‘All right there, Vaynom?’ Kolea asked, falling in beside Blenner.
‘Oh yes, fine and dandy,’ Blenner said. He was unconvincingly chipper. Kolea could smell the stink of his fear even above the rank odour of the flood water.
‘This is a bad deal,’ Kolea said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘But we’ve got each other’s backs. I’ve got your back, all right?’
Blenner nodded. He adjusted his cap and hoped that, in the gloom, Kolea couldn’t see that he’d begun to cry.
The Saint led them to the bottom of the steps.
‘I didn’t know the undercroft was this far down,’ said Gaunt quietly.
‘It wasn’t,’ replied Hark.
Gaunt tightened his grip on his sword. He glanced at Curth.
‘I would prefer it if you went back up, Ana,’ he said.
Curth shook her head.
‘There may be wounded, Lord Executor. You need a medic,’ she said simply.
‘While we’re on the subject of staying out of harm’s way, sir,’ Sancto began.
‘Don’t even try it, Scion,’ said Gaunt.
‘Yes, my lord.’
All the lights were out, but the undercroft was lit by a dull glow, as if unhealthy light was oozing out of the stones. The Beati led the way down, flanked by her two alert officers, then came Gaunt, Hark and Curth and the four Scions. Behind them were Daur, Beltayn, Trooper Perday and the inquisitor. Gaunt had sent Grae to find aid for Onabel and direct the reinforcements Gaunt hoped to Throne were on their way from Van Voytz.
The long flight of stone steps ended in an archway that seemed too big and broad for even a palace wine cellar.
The air scratched at their ears and the insides of their heads. It was like a buzzing of flies or the restless boring of maggots, as though everyone in the party was already dead and decomposing. There was a smell in the air of waste and rot.
Beyond the arch lay a vast chamber. Gaunt could see its impossibility in an instant. No deep cellar in a massive stone edifice like the Urdeshic Palace could be so wide and low without the need for pillars or column supports. The walls were whitewashed, but that looked sallow yellow in the ugly light.
The floor was black.
They advanced slowly, weapons raised, covering each other.
‘This wasn’t here,’ said Hark softly. ‘It was a hallway, then barrack chambers off the side. Not this place.’
‘It’s getting stronger,’ said Laksheema. She adjusted the setting on the archeotech weapons built into her sleek golden cuff. ‘If it’s feeding, and growing… its ability to manipulate and warp reality is increasing.’
‘Agreed,’ said the Beati gently.
‘Woe machines were mechanical engines,’ said Curth. ‘They couldn’t–’
‘Heritor Asphodel, may the Throne curse him, was a genius,’ said Laksheema. ‘I fear we continue to underestimate what his vile imagination could make and unleash.’
Hark stood on something that broke with a crack. He looked down.
‘Oh Throne,’ he murmured. He could barely see it because it was as black as the floor. Curth bent down with him.
It was part of a human jawbone, with three molars still embedded in it. It was black because it was covered in blood, and in the odd light, the redness of the blood appeared black.
They realised what they were looking at. The whole floor of the chamber was soaked in blood, and littered with the physical debris of dozens of people. Scraps of bone, odd ribs, hunks of meat and muscle, no piece so big it couldn’t sit on a man’s palm.
‘It’s fed,’ said Laksheema.
Daur began to tremble. He fought to keep it in, but a terrible groan of anguish broke through his gritted teeth. Beltayn grabbed him and held him tight with both arms to stop him falling. Curth and Gaunt went to him.
‘Ban?’ Gaunt said.
Daur couldn’t speak.
‘Ban? Go back,’ said Gaunt. ‘Go back up. You don’t need to be here. I’ll finish this. You have my word.’
‘No,’ Daur managed to answer. His voice was tight and small as if it was being crushed by a high gravity field. ‘I need to be here now.’
Gaunt nodded.
‘Keep with him,’ he said to Curth.
They moved forwards again. The far end of the vast charnel hall became visible in the gloom. Eight doorways, forking off in different directions.
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Gaunt. ‘Not like this before?’
Hark shook his head.
‘It’s playing with us,’ said Laksheema. ‘It senses us. Senses her, I think.’
She nodded towards the Beati. The Saint was facing the doorways, her sword raised.
‘It wants to divide us,’ said Laksheema. ‘Trap us, make us lost in its little pocket maze.’
‘You seem to know a lot,’ said Sariadzi.
‘I’ve seen a lot,’ said Laksheema. She paused. ‘Nothing on this scale.’
The Beati stepped towards the doors. Auerben and Sariadzi hurried to flank her, but she held up a hand to keep them back.
‘I won’t play its games,’ she said. ‘Just so it knows, I’m saying that out loud. I won’t play these games.’
The whine of a bone saw echoed from one of the eight doorways, followed by silence. Then there was a scrape of stone against stone. The end wall was slowly shifting in front of them. They could see the stonework moving, grating edge against edge as it realigned. Seven of the doorways vanished, becoming solid wall. Only one remained.
‘It heard you,’ said Laksheema.
‘Or it’s playing another game,’ said Hark.
The Beati raised her sword and approached the doorway. They formed up behind her, following tight. After a few steps, they realised they were stepping into floodwater several centimetres deep. Lights blinked on, the old lumen lamps of the undercroft in their rusted wire frames, illuminating the white-washed walls ahead of them.
‘This… this is how it was,’ said Hark. ‘The main hall. There should be a doorway ahead to the right. The first billet.’
There was. The old wooden doors had been pushed shut but not quite closed. They looked as though someone had taken a circular saw to them repeatedly.
Gaunt moved in beside the Saint, and they approached the doors together.
‘My lord!’ Sancto hissed.
‘Shut up.’
Gaunt looked at the Saint. She nodded.
They kicked the doors open together.
The man stood facing them, just a few metres inside. He fired his lasrifle at them repeatedly. It made a dry, clacking sound. Its powercell was long since exhausted.
The man dropped it, his arms limp and heavy, and drew his straight silver. He took a step forward, then halted.
He stared at their faces, bewildered, as though he didn’t properly recognise them.
He was covered in dried blood.
‘M-my lord,’ he said.
‘Mach,’ said Gaunt.
Exhausted and traumatised beyond measure, Bonin flopped to his knees at Gaunt’s feet.
‘I tried,’ he whispered. ‘I tried. I tried to keep them safe. As many as I could. It came from everywhere. Every shadow.’
Gaunt bent down. ‘Easy, Mach,’ he said, holding the man by the shoulders. ‘Ana? Here, please.’
Gaunt looked past Bonin. Another man was nearby. He stepped out of the shadows, a chair leg in his hand ready to use as a club. He too was caked in blood, and swayed wordlessly on his feet.
It was Yerolemew. The Saint went forwards to support him.
‘Sit,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’
‘We… we have to keep going. Keep the doors shut…’ the old bandmaster murmured.
There were others. Trooper Luhan crawled out of cover, put down his rifle and started to cry. Sobs and murmurs spread through the darkness behind him. Shapes stirred. Gaunt saw the terrified faces of women and a few children, all members of the retinue.