"A moment, please, Sir,” Erik said, kneeling on Quelgrum's left side. “I have an idea."
The General raised his eyebrows. “I'm open to any suggestions, Sergeant."
"If you don't mind, Sir, I'd like to ask little Thribble a few questions first,” Erik replied. “There's no sense in getting our hopes up if my idea's no good."
Quelgrum nodded. “Go ahead, Sergeant."
Erik crouched over the hole and said, “Master Thribble, we need to wedge Necromancer Numal's staff parallel to Baron Grimm's, perhaps two feet apart from it. Are there any ledges or stone blocks we can rest it on?"
"A moment, please, friend Erik."
Quelgrum heard faint scrabbling sounds to his left, a few moments of silence and then another brief interval of scratching to his right.
"I think so, Sergeant,” the demon chirped, panting a little. “The floor of the hall subsided, but the lower supporting walls are still intact. They are supporting Questor Grimm's staff. I am sitting on one of them at the moment, and it looks very sturdy. The walls are somewhat less than a man's height apart."
"Very good. Is there enough room to rotate the staff through a right angle from the vertical, if it's completely inside your chamber?"
"I think so, Sergeant."
"That's excellent, Thribble,” Erik said, his voice intense and serious. “Now, my last question: if the staff hung horizontally, with all its weight supported on ropes, are you strong enough to guide it into position?"
"I could try,” the demon twittered. “Would it hurt me? I know what a Mage Staff can do to the unwary."
Erik turned towards Numal, who stood a little further down the rock-pile, his face pale and drawn.
The Necromancer shook his head. “I heard, Sergeant. My staff will not hurt Thribble."
"You won't be harmed, friend demon,” Erik assured Thribble, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Wait a few moments, and we'll see what we can do about getting you out of there.” Crawling back from the hole, he stood up and massaged his lower back.
Quelgrum followed the Sergeant's example; his spine seemed as if it were on fire. “What are you planning, Sergeant?"
"Of course, Sir; it's really very simple. We use two ropes, tied around the staff about eighteen inches apart. We leave one rope slack, lower the staff and then use the other rope to pull it horizontal. With that arrangement, we can tilt it, turn it, or move it in any other direction, as guided by Thribble. We take the weight, and he can just finesse it into position."
Quelgrum nodded as the simplicity of the plan flooded into his forebrain. “That's so simple that it's almost brilliant, Sergeant,” he said, mirroring Erik's smile for a few moments before his expression darkened. “I see only one little flaw; we don't seem to have any ropes."
"We're only talking about supporting a few pounds’ weight, Sir. Belts, pieces of string and strips of strong cloth should do; perhaps about ten feet for each rope."
Erik still wore his army uniform, equipped with a multiplicity of leather straps and burlap webbing, and he began to divest himself of these, his practiced hands joining them together with sturdy, locking knots.
"I reckon this will do for one rope, Sir,” he said, grunting as he tugged on his improvised rope. “I just hope my trousers don't fall down in front of all these ladies."
Quelgrum wore a leather belt and a single cross-strap angled across his chest, and he added them to the cause; the resulting rope was, however, some way short of the needed length. He considered asking the nuns to tear strips from their ample robes, but he thought better of it. He did not want to foster accusations of lewdness or prurience; he needed all the help he could get from these ladies.
Shakkar wore no clothes, but after Numal provided the rope cincture from around his waist, and Tordun had contributed his ample belt, Erik pronounced himself satisfied. He tested the knots and nodded.
"Your staff, please, Necromancer Numal?"
Numal handed the six-foot weapon to Erik.
"Don't worry if the knots come loose, Sergeant; I can always retrieve Justice with a word, if she falls. I've told her not to hurt you, demon Thribble or Questor Grimm."
"Thank you, Lord Mage,” Erik replied.
His nimble hands made swift work of fastening the makeshift ropes around the staff. “I'm ready, General."
"Very good, Sergeant. Carry on."
Erik leant over the hole and began to lower Justice into the chamber. Quelgrum tried not to breathe.
"That is far enough, Sergeant,” Thribble called from below. “You have just enough room to level the staff."
"So far, so good,” Erik muttered, and he began slowly to manipulate the ropes, like a puppet-master playing a marionette's strings.
"Stop!” the demon squeaked. “Hold it steady, please."
The General heard a series of breathy, high-pitched grunts as Thribble worked, unseen, below him.
"One side is in place,” the imp declared, and Quelgrum fancied he heard a distinct tone of satisfaction in Thribble's voice. “Hold it there, please."
The General heard a rat-like, scrabbling, scurrying sound, followed by further grunts.
"You may release the ropes, Sergeant,” the demon twittered after several minutes. “The staff is secure."
Erik released his hold, and the improvised ropes shimmied into the hole, like a pair of rapacious snakes seeking prey.
"We must clear away the rubble on the far side of the hole, General,” he said, locking Quelgrum's eyes with his own. “Once the block's revealed, we'll probably need to use the levers to ease the stuff away from it, starting next to the block and moving outwards. We can't rush this, Sir; we have to move it in small increments so it doesn't get away from us. If the block tumbles, we'll be in a world of hurt."
Quelgrum clapped his hands to draw the attention of his crew of nuns, and he relayed Erik's earnest instructions to them. As they began to clear the rubble away with careful movements, he heard a harsh, peremptory cough behind him. Turning his head to his left, he saw Lady Drexelica standing at the foot of the rock pile, her arms akimbo in an aggressive, unladylike stance. He noted the pursed mouth, as if she had drunk vinegar when expecting fine wine.
"How long will this ridiculous charade continue?” she demanded, her tone icy and brittle. “While you carry on with this futile exercise, there are innocent women dying down there; women who could be saved in a tenth of the time it would take you to rescue a foul rapist who may already be beyond help!"
"We haven't forgotten your sisters,” Quelgrum replied, his voice as stern and uncompromising as Drex's. “However, my first loyalty is to Baron Grimm. Further excavation may put him at risk, and I have no intention of allowing that."
Drex snorted. “I thought you would say that,” she said, talking to herself as much as to the General. “I should have known better than to trust a group of males."
She half-turned away from him, as if resigned to his decision, and began to walk away. After a few steps, she stiffened, spun around and surged towards the rock-pile. With a sick, cold shock, Quelgrum realised she was about to throw herself at the stone block, in an attempt to send the whole heap down on Baron Grimm. He tried to move to interpose himself between her and the hole, but his feet skidded on the loose rubble, sending him sprawling on his face.
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Chapter 25: An Angry Mob
Drex dashed up the slope like a soul possessed. From the corner of her eye, she saw figures running toward her, but they were too slow or too far away to catch her.
Justice will be done, she told herself. I will be free from the foul rapist at last.
She laughed, preparing to launch herself against the stone block to send it tumbling down onto Grimm, but the harsh laugh was crushed from her by a pair of strong arms, and she realised her feet were now pounding against nothing more substantial than thin air.