Four meters below, a dry sewage tunnel was now filled with the litter from his efforts. Gemmilsky had installed new pipes and a modern sewage recycling module in one of the gardening sheds. The previous owner, however, had been forced to pump all of his waste into the common city drainage. During construction of the new house, all of the old sewage, water and power adits had been sealed up with brick, plaster and a new coat of paint.
"Clear!" Dawd called to the prince and the master sergeant. He squeezed himself down into the opening, hung by his hands for a moment and then dropped down into the old tunnel. The sergeant's combat visor switched into infrared, he glanced both ways and saw the passage was empty. "Come on, mi'lord. We've got to move quickly."
The prince swung over the edge, closed his eyes, muttered a prayer to the Beneficent and Merciful Jesus and dropped into the Eagle Knight's waiting arms. Dawd set the young man down in a rubble-free section of tunnel and tapped his comm. "Master Sergeant? Let's not be waiting about!"
"Just a second, lad. There's a wee bit more work to be done."
Colmuir rotated one of the spyeyes to scan the horizon. The aerocar which had brought them to Gandaris had departed at first light to deliver Mrs. Petrel and her ladies to the palace and return with 'refreshments.' The master sergeant assumed the use of kujenai troops to attack the mansion meant Clark, the aerocar and the civilians had all been seized by the kujen. He was waiting until the last moment, hoping the corporal would reappear.
The sky was overcast and gray and threatening a day of drizzling rain. There was no sign of the aerocar. Colmuir muttered six and a half kinds of curses to himself, tapped the last glyphs on his fuse screen and scurried to the pit.
A muffled series of thuds and booms filtered through the roof of the sub-basement. The old foundation groaned, feeling the house above shift and sway. A distant crashing sound followed, and the lean Skawtsman imagined the entire portico toppling onto the tank and trapping the metal behemoth in a ruin of double-paned windows, marble statuary and triply-varnished lohaja-parquet flooring. He slapped two bomb packs on either side of the opening, gave them twenty minutes to live and dropped down into the darkness.
An hour later, Dawd used his combat knife to saw through the bar holding a sewer-grate closed and, after listening cautiously, stepped out into a domed, brick-lined roundabout deep under the center of Gandaris. His Fleet medband chirped politely, informing him of excessive levels of methane, carbon dioxide and airborne bacteria in the newly entered atmosphere.
"Oh, gods of my fathers," the prince exclaimed, splashing clumsily into the grand sewer. "This place smells…urk… oh god…" Tezozуmoc doubled over, nearly falling into the stream of dark brown effluvia streaming towards the river, and added a gagging heave of yellow bile to the greater collection of Gandarian waste. Dawd seized him by the upper arms and waited for the boy to finish his business.
"Excellent nose for navigation, lad." Colmuir closed the gate to the dry tunnel behind them and replaced the bar. "You've got a fix on the airport, then?"
"No airport in Gandaris, Master Sergeant." Dawd consulted his comp, which had been keeping track of the twists and turns in the sewer system. "Or we'd have landed there when we arrived… That's odd, we've lost any comm signal but ourown. The jamming must have gotten worse." He shook his head in dismay. "If Clark managed to escape with the aerocar, he won't be able to raise us, or find us, unless we're out in the open as he flies over, waving the locust-flag of Chapultepec over our heads."
"That won't happen," the master sergeant said, peering over Dawd's shoulder. "Options?"
"We could walk about a thousand kilometers to Parus," the younger Skawtsman said, tabbing up a map of Gandaris and the greater valley. The city spread up a series of terraced hillsides from the banks of the Kophen to reach the embrace of the higher peaks. The far side of the river was subdivided into agricultural plots, and then bisected by the railroad running southeast towards Bandopene. "We could steal an aerocar, if there was one to steal, and be back in Parus tonight."
"What…" The prince spat and cleared his mouth. "What about calling for someone to come and pick us up with a combat shuttle?"
"No comm," Dawd replied, shaking his head. "Or we could find a place to hide out, sit tight…"
Colmuir considered the map, removed a tabac from a half-crushed paperboard case, smelled the cigarette and put it back. Then he nodded to himself. "We take the train."
"What?" Dawd stared at him, surprised and horrified at the same time. "We'll be arrested at the station!"
"The train?" Prince Tezozуmoc frowned. "Wait a moment…wasn't someone saying something about the train the other day? About…oh, who was that?"
Both Eagle Knights stared at him expectantly, but the young man shook his head, bemused. "Huh. Nothing." He rapped his head with his knuckles. "Empty as a gourd! I've forgotten who it was. Don't mind me."
"We don't," Colmuir said in an offhand way. He gave Dawd a tight little smile. "Now, laddie, you haven't lived until you've jumped a train, as my da would say. And he jumped one or two in his time. Now, which way t' the station?"
Dawd made a sour face, hitched up the assault rifle on his shoulder, consulted his comp and pointed up a tunnel spilling a slow, turgid sludge into the main sewer. "That way."
A gloved hand reached up, grasped hold of a marble lip around the urinal and Dawd heaved himself up and onto the floor of an empty restroom. The chuffing sound of a steam engine mixed with the hooting and warbling of Jehanan adults echoed in through high windows. The sergeant glanced around, making sure the large, stone-floored room was empty, and knelt to take the prince by the arms and hoist the boy up. Colmuir scrambled up through the wide-mouthed opening – Jehanan bathrooms were well appointed with ornamental stone, delicate carvings and elegant fixtures but consisted solely of a deep pit to raise tail over – and took a moment to let himself breathe cleaner air. The sharp smell of hot metal, coal dust and hundreds of natives rushing about trying to get aboard the afternoon express train filled his nostrils and he beamed a smile of relief at Tezozуmoc, who was batting at legs dripping yellow-green ooze.
"Ah! Much better." The master sergeant considered their appearance and his smile faded. "Now, we must make ourselves presentable enough to cross the tracks and get aboard a luggage car – Dawd you think these faucets will work?"
The sergeant was at the doorway, peering out into the waiting hall with a perplexed expression on his face.
"Sergeant Dawd? Can you hear me?"
The younger Skawtsman shook his head, breaking out of something like a daydream and nodded. "Yes, Master Sergeant. I'll have a look at the faucets – but you should scope this…"
Grumbling to himself and waving the prince to stand beside the marble sink lining the wall – and out of the line of fire from the entrance – Colmuir edged up to the door and looked out. At first, all he saw was a melee of Jehanan – young and old alike, all dressed in harnesses hung with flowers, long narrow sun-hats and gaudy drapes and accompanied by a great deal of luggage in woven bags and heavy-looking steamer-style trunks – surging past. And then, much as the clouds might peel back from the mountaintops looming over the city, a troupe of monks in very tall, saffron-colored hats stamped past and he saw, waiting patiently beside the number four track schedule board, Mrs. Petrel and her two young ladies with no more luggage than their handbags, traditional Imperial festival clothes over flesh toned skinsuits and Army-issue umbrellas for parasols.