“That,” she called over to him, “might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen someone try. And believe me when I say you’re up against some strong competition in that category.”
“My arms are inclined to agree with you,” Gyre said.
“And they call me Doomseeker.”
“Can you get across the rope?”
“Oh, sure. Just keep that end set.”
Gyre took the slack rope, a long loop of which now hung in the pit, and stuck it in place by jamming his hand against the floor. Kit pulled the line taut, used another alchemical to stick her end in place, and gathered up both packs. She trotted lightly across, as easily as if it were a city sidewalk.
“I really hope this is the right way,” Kit said. “It’d be a shame to waste a performance like that.”
“There’s more scuttlerskin,” Gyre said. “You can try it next time.” He peeled his hand up, carefully, then looked speculatively at the pack. “You’d better do this. Find the little white bottle, would you? It’s the solvent that takes this stuff off.”
Kit found what he needed and looked at it speculatively. “Seems like I should ask for a ransom.”
“Kit …”
“I mean, if I dropped this over the cliff by accident, you’d be in a tight spot, wouldn’t you?”
He waved his hands in her direction. “Hand it over or I’m going to stick myself to you somewhere very inconvenient.”
“Promises,” Kit said, laughing.
*
Beyond the crevice, the tunnels changed again, in a way that made Gyre’s heart race.
The farther they got, the more they looked … alive. Like the tunnel where they’d found the destabilizer, it seemed as though the four hundred years of decay that had afflicted every other ghoul ruin had never touched this place. The smooth but natural rock was replaced by something dingy green and slightly soft to the touch, with a warmth that made Gyre suspect it was insulation. Markings appeared, incomprehensible glyphs that were still sharp-edged and clear, as though they’d been painted days before.
Eventually, circles of light became visible on the ceiling as they approached, flickering gently to life with a soft blue-white glow. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to see by. Each time one of them came on, Gyre felt like it was escorting him along the path.
The Tomb. This had to be it, just as Kit had promised. Not a ruin. A living ghoul city.
Kit, by contrast, seemed to get jumpier the deeper they went. Each flicker of light made her twitch, and her hand was never far from the blaster at her side.
“Something wrong?” Gyre said, when they reached yet another junction.
“Shhh,” Kit said. “This isn’t right.”
Gyre lowered his voice to a whisper. “What?”
“This.” She gestured at the walls, the lights. “We’re getting close to the Tomb.”
“That’s the idea.”
“It’s not just a place you wander into! If this is the way in, then there’ll be—”
Something hit the floor nearby with a heavy stone-on-stone thud.
“Guards,” Kit finished. Her blaster pistol was already in her hand.
A massive shape loomed in one of the adjoining corridors. Gyre recognized the humanoid outline of a ghoul construct, like those he’d seen escorting Elariel, though this one was larger and covered in a layer of stone armor. Gaps at the joints showed the rippling muscle underneath, like the body of a plaguespawn but refined and perfected. It paused for a moment, looking them over—though it had no eyes that Gyre could see, no features on its blank stone faceplate—then lumbered forward. For all its weight, it was shockingly fast.
“Get its attention!” Gyre hissed, tossing his pack on the floor and yanking it open.
“I think we have it already,” Kit growled. But she dropped her own pack and started running across the floor of the tunnel. When the construct didn’t follow, she skidded to a halt, took careful aim with her blaster, and fired.
The crack of the bolt echoed painfully in the tight space, and Gyre had to put a hand over his dark-adapted eye. Instead of a detonation, though, the blast splashed harmlessly just before impact, shimmering energy briefly surrounding the construct. The thing turned toward Kit, and she encouraged it with another shot, which was similarly deflected. The floor shook as the construct started to run toward her, huge stone-armored fists at its sides.
“Gyre,” Kit shouted, backing away. “Maybe hurry it up?”
“Working on it,” Gyre muttered. He extracted the largest clay sphere from his satchel and spread liquid from another bottle across it. The stuff foamed on exposure to air, expanding into a ball of sticky goo. Pushing the rest of the alchemicals aside, Gyre ran after the creature. “Try to get it to hold still!”
“How—” Kit jumped aside as one huge fist pistoned down, hitting the floor hard enough to send chips of stone flying. “—the fuck—” She ducked as the thing’s other hand whistled overhead. “—am I supposed to get it to hold still?!”
“Just like that,” Gyre said. The construct had stopped running, concentrating on trying to hit the elusive target at its feet.
Gyre went into a sprint—his legs reminded him that he had not been kind to them recently—and caught up to it from behind, planting the alchemical against the small of the construct’s back. The foam stuck it in place, and Gyre dodged around the thing’s feet as it spun, groping for him. He got past it and grabbed Kit, bowling her over and sending both of them to the ground in a painful roll across the stone. As soon as they came to a stop, Gyre jammed his hands against his ears, and Kit did the same.
An instant later, the bomb went off with a noise like the end of the world. Gyre’s teeth slammed together hard enough to hurt, with every bone in his body vibrating in sympathy. A wave of boiling heat washed over them, mercifully brief, followed by a rain of small stones and a smothering curtain of dust.
Kit was saying something, her mouth opening and closing in apparent silence. Gyre dropped his hands, and his ears popped. “What?”
“I said, you were carrying that in your pack all this time?” Kit’s voice was audible as if from a great distance.
“It was the biggest Lynnia had,” Gyre said. His own words sounded weirdly muted. “I thought we might run into something like this.”
“Remind me to take cover next time you trip,” Kit said.
She pulled herself out from under him and clambered to her feet. The corridor still boiled with dust, but where the construct had been standing there was now nothing but a shallow crater. Pieces of its stone carapace and shreds of organic debris littered the edges.
“Wasn’t sure that was going to work,” Gyre said, flexing his jaw. His ears popped again. “Your blaster didn’t bother it.”
“That’s different,” Kit said. She examined the detritus admiringly. “The ghouls have a sort of shield that absorbs deiat until it burns out. But plain old explosives apparently work just fine.” She turned back to him and held out a hand. “You all right?”
“More or less.” She pulled him to his feet, and he winced. “Sorry for using you as bait.”