“Squirm,” he said in one of his flat tones.
“You’d prefer a different word?”
“I do not squirm.”
“Even in bed?”
“No.”
“Fine, is there a duct you can thrust yourself through in a manly manner? Thrust is an acceptable word, I hope.” She bit off an inquiry about whether he performed that verb in bed, deciding it was a tad crass.
That eyebrow was in danger of twitching again, but another bang sounded back at the exit door, and he must have decided the time for play was over. Sicarius jogged beneath a massive duct leading from the furnace and into the wall and unscrewed what she guessed was the vent to a maintenance shaft. He glanced at her before, yes, thrusting himself through the opening. If any squirming went on, he waited until he was out of sight to do it.
“Let’s see that paper, Amaranthe.” Books had tipped the canister upright beside the furnace and unfolded something similar to, but more complicated than, a hose and spigot. “We should have this ready as soon as he returns.”
Basilard was standing watch next to the exit leading to the stairs, and he closed the door firmly. I don’t believe that basement door will hold.
“What happened to our allies with the cannon?” Maldynado asked.
“It’s hard to shoot a cannon around a corner and down a stairwell,” Sespian said.
“Just when you think technology is helping civilization progress in a useful way.”
Amaranthe handed the sheet of paper to Books, happy to let him puzzle over the details, and joined Basilard at the door. She touched the wood. Though these boards were oak, too, they weren’t so stout as the ones upstairs.
It won’t have much trouble breaching this door, Basilard signed, echoing her thoughts, if it makes it through the one above.
One that wasn’t as substantial as the thick gold-gilded entrance doors to the main floor-Amaranthe remembered their stoutness from her first trip. They’d been opened by steam technology rather than by a butler with a burly arm. Though there’d be women inside the Barracks, the makarovi might find those in the basement a more attainable prize.
“Let me know if anything changes,” Amaranthe said.
Basilard, his ear already pressed to the door, nodded once. If nothing else, they could escape into the ducts the way Sicarius had gone. The makarovi would be too big to follow them. They’d have to leave their canister behind though.
“Ah, there’s a foldout handle too,” Books said. “What a clever little contraption. I’d love to take it apart and see how the inside works.”
“Perhaps after we’ve dispensed the anesthesia,” Amaranthe murmured.
“When did he have time to build this?” Sespian asked. “Has anybody seen Admiral Starcrest sleep since he got here?”
“Aw, he’s been retired for twenty years,” Maldynado said. “I’m sure he had plenty of time to rest then.”
Amaranthe thought of the submarine she’d seen and the hints Tikaya and their daughter had offered as to some of their adventures. “I’m not sure retired is quite what he’s been.”
A crack and a crash came from outside. Basilard met Amaranthe’s eyes.
“Akstyr, I don’t suppose you have any Science tricks for distracting makarovi?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I can’t pull down its underwear.”
Books frowned at him. “Surely, your creativity can fathom other applications of similar skills.”
“You want me to pull its fur down?” Akstyr asked.
“Never mind.”
“Is that contraption working yet?” Amaranthe pointed at the canister, now with tubing in a coil at its base.
“Yes, but you want to wait for Sicarius’s return, right?”
“I want to-”
Loud snuffles crept through the door. A few meters away, claws clacked on a cement floor.
Amaranthe clamped her mouth shut, and everyone else stopped talking, as if sound were what had led the creature to the basement.
She grabbed the end of the hose, unraveling it as she returned to the door. She slipped the tip into the crack beneath the boards. The clacking claws halted, and the loud, moist sniffs filled the hallway outside the door.
The door is not much of a barrier for the passage of air, Books signed. The gas may affect us too.
We can escape into the ducts if we start to feel groggy. Amaranthe pointed at the handle on the canister.
I hope it’s that simple. With obvious reluctance, Books turned the handle.
With the hose placed, Amaranthe backed away from the door.
She caught Maldynado signing, What if the gas seeps through and knocks us out without hurting that beast at all?
Books shrugged bleakly.
A smash rattled the door. It might have been a paw or a shoulder. It hardly mattered. Under that first exploratory blow, the hinges groaned.
Sespian, Books, Yara, and Maldynado drew their weapons, but they also eased closer to the maintenance shaft into which Sicarius had disappeared. Basilard waited beside Amaranthe, a pistol in one hand, a dagger in the other.
When another blow battered the door, she took Books’s place at the canister and turned the handle up farther. A soft gurgle came from the hose. Right, she reminded herself, it was a liquid, not a gas. Not yet. It needed to be heated first.
“Akstyr,” she whispered.
He had moved close to the shaft, too, though he had his eyes closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration. She started to wave for someone to bump him, but he opened his eyes of his own volition. He shook his head at her.
“That collar isn’t just controlling it; it’s protecting it.”
Uh oh. Would it protect the creature from their concoction too? Or only Science-based attacks? There was no time to ask and debate about it.
“There should be a bunch of liquid on the floor out there,” Amaranthe said, her words punctuated by another blow. One of the old boards cracked under the force. “I need you to heat it up. I know you can do heat.”
“Oh, yes.” Akstyr brightened. “Even if I can’t attack the makarovi directly, I can make that hallway hotter than the sun’s armpit.” He rubbed his hands.
“Just make sure the liquid is heated,” Amaranthe said.
He waved and closed his eyes again.
Another blow hammered the door. This time a hinge popped, and the top half tilted inward a couple of inches.
“Now would be a good time,” Maldynado said. “Yara, get in the duct.”
“I’m not turning coward and fleeing,” Yara growled, though her tone lost some of its fierceness when long claws slipped over the top of the door.
The beast was probing, but in a second, it’d attack in full force.
“Akstyr,” Amaranthe urged. At the same time, she waved the others toward the vent. “Yara, go. We can come back later, when it wanders off.” If it wandered off. The beasts had cursed singular minds where female prey was concerned. She turned off the handle on the canister. If the liquid hadn’t worked by now, it probably wouldn’t.
Yara hesitated, but Maldynado hoisted her from her feet and shoved her into the shaft. Grim-faced, he stalked toward Amaranthe.
“You’re next.”
“Wait,” Akstyr blurted. “It’s burning. That gunk is all over its feet. I think-”
The deafening roar of startled distress almost had the power to blow the door down on its own. The claws flexed on the boards. A snap sounded, the final hinge breaking free.
Amaranthe ran to join the others at the vent, though she knew there’d be no time for everyone to climb in, not before the creature rushed inside.
Flames danced in the hallway, surrounding the makarovi. It reared and roared, smashing its head and shoulders against the ceiling, but didn’t come in. The heat poured through the doorway, competing with the furnace. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if the creature was being burned, but it was surely alarmed.