To Armitage's astonishment and horror, the test subject seemed unharmed by the lethal hail of bullets, but all the guards staggered and collapsed in a spray of blood.
Xylox turned his face upwards and gave an angry, defiant cry that was reproduced in tinny fidelity over the speaker: "Armitage, I declare myself your nemesis and executioner! Tremble and quail, for your end is at hand!"
"We'll see about that," Terrence grunted. He seemed far more confident than Armitage felt. "Don't worry, Administrator, I'm about to release the security doors around their section. If we can just hold them for ten minutes or so, I can hook up some Victor X-Ray to the ventilation shaft; we have ten canisters in Secure Lab Nine, enough to kill ten thousand people. Those doors are six-inch thick boride steel with internal ceramic layers; they won't get through that in a hurry."
"Victor X-Ray?" Armitage queried, his brows wrinkling.
"Nerve gas, Administrator," Terrance said. "The slightest whiff of it, and they'll be stone dead in seconds. If they hold their breath, it'll pass though their skin and eyes. They're dead; be sure of that."
"Thank you, Terrence," Armitage said, sighing with relief. "I don't mind admitting I was beginning to get worried there, but I felt sure I could rely on you."
****
The two mages strode down the corridor in perfect synchrony, their faces identical, impassive masks of stern intent. A few minor Haven functionaries came out of side doors, but Grimm and Xylox paid them little heed. Their argument was not with these minions, but with their Administrator.
"I advise you to stay in your rooms," Grimm told the wide-eyed individuals. "Stay inside, and you will be safe. I cannot vouch for your security otherwise."
The people followed his advice with alacrity and without exception; perhaps stupid people did not last long at Haven.
"I must confess myself a little disappointed at the lack of resistance," Xylox complained. "I was looking forward to somewhat more of a challenge. If I could only-"
At that moment, a loud, hissing clang interrupted the older mage's monologue, as four grey walls slammed down, penning the pair of thaumaturges in a large metal cell.
"Is this enough of a challenge for you, Brother Mage?" Grimm asked, with only the slightest trace of sarcasm.
"Even magic-resisting iron buckles with heat, Brother." Xylox raised his hands, screamed a spell in his unique Questor tongue, and flung a handful of scorching magical energy at the door. Flames washed over the metal, but to no effect. The door's surface now showed concentric circles of various colours, but the integrity of the door appeared unaffected.
Grimm, the son and grandson of blacksmiths, could distinguish steel from pure iron when he saw it. Steel might be stronger, but it lacked pure iron's immunity to magic. "May I try something, Xylox? This substance is not iron, but steel; an impure form of the metal."
The older magic-user shrugged. "Go ahead, if you believe you can do better than I."
Grimm patterned his mind for his Enhanced Disintegration spell, and released it at the adamantine door. A spray of glittering dust flew up from the point of impact of the spell. When the shower of metal flakes settled, Grimm saw he had removed a sizable amount of metal. However, although the hole was perhaps five feet in diameter, it was only half an inch thick. Grimm rapped on the exposed area with his knuckles, and the dull tone told him he had hardly touched the metal barrier.
Still, all was not lost. The complex of Haven might be huge, but it was supremely orderly in its construction; a series of rings cut into regular sectors.
"Xylox," Grimm said. "Using the argot of this place, we are at the end of Brown Sector, Ring Nine. Can you visualise the location of the Habitation Block relative to here?"
"With ease," Xylox replied. "You are considering Teleportation?"
"I am, Brother Mage."
"You may try first, Questor Grimm," the older thaumaturge intoned, as if granting a mighty favour.
Grimm nodded. In his mind, he pictured the location of the Habitation Block, relative to the mages' current position. He shut his eyes and patterned his mind for the spell, feeling the power building within him. Opening his mouth to cast his spell, he waited for the release of tension that would indicate that the spell was ready to cast. It did not come.
"It didn't work, Xylox," Grimm gasped. He could not believe that he could have miscast.
"Did not work," Xylox corrected, prim, proper and haughty as ever. "It seems that you may have neglected your studies with regard to such competences. Allow me to demonstrate the correct usage of the spell."
He shut his eyes and cast his own variant of the magic, with no more success than Grimm had managed.
"I don't understand it," Xylox said, puzzled in the extreme.
"Do not understand," Grimm said, with a heavy edge of sarcasm which Xylox seemed to choose to ignore. "It must be this metal-the 'Faraday Cage' effect I mentioned earlier may be blocking our egress. Although the metal does not resist magic applied to it, it will not allow it to pass through."
Xylox sat cross-legged on the floor. "Between the two of us, we must be able to find a way out of here; I, for one, will not be stayed by Technology. All we need is a little time to think."
"It seems as if we may have plenty of that on our hands, Brother Mage," Grimm replied.
****
Armitage felt relieved beyond measure that the thick security barriers had stopped the advance of the two Questors. He pressed a stud on his communication panel. "How's that damned gas coming, Terrence?"
After a few moments, the senior tech's face appeared on the monitor screen. "It'll just be a few more minutes, Administrator. You can't be too careful with this stuff: one little leak could kill all of us in an instant. How are the barriers holding?"
"There's a little damage, but no more than that. They seem to be meditating at the moment."
"I tell you, Armitage, when this stuff gets to them, they won't even have time to realise they're dead. They've just run out of time."
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Chapter 8: Thribble In The Duct
Xylox rose to his feet and stretched. "How long do you think it would take you to bore a hole through this door with successive Disintegration spells, Brother Mage?" he asked.
"I do not think I can," Grimm replied. "Behind this first layer of steel is a material whose constitution I cannot fathom. I can dissolve metal, wood, flesh and other such stuffs with which I am familiar, but this substance is outside my experience."
The older mage rubbed his brow with the flat of his hand. "There must be some possible means of egress," he said. "If we do not find it in fairly short order, we will suffocate."
Grimm shook his head and pointed at a number of round, metal-barred apertures in the ceiling. "These openings are still blowing air into the chamber: they should provide adequate ventilation for the foreseeable future."
Xylox looked up. "Do you think you could disintegrate those bars, Questor Grimm? I will confess that, despite my considerable magical talents, I find myself unable to conceive spells of dissolution."
The tone of his voice sounded as if this minor admission, which reflected no discredit upon him as a mage, had been extracted only by the direst torture.
"I feel sure of it, Brother Mage," Grimm replied, "but I cannot see that their removal will aid us much. The openings cannot be more than ten inches across, far too small to allow either of us to wriggle through."
"What of your pet demon? Such an aperture would prove no obstacle to him."