A familiar, grey head popped up from Grimm's pocket. "My name is Thribble, human, and I am nobody's pet," the imp squeaked.
"I must apologise on behalf of my colleague, Thribble." Grimm said. "He has higher matters on his mind, such as our escape from this cell and the defeat of our odious enemy, Armitage. I am sure he intended no slight. Are you willing to enter this duct in search of some means of obtaining our release?"
The netherworld creature gave a high-pitched snort that sounded like a lap-dog's sneeze. "I am more than happy to do so, mortal. This place is very boring. You need not disintegrate the bars; the clearance between them is more than adequate for me. Just lift me to the ceiling, and allow me to do the rest."
****
Armitage seethed with impatience. "Terrence, just what is holding you up now?"
The Technician's voice crackled over the comms link, although the line distortion failed to hide a trace of annoyance.
"We're working as fast as we can, Administrator, but it just doesn't pay to be hasty with this stuff. Remember: just the tiniest leak in the system could spell death for all of us, and the air ducts aren't exactly new. We're just about to close the flame arrestor baffles, but I've decided to carry out a test run with a low-level radioactive tracer at five PSI overpressure before we dare try the nerve agent. If that checks out OK, we'll be confident enough to try the gas.
"What's your hurry, anyway, Administrator? Those mages must still be penned up nice and tight; you couldn't get an antitank shell through those armour-plated security barriers. It may take a little longer than I first thought, but better safe than sorry."
Armitage shot a glance at the monitor to his left. The younger specimen had been holding his hand up to the ceiling, perhaps sensing the flow of air through the ventilation shaft; however, it seemed his interest had waned, since he had now returned to his cross-legged meditation.
"Very well, Terrence, start your test. It doesn't look as if they're going anywhere in a hurry."
****
The narrow opening led to an eight-inch deep vertical shaft. Thribble braced his feet carefully on two of the steel bars, drew several deep breaths and launched himself upwards, his arms at full stretch. Just as it seemed he would fall back, risking death or injury, his tiny fingers grasped the rim of the shaft. Forcing himself not to look downwards at the vertiginous nine-foot drop below, he levered himself into a far wider, gently curved horizontal shaft, through which a faint breeze was blowing.
He allowed a few moments for his pounding heart to recover from its exertions before he started in a clockwise direction, going against the flow of air, although he found it no great impediment to his progress.
Assuming that this was an integrated network of tunnels carrying air to the whole of Haven from some central nexus, he should be able to find his way out into the main corridor. A momentary thrill of vertigo ran through him as he realised he had no idea how he could expect to drop through the next opening and survive, but he resolved to deal with that problem as it arose. He should be able to able to find his way to the Habitation Block, and perhaps he would find an aperture directly over a nice, soft bed that could break his fall without breaking him.
As he reached the next junction, a gleaming metal iris screwed shut in front of Thribble with a screeching, metallic hiss. It was so swift in its motion that it would have bisected him, had he not leapt back with alacrity. He attempted to use his limited powers of Translocation, but the barrier must be thicker than it looked, or perhaps there were several of them in close proximity: he found himself unable to exit his underworld cubby-hole, and he had to re-enter the mortal realm where he had left it
Looking backward along the shaft, he saw a similar valve blocking the previous junction. He had now only a single path left to him, so he took it.
His diminutive stature allowed him to proceed in a series of kangaroo-hops along the narrow tube, which he found a far more efficient means of locomotion over long distances than walking.
The tiny demon had no idea how long he had loped along the metal tunnels, but he saw no openings below him through which he could escape. On several occasions, he found tempting side-routes, but they all proved to be closed to him by the spiral valves. It looked as if his destination had been pre-determined for him by some strange, mechanical destiny.
After a few minutes, Thribble heard human voices ahead of him, signalling a nearby opening, and a faint, distant light showed a possible place of egress. He redoubled his efforts, panting with exertion, and he soon reached the source of the light.
Looking down, he saw a terrifying drop, and he swayed on the edge of the opening. Two humans stood below him, one of whom he recognised as the Technician, Terrence. With a dull sense of frustration, Thribble realised he dare not exit here, yet he saw no alternative means of escape from the metal duct. What could he do?
****
"I think there's a rat up there!" a female Technician cried. "Must have escaped from one of the labs. Oh, it's gone now. There's no telling where it could be."
"It'll be gone for good in a short while, Tech Brunton," Terrence said, "assuming this test goes okay. I hate rats just as much as you do, but a clean-up's on the way. The rodent and those two mages will soon be no more than a bad dream.
"I want you to connect up the manifold, but make sure you do the job properly; VX gas is the most lethal stuff you can imagine, and we want to be absolutely sure the ducting will contain it. I tried it out on a lab rat twenty minutes ago; the thing twitched a little and died in seconds."
Sue Brunton shivered. "Why do we have this gas, Sir, if it's so dangerous?" she asked. "And what's with all this elaborate ducting? I thought this was a rehabilitation centre, not a murder camp."
Terrence shrugged. "I guess the original Administrator had some pretty desperate characters in their care, and he just wanted to be sure they could deal with any threat, no matter how serious. We have bottles of several gases here, ranging from mild sedatives to heavy-duty narcotics. Most of the cylinders have corroded over the centuries, but the VX is in double-walled stainless-steel containers, the same material as these hoses."
Terrence shook his head and sighed. "You don't need to know any more, Tech; you have your orders, so carry them out. Quickly, now; Armitage is getting impatient."
Brunton climbed up a short step-ladder, lugging a large reinforced hose with a large, blue-painted metal gland on the end. Grunting as she hoisted the heavy mass to the ceiling, she mated the gland with the complementary bayonet fitted on the air duct, sealing it.
"It's on," she said, sliding down the ladder.
"Right, let's go," Terrence snapped into his microphone. "Stations, everybody: keep your eyes on the alpha monitors, all sections. Inject."
****
Thribble saw the human female's gaze flicker upwards and fasten upon him for one heart-stopping moment. He made a swift side-step into the blind end of the tunnel, relieved that no great clamour arose from below; however, his relief turned swiftly to dismay as the light was extinguished. Was he about to be eliminated by a sudden inrush of some noxious gas? He had no idea
The demon's worst fears seemed confirmed, as a loud hiss pervaded the metal tube. The tiny imp drew a deep, convulsive breath, and his cheeks blew out until his head looked like a grey marble. His lungs began to burn, and he shut his eyes, determined to resist for as long as possible. The hissing sound persisted, and his sensitive ears began to pain him as the pressure increased within the duct. At last, he had to obey the overpowering, urgent message from his tortured body, breathing out with explosive force, but still refusing to inhale.