“You already had fun with me,” Narcissus said plaintively. “Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”
“Just kill him right now,” Lucifer advised Batanya, and for a second she was tempted. But there were other things to do, and besides, she had a jumbled feeling that killing Narcissus would be like breaking an ancient porcelain vase. He wasn’t very useful, but he was beautiful.
Lucifer’s wound was healing, as she’d expected, and he wouldn’t be on the floor for long. The pounding at the door had accelerated, and there wasn’t time to do more than wrap one of Crick’s chains around the no-longer-bleeding lord and lock it with one of Crick’s locks. Clovache had Crick moving and had picked up one of Lucifer’s tunics and pulled it roughly over their client’s head. Crick himself bent with obvious pain to pull on some shoes, and then they were tumbling out the door Amelia had found.
Batanya hadn’t been sure Narcissus would follow, he’d seemed so intent on forcing a compliment from his former lover-or torturer; but the beautiful youth trailed after them, though he didn’t seem nearly anxious or urgent enough to suit her.
The door had to be blocked behind them. There was nothing in the dusty passage to help them do this, and the door didn’t lock on this side.
Clovache said a few choice things, and Crick said, “Stand back.” His voice was shaky but clear, and Batanya was grateful that he was well enough to remain on top of their perilous situation. Crick muttered a few words under his breath and pressed his hand in a curious gesture toward the door.
“It will hold them for a few minutes,” he said, and they hurried away. “That’s pretty much all the magic I have, so don’t expect more,” he added, getting the words out with an obvious effort. The passage was stone-floored like the rest of the underground palace, but it had been made strictly by men. The roof was braced, and there was no slug slime on the floor and walls.
“Do you know where this leads?” Batanya asked Narcissus.
“I didn’t even know it was here,” he said. “I never tried to escape from Lucifer before.” Of course not.
It would have been wonderful to have Crick’s map, but there was no telling where it had gone after Crick had been stripped. It wasn’t like they had a lot of choices to make; the passage had so far not branched off.
“We’re going northwest,” Crick said, when they paused to get their breath. By now, the back of Lucifer’s tunic was striped with Crick’s blood. His face looked even bonier than it had before. Batanya admired his fortitude. “That’s the direction of the guards’ barracks.”
“You’re still determined to retrieve the conjuring ball,” Batanya said with resignation.
“I might as well go back into that room and let him kill me there if I don’t return with the ball. I held out telling him where it was. I can’t come back to get it.”
“Crap.” Batanya wanted to pat him or choke him, she wasn’t sure which.
“What is the law?” Clovache said sullenly.
“The client’s word,” Batanya said, with resignation.
They started out again, trying to move faster. Amelia was uncomplaining, but she was panting heavily, and she stumbled from time to time. Narcissus was in better shape, but he was not as keen as the rest were on getting out of Hell. Crick kept pace gamely, but he didn’t object when Batanya put her arm under his shoulder to help him along.
The passage did branch off, finally, though the dust on the floor would surely indicate which way they’d taken. There was no help for it. They barged on straight ahead, since according to Crick that was still the best way to the barracks. The passage had led them slightly uphill, Batanya had noticed, and ahead of them they saw extra light coming from a grate in the floor.
The small group paused, and Clovache whispered into Narcissus’s ear, “You must keep silent.” They crept forward as quietly as they could, and Batanya felt Amelia’s arm quiver with the effort the older woman was making to calm her ragged breathing.
When they got very close to the grate, Batanya leaned Crick up against the wall and stepped silently up to it by herself.
She was looking down into one of the soldiers’ mess rooms. There were about twenty various creatures sitting around a table eating bread and meat, and drinking-those that had mouths-from bowls. They were all talking (or growling, or hooting), and when there was a loud alarm, at first they ignored it. Suddenly a large snakeman bounded into the room, and he bellowed (as much as his throat would permit him), “To arms! Lucifer has been attacked!” Whether from devotion or fear or professional pride, the collection of soldiers cleared out of the mess hall in double quick time.
“Shit,” Batanya said, and Crick tried to smile.
“I agree,” he said. “But at the same time, this is the last place they’d expect us to come, and if they’re clearing out, this is our best chance to retrieve the ball.”
“Which way?” Batanya said, having no argument to make with that.
“Forward,” he said, trying to put some energy in his voice.
So on they hurried. Two more grates were passed, Crick taking a careful look down each one, and at the third one he said, “This is it.”
Batanya’s shoulders wanted to sag with relief, but she kept herself braced and ready for action. She had an awful feeling she could hear the sound of pursuit coming up the passage; it was some way distant, but their pursuers would catch up quickly since they were all fit. So she wouldn’t think about what would happen after that, she squatted down to remove the grate, which wasn’t secured in any way; why would it be? Before she could speak, Crick grasped the rim and lowered himself down to the bed that was almost squarely beneath the grate. Crick gasped in sudden pain and dropped heavily, and the bed broke. Crick ended up on the floor, curled in a ball. In a flash, Batanya lowered herself through the opening and dropped a lot more gracefully.
“You idiot,” she said as she helped Crick to rise. “Where is it?” He pointed to some cabinets lined up against the wall, obviously intended to hold the soldiers’ effects.
“On top,” he said. “On top of the first cabinet to the right.” This proved to be a narrow cabinet with three lines scratched on it. Batanya opened the cabinet, stood on the lowest shelf, and heaved herself up. Sure enough, back against the wall where it would be out of sight, there was the conjuring ball, hastily concealed by Crick months before. It was wrapped in a rag that had been used to wipe it clean. Remembering where Crick had kept it concealed, Batanya was grateful. She grabbed the ball and leaped down, bounding over to Crick in almost the same moment. He took it and tossed it up to Clovache. Batanya gripped Crick around the hips and lifted. Clovache and Amelia reached down and seized Crick’s upstretched hands, and together they bundled the thief up into the passage again. Once he was out of the way, Batanya made a good leap to seize the lip of the opening herself, and with the help of the two women she managed to join the others, just as the door of the room below opened with a crash.
“Now,” she said to Clovache. “Now!”
Clovache pressed a lump behind her ear where the beacon was implanted. Then she pressed it again. Batanya reached behind her own ear and pressed hers three times. Five people to transport.
Nothing happened.
“Fuck,” Batanya said. “Can the ball get us out of here?”
“I don’t know how to get it to…” Crick began, and then the sounds of pursuit became immediate. Batanya swung around to face the oncoming horde, and Clovache picked up her short spear and hurled it at the lead figure, one of the snakemen. He fell and the others stumbled around him, but it was only a matter of seconds before they were overwhelmed. Crick dropped the conjuring ball, and Amelia retrieved it automatically. “I want to go back,” she said, almost weeping.