But if both of these powerful figures were still absent, then there was a small thread of hope which we could perhaps follow to success. For with Merdenne suddenly gone, surely a state of some small confusion had arisen among the Morlocks. Not enough to prevent their invasion of England and the world beyond – that would still undoubtedly go off after only a small delay. However, the retrieving of the Excalibur duplicate from its original hiding place in the Grand Tosh indicated – at least I hoped it did – that a degree of uncertainty had crept into the Morlocks' knowledge of the situation.
Our enemy had no way of knowing that a plot was underway to reunite the scattered Excaliburs, as Merdenne would not have revealed his setback at our hands to his confederates. Now that the schemer was not about to contradict us, it was my intention to present Tafe and myself to our enemies the Morlocks, and claim for ourselves the distinction of being Merdenne's lieutenants. A lie as audacious as that held some chance of succeeding, if only by the sheer magnitude of it. We also had one of the Excaliburs to back up our claim. How, I intended to ask of the Morlocks, could we have gotten possession of such an object unless we were indeed important associates of Merdenne?
A simple reversal of facts would suffice to explain the sudden departure of Merdenne from the scene: to prevent Ambrose from interfering, Merdenne had worked a spell to keep them both trapped in a distant time. In his absence, Tafe and I were acting as conductors of his orders to the Morlocks.
From there onward our course would have to be played by ear, so to speak. It would be useless to anticipate the twists and turns our lies would have to take in order to succeed in winning the confidence of the Morlocks. If we managed to do so, we would then invent some pretext for reuniting our Excalibur with the one in their possession, and then somehow attempt to get away from them with it. Two more duplicates of the sword were hidden somewhere else in the world! I put these out of my mind, so as not to have my heart quail at the enormity of the task that lay before us.
Our easy progress down the tunnel soon came to an end. Small fragments of rubble grated beneath our bootsoles and we held ourselves carefully as the footing became even more precarious. Soon the rubble mounted into great banks filling the tunnel from side to side. Over these we crawled, holding our torches before us as well we could. One pile of shards was so high as to leave only a foot or so of space between it and the roof of the tunnel. We slithered through the gap on our stomachs. Something in the darkness behind us nipped at my ankle as I went through, but I shook it loose and was gratefully on the other side.
A pool of stagnant muck had collected against the opposite wall of this dam, and it was through this we waded knee deep hoping no pitfall was concealed beneath the slimy surface. So inured had I become to the foul conditions of the universe that these sewers and passageways formed, that I was scarcely aware of the ordinarily nauseating odour that was emitted by the decaying matter in the water. A portion of my mind, though, ticked steadily away, longing for a hot bath and a cologne-scented Turkish towel. With one hand I touched the swaddled Excalibur on my back, and pressed on.
The passageway came to an end. On either side similar tunnels branched off. This was the T section to which Felknap had directed us. Tafe gestured with her torch to the passageway to the right, and I followed behind her.
Evidence of some kind of directed activity was apparent as we went. The floor of the tunnel had been drained, with small gutters dug along the sides to carry off any water that did collect. What rubble there was had been carefully swept from the centre of the passageway.
Tafe stopped suddenly and held up her hand. "I hear something," she whispered, turning her ear to the tunnel's far end.
After a few seconds of silence, the sounds were noticeable to me as well. Mechanical noises as of engines, combined with scraping and sliding. Supplies being moved about, perhaps? Voices as well, shouting out orders and directions, though I could hear those only faintly. In the sewers' odd acoustics it was impossible to tell how close we were to the Morlocks' subterranean beachhead.
We resumed our progress. On one hand, we wished to proceed as cautiously as possible in order to see as much of the situation as we could before entering into it. However, we also wished to present as confident an aspect as possible to any of our enemy that chanced upon us. A show of timidity would seal our fate as securely as an outright admission of our true identities and plans.
The noises grew steadily louder as we neared them. I could make out the harsh gutturals of the Morlocks quite distinctly, the sound of their bestial voices raising a tremor of loathing along the skin of my arms. I fought the feeling down, reminding myself that I had to present myself as a friend to these creatures.
The tunnel turned to one side. From around the corner we could see a dim bluish light seeping. This illumination, I surmised, was probably that which the Morlocks found least painful to their sensitive eyes. We were almost upon them in their covert stronghold. I braced my backbone and positioned myself at Tafe's side as we walked toward the light of our enemies.
No sooner had we turned the corner than a chorus of basso shouts sounded all about us. Figures leapt out of their hiding places in the passageway behind us and brandished their weapons at our backs. A similar horde of Morlocks, outfitted in the same type of drab military uniforms as the others of their breed I had seen, arranged themselves in a semi-circle before us. Even if we had wished to, there was no possibility of escape from them.
The ugly band, their squat-fingered hands shading their eyes from our torches, jabbered at each other and growled at Tafe and myself. The sight of so many of their loathsome, death-pale faces swimming around me aroused the keenest nausea in the base of my stomach. The feeling was not relieved when the largest of the Morlocks, with a wrinkled face, presumably from age, resembling the bottom of an unbaked loaf, pressed the point of his bayoneted rifle against my abdomen.
I drew myself as erect as possible and glared at my captors. "See here!" I blustered, injecting as much fire and steel into my voice as I could. "What the bloody hell is the meaning of this! Get that rude pigsticker out of my gut this instant or I'll have you cleaning out every sordid privy between here and the abyss. Do you hear me!"
The Morlock's eyes grew even more saucer-like as he goggled at me. Under the onslaught of my barking he drew back the point of his bayonet and stood in mute befuddlement. His startled companions had fallen silent as well.
"The same goes for you, horse's ass," said Tafe to the one who had brought his bayonet up against her stomach. "Put it away or get ready to eat it." Her threat seemed clear to him despite his lack of English. With a much deflated expression on his pasty face, he took away his weapon and turned to the leader of his little troop for further orders or simple reassurance.
Standing in front of me, the wrinkle-faced one looked me over dubiously. Clearly we were not any of the men from the Lost Coin World. Who then, he was obviously wondering, could we be? And our behaviour was equally puzzling to him. Not only were we not visibly afraid, we were doing our best to seem imperious and disdainful of the whole ugly lot of them.
The mental effort proved to be too much for the leader of the Morlock patrol. I almost felt sorry for the creature as, with a frankly bewildered expression, he dispatched one of the group toward the light and noise farther along the tunnel's length.