At the same time the officer of Treve threw the two from him who had held him.
The pit master tore a lantern from the hand of a man and dashed it against the wall. Oil flamed for a moment, running on the wall. He then, with one hand, smote lamps from the wall, tearing them away from their holders. The second lantern was seized by the officer of Treve and dashed to the floor. Flame flickered in the damp straw, then disappeared. The last lamp, to the left, as one would enter, was struck from its holder. I heard one of the girls cry out, scalded by the splashing oil. The flame did not take in the damp straw.
“Light! Light!” cried the leader of the strangers.
We heard a man cry out with pain.
In a moment or two one of the lamps was found and lit.
One of the black-tunicked men lay in the portal, his chest bright with blood.
“Where is the prisoner!” demanded the leader of the strangers.
“He is gone,” said a man.
32
The leader of the strangers, warily, the fellow with one of the lamps, tiny and flickering, preceding him, went to the portal.
“The corridor is dark,” said the fellow with the lamp.
“He extinguished the lamps as he passes,” said a man.
“He cannot get far, not in the pits,” said the leader. “Light more lamps.”
The lamps which were still serviceable were lit. one of the lanterns, even, though its glass was broken, was lit.
“There are more lamps, torches, and such, in my quarters,” said the pit master, helpfully.
The lieutenant, carefully, crouching beside the fellow, spreading the metal, removed the helmet from the first victim of the peasant, he whose head had been struck by the stone on the chain. The lieutenant laid the bloody helmet to one side. On the broken skull within, on its forehead, distorted by the breakage, was a tiny black dagger, set there this morning.
“Your actions have been noted,” said the leader of the strangers to the pit master, “and yours as well,” he added, addressing himself to the officer, “and will be duly reported to the authorities.”
“Surely Lurius of Jad, the paragon of honor,” said the officer, “would not have condoned the murder of a prisoner.”
“From whom do you think we obtained our charge?” said the leader of the strangers.
“He cannot escape us,” said the lieutenant, standing up. “He is in the vicinity.”
“You need only find him,” said the pit master.
Neither the officer of Treve nor the pit master were now in custody of the black-tunicked men. The pit master had, I supposed, slipped his stiletto back within his tunic. He did not have it, at any rate, in his hand.
“I trust we may, from this point further, now, that he is free, and dangerous, have the assurance of your support,” said the leader of the strangers.
“Do not doubt it,” said the pit master.
“He will be trapped against the first gate, that sealing this tunnel,” said the lieutenant.
“Arm your bows,” said the leader of the strangers. “Fire even at a shadow.”
Gito was still half buried in the straw, huddled there, shaking, whimpering, to the left, as one would enter.
The leader of the strangers regarded us. We kept our heads down. We dared not meet his eyes. I think there was not one of us who would not have rather, a thousand times over, been elsewhere, almost anywhere, in the heaviest of chains in the foulest of dungeons; pitching, sick, bound to our pallets, almost immobile, in the holds of stinking slave ships, covered with vermin; sweating in the mills, chained to our looms; carrying water, shackled, in the fields; even drawing sleds or wagons, padlocked in our harnesses, draft beasts. But we were beautiful, and a different sort of slave. But what would even our beauty, and our hope to please, to be spared to serve, avail ourselves with these men? And we had perhaps, they might judge, seen too much.
The leader of the strangers turned away from us.
The black-tunicked men then, following him, withdrew from the cell.
The officer of Treve followed them.
A moment later Gito, fearing to be alone, scrambled out, to join the black-tunicked men.
The pit master snapped his fingers.
We struggled to our feet, aligning ourselves, standing, the tallest first, Fina was third of the ten, I was seventh.
At a gesture of the pit master, discerned in a lamp from outside the door, held by one of the men, we filed out of the cell. We followed the officer of Treve, Gito, the black-tunicked men. The pit master came behind us.
I tried to free my wrists, but I could not do so. They, like those of the others, had been bound by men, our masters.
The water in the corridor was cold on my feet.
I was sick with fear.
33
“The gate has been thrust up,” said the leader of the strangers, angrily.
“It seems it was not secured,” said the pit master.
“He could be anywhere in the depths,” said the lieutenant.
“We will return to the quarters of the depth warden,” said the leader of the strangers. “We will make that our headquarters.”
“You will be most welcome,” said the pit master.
“We will require a map of the depths,” said the leader of the strangers.
“None exists in the city, by policy,” said the pit master,” just as no map of the city, either, may be prepared.”
This, as I understood it, was not uncommon in this world. In some cities it is regarded as a capital offense to make or be found in possession of a city map. The motivations for such policies, one assumes, are military.
“I will be pleased, of course, to furnish guides,” said the pit master.
“We shall manage on our own,” said the leader of the strangers.
“I know the depths well,” said the pit master.
“You two,” said the leader of the strangers to the pit master and the officer of Treve, “will remain in our headquarters, as our guests.”
“As you wish,” said the pit master.
I myself, of course, would not have cared to tread the passages of the depths unguided. I knew some myself, of course, but I knew only areas in which I had been permitted.
“There are many passages,” said the lieutenant, uneasily.
“I think we shall find him easily, systematically,” said the leader of the strangers. “We shall mark each passage searched. Eventually we shall have searched them all.”
“You are thorough,” said the pit master.
“Guards are set at the tunnel entrances, of course,” said the leader of the strangers.
“Yes,” said the pit master.
“He is as good as ours,” said the lieutenant.
“Do you have sleen?” asked the leader of the strangers.
“Most were killed in the tunnels, recently,” said the pit master. “Two survived.”
They were magnificent beasts. It was not surprising that they had been the two which, released in the tunnels, defending the depths, attacking the raiders earlier, had survived. Both of them had taken the peasant’s scent, but the leader of the strangers would not know that. One of them was also one of the two which had earlier, been imprinted with my scent. The other had died in the tunnels, in the fighting.
“There are two who might hunt?”
“Yes,” said the pit master.
“Sleen will tear him to pieces,” said the lieutenant. “There will be little, if anything, to return to Lurius of Jad, to prove the successful discharge of our office.”
“They are to be utilized only as a last resort,” the leader assured his lieutenant.
“They will not be necessary,” said the lieutenant.
“They are trailers or hunters?” asked the leader.
The distinction, in fact, is sometimes a subtle one, particularly if the beast’s bloodlust becomes aroused.
“Hunters,” said the pit master.