After a silent struggle that seemed to go on for hours, the dustball was squashed flat. When the Britlingens cautiously released their pressure, a large lump of hair, trash, and dust fell to the stone floor. Clovache threw the blanket on top of it, in case it could pump itself back up, and she dragged the snakeman’s ghastly body on top of that, while Batanya divested Sha of his dagger.
“What’s happening?” Marl called from the guardroom. The door had swung shut behind Sha and the dustball, so he didn’t have a good view, and he wasn’t at the peephole-too cautious, maybe.
“Help! Help! He’s killing me!” Clovache screamed. Furious that Sha was interfering with a valuable prisoner, Marl threw open the door and rushed into the prison wing, sword drawn. Batanya tripped him and stabbed him through the neck with Sha’s dagger. Within seconds, they’d gotten the keys off his belt and Batanya was unlocking Amelia’s cell. The tall woman didn’t waste any time getting out, and the four former prisoners clustered together for a minute.
“Amelia, Narcissus, I don’t know what you want to do, but Clovache and I have to rescue our client,” Batanya said. “Does either of you have any knowledge of where Lucifer’s chambers are?”
“I do,” Narcissus said. “I spent hours there, entrancing and entertaining him.” He made a ludicrous attempt to look modest.
“Will you take us there?” Batanya asked. There was no time for finesse. They were in the middle of hostile territory.
“We want to keep you with us as long as we can,” Clovache said more diplomatically, “and if you can’t help us, we have to be on our way.”
“Since you ask so nicely,” Narcissus said, casting a cold look in Batanya’s direction, “I will lead you there.”
There was no question that Amelia wanted to go. She was pale with anxiety, and choking on the suffocating miasma of the jail. The four ex-prisoners crept to the open door. The air in the guard chamber outside was remarkably stinky, but it was a big improvement nonetheless.
For a few seconds they just breathed.
The great thing about the guardroom was the weapons hanging on the walls. Batanya felt much more like herself with a gun in one hand and a sword in the other. Clovache spotted their armor, and seized it with a yip of delight. She was about to shimmy into it when Batanya stopped her. “It’s too Britlingen,” Batanya said. “We need to be guards.” The two pulled on the green pants and tunics that the guards wore. Clovache reluctantly bundled the two suits into a backpack. She would have felt much better with it on her body, but Batanya knew Clovache could see the sense of her decision. To compensate, Clovache armed herself to the teeth with two guns, a short spear, and a dagger.
“We’re going to pretend we have you two in custody,” Batanya explained to Amelia and Narcissus, who had pulled on his clothes. “If we herd you ahead of us, that’s a good way for Narcissus to guide us to our client without it being obvious we don’t know the way.” Amelia nodded. She was so anxious to leave the jail that she couldn’t form words.
The Britlingens held their new weapons at businesslike attitudes. When Batanya glanced down at the gun she held, she found she had no idea what would happen when she fired it, or even if she had it pointing in the right direction. Narcissus stepped ahead of them, casting a look over his shoulder to make sure they’d all noticed his beautiful butt. They smiled at him reassuringly and nodded to show encouragement and admiration. He led them to the right into the large trunk corridor they’d traversed to get there.
When they passed another group of Lucifer’s soldiers, Batanya gripped the gun so hard she thought it might bend, but no one questioned them. One woman whistled after Narcissus, which pleased him no end, though he seemed equally happy when a snakeman pinched his left lower cheek.
“When you get through with him, pass him along,” hissed the snakeman.
“Lucifer wants him,” Batanya said, shrugging.
Because of the uniform tunics they’d donned in the prison area, they went a long way without challenge. The two Britlingens looked very different without the hoods of their summer armor, and they were certainly sufficiently tough to pass as guards. As they moved through the tunnels, the traffic increased and the tunnels themselves became wider and decorated with paintings and lamps. These bits of civilization gradually increased in frequency and splendor, until they found themselves in the audience hall where they’d first seen Lucifer. Narcissus led them across this, though they were going much more slowly now because of the groups of servants or soldiers who were also crossing the large space. Hell sure was busy. Lucifer wasn’t in the great hall, to Batanya’s relief. She wanted to reclaim Crick when there weren’t scores of Lucifer’s minions around.
After they’d freed their client, all they’d have to do was fight through all these savage creatures to get to the surface, or at least find some quiet and undisturbed spot so the Britlingens could trigger their beacon and their party could be returned to the castle in Spauling.
That was all they had to do.
Batanya quelled a moment of despair. Britlingens never gave up. There was a client to save. She thought of her picture going up on the Wall of Shame, and her lip curled in distaste.
They were brought up short just at that moment by the four guards barring the two magnificent doors. Narcissus’s dead halt meant this was Lucifer’s personal suite.
Talk their way in, or just start killing? If a troop of soldiers hadn’t appeared just at that moment marching by on some other business, Batanya might have found out how well her new sword worked. But there were at least twelve soldiers, and two of them were the quadruped net-throwers. Batanya had formed a strong disinclination to tangle with them again, if she could help it. Clovache glanced at her senior, a question in her face, and Batanya nodded.
Clovache said, “Lucifer wants these two,” jerking her head to indicate Amelia and Narcissus.
“He didn’t say anything to us,” the guard with the fanciest uniform said. She was a huge woman with golden skin and golden eyes. Narcissus fluttered his eyelashes at her, and she choked back a surprised laugh. “I’m Ginever, day captain,” she said.
“I’m Clovache, prison guard. The Master apparently told Marl, who ordered us to bring them,” Clovache said.
Ginever looked surprised, as if Lucifer talking directly to Marl was unlikely. It probably was, considering Marl had been a lowly prison guard overseer.
“Let me just ask,” she said. “He’s got his shiny toy back, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s playing.”
Batanya felt an unexpected wave of pity for Crick. The Harwell Clan was nearly extinct because of its members’ unusual physical attribute. Being gifted had its price. When Batanya had the time to be curious, she promised herself she’d learn the clan’s history.
“This one is wanted to join in the fun,” Clovache said, pointing to Narcissus. “You can see the attraction.”
“Oh, yes,” said the golden woman, smiling. “Oh, yes. He’s been here often enough before. Well, I must check.” She knocked on the left door, a quick set of three raps. Her ear to its surface, she waited. She must have heard some sound of assent, because she drew back to open the door. Batanya exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
“In, prisoners, move your feet!” she said, as curtly as a real prison guard. Ginever was no fool and certainly had a full complement of arms as well as three comrades, and the sooner they were out from under her eyes, the better.
Clovache led the way, followed by Narcissus and Amelia Earhart, with Batanya prodding from behind with the sword.