Even Tailchaser, on the periphery of Vastnir's main arteries, could sense the imminence of… something. Scratchnail had ceased talking altogether- mumbling and howling alike-and plodded along with a dull, lifeless sheen on his deep eyes. He stopped incessantly to scratch, gouging at his dark fur with crimson claws until it seemed he must draw blood. Fritti understood. His skin, too, was crawling.
The trio had paused by one of the main passages, looking down a dark, sloping access tunnel to the broad causeway below. Teams of Clawguard marched purposefully by, or harried fainting, stumbling prisoners. At Tailchaser's side Skinwretch cocked an ear to the sounds of pads scuffling endlessly past.
"Aaaahh." The Toothguard beamed, his scarred face crinkling into a complexity of lines. "Hear that? Lisssten. Great thingsss are afoot… great thingsss." The naked snout took on a dejected cast. "The unfairness of it. That a faithful sservant, sssuch asss I…" He made a sniveling sound. Fritti, worriedly watching the Clawguard legions, nodded his head distractedly-forgetting momentarily that the other could not see him.
"I was born to sserve the Lord of All," Skinwretch lamented. "How could I have been brought to thiss low essstate?"
The Toothguard's reproachful words finally sank in. An idea began to form in Tailchaser's mind.
"Skinwretch. I have something important to tell \ou." Fritti said in a low voice. "Let's move back up the corridor a bit."
When they had walked back to stand by the stu-porous Scratchnail. Fritti said: "You say you are loyal to the… Lord of All?"
"Oh yessss!" Scratchnail eagerly affirmed. "It iss my one purpose!"
"Then I can tell you my secret. Do you promise to keep it?"
"Oh, certainly, Tunnelwalker, mossst asssuredly!" Skinwretch bobbed up and down in a horrible parody of trustworthiness. "I ssswear by the Foaming Ssstone of the Toothguard!"
"Good." Tailchaser deliberated for a moment. "Lord He-the Master-has grave need of information from a certain prisoner. He does not trust his chiefs, though. Some of them, like… well, if I must say it, like Hissblood, have shown themselves to be unreliable-if you understand me."
The Toothguard was jiggling excitedly. "Of course! I understand. Like Hisssblood! Exactly!"
"Well," continued Fritti importantly, now warming to the deception, "he has chosen me to find and observe the prisoner. But no one may knowl You can see that it would be… well, unwise, especially now!" He was a little unclear himself on the logic of this, but Skinwretch seemed enraptured by the idea. "Anyway," he added, "the Lord of All has chosen me, and I am choosing you. You must find the prisoner for me, and no one must know why, or even suspect. Can you do that?"
"Clever Tunnelwalker. Who will sssusspect old, crippled Ssskinwretch? Yesss, I ssshail do it!"
"Good. The prisoner you must find for me is the fela who accompanied the escaping Tail… Tail…" He hemmed and hawed convincingly. "Tail-chooser. The one Scratchnail raves about. The fela who was with him survived, did she not?"
"I do not know, Tunnelwalker, but I ssshail find out," said the blind creature soberly.
"Very well," said Fritti. "I will meet you on this spot when three work shifts have passed. Can you find it again?"
Tad WilliAiws
"Oh, yesss. Now that the Ssscalding Flume no longer boilss my earsss I can find my way anywhere."
"Move, then, and take Scratchnail with you-only, keep him out of trouble that will draw attention." Fritti especially did not want to be yoked himself to the powerful, maddened beast-who would be even more of a danger if his memory returned. "And remember," he added, "if you betray me, you betray your Master. Go!"
Fraught with newfound purpose, Skinwretch hurriedly roused Scratchnail, and the two went trudging away.
Tailchaser stifled an impulsive sneeze of pleased laughter as he watched them disappear. The hardest was yet to come.
With that matter settled, Tailchaser felt his fever-swift thoughts begin to slow down. He was very-hungry. This presented a problem. As he stood close to the tunnel wall and watched yet another press gang of captives being herded out to the diggings, he considered his alternatives. He supposed that he could try to stay inconspkuously on the edge of things-stealing a meal here or there, trying to avoid the guards by stealth and speed. Sooner or later, though, he would be caught. There were no free Folk roaming about the mound-at least, none that he had seen. It was courting disaster, and he had a mouthful of trouble already.
Another clutch of prisoners, overseen by a pair of surly Claws, moved along the passage below him. As they passed his hiding place, one of the slaves near the front collapsed. There was a great yowling and snarling as others tried to leap over the fallen one, and collided with their fellows. The two Claws, red talons shot, waded into the flurry.
Fritti seized this chance, bounding out of the tunnel and moving rapidly toward the rear of the line.
It will be easier to escape from one of these gangs than to live tike a phantom for very long, he decided. Also, who would hunt for an escaped prisoner in a prison cave?
"You little sun-rat!" rasped a voice. Tailchaser looked up into the heavy-jawed face of one of the guards. "I saw that!" the Claw snarled. "Try sneaking off again and I'll slit you from gorge to tomhoodi"
The crush of tunnel salves surged forward again, bearing Fritti along.
Life with the slave gang was not as difficult as it had been before. He was stronger after his interval in Ratleaf; though the hunting had been sparse, still he had eaten better than the poor beasts with whom he was imprisoned. It saddened him to see the misery and suffering around him-but this time things were different: he had joined this press of captives by choice; he was operating in secret. Although his heart warned him against foolishness, he could not help feeling a quiet pride. He had a purpose, and so far he was succeeding remarkably. His luck had been dancing.
The prisoners, too, could feel the difference in the mound's atmosphere. The stirring, anxious sense of impending events had beaten them down. No prisoners told stories, or sang. Even the arguments were lackluster, dispirited. Collectively the slaves were cringing; they were waiting for the blow to fall.
One of the other captives told Tailchaser laconically of the rumors among their warders: about the lights and noises in the Cavern of the Pit, and of the assembling of Claws and Teeth into bridling, impatient units who were then sent out to farther tunnels. Trying to appear unconcerned, Fritti milked the prisoner-a one-eyed tabby named Fumblefoot-for more information, but the weary cat had no more to offer.
Fritti had been with the tunnel slaves for two work shifts and his impatience was rising: he knew that his time was running out. All he could think of was the danger that his friends were in. Firsthome and the fate of the Folk had faded from his memory as useless abstractions. After he left Fumblefoot, Tail-chaser sat humpbacked in the corner of the cave until the guards came to dme them forth.
The dirtv. back-bending digging time oozed by as slowly as running sap. Although his paws were cracked and bleeding, Fritti dug as though consumed-striving to obliterate the dragging Hours by main force.
When the smirking Claw at the mouth of the tunnel growled down the order to quit digging, Tailchaser and the other wean prisoners began to mount upward. Carefully falling behind, he stopped as the last cat before him turned up over the tunnel rim, then quickly ducked down the short passage and threw himself to the earth at the end of the hole they had been excavating. He wiggled as far beneath the piles of loose soil as he could and lay quietly.