Once his feet were planted, Limbeck, like all dwarves, was not easily moved. (Jarre had caught Lof off guard.) Limbeck shook Jarre loose, brushing her off his arm as if she were a bit of lint.
“Did any of the elves sight the ship, Lof?” Limbeck asked. “Make any attempt to contact it or see who was inside?”
Limbeck was forced to repeat his questions several times. The puzzled Lof, reestablished on his feet by his comrades, was staring in hurt bewilderment at Jarre.
“What’d I do?” he demanded.
“Limbeck, please—” Jarre begged, tugging again on Limbeck’s arm.
“My dear, leave me be,” said Limbeck, staring at her through the glittering spectacles. His tone was stern, even harsh.
Jarre slowly dropped her hands. “Haplo did this to you,” she said softly.
“Haplo did this to all of us.”
“Yes, we owe him a great deal.” Limbeck turned away from her. “Now, Lof. Were there any elves around? If so, Haplo might be in danger—”
“No Welves, Yonor.” Lof shook his head. “I haven’t seen a Welf since the machine stopped running. I—Ouch!”
Jarre had kicked him hard in the shins.
“What’d you go and do that for?” Lof roared.
Jarre made no response, marched on past him and the rest of the dwarves without a glance at any of them.
Returning to the BOILER ROOM, she whipped around, pointed a quivering finger at Limbeck. “He’ll be the ruin of us! You’ll see!” She slammed the door shut.
The dwarves stood perfectly still, afraid to move. Jarre had taken the torch with her.
Limbeck frowned, shook his head, shrugged, and continued the sentence that had been so violently interrupted. “Haplo might be in danger. We don’t want the elves to capture him.”
“Anyone got a light?” ventured one of Lof’s companions. Limbeck ignored this question as unimportant. “We’ll have to go rescue him.”
“Go Outside?” The dwarves were aghast.
“I’ve been Outside,” Limbeck reminded them tersely.
“Good. You go Outside and get him. We’ll watch,” said Lof.
“Not without light we won’t,” muttered another.
Limbeck glared angrily at his compatriots, but the glare was rather ineffective since no one could see it.
Lof, who had apparently been giving the matter thought, piped up. “Isn’t this the Haplo who’s a god—”
“There are no gods,” Limbeck snapped.
“Well, then, Yonor”—Lof was not to be deterred—“the Haplo who battled that wizard you’re always talking about?”
“Sinistrad. Yes, that’s Haplo. Now you see—”
“Then he won’t need rescuing!” Lof concluded in triumph. “He can rescue himself!”
“Anyone who can fight a wizard can fight elves,” said another, speaking with the firm conviction of one who had never seen an elf up close. “They’re not so tough.”
Limbeck checked an impulse to strangle his Fellow Warriors in the Battle to End Tyranny. He took off his spectacles, polished them on the large white cloth. He was quite fond of his new spectacles. He could see through them with remarkable clarity. Unfortunately, the lenses were so thick that they slid down his nose, unless held on by strong wire bows wrapped tightly about his ears. The bows pinched him painfully, the strong lenses made his eyeballs ache, the nosepiece dug into his flesh, but he could see quite well. At times like this, however, he wondered why he bothered. Somehow or other, the revolution, like a runaway flashraft, had veered off the track and been derailed. Limbeck had tried backing it up, had tried turning it around, but nothing had worked. Now, at last, he saw a glimmer of hope. He wasn’t derailed, after all. Merely sitting on a siding. And what he’d first considered a terrible disaster—the demise of the Kicksey-winsey—might well work to get the revolution going again. He put his spectacles back on.
“The reason we don’t have any light is because—”
“Jarre took the torch?” inserted Lof helpfully.
“No!” Limbeck sucked in a deep breath, clenched his hands to fists to keep his fingers from Lof’s throat. “The elves shut down the Kicksey-winsey.” Silence. Then, “Are you sure?” Lof sounded dubious.
“What other explanation could there be? The elves have shut it down. They plan to starve us, freeze us out. Maybe use their magic to come on us in the dark and kill us all. Are we going to just sit here and take it or are we going to fight?”
“Fight!” shouted the dwarves, anger rumbling through the darkness like the storms that swept the land above.
“That’s why we need Haplo. Are you with me?”
“Yes, Yonor!” cried the Fellow Warriors.
Their enthusiasm was considerably dampened when two of them started to march off and ended up nose-first against a wall.
“How can we fight what we can’t see?” Lof grumbled.
“We can see,” said Limbeck, undaunted. “Haplo told me that once long ago dwarves like us lived all their lives underground, in dark places. And so they learned to see in the dark. We’ve been dependent on light. Now that the light is gone, we’ll have to do like our ancestors and learn to see and fight and live in darkness. Gegs couldn’t manage. Gegs couldn’t do it. But dwarves can. Now”—Limbeck drew a deep breath—“everyone forward. Follow me.” He advanced a step and another and another. He didn’t run into anything. And he realized that he could see! Not very clearly; he couldn’t have read one of his speeches, for example. But it seemed as if the walls had absorbed some of the light that had been shining on the dwarves for as long as they could remember and that light, out of gratitude, was giving some of itself back. Limbeck could see the walls and the floor and the ceiling shining faintly. He could see the silhouettes of his Fellow Warriors stand out black against the light. Moving on, he could see the break in the walls made by the staircase, could see the stairs running upward, a pattern of darkness and faint, eerie light.
Behind him, he heard the other dwarves gasp in awe, knew that he wasn’t alone. They could see, too. His heart swelled with pride for his people.
“Things will change now,” he said to himself, marching up the stairs, hearing the bold footsteps marching right behind. The revolution was back on track, and, if not exactly rushing along, at least it was rolling.
He could almost have thanked the elves.
Jarre wiped away a few tears, stood with her back planted against the door, waiting for Limbeck to knock, meekly request the torch. She’d give it to him, she decided, and give him a piece of her mind as well-Listening to the voices, she heard what sounded like Limbeck, launching into a speech. She sighed gustily, tapped her foot on the floor.
The torch had nearly burned out. Jarre grabbed another sheaf of speeches, set them ablaze. She heard “Fight!” in a loud roar, then a thud against the wall. Jarre laughed, but her laugh was bitter. She put her hand on the doorknob. Then, inexplicably, she heard the sound of marching feet, felt the heavy vibrations of many pairs of thick dwarven boots clumping down the hall.
“Let them bang their fool heads on the wall a couple of times,” she muttered.
“They’ll be back.”
But there was only silence.
Jarre opened the door a crack, peeped out.
The hallway was empty.
“Limbeck?” Jarre cried, flinging the door wide. “Lof? Anyone?” No response. Far away, she heard the sound of boots thumping determinedly up the stairs. Bits of Limbeck’s speech, turned to glowing ash, drifted down from the torch, fell on the floor at her feet.
10
Haplo often used the dog to listen in on the conversations of others, hearing their voices through the animal’s ears. It never occurred to him, however, to listen to conversations anyone might be having with his dog. The animal had been ordered to keep an eye on the boy, alert Haplo to any misdeed—as in the case of the attempt to open the hatch. Beyond that, Haplo didn’t care what Bane said or thought.