The young mage opened his eyes and glanced across at Xylox. The senior Questor seemed quite at ease; his breathing pattern was slow and regular, and his face wore a mask of serene detachment. Grimm felt a momentary pang of envy at the implacable thaumaturge's calm, stony impassivity, but this was soon overwhelmed by the increasing agony in his spine. He gave up the meditation exercise as beyond him.
I never was any good at this meditation malarkey, he thought.
Disentangling his numb lower limbs with some difficulty, Grimm got to his feet and massaged them vigorously. When sensation returned, he put his hands on his hips, his fingers curling towards his back, and he performed a series of rolling, stretching exercises until the ache abated.
Xylox had not changed his position in the least, and he seemed unaware of his younger colleague.
Grimm moved to the shallow depression he had made in the wall of the chamber. He inspected the white substance visible where its metal sheath had been eroded away by the Disintegration spell. It was smooth, dense, gleaming and seamless, yet somehow familiar. The mage laid a hand on the pale mass; it was cold, cooler even than the metal surrounding it, and he felt a sudden, icy shock of recognition.
It's some sort of ceramic, like glazed crockery!
Despite intensive reading into the properties of various materials, allowing him to visualise the bonds that held them together, Grimm had never studied ceramics, and so his Questor spell of dissolution could have no effect on this pallid sheet. Nonetheless, it did not take the training of a Mage Questor to realise that one of the primary attributes of such a substance was its brittleness.
Grimm raised Redeemer and tapped its brass head against the white material. The contact produced a sound quite unlike the clang of metal striking against metal; a dull chink that revealed the density and homogeneity of the substance and confirmed his suspicions.
"Questor Xylox!" Grimm hissed. He suspected that Armitage was somehow spying upon his prisoners, and he did not wish to raise his voice any more than was necessary. The older man did not react, still adrift in his blissful, contemplative reverie.
Grimm repeated the call with more urgency, tapping Xylox on the right shoulder for emphasis; this time, he obtained a response.
"What is it, Questor Grimm? Why must you disturb my meditation? I am attempting to discover a solution to our plight," Xylox said in a peevish voice.
"I may have found it," Grimm whispered, rolling his eyes in an attempt to communicate his suspicion that their conversations and actions might be under observation. Xylox was not stupid, and it was plain that he had understood.
"Speak, Brother Mage," the older mage replied in a conspiratorial murmur.
Grimm moved close to his colleague, whispering into Xylox's ear. "I believe the substance that defeated my spell of Disintegration is nothing more than some form of ceramic, sandwiched between two layers of steel. If so, a series of stout blows from a Mage Staff might shatter it. If you were to strike the blow while I stood by, I could dissolve the metal on the far side of the wall, allowing us to escape."
"Your plan may have some validity, I suppose," was Xylox's grudging response. "However, I feel at a loss as to why we must mutter like thieves and conspirators in place of normal discourse."
"I believe Armitage may be spying upon us by means of some sleight of Technology," Grimm muttered. "I have read about such devices during my studies, and you must admit it would be better if our escape remained undiscovered for as long as possible. We do not know how many of these dire cells remain poised to descend upon us between here and the hub of Haven, where our prey is surely hiding. Given a sufficient number of such distractions, I could run out of strength before we reached Armitage."
Is that wordy enough for your consideration, Xylox? he wondered.
Xylox rubbed his chin in apparent consideration.
"You wish me to employ a Glamour spell, giving the impression to an external observer that we are still here, and that the cell is still intact. Am I correct?"
Grimm nodded. "I have little facility with such magic, and my energy will be required for the spell, or spells, of Disintegration we may need to achieve our escape. Are you experienced in the use of magical Glamours?"
Xylox snorted, puffing his chest out and pulling his shoulders back. "I am Xylox the Mighty. No magic is beyond my ken."
Except for spells of Disintegration, thought the younger mage, suppressing a grin at his senior's earlier, reluctant admission of a chink in his magical armour.
"I will have to cast the spell on a magic-permeable object, so that a focus for the magic remains when we have departed this dismal chamber," continued the prideful Xylox. "I suggest you leave your own staff here and allow me to cast the spell on it, since my own will be employed in the destruction of the wall. I need your complete acquiescence in this matter; otherwise the spell will not take."
Grimm felt loath to give up his only means of protection beyond his dwindling skills as a Questor, but he accepted the wisdom of the older man's words. Without speaking, he handed Redeemer to his senior. Xylox began to mutter in his strange, unique spell-language, his grey brows knitted in concentration.
Long moments passed.
"It is done," Xylox said, in a calm voice. "Should Armitage be spying upon us, he should see only a scene of placid, resigned submission."
Taking his staff with both hands, he swung it against the white circle. Cracks appeared in the material, and a few small chips flew from the circle. After several, more concerted, blows, the ceramic shattered into tiny fragments and dust, revealing a second layer of gleaming metal.
Grimm launched his spell, but his face fell as he saw another layer of the white ceramic lying underneath it.
Each potent incantation took a little more of the young Questor's inner store of energy, and he now knew he might need to cast several more of them before the two magic-users were free. Steel might lack pure iron's resistance to thaumaturgy, but it was far from an easy substance to sunder.
Another blow of Xylox's staff revealed yet more steel. The five-foot wide depression in the door was now approximately two inches deep. Grimm took a deep breath and prepared himself for another spell.
****
Terrence checked the pressure gauge on the yellow canister: there was plenty of the deadly gas inside it. Closing the cylinder's valve and unhooking the manifold from the ventilation duct, he looked into the end of the hose, seeing a white mass of material wadded within it.
"How did that get there?" he muttered to himself.
He reached out for a pair of tweezers with which to remove the compressed matter, but he stopped himself. If he lifted out the offending substance, enough of the lethal nerve agent would be released from the freed hose to contaminate the entire room; just opening the door to the lab might spread VX throughout the complex, killing everybody in Haven. As it was, he would need to ensure complete decontamination of the room, the air-ducts and the suits before he felt safe to disrobe.
"Brunton!" the senior Technician cried. "Put this cylinder in the maximum containment store, and bring me another. Don't be tempted to try to clear this blockage; even a thimbleful of compressed gas trapped in the pipe would be more than enough to kill everybody here. Be careful."