"I . . ." He swallowed, then bowed his head. As Rheinhardt stood, he, too, stood, clicking his heels, then remained there, head bowed, while the General put on his gloves and, without another word, left the room.
He sat, breathing easier once more. "Shit . . ." he said quietly, then leaned forward, pressing the summons button. At once the Duty Captain appeared at the door.
"Sir?"
"John? Get the full team in here now. It looks like we might be going in. Li Yuan wants answers, and he wants them fast."
DARKNESS. It beckoned him like a lover.
Ben stood amid the ruins of the old village, looking about him. Through the heat-sensitive glasses he wore he could see the figures of his daymen, moving like bright red demons in that suffocating darkness, the RadMark identification symbols vivid on the backs of their suits.
This was Lamorna, an old smuggling village south of Penzance on the southernmost tip of ancient Cornwall. They had come into the Clay some twenty minutes back, following tunnels groined into the rock five hundred years before. From here it was a twenty-five-mile march to the Myghtern's capital, but Ben was in no hurry.
"Crefter!" he called, hearing his voice echo back at him from the ceiling overhead, and knowing that already word would be going out that there were intruders in the Clay.
Crefter came across, doglike in his obedience, the heavy pack strapped to his back. Ben turned him and activated the tracer. At once the screen lit up, glowing red and black. It, too, showed heat-sensitive images, relayed to it from the four remotes Ben had with him. Only one was presently active, hovering directly over his head, programmed to stay there come what may. The other three sat in their slots at the top of Crefter's pack.
Ben unslotted the first of them, tapped out its induction sequence, then threw it into the air. At once it sped off north. It would go ahead and find a perch in the Myghtern's town from which to send back its images. The other two would be their eyes as they made their way through this dark and deadly place.
He activated them and sent them ahead, then gathered his daymen about him. All four carried packs. Kygek had the guns and ammunition, Blonegek the food, Scaf some basic medical supplies and a spare remote, as well as various things for trade, should the need arise.
He turned Kygek and undipped one of the five heavy-duty lasers from his back and handed it to him, then took the others and distributed them, checking the charge on each before he gave them out.
Their faces stared at him expectantly: skeletal faces of red and black. He smiled and pointed up the dusty hillside. "Up there," he said. "Crefter, you'll walk in front of me. Kygek, go ahead ten paces. Blonegek and Scaf, you cover the rear, left and right."
He had had them practice it in the field before they'd flown out, but here it was different. Here it was dark . . . and dangerous.
They began to climb, the ceiling of the Above seeming to come down to meet them. At the top the land leveled out and Ben paused.
"Scaf," he said, summoning the dayman to him, "do you see them?"
Scaf came across, then looked about him nervously. "See who, Master?"
"The dancing maidens. Take off your glasses a moment and look!"
As Scaf removed his glasses, Ben fired his laser at the ceiling overhead. For a few moments the whole place was lit up vividly, revealing that they stood in the midst of an ancient stone circle, the stones like the irregular teeth of a giant.
Scaf gasped in awe. Such places were sacred among the Claymen. He fell to his knees.
"Bones and dust," Ben said, laughing, the darkness enveloping him once more. "That's all the old gods are now, bones and dust! First the Christians came and built their churches on the old sacred sites, and then the Chinese came and consigned it all to darkness and oblivion. Now only devil men live here. Devils and their king. The Myght-ern . . ."
He could sense their unease at the word. King under the City, he called himself, as if he ruled it all, when in fact all he ruled was this tiny corner of the darkness. A king of scampering mice and insects!
Ben smiled. That was why he'd come. To catch the king and take him back to his own Domain. And that was why he had needed his Claymen. To carry his prize back through the dark.
He had ventured into the Clay once before, five years ago: had taken the trail up to Totnes, a journey of five miles, accompanied by an armed patrol. But it was only last year, when he had sent one of his remotes deep into the Clay, that he had discovered the Myghtern's town, and, at the heart of it, the Myghtern himself.
"Move on!" he called, tapping Crefter, then clipped the laser to his chest again, freeing his hands to maneuver the remotes.
THREE HOURS LATER they were on the outskirts of Camborne, more than half their journey completed. Ben had made regular stops to check the land ahead, knowing they would be watched, seeing from time to time a flash of red among the stones, but still no attack had come.
The Claymen were nervous. He could sense how the time had dragged for them, so that this journey seemed not a matter of hours but of days. Now, as he rested, he gathered them close about him, offering a few words of reassurance while they ate.
That done, he crouched behind Crefter, studying the screen. The lead remote had reached the Myghtern's town and was perched on a roof, looking out over the New Bridge. He moved it on, searching the lamplit streets, then stopped, focusing in as six figures—five tall, one small as a child—stepped from a doorway and made their way down a street.
He watched a moment, then switched to one of the two surveillance remotes, searching the surrounding darkness.
Insects, attracted by the warm glow of the screen, fluttered around him. He crushed one between his gloved fingers and let it fall, then cracked another against the screen, wiping it afterward.
Nothing, he thought, beginning to be suspicious. It was almost as if someone was letting him come on, deeper and deeper into the Myght-ern's realm. He had expected to be attacked—to have to use the lasers—but this waiting . . .
He stood. They would need to be extra vigilant from here on, for the attack would come. Somewhere between here and Truro the Myght-ern's men would try to stop him. There were three places they could try—three bottlenecks where the land rose to meet the ceiling and only a narrow passage led through. By taking the northern route he would avoid two of those.
He lifted his mask and sniffed the darkness, hearing the fluttering of insects in the air around him, and felt a shudder ripple through him. For months now he had dreamed of being here; had pictured it in his mind. And now here he was, embedded in the dark, hours from safety, with only his own skills between him and certain death.
He replaced his mask, then went among them, touching their shoulders. It was time to move on.
THE DOOR WAS OPEN. A broad flight of steps led steeply down. The passageway was dark but at the bottom, some twenty ch'i below, a faint light showed a wet, uneven surface.
"Here?" Hastings seemed surprised, but the small man, Tak, merely nodded and began the descent.
They were big men and Tak, among them, seemed like a child in stature. At the bottom a passageway stretched away into the earth. A light shone dimly from the ceiling about thirty ch'i along, but after that there was only darkness. Tak led the way and they followed.
Past the light he looked back and saw Franke pass beneath the rounded yellow lamp. Briefly there was gold in the silver of his hair, gold like cloth on his broad shoulders, then darkness. Tak narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then turned and went on.
The darkness ended in a second door. They stood before it, the three newcomers uncertain, the sound of their breathing filling the narrow space. Tak stepped forward and lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it fall. It made a deep, hollow, echoing sound in the darkness.