He fiddled with the clasps on Maldynado’s ammo pouch.
“What are you doing at my belt?” Maldynado fired a shot, then rolled over to reload.
“I’m going to help.” Books removed a flask of black powder.
“You’re not taking off my pants, are you?”
“No.” Books slid one of his fuses into the mouth of the flask. “Does anybody have a match?”
“No,” Maldynado said, “and why are you taking my powder for this help you’re planning? I’m going to need that.”
One of the machines on treads rumbled forward, a human-sized shield extended. It rammed into the base of the ledge. The earth quaked beneath Books’s belly, and pebbles trickled down from the ceiling. An overhead support beam creaked.
Maldynado fired his rifle and a pistol at the ramming construct, but his shots ricocheted off its metal hide, leaving only small dents.
“Let me borrow that.” Books tugged the pistol from Maldynado’s hands without waiting to see if he would object.
“Oh, that’s why you wanted the powder?” Maldynado asked. “To reload for us? Good idea. You’re not doing anything else useful.”
Books ignored the jab. He tilted the pistol, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger, trying to direct the sparks onto his fuse instead of into the pan.
“You have to load the gun before you fire it,” Maldynado said as he rammed a ball into his rifle.
“Thanks for the tip.”
The construct with the shield slammed into the ledge. Rock crumbled and gave way. The support beam groaned again.
This time when Books pulled the trigger, sparks landed on his fuse. He blew them to life and tossed his makeshift explosive. It clinked onto the head of the construct ramming the ledge.
Maldynado grabbed his arm. “What are you-”
“Down!” Books barked.
The men imitated turtles.
The explosion rocked the ledge. A portion of it crumbled beneath Akstyr. He squawked in surprise, scrambling about, trying to catch the deteriorating lip. Books lunged over Basilard and caught Akstyr’s arm. He braced himself, but the weight almost pulled him over too. Gritting his teeth from the effort, he dragged Akstyr back atop the shelf. A harpoon slammed into the rock at the base of the ledge, where Akstyr would have been without the help.
Books released the younger man and slumped back against the wall. If Akstyr had been hit, it would have been his fault.
He inhaled deeply. Dust and black powder smoke filled the air, bringing tears to Books’s eyes and stinging his nostrils. Another round of pellets flung toward them. He flattened himself again and Akstyr shuffled to the side, taking a second to glower at Books through the hazy air.
“I lost my rifle,” Akstyr said.
“I’ll trade you a pistol for your powder flask.” Maldynado coughed and wiped at tears streaming down his cheek. “Some dumb lizard blew mine up.”