Lucifer, a flogger in his hand, was standing by a pillar. Crick was bound to the pillar, his back exposed and striped with blood. Batanya gulped, resisting the nausea that rose in her throat. Lucifer was staring at them, trying to figure out their presence, and in the split second before he could decipher their intent, Batanya leaped at him with the sword.
She got him, right through the stomach, but not before he managed to swing the flogger. It raked Batanya’s back without enough force to draw blood through her clothing, but enough to make her dig in the sword for all she was worth.
Lucifer’s beautiful face was twisted with anger. Despite the blade in his guts, he said, “I’ll kill you for this, if I live.”
“Oh, of course you’ll live,” Clovache said. Narcissus was looking at Lucifer hungrily, as if seeing someone else lovely was enough to excite his libido. Amelia was throwing up into a pot on the floor. Crick looked at them as if they were all as beautiful as Narcissus. But what he said was, “Get me out of this.”
“The key?” Batanya said. Lucifer sneered at her. Batanya pulled a dagger from her belt. “You don’t need both those pretty blue eyes,” she said. “Which one do you want the most?”
“On the table by the bed,” Lucifer said. Clovache ran to fetch it, and Batanya risked a glance to check on Narcissus and Amelia. Suddenly Lucifer bellowed at the top of his lungs, and in quick response there was pounding at the door. Ginever called, “Master? Master?”
“Kill them all!” Lucifer yelled, and the door began to bow inward.
“Find an exit,” Batanya told Amelia, who’d finished being sick. “There’s sure to be one.” Amelia nodded, braced herself visibly, and began scanning the walls of the huge room. It was a very busy boudoir. It contained an enormous bed, many hangings, lots of torture paraphernalia and knickknacks, and a roaring fire; about what you’d expect of the personal apartment of the King of Hell.
“Here,” Amelia called. She’d pulled aside a wall hanging depicting-well, it was as complicated as the threesome of soldiers they’d seen in the tunnels-and sure enough, there was a door.
“It doesn’t lead to the surface,” Lucifer said. “You’re all going to die. But not before I have some fun with each of you, I hope.”
“You already had fun with me,” Narcissus said plaintively. “Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”
“Just kill him right now,” Lucifer advised Batanya, and for a second she was tempted. But there were other things to do, and besides, she had a jumbled feeling that killing Narcissus would be like breaking an ancient porcelain vase. He wasn’t very useful, but he was beautiful.
Lucifer’s wound was healing, as she’d expected, and he wouldn’t be on the floor for long. The pounding at the door had accelerated, and there wasn’t time to do more than wrap one of Crick’s chains around the no-longer-bleeding lord and lock it with one of Crick’s locks. Clovache had Crick moving and had picked up one of Lucifer’s tunics and pulled it roughly over their client’s head. Crick himself bent with obvious pain to pull on some shoes, and then they were tumbling out the door Amelia had found.
Batanya hadn’t been sure Narcissus would follow, he’d seemed so intent on forcing a compliment from his former lover-or torturer; but the beautiful youth trailed after them, though he didn’t seem nearly anxious or urgent enough to suit her.
The door had to be blocked behind them. There was nothing in the dusty passage to help them do this, and the door didn’t lock on this side.
Clovache said a few choice things, and Crick said, “Stand back.” His voice was shaky but clear, and Batanya was grateful that he was well enough to remain on top of their perilous situation. Crick muttered a few words under his breath and pressed his hand in a curious gesture toward the door.
“It will hold them for a few minutes,” he said, and they hurried away. “That’s pretty much all the magic I have, so don’t expect more,” he added, getting the words out with an obvious effort. The passage was stone-floored like the rest of the underground palace, but it had been made strictly by men. The roof was braced, and there was no slug slime on the floor and walls.
“Do you know where this leads?” Batanya asked Narcissus.
“I didn’t even know it was here,” he said. “I never tried to escape from Lucifer before.” Of course not.
It would have been wonderful to have Crick’s map, but there was no telling where it had gone after Crick had been stripped. It wasn’t like they had a lot of choices to make; the passage had so far not branched off.
“We’re going northwest,” Crick said, when they paused to get their breath. By now, the back of Lucifer’s tunic was striped with Crick’s blood. His face looked even bonier than it had before. Batanya admired his fortitude. “That’s the direction of the guards’ barracks.”
“You’re still determined to retrieve the conjuring ball,” Batanya said with resignation.
“I might as well go back into that room and let him kill me there if I don’t return with the ball. I held out telling him where it was. I can’t come back to get it.”
“Crap.” Batanya wanted to pat him or choke him, she wasn’t sure which.
“What is the law?” Clovache said sullenly.
“The client’s word,” Batanya said, with resignation.
They started out again, trying to move faster. Amelia was uncomplaining, but she was panting heavily, and she stumbled from time to time. Narcissus was in better shape, but he was not as keen as the rest were on getting out of Hell. Crick kept pace gamely, but he didn’t object when Batanya put her arm under his shoulder to help him along.
The passage did branch off, finally, though the dust on the floor would surely indicate which way they’d taken. There was no help for it. They barged on straight ahead, since according to Crick that was still the best way to the barracks. The passage had led them slightly uphill, Batanya had noticed, and ahead of them they saw extra light coming from a grate in the floor.
The small group paused, and Clovache whispered into Narcissus’s ear, “You must keep silent.” They crept forward as quietly as they could, and Batanya felt Amelia’s arm quiver with the effort the older woman was making to calm her ragged breathing.
When they got very close to the grate, Batanya leaned Crick up against the wall and stepped silently up to it by herself.
She was looking down into one of the soldiers’ mess rooms. There were about twenty various creatures sitting around a table eating bread and meat, and drinking-those that had mouths-from bowls. They were all talking (or growling, or hooting), and when there was a loud alarm, at first they ignored it. Suddenly a large snakeman bounded into the room, and he bellowed (as much as his throat would permit him), “To arms! Lucifer has been attacked!” Whether from devotion or fear or professional pride, the collection of soldiers cleared out of the mess hall in double quick time.
“Shit,” Batanya said, and Crick tried to smile.
“I agree,” he said. “But at the same time, this is the last place they’d expect us to come, and if they’re clearing out, this is our best chance to retrieve the ball.”
“Which way?” Batanya said, having no argument to make with that.
“Forward,” he said, trying to put some energy in his voice.
So on they hurried. Two more grates were passed, Crick taking a careful look down each one, and at the third one he said, “This is it.”
Batanya’s shoulders wanted to sag with relief, but she kept herself braced and ready for action. She had an awful feeling she could hear the sound of pursuit coming up the passage; it was some way distant, but their pursuers would catch up quickly since they were all fit. So she wouldn’t think about what would happen after that, she squatted down to remove the grate, which wasn’t secured in any way; why would it be? Before she could speak, Crick grasped the rim and lowered himself down to the bed that was almost squarely beneath the grate. Crick gasped in sudden pain and dropped heavily, and the bed broke. Crick ended up on the floor, curled in a ball. In a flash, Batanya lowered herself through the opening and dropped a lot more gracefully.