Pol turned away and approached the high, wide entrance. A snuffling, growling sound commenced somewhere within--distant or near, he could not be certain. It shifted about him, moving, growing, diminishing.
The corridor he had entered ended abruptly several paces before him. There was a lower, narrower opening to his right and the strand led directly into it.
He halted and hung the guitar by its strap. He began to play, a slow, lullaby-like tune, into which he poured a wrist-throbbing desire to calm, to charm any listener. Several strands drifted near and he caught them on the neck of the instrument and saw them grow taut and begin to pulse in time with the music.
Slowly, he turned, still playing, and entered the opening.
He found himself in a dim passageway, a narrow band of sky visible high above him, running like a blue brook to separate into several tributaries at a place where a number of corridors met. He stood still for a time, strumming and humming, letting his eyes adjust to the lesser light. He realized then that the snorts and snufflings had ceased, though there was now a sound of heavy breathing all about him.
He moved forward, following the pale green strand. He turned right when it did, and left and immediately left again. Two more paces bore him into a circular chamber, ten equidistant doorways in its walls, including the one from which he had just emerged.
His strand led through the one to the immediate right, though another section of it crossed the chamber, stretched between two other doors. He ignored this and followed it to the right.
There came a series of left-right, left-right, then left-left, right-right turns which left him dizzy. He paused to regain control of his music. The sounds of breathing still came heavily about him, filling all the passageways, accompanied now by a strong barnyard odor. A tiny bit of cloud drifted across the blue band above him. Switching to another tune--still languid, dreamlike--he continued on.
After a time, he entered a circular chamber with ten doors, following the strand across it. He felt that it was the same one through which he had passed earlier, because of a familiar pattern of cracks in the wall, but there was no trace of the green strand passing between the adjacent doors across the way.
Then, looking behind him, he realized that the jade strand was shrinking or being gathered before him as he progressed. It was then that it occurred to him that while the force within the object he sought made it easy to describe a spell that would lead him to it, finding his way back out again might be a little more difficult without such a goal.
He ducked and squatted as he traversed a low passage--hell of a place to get caught!--and turned sideways as he negotiated a narrow one. He then entered upon a fresh series of turns, most of them doubling back upon themselves.
How long? he wondered. Surely I don't have to go through the entire thing....
Shortly thereafter, he realized that the breathing sounds had grown louder. And it was not long after that that he entered the long, low hall where the minotaur paced....
Mouseglove leaned forward again. The light in Mark's penthouse had been out for the better part of an hour, yet he had learned by observation that the sometime flashing device which had replaced the man's left eye was capable of very effective night-vision. He was also aware of Mark's restless disposition, of his inclination to pace within his quarters, to burst suddenly forth and embark upon surprise inspections of his installations, his factories, the barracks, his laboratories, his fields.
Is it better to assume that sleep has claimed him? he wondered. He's had a busy day. Still, he's so full of nervous energy... He could come out at any time. Once he's off and running again, it would be easy....
More maps than he really needed were folded in the various pockets of his cloak. The package containing the seven figurines was there, also. The grenades--about which he felt even more uncomfortable, having earlier witnessed their power--hung from his belt, along with one of his daggers. He carried a parcel containing food and a pistol he had stolen.
He leaned back behind the duct again and breathed more deeply of the chill and smoky night air. The longer he waited, of course, the greater the risk of discovery by one of the gnomes or machines. He was certain that he had spotted all of the stationary alarm devices, yet there were mobile units.
Still, he realized that he could not enter the flier and secure it about him without making some noise. Even if Mark were already sleeping, it would be well to let him drift further along into oblivion.
He looked up at the stars. The moon had not risen. Good for stealth. Less good for one's first flight. He touched each grenade. He checked his supplies. He had no intention of being captured. Especially after having seen what they had done to that centaur they had brought in earlier. And he was convinced that the poor brute had not even understood what it was that they wanted to know.
Patience had long been a way of life with Mouseglove. He commenced massaging major muscles, pausing periodically to listen, to peer about him.
Over an hour went by.
Time, he decided. The belly of the night. Two hundred paces now. Slow and steady. Patron of Thieves, be with me... .
It was time to think of nothing, to be an eye, to be an ear, to breathe just so, to feel vibrations. The hatch would have to be on the side facing Mark's door....
Twenty more paces, ten... What are they burning in those factories, anyway? It bites the nose...
He circled the vehicle twice, seeking alarms. Finally, he extended his hand, touched the smooth, cold body of the ship...
Now, little man, there is no retreat, he told himself.
He cracked the hatch, drawing slowly and steadily upon it. Silently, it came open. A moment later, he was inside, scanning the rooftop, seeking the hatch's interior handle. There would be an unavoidable noise in closing it. He located the handle and pulled downward upon it until it was only opened a crack....
No!
The door to Mark's apartment banged open and the man himself emerged. Mouseglove's fingers outlined and dug for the pistol within his parcel on the seat beside him, There was not time in which he might take off, no way in which he could flee.
Yet, Mark did not immediately advance. He stood with his thumbs hooked behind his belt, studying the sky, the roof. Could it be that it was only the man's insomnia which had brought him outside?
Mouseglove realized that he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly and took the pistol onto his lap. His left arm was beginning to tremble, from holding the door nearly closed against the tension of its spring.
...And don't let it rattle, he appended to his latest prayer.
He located the trigger and raised the pistol. Abruptly, Mark buttoned his jacket and closed the door behind him. He began walking across the terrace.
I'd shoot him. Right now. If I could be sure of getting him. But I've never used one of these things. And already my grip is slippery upon it. I'd take the chance with a crossbow, if I had one. If this door were shut and the window down... if...
Mark passed within five meters, without even glancing at the flier. Mouseglove, deep within his cowl, crouched, arm aching, watched him go.
It was another ten minutes before he dared to slam the hatch and turn his attention to the controls.
Pol did not permit the music to falter. The man-beast's eyes had passed over him several times as it moved slowly back and forth along the hall. It was well over two meters tall, with dark, curved horns. The room stank. Pol wondered what sort of teeth the creature possessed, with the head of a herbivore and the reputation he was still fresh on from his recent readings. He decided that he was willing to leave the question to sorcerers of a more academic bent. He turned his full attention to his playing.
Only his hands moved. He imagined that he plucked strands extending from the instrument to the horns of the beast. The force that grew within his wrist seemed to flow out through his fingertips, into the guitar, across the distance that lay between them.