"The fires?"
"Eloise can continue with those. She's enjoying it." The minstrel grinned. "Feeling better now? I thought so. There's a relief in knowing you've taken the final step and there's no going back." His hand reached out, gripped, pulled Adara into a room. "Be silent!"
They waited as a Monitor passed, foam spurting from the extinguisher in its hands.
"Slow," said Arbush. "Earl was right. The Monitors aren't used to anything like this and don't know how to handle it."
"Would you?"
"Sure. I'd open the windows and dump the burning fabrics outside. The walls are of stone and can't be burned. The wind would clear the smoke and once that's gone the people would regain their calm. They shouldn't be here, anyway. If those Monitors had sense, they'd have herded them into one of the large rooms long ago. Now, let's get those tools."
They were hidden under the coverlet in Adara's room, where they had taken them before starting the fires. Two hammers, a pointed bar flat at one end, a wrench used for loosening the caps of small containers of pigment. Arbush pursed his lips as he examined them.
"The bar's too short, we won't get much leverage; and the hammers are too light. The wrench is useless." He hefted it in his hand. "Damn it. Was there nothing else?"
"You were with me," reminded Adara. "You saw what there was."
"Maybe we tried the wrong place. Is there any room fitted out to do heavy repairs?"
"No. All that's done below."
"Acid?" Arbush shook his head. "No. Too dangerous. Camolsaer would never supply it. What then? What the hell can we use?" He beat his hands together in agonized frustration. "Damn it! I wish Earl was here!"
Chapter Thirteen
He was in a shaft three feet square, inching upwards with painful deliberation. Below him lay the bulk of Camolsaer, apparatus turned into cooling slag; containers ruptured, crystals shattered, severed cables still alive with sparkling energy. A conduit had led him to the foot of the shaft, a ventilator which narrowed as he climbed; blocked with grills which he had burned away while the lastorch held power, discarding it to use his knife when it had failed.
Now, supported only by the traction of his boots and hands, he climbed up to where a patch of light shone in the darkness.
Noise came through it; shouts, screams, the scent of burning, wisps of acrid smoke which caught at his lungs. Higher and he saw the grill, crossed bars set in a sturdy frame. He locked his fingers between them, moved his feet up behind him opposite to the grill, his body bent, cramped in the narrow space. He turned, the nape of his neck against the bars, the upper reaches of his shoulders and, with the full strength of his body, thrust his legs against the far wall.
For a moment the grill resisted and then, with a tearing of metal, it yielded; allowing his head and shoulders to pass through, hands to free themselves to grip the edges of the opening before the weight of his legs and hips could pull him back down the shaft.
A jerk and he was falling to the floor of a corridor, ten feet below.
A woman screamed at the sight of him, turning to bump into a man, the pair of them running down the passage in sudden panic. To one side a body lay in a pool of blood; the head crushed, splinters of glass from a shattered bottle lying in a carmine pool. The victim of someone who hoped to escape the Knelling, lying ignored, the desired constituents of his body going to waste. A sure sign of the disorganization of the Monitors, the disruption he had caused.
The pair had run from where smoke billowed at the mouth of a chamber. Dumarest headed towards it, saw a Monitor standing helplessly before a fuming mass of vegetation, caught a glimpse of a wild figure setting more tanks aflame.
"Eloise!"
"Earl!" She came running towards him, almost unrecognizable; her gown torn, face, arms and hands dark with soot, hair frizzled from too-near flame. "Earl! Thank God you made it!" Her arms wrapped around him, tight, demanding; the pressure of her body equaling that of her lips.
"Eloise." With an effort he pushed her away. "Where are the others?"
"In Adara's room, I guess." She stared at him, her eyes wide. "My God, you look a mess. Your clothes! Your face!" Her hand lifted to touch the spots of burn, the seared patches of skin. "Earl?"
"I'm all right." He coughed as smoke caught at his lungs. "Did they get the flying units?"
"I don't know. I've been busy." She gestured at the havoc she had caused. "I guess we've won. The Monitors don't seem to care."
For now, but not for long. They were self-motivated units capable of independent decisions; disorganized now only because of the lack of direct orders from Camolsaer. And even that wouldn't last. Already repair units must be at work on the machine.
"Look at them, Earl. Those damned machines don't know which way to turn. And look at the fires. I started them. I did it. This is the finest day of my life."
"It'll be the last, if you don't hurry."
"Fire," she said dreamily. "The poor man's friend. I heard someone say that once and didn't know what he was talking about. I know now. It's something I'll remember. Just a spark and everyone's equal. More than equal. A poor man has nothing to lose, nothing to go up in flames."
She was transported, almost in ecstasy, something cruel and primitive in her nature responding to the destruction. Coldly Dumarest slapped her cheek, streaks appearing on the sooted flesh. "Earl! You-"
"You're forgetting what this is all about." He gestured at the flames. "We've no time to waste while you gloat. We need food, clothes; a lot of things."
"Clothes?"
"You think you can travel like that?" He looked at her torn gown, the naked flesh it revealed. "The cold would kill you within minutes. And you could use a bath."
"Earl?"
"A cold bath," he snapped. "Maybe it will shock some sanity into you. Now let's get moving."
On the way he stopped at a terminal, resting his hand on the plate.
"Dumarest. What is the external weather?"
"Cold. Some wind. Snow expected."
"How soon?"
"Before dark."
"Direction of wind?"
"From the south."
Bad news; worse was the fact that Camolsaer still seemed to be functioning. At least it was answering questions in a precise manner. Dumarest tested it further.
"There is a dead man close to this terminal."
"Dead… dead… dead…" "Fires are spreading. Compartment 34 is flooded. A Monitor has been crushed in room 812."
A buzz came from the grill-the section of the mechanical brain dealing with variable factors was obviously inoperative.
Dumarest said, "Where is Dras?"
Again the buzz. Satisfied, he turned from the installation.
"What was that all about?" Eloise was puzzled. "I can understand you wanting to know about the weather, but why all the rest?"
"A test. The weather report must be on a different circuit. The main thing is that Camolsaer no longer knows what is going on in the city."
"You wrecked it, Earl."
"Not wrecked, it was too big for that; but I managed to damage it a little. Let's hope the damage will last long enough."
"Long enough?"
"For us to leave the city."
* * * * *
Arbush had been busy. He was surrounded by a mass of clothing; soft furs, garments of warm fabric, boots, hats, an assortment which Adara had gathered from a dozen rooms. Now the man stood at the ledge before the serving hatch.
"Eloise!" He turned as she entered the room, his face brightening, some of the shadows lifting from his eyes. "My dear, I thought you were hurt I wanted to look for you but-"