Maya gestured. At the two of them, the bed, her bare chest. “Do you think you could be a little less of an arcanist for just a few minutes?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Maya bent back down for a kiss, her breasts brushing against Beq’s. “Just … try not to get distracted.”
*
And then, later still, a faint gasp.
“Maya.”
“Mmm.”
“Have you tried a standard Darkwatcher diagnostic sequence to see—”
“Beq.”
“I’m sorry! But I think—” And then, as Maya did something with her fingers: “Oh. I’ll just … um … try it out … ah … later.”
“Good.”
Chapter 23
Getting into the ghoul city of Refuge, it turned out, was a great deal easier when you didn’t try to climb through a rock ingestor. Kit led them through the tunnels under Deepfire to one of a hundred disused, dead-end sections, and Gyre watched in mild surprise as a passage that looked like it had been totally blocked by a cave-in cleared itself in seconds. Small, crab-like constructs embedded in the boulders extended legs and hauled themselves out of the way, leaving a perfectly serviceable tunnel extending on into the darkness. Another construct waited just beyond, with seats like a carriage on the back of a spidery collection of legs.
“Let me guess,” Gyre said. “We ride that thing?”
Kit nodded delightedly. “It’s a long way to Refuge. That’s part of how they keep the city secure—there are a lot of tunnels under these mountains, with a lot of exits, and the constructs are constantly filling them in and digging new ones. So if you don’t have a proper mount, you’d just get lost down here.”
“Such trusting people, the ghouls,” Gyre said. He grabbed the side of the carriage-thing and hauled himself in, while Kit leapt up lightly beside him. Behind them, the crab-constructs were reassembling the pile of tumbled boulders.
Once they were settled, the carriage-construct started moving, its legs shifting with a smooth interlocking motion that conveyed barely a shudder to its passengers. It accelerated slowly but continuously, and within a few minutes they were moving through the tunnel at a shocking rate of speed, the walls a blur on either side and their mount’s legs rippling in a rolling gallop. Kit gave a delighted shout and threw her arms in the air.
“I love this part,” she confided.
“Until the damn thing runs into a wall and smashes us to paste,” Gyre said, trying hard to relax his grip on the arms of his seat.
“That’s half the fun!”
Gyre settled for clutching his pack instead. After the fight at the Spike, they’d had to go to ground, so it was stuffed with only the bare essentials. Two extra energy bottles—the one at his side was nearly empty now, with only the faintest glow in its crystal—his pouch of alchemicals, the remote trigger, and the single remaining bomb, a rough cylinder of lumpy clay. And, of course, the Core Analytica, cube-shaped and made of interlocking metal rods, which shifted with a smooth, oily motion whenever he touched it. I just hope we haven’t damaged the damn thing.
The wind of their passage made conversation impossible, so Gyre closed his eyes—still strange, having two to close!—and tried to relax. To his surprise, he managed a light doze, and when he woke it was because the carriage-thing was slowing. The tunnel was the same as ever, round and smooth-walled, dark enough that his natural eye could see nothing at all. His silver eye saw the gray shapes of more constructs waiting for them, and he recognized the multilegged chair that held Naumoriel.
Elariel was there, too, standing between two spiky soldier-constructs. She looked nervous, in Gyre’s admittedly limited experience reading ghoul emotions: her long ears flat against her head, her fur rippling. Naumoriel, on the other hand, leaned forward in his chair.
“Hello, Kitsraea. Gyre.” Elariel stepped forward as the carriage-thing came to a halt. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely.”
“Do you have it?” Naumoriel said. “The Analytica?”
Gyre glanced at Kit, who raised her eyebrows and gestured him on. He hopped off the carriage-construct and opened his pack, producing the intricate cube. Naumoriel held out his wizened hands, and Gyre passed the thing over for inspection.
“Yes,” the old ghoul breathed. “Oh yes. Valthiel’s greatest work. Seventeen iterations deep.” His mouth hung slightly open, tongue running over small, sharp teeth. “There has never been anything like it in the history of the world.” His voice fell to a whisper. “The power under the mountain will be mine at last.”
“Which means,” Kit said, stepping forward, “we did what you wanted.”
Naumoriel looked down at her, and his face hardened. “After begging for a second chance.”
“You owe us. You owe me.” She tapped her chest. “I want this thing fixed, remember?”
“I remember perfectly,” Naumoriel snapped. “You want to live out your pathetic human life span, and Gyre desires the power to destroy the Twilight Order.” He turned to Gyre. “What do you think of your taste of power, boy?”
“It’s impressive,” Gyre said, touching the hilt of his silver sword. “But it’s just a taste.”
“So impatient.” Naumoriel clicked his tongue, ears twitching with mirth. “But there is one more task to perform, my human … friends. This”—he raised the Analytica—“must be brought to its … proper place. You will help me with this, and then everything you desire will be yours.”
“Help you?” Kit said. “You’re coming with us?”
“Indeed I am,” the old ghoul said with a toothy grin. “This is the last step on the path I have followed since I was a child. I intend to be there at the end.”
*
Elariel conducted them to their rooms—either the same chambers as before, or others near identical—and advised them to get some sleep. Gyre expected to have trouble with this, since the last time he’d been in this chamber had been just after Naumoriel had slowly disassembled him and put him back together, and his main memory was waking over and over to mind-shattering pain. Even so, exhaustion was a powerful motivator. The fight in the Spike had taken something out of him, more than just physically. We did it. We really did it. And now … what? He wanted to talk to Kit, but she’d retired to her own room immediately and firmly closed the door.
A construct woke him later—how long, in this sunless world, he had no idea—with a gentle tap at the door. The little thing scuttled away, leaving behind folded, clean clothes and an energy bottle with a bright white glow. The ghouls didn’t wash, as far as Gyre could tell, so he cleaned himself as best he could in the basin before dressing and settled down to wait.
It wasn’t long before Elariel appeared, with Kit trailing behind her.
“Are you prepared for your journey?” the ghoul said.
“I suppose,” Gyre said. “I don’t know where we’re going. And I haven’t got food or water or any other supplies.”
“Naumoriel has accounted for your needs,” Elariel said. “Come with me.”