He felt skin beneath his hands, the warmth of naked flash, a soft, familiar rotundity. As he backed into the glow of massed fungi Santis released his breath with a whistle.
"Who would have guessed it? A girl!"
She was almost naked, the fabric falling from one shoulder and cinctured at the waist covering little more than breasts and loins. Her hair was long, dark, richly shining. Her feet were bare as were her legs and arms. One hand held a scrap of flaked stone and the other was lifted as if in defense or appeal. Her face had a round, child-like quality. She looked about twelve.
She said, "Don't touch me, mister!"
"I won't." Dumarest lowered his knife. "Who are you?" Then, as she made no answer. "Have you been following us?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You going to hurt me?" She lowered her own crude weapon as he shook his head. "I was curious. You're lost, aren't you? I can tell. You've wandered too far and crossed your tracks too often to be anything else. You've licked water from the stone and haven't eaten at all for days. You hungry? Want a nice bowl of stew? Something good to eat and a soft bed to go with it."
"And?"
"And what?" She looked at Dumarest with childish innocence. "I'm Ania. That's what the others call me. What do they call you?" She nodded as he told her. "Earl. I like that. Do you want to come with me, Earl?"
"My friends?"
"They can come too. It isn't far. But we must hurry. It isn't safe to hang around here. We'll be safer farther along and in the lower galleries. They'll never catch us there. Come on now, Earl. Hurry!"
She took his hand and dragged. Santis said, dubiously. "It could be a trap."
"A trap?" Kemmer echoed his doubts. "She's just a child."
"Big enough to carry a knife and big enough to use it," said the mercenary. "I've met her kind before; bait to lead the unwary into trouble. There could be others waiting ahead of us."
Dumarest said, to the girl, "Is there anyone ahead?"
"Do you want that food or not?" She sounded impatient. "If you do then let's get on with it. We can't afford to be found here." She added, "Either come on or let me go."
Dumarest had his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He kept them there as he followed the girl. She led them through a narrow passage and into an arching gallery filled with minor trickles, murmurs, tappings. An acoustic freak which caught distant sounds and magnified them. Listening, Dumarest recognized the pulse of machines, the sighing gust of ventilators, a peculiar scraping and scratching.
"It's from the reactor," said the girl when he asked. "They're busy adjusting the ratios. Listen again!" She halted then, as she stepped forward again, asked, "Did you hear it?"
"What?"
"This." She imitated the sound, giving a series of deep grunts followed by a hiss then more grunts. "The sewage farm on level 23," she explained. "They're clearing the processed sludge and making ready for a new intake. Careful now!"
A fissure yawned at their feet. She jumped it, waited for them to follow, then headed into a place filled with thickening gloom. As the walls closed around them Dumarest released her arm and drew his knife.
She said, "You won't need that, Earl."
"I hope not."
"No one will hurt you here."
"No," he said, dryly, "but that isn't to say they won't try. Get off now."
"Leave you? But-"
"Go!" His voice carried a snarl. "Move!"
For a moment she stood there, eyes wide, shining in the dimness then, gulping, she turned and ran.
"Earl-"
"After her!" Dumarest followed his own advice, running quietly down the passage which had swallowed her. If she was leading them into a trap her lone arrival would create consternation and give them the element of surprise. It wasn't needed.
Beyond the mouth of the passage, in a chamber bright with clustered fungi, stood a lone man his hand resting on the girl's shoulder. He wore dark clothing touched with somber hues, the interplay breaking line and form; a crude but effective form of camouflage. He was armed with a spear tipped with vicious barbs and a thin knife of bright steel.
He said, Welcome, strangers, and have no fear. My name is Lowbar.
Beneath his hand the girl faced them, smiling.
There was something furtive about the man, a sly movement of the eyes, a wariness to be expected in someone who lived with fear. And there was a tension in the way he hefted the spear, the manner in which he placed his booted feet as he led the way to a cave. The warm glow of a fire dulled the cold radiance of fungi and a clutter of bedding, bowls, small items made it more of a home than a mere hollow gouged in a wall of stone.
And there was food.
It was what Dumarest had expected; a stew containing scraps of unidentifiable meat, vegetables, a sludge-like thickening. Rats, he guessed, and some of the fungi together with the residue of yeast vats and algae tanks and anything else which could be scavenged. He cleaned the bowl and nodded his thanks when offered another. Food was food and he was too hungry to be squeamish.
"You came at a good time," said Lowbar. They sat alone, the girl had vanished on business of her own and Kemmer and Santis lay asleep on heaped bedding. "A worker was careless at one of the utilities and failed to close a valve securely. The sludge attracted rodents. Need I say more?"
Dumarest threw aside a cleaned bone. "Is the girl your daughter?"
"Ania? No. Only by adoption. Her mother Ran when she was little more than a baby. I found her wandering, almost dead from starvation and other things. She died but the child survived and has been with us ever since."
"Us?" Dumarest had only seen the two of them. "There are more?"
"Many more." Lowbar had shrewd eyes. "But you knew that. How?"
"You have a fire burning but it is too big for just the two of you. As is this cave. And you have too much bedding, too many bowls-a dozen?"
Lowbar nodded, lying; there had to be at least double that number but Dumarest knew better than to press the matter. A guest should always defer to the whims of his host. He and the others had been made welcome, given water, food, the assurance they could sleep without fear. An offer Dumarest had accepted with reservations. They would continue as they had since leaving the shaft and he had taken the first watch.
Lowbar said, "Ania is clever and one of the best trackers we have. She has been following you for a long time now. Only when she reported to me that you seemed genuine did I inform her that you would be welcome here. Of course it is possible that she has made a mistake."
"All things are possible," admitted Dumarest. "But if we weren't genuine would we have come unarmed? Without supplies? Without a radio to maintain contact with others? And would we have been at pains to avoid the guards?"
"No," admitted Lowbar. "And the facts tell in your favor. You appeared lost."
"We were lost." Dumarest added, "We still are."
"It often happens. When a person is on the Run they usually get confused. In such a case they are more than willing to side with those who offer their help."
"You, for example?" As Lowbar made no comment Dumarest continued, "Did you get help when you needed it?"
"I didn't need it I knew enough to make out for myself." Lowbar paused, thinking. A pot stood beside the fire and he dipped a bowl into it, handed it to Dumarest and helped himself to another. The liquid was warm, thick, alive with fermenting yeast and strongly alcoholic. "It must be twenty years ago now. I'd got into debt and the sum had climbed. No fault of my own but you know how it is. They sent me to work at the reactors. My last chance; if I refused or slacked the tribunal would order my eviction."