Chapter 8
There were stairs down, or had been at one time.
Snow had fallen inside and failed to melt, providing a minuscule amount of padding over the broken stone.
The Dervish managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, and was just congratulating himself on this when Edmund landed on top of him and drove them both to the ground.
The Dervish bucked Edmund off instinctively, which set the sword’s magic off, forcing him to throw himself sidewise to try to get between the scholar and the jagged stone steps, which meant that they rolled the rest of the way down together and arrived at the bottom with a bone-jarring thud.
“Ow,” said Edmund, from the vicinity of his left armpit.
The Dervish generally liked being on top of other men, but there was a time and a place and this wasn’t it. Also Edmund wasn’t his type. Also he’d taken the edge of a stair directly to his knee and the pain was really quite breathtaking.
He rolled off the scholar, onto his back, and gazed up at the opening, where a number of faces looked back at him.
“Have fun!” one sang. The hatch was dragged carelessly back into place, leaving a gap that streamed moonlight.
“It seems to me that this could be going better,” the Dervish said finally, sitting up. He could hear Edmund panting. The roll down the stairs probably hadn’t done anything for the scholar’s bruises.
“Just a bit,” Edmund said. “But we’re not dead, so that’s something?”
“Speak for yourself.”
He could hear Edmund wince. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well…” the Dervish said, aware that he sounded ungracious and not caring. The magic compelled him to serve the wielder, not to be polite about it. “I told you we shouldn’t have come after the mule.”
“You did. You were right. I’m being a fool. Again.”
The Dervish wasn’t used to people freely admitting fault, except maybe Angharad, who would generally accept blame for the weather, the seasons, and the passage of linear time.
Maybe that was why he said, “It wasn’t just you.
I shouldn’t have just sat there and let them sneak up on us. I knew we were in enemy territory.”
Edmund was silent long enough for the Dervish to start to wonder what the again had meant. Finally the scholar said, “What do you think they meant by crawly?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. What do you think this is down here? A cellar? In a place this size, it might have another exit.”
Edmund’s voice sounded strained. “I don’t think it’s a cellar.”
“Why not?”
“Because the wall here is made of skulls. I think it’s a crypt.”
“Oh. Joy.”
The Dervish strained his eyes against the darkness.
The snow that had drifted through the opening above lent a white glow to the immediate area where the moonlight hit it, but beyond that, everything darkened into pitch.
No way to tell what anything was, except for the wall directly at their backs.
He reached out his hands and found rough brick, then carefully chiseled stones set in an arch and then …
yep. Those were indeed skulls, stacked on top of one another and mortared together with something that crumbled like plaster.
“Do crypts in this land have more than one exit?” he asked.
“I’ve heard the big catacombs in places like Anuket City do. But a smaller one like this, probably not.”
“How far back do you think it goes?”
“Hmm.” He could picture Edmund’s lips twisting in a frown of concentration. “That would depend on how long this area was occupied.”
“At least four hundred years, you said.” The Dervish sighed. You could pile up a lot of skulls in four hundred years.
“Oh, much longer than that. The two moieties were only the most recent settlers. Prior to that, this area was occupied by a civilization who called themselves the Amanar, who logged the entire valley repeatedly, which eroded the topsoil and made farming difficult, so they abandoned the region after a few hundred years. And of course, long before that, there were the ancients, though of course this isn’t ancient construction at all—”
Something skittered in the dark.
“Was that a rat?” Edmund quavered, breaking off his lecture on the history of local occupation. “I have a bad history with rats.”
“That was definitely not a rat.” It had been an insectile sound, a too-many-legs sound. Ancient instincts jerked awake when they heard that sound, and none of them were happy about it. They told him to be quiet and still and, if possible, to pick up a very big rock.
Throw ’em down to the crawly. And that must be the crawly.
He pushed Edmund behind him, against the wall. The sound was somewhere on the far side of the cellar. If he was lucky, there were multiple rooms, and it was in another one. It seemed unlikely that he’d be that lucky.
Ancestors, I know that I am a bad person, but did I really deserve this? Really?
“Keep quiet,” he whispered.
“It might just be retreating from the noise,” Edmund whispered hopefully.
“Sure.”
Something went Tak!
“What was that?!”
“How should I know?” It was a sharp but oddly hollow click, as if someone had banged a bowl face down against the wall.
Tak. Tak.
The Dervish stepped back, feeling Edmund’s chest press against his back. No farther then. “See if there’s anything to your right,” he whispered.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
He heard the scuff of Edmund’s fingers against stone. “Just more wall,” the scholar breathed, practically in his ear. I’ve had much nicer things breathed in my ear. Why couldn’t this be one of those instead?
“No corner?”
Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak.
“No.”
Another skitter. It sounded closer this time.
If it attacks, I’ll probably see it by the snow light, anyway. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Normally you wanted to get a good look at your enemy, but some enemies did not improve upon close examination. “See if you can find a rock,” he ordered.
Tak.
Edmund slid downward, using the Dervish’s knee to hold himself upright, and began feeling across the floor for broken chunks of masonry.
Tak-tak.
Tak-tak-tak.
Tak-tak-tak-tak.
Skitter.
The Dervish swallowed hard. He’d died a great many ways and it was never enjoyable, but being eaten by giant roaches or centipedes or whatever that was promised to be one of the worst.
Tak. Tak-tak. Tak-tak-tak.
“Wait!” said Edmund out loud. “That’s a numerical sequence!”
“Keep your voice down!” the Dervish hissed.
“But it is! Listen!”
Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak.
Edmund scuffled at the ground near his feet, then banged something against the wall. Thunk. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk-thunk.
An excited staccato of clicks came out of the dark. The Dervish shuddered. “Are you trying to make us a bigger target?”
“Whoever is doing that is intelligent,” Edmund said stubbornly.
“Just because they’re intelligent doesn’t mean they’re friendly. And you’re showing them exactly where we are.”
Tak. Tak. Tak-tak. Tak-tak-tak. Tak-tak-tak-tak-tak, followed by an almost questioning silence.
“Right, right,” Edmund murmured, and banged his rock eight times in reply.
“Edmund!”
“But it’s math,” Edmund said.
“I don’t know how to break it to you, but bad people can also do math!”
There was a brief, scandalized silence, both from Edmund and the direction of the clicking. The Dervish closed his eyes. Was there any point, really? Maybe he should just sit down and let the giant cockroaches get him.
“Can you understand me?” Edmund called loudly, from somewhere behind the Dervish’s right hip.
Tak!
“Is that a yes?”
Tak.
“Twice for no?”
Tak-tak.
And then the closest skitter yet, which put the Dervish’s shoulders up around his ears. “Give me the rock,” he snapped.
He felt the rough edges of a rock being pushed into his hand. “Don’t do anything rash,” Edmund said. “They’re trying to communicate.” He raised his voice. “We mean you no harm.”
“Speak for yourself,” the Dervish muttered.
Tak.
“Are you a prisoner down here too?”
Tak.
“See? I bet the Sleeveless caught them, too.”
Tak.
“Are you human?” called the Dervish.
There was a brief pause. Tak-tak.
The Dervish felt a surge of triumph, quickly snuffed out when Edmund said, “That doesn’t mean anything. Gnoles aren’t human and they’re some of the best people I know.”
Tak, agreed the clicks.
“Anyway, it was humans who threw us down here.”
“Fine,” muttered the Dervish. Of course Edmund wouldn’t mind that it wasn’t human. I don’t know why I thought he would. “Now ask if they’re hungry.”
Apparently their fellow prisoner heard him, because an almost derisive tak-tak followed.
“Are you a gnole?”
Tak-tak.
“Minotaur? Rune? Cynocephalic? Warrenmind?” Edmund was clearly listing every nonhuman species he knew, but got negative taks in reply to all of them.
“Barnacle pigeon?” asked the Dervish.
Tak-tak.
“I told you those were a hoax.”
“Yes, but that’s what you thought about me.”
Skitter …
“You realize that noise is coming from our friend there, right?” said the Dervish, attempting to drown the crawling of his skin under sarcasm. “Just so we’re entirely clear?”
“Are you an insect?” Edmund called.
Tak.
“Oh, fascinating…” the scholar breathed. “I don’t know of any intelligent insect species. I mean, there’s been rumors about things in the Vagrant Hills, but they’re not remotely reliable.”
Sure, giant thinking insects. Why not. The Dervish leaned back against the wall, then gave up and slid down it.
If their new friend came hurtling out of the dark with murder on its mind, he and Edmund were almost certainly doomed anyway.
Well, Edmund was doomed and the Dervish could add another trauma to his already extensive collection.
Ancestors, I realize I am a lousy descendant, but please let our friend not be a giant centipede.
I could handle anything else, even a giant spider, but I cannot deal with centipedes.
He’d never liked the damned things. Back home they had a couple of varieties, but the big glossy red ones were the worst. It wasn’t even the bite, though that was excruciating, it was the way they moved in a rippling wave of legs.
It was such a dreadfully alien motion. Nothing trustworthy moved like that.