They splashed through puddles, waded through sucking mud, traversed firm, water-soaked sand and slipped on stones slick with the ooze of centuries. When Neeka remarked upon the dearth of rats or mice in such a natural habitat, Iktis mindspoke, “When my grandfather was a lad, these ways swarmed with vermin, but then the fen cats were brought up from the swamps around the Great Inland Sea far southwest of here in the Associated Duchies; these days, it’s hard to find a rat in Esmithpolisport, under or over the ground, save for the trickle that come off ships.”
They had walked for miles, it seemed to Neeka, though with the numerous turns it would have been difficult for her to estimate just how much real distance they had put between them and their point of entry into the maze. Both torches were now guttering, and, at a word from Iktis, Neeka used hers to light another pair from the half-dozen spares he had had her bring along.
“Iktis,” asked Neeka, “for all her size, that girl is barely out of childhood, so why were Stoo and those others allowed to so abuse her? Wasn’t ravishment enough?”
“She’s not been ravished, Neeka—tortured, degraded, humiliated, terrified, yes, but not ravished. The old bitch paid a whopping price for her because she is a virgin, and avaricious as Djoy Skriffen was, you may be damned certain that she’d not have allowed the girl to be deflowered by a mere bodyguard. She was bought for an aging degenerate whose lusts can only be stirred by immature females. But neither he nor Djoy had figured on the strength of the girl, who not only successfully resisted his attempted rape of her but kneed him in the balls to boot. She was back down in that cell to be played with until her spirit was broken.”
Twice they had to backtrack from runnels blocked by cave-ins. At the second such, Iktis cursed sulfurously, damning all smugglers, the late madam, the Heritage and persons of whom Neeka had never heard for failing to keep the tunnels in repair or at least apprising him of the locations and extents of disrepair. Then he sighed. “I’d hoped to lead you into the secret sub-cellar wherein the Heritage meets, but these were the last two tunnels to it; the others are long years flooded.”
“The ancient, round tunnel we crossed back there passed beneath the palace of the city governor, but with poor Pehtros dead, that’s not the place I’d wish to come up, thank you. All the ways that lead to the fortress have been deliberately flooded or otherwise blocked over the years. Since I slew both Djoy Skriffen and Stoo Shif—that screaming hunchback saw it all and you can bet he told of it to the guards—the patrols are certainly out for me, and you too, likely. Djoy was no great loss to Esmithpolisport, mind you, but she was the uncrowned queen of the city’s criminal element, and, if we are unlucky enough to be arrested, you may be sure that we’ll never live long enough to come to trial.”
“Then what can we do, Iktis? Where can we go?” asked Neeka.
“If only Lord Gahbros were in the city …” mused Iktis. “There is a way that comes under his mansion, but his wife, worse luck, is a barbarian, a Daiviz of Morguhn; she’s not a member of ee Klirohnohmeea, and there’s no telling which way she’d jump if a couple of fugitive murderers and a kidnapped girl suddenly came trooping out of her cellars.”
“There is one more possible hidey-hole, of which I can think,” the sharp-faced man went on. “I know that you and this girl would be safe there, but I … well, the Lady Rohza dislikes men in general almost as much as she hates the barbarians. It’s a long way, too, outside the city, which will mean taking to the lowest ways, under the walls … and praying that there’s been no collapse of them in the years since I’ve been that way.”
He resumed his burden of the limp girl, crossing himself awkwardly. “Pray, too, that this poor child remains in swoon a bit longer, for we must retrace our way directly under the bordello, and they are certain to have left guards there.”
If prayers are truly effective, theirs were answered, for it was not until they were well upon the downward-slanting way that led under the inland walls that the Ahrmehnee began to moan and weakly squirm on Iktis’ shoulder. Iktis stopped and set the girl upright against the stone wall of the tunnel and Neeka tore the hem from one of her undershifts, wet it in a nearby puddle and gently bathed the child’s battered face, both she and Iktis beaming silent soothing assurance, just as they would have to a hurt, frightened animal.
This time, the sight of Iktis brought no screams from the Ahrmehnee, though still she trembled and eyed him warily. She said something that Neeka could not understand, then began to speak in Mehrikan.
“Where have you taken me now? What are you going to do to me?” In the light of the torches, tears glittered on her long, sooty lashes and down her bruised cheeks.
“We have taken you away from that place, child,” said Neeka. “We will try to find a way to return you to your home.”
“She … that huge, terrible old woman said that … that the only way I ever would leave that … that house of horror was … was dead,” gulped the girl.
“Djoy Skriffen is, herself, now dead,” said Neeka. “This brave man, Iktis, killed her. I saw him do it, child. He also killed one of those men who abused you … and I killed another.” Neeka had felt remorse at the death of Loo Fahlkop and was a little shocked to discover that she could feel no such emotion upon the reflection that she had slain two men this day. Her uncle, who had been a warrior and duelist of note in his youth, had often said that the first kill was the most difficult, both at the time of killing and immediately after, but that all subsequent kills were increasingly easy. Neeka thought that now she could understand.
After a few more minutes, the Ahrmehnee girl, Shireen Mahsohnyuhn, was able to walk with minimal assistance from Neeka, so the three proceeded faster than before. The way went downward, downward, ever downward, then began to slant into a very gradual ascent. They were lighting the last brace of torches when Iktis announced that they were nearing their goal.
“The city of which these ancient, subterranean ways were a part must have been a monster among cities—larger than Kehnooryos Atheenahs, Harzburk and Pitzburk combined—for the ways extend more than a mile inland and, it is said, once ran almost as far seaward. We now are over a half-mile outside the walls and might be safe aboveground, but they might also have mounted patrols out—I would, were I Pahvlos—so I think we’ll go on underground.”
In places they were compelled to bend low, almost to crawl, due to the accumulations of tree roots growing down through the rough, porous stone of the tunnel’s arched ceiling. But at last they came upon an ancient, badly rusted ladder leading up to another of those curious round iron hatches. Handing his torch to Shireen, Iktis climbed up and attempted to dislodge the cover. The two young women could hear his gasps and grunts of exertion, the cracking of his straining sinews, and finally the iron disc shifted with a grating sound that echoed down the long, dark runnel.
They emerged into a stock cellar even larger than Djoy Skriffen’s. Against one wall were ranged massive stationary wine casks larger in diameter than the tunnel below, their staves and bandings darkened with age. Elsewhere were stacked hogsheads and barrels of pickled vegetables and pickled or salted meats, stone crocks of salt or honey, stone jugs of brandy and cordials, kegs of oil and, near the stairs leading to the upper cellar, several ironbound caskets secured with huge padlocks.