“Lynnia …”
She glared at him. “What?”
“Get me another page of this, will you?”
Grumbling, Lynnia retrieved more lazy scribe and handed it over. Gyre shuffled to the next map and started laying it down.
“It’s not as dangerous as you’re making it out to be, anyway,” he said. “Plenty of scavenger crews go into the deep tunnels.”
“Should I point out you’re not scavengers? You’re thieves with a gift for inspiring the tunnelborn.”
“We’ll have Ibb with us. And Harrow.”
“A mercenary fashion plate and a lovesick puppy. Wonderful. Rounds out the group.” She shook her head. “Don’t come crying to me when you end up lining some plaguespawn’s nest.”
“I imagine that would be difficult, yes,” Gyre said. “Careful, Lynnia. Next you’ll have me thinking you actually care about my well-being.”
“Don’t be a plaguefired fool,” she snapped. “I’m just hoping to hang on to a profitable client.”
“Imagine the profit when we have fifty thousand thalers to spend.”
“Fine.” Lynnia sighed and stumped to the door, muttering. “Tell Yora to watch out for herself. Obviously my advice is lost on you.”
*
Kit looked in her element, dressed in battered scavengers’ leathers, her short, spiky blue hair ragged, a heavy pack slung nonchalantly over one shoulder. She had her blaster pistol holstered on one hip and a curved short sword on the other, both with worn grips that hinted of heavy use.
Gyre himself felt somewhat less comfortable. His black working outfit wasn’t meant for tunnel crawling, and his overstuffed pack slowed him more than he liked. There was no way around that, though. As they moved away from the Pit, the temperature would fall quickly, and the fur overcoat he’d crammed in would be a necessity.
“About time we got moving,” Kit said. “I don’t usually take this long between jobs. Makes me antsy.”
“Oh?” Gyre said.
He tugged the edges of his hood, making sure the shadows concealed the dull gleam of his mask. They were standing at an intersection in the tunnels, not far from the shelter where he’d taken Kit to meet the others. Habit made Gyre pause and look around carefully, searching for tails.
“You know the scavenger’s routine.” Kit stretched, arching her back. “Get paid, get drunk, get fucked, go back out.”
“With the money you’re spending on this project, I’d have thought you’d have enough to entertain yourself for a while.”
“It’s my client’s money, not mine.” She grinned. “Besides, drinking and screwing don’t scratch the itch for long, you know?”
“Not really.”
Gyre finished his reconnaissance, having seen no indications that Auxie spies were onto them. He beckoned to Kit, who sauntered along in his wake. She was stronger than her skinny frame would indicate, and the heavy pack didn’t seem to burden her much.
“Is that why you do this, then?” Gyre said as they walked. “Excitement?”
Carts and riders passed in a steady stream in both directions, along with a small crowd of pedestrians, mostly manufactory hands.
“At first, I suppose. I needed the money, but there’s other ways to make money.” Kit shrugged. “Later I found other reasons.”
“Such as?”
“Sorry.” Her smile was predatory. “A girl’s entitled to some secrets.”
“Fair enough.” Gyre pointed at a side street. “Through here.”
Close to the surface, the tunnels felt like a normal city under a stone roof. Now, though, as they pressed into increasingly narrow back alleys, the original form of the place became obvious. Long stretches of bare stone, smooth, ghoul-carved surface riven by cracks, were broken by clusters of shacks huddling at intersections. The regular lanterns and glowstones disappeared and a cool wind blew steadily, not yet unpleasantly chill but definitely with a suggestion of more to come.
Eventually, they reached a long, straight tunnel that dead-ended in a kind of gate, a metal grating set into the rock that blocked the way completely. Beyond it, the corridor was in shadow and strewn with more debris and fallen stones. An iron-banded door stood in the center of the grate, secured with a heavy iron padlock.
“The tunnelborn try to block off the deep tunnels,” Gyre said. “Past here is scavenger territory.”
“Why bother locking the door?” Kit said. “Plaguespawn don’t exactly know how to work a latch.”
“Because it’s not only plaguespawn they’re trying to keep out,” Ibb said, emerging from the shadows beside the grate. “Hello, Halfmask. Kit.” He touched his broad hat, a bit of mocking courtesy.
“There are people who live in the deep tunnels,” Gyre said. “Bandits, mostly. Dhakim. Some just plain desperate.” He shrugged. “Personally, I always figured the locks were to keep idiots from leaving the gate open.”
“If that’s the case, they should use better locks.” Ibb produced an iron key from a pouch with a flourish. “Or take better care of these.”
“You’ve been out this way before?” Kit said.
The mercenary nodded. “A few times. This is an old gate, and everything close by was stripped clean long ago, so it doesn’t get a lot of use. Which is perfect, for our purposes. At some of the busier crossings we’d be mobbed by beggars and thieves as soon as we went through.” He cocked his head. “You’re certain your information about the location of the destabilizer is accurate?”
“It’s not precise, but it’s accurate,” Kit said. “If we move in the right direction, I’ll be able to tell you when we get close.”
Ibb made a face that meant, We’ll see, but said nothing. Gyre turned at the sound of boots on stone and saw Yora approaching, Harrow’s hulking form looming just behind her. The big warrior’s face contorted into a scowl on seeing Gyre, as usual. I’m getting a little sick of his attitude.
Yora carried her unmetal spear and wore the same light armor, her golden hair bound back in a tight braid. She had no pack, but Harrow carried enough for both of them, along with his big battle-axe.
“Halfmask,” she said. “It’s good to see you made it.”
Gyre raised his lone visible eyebrow. “Why, were you worried?”
Yora shook her head. “There’ve been some ugly rumors. Auxie activity is up.”
“They won’t bother us down here,” Ibb said. “Are we all ready, then? It’s a couple of hours’ walk to Beggar’s Rest, and then at least another hour to the edge of the map. We’d better move.”
“Suits me,” Kit said, and clapped her hands together excitedly. Everyone else jumped. “Let’s get on with it.”
*
The first leg of the trip, out to Beggar’s Rest, was easy enough. After Ibb had let them through the gate, they’d all sparked glowstones and spent the next couple of hours walking amid blue-tinged shadows. The deep tunnels were considerably messier than the more civilized parts of the underground, littered with chunks of fallen stone from the initial collapse four hundred years previously, mixed with detritus and the occasional moldering skeleton of more recent visitors.