Giliead joined him and they made their way along the bank of the river, staying low. The channel was deep and narrow and the quick-flowing water stank of grend filth. It must come from near Ixion’s chambers and probably led back into the old city.
Ilias tried to stay as close to the ground as possible as they crept under the whale’s bulk; seeing Giliead unconsciously duck as he looked up at the thing’s belly made him feel less irrational. It was too dark to see anything up there anyway.
The wooden supports of the dock platform were easy to climb, offering plenty of handholds. Ilias reached the top first, peeking cautiously over the edge. The chill sorcerous light from the flying whale’s door illuminated the platform, revealing the stacks of boxes, the metal cylinders, the spidery outlines of the stands supporting the quiescent lights. It gave the shadows a sharp outline, as if they were all knife-edged. The smell of burning still hung in the air, though there was an odd unfamiliar taint to it. The wood creaked as Giliead climbed out onto the platform and Ilias scrambled up after him, staying in a crouch, listening intently. They exchanged a wary look but nothing moved in the shadows.
Giliead went toward the crates nearby and Ilias crept forward cautiously to the shadowy vats and canisters on the far side. The vats stood back against the rock wall, looming in the dark. He touched one cautiously; the metal surface was chill. Reluctantly he pressed his ear to the side, but he couldn’t hear anything stirring within. Ixion’s vats had bubbled and churned constantly, so maybe these weren’t the same after all. He felt around it, looking for a way to see what was inside. All he could find was a small wheel near the bottom, above a pipe. The wheel refused to turn, and though he examined it as best he could, he couldn’t tell how it was locked.
They searched the rest of the space, Ilias taking one side and Giliead the other, picking cautiously through the stacked boxes, pipes and other strange objects. Then a hiss from the other side of the platform called Ilias over.
Giliead was crouching by the broken lamp. He held up something so Ilias could see it in the light that came from the flying whale. It was the charred end of a black rope with odd-colored bits poking out. In a low whisper, Giliead explained, “These are connected to all the lights. I think when this one broke it started the fire.”
“Huh.” Ilias took it and sniffed it cautiously. It did smell of burning. He handed it back. “What’s in the crates?”
Giliead shook his head. “Couldn’t get any open without breaking them. I don’t want them to know we were here. Not yet.”
That left only one thing to search. They both looked at the open door into the flying whale’s belly. Ilias swallowed in a dry throat. “Well...”
Giliead took a sharp breath. “I know.”
Ilias tried not to step on the black ropes as they crossed the platform, but it was hard to miss them in the dark. One of them squished unpleasantly underfoot and he winced, but it didn’t burst into flame or break.
They reached the edge of the gangplank together. All they could see through the doorway was a dull-colored metal wall. Ilias hesitated, wiping sweaty palms on his pants, and found himself hoping fervently again that the creature wasn’t alive. Walking voluntarily into its belly seemed less suicidal that way. He looked at Giliead, whose expression said he wasn’t feeling so sure of himself either, which made Ilias feel even worse. He nudged him with an elbow and said in an almost voiceless whisper, “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
Giliead shrugged and shook his head, which Ilias interpreted as “No, but we’re doing it anyway.” He took a tentative step onto the plank and Ilias checked the set of his sword and followed.
Giliead stopped in the doorway, head cocked to listen. For such a large creature—or thing—the flying whale was oddly silent. He leaned back and whispered, “No guard curses.” Ilias nodded and eased through the door after him. These wizards didn’t seem to use such things to protect their territory; the only ones Giliead had found while they had been here were old, left by Ixion or his predecessors.
Inside was a long, low-ceilinged chamber, half filled with the containers they had watched the slaves load, lit by a few small white bubbles of curse light attached to the ribbed metal ceiling. The floor was covered with a thin soft stuff like cork that dampened any sound their boots might have made.
Well, it’s a cargo hold
, Ilias thought, but after watching the slaves load it he supposed they could have known that without actually coming in. He moved down a row of crates as Giliead took the other side. The crates were stacked above his head, secured with ropes and nets to hooks in the floor. Ilias tried not to brush against anything even though Giliead had said there were no guard curses to injure intruders or alert the wizards to their presence. The strangeness of the place, the odd scents, the cold light, made his shoulders tight with tension and his nerves twitchy. There wasn’t anything to see but the crates and he circled back around.
Giliead had found a metal door in the wall to the far right. He listened at it a moment, then gave it a cautious push. It creaked loudly, making Ilias’s stomach do a nervous flip-flop, but it revealed only a dimly lit corridor, with more doors off each side.
Giliead took a deep breath and consulted Ilias with a look. Ilias shrugged. They had come this far, they might as well go all the way.
The corridor was narrow and low enough that Giliead had to duck under the light bubbles. The wizards, who mostly seemed to be between the two of them in height, would have barely enough clearance themselves.
One of the doors stood partly open, revealing a darkened chamber, and Ilias leaned into it for a look. The dim light from the corridor fell on a narrow room lined with big shelves fixed to the wall with metal brackets. From the gray blankets and cushions he realized they were beds. Cold and lonely beds, thinly padded, narrow, and meant only for one person each. “This is how they sleep?” he whispered, glancing back at Giliead. “No wonder they’re all so irritable.”
Giliead looked too, made a thoughtful noise, and continued cautiously up the corridor. Ilias followed, pausing to look in the other open doors. It was all the same. The lack of personal possessions or clothes might be explained by the thing still being uninhabited, but there were hardly any colors at all except gray and brown. No painting on the walls, no color in the rough weavings they slept on or the padding on the floor.
It was another way these wizards were unlike Ixion. He had liked comfort and had covered his chambers with fine linens and silks, beautifully woven carpets and painted tiles. It made Ilias wonder what these wizards used their power for, what all this labor was in aid of.
At the end of the corridor was another dim chamber lined with metal vats, with pipes leading up into the ceiling. A heavy odor hung in the air, detectable even over the foul stink of the mud on their clothes and skin. Ilias couldn’t identify it, except that it was heavy and dark and clogged his nose and throat.
“Let’s try up here.”
“What?” Ilias glanced around to see Giliead had found a ladder, set back between two of the vats. He stepped closer, seeing it led up the wall through a hole in the ceiling and into an empty space that glowed with a diffuse orange light. It looked exactly as he imagined a giant beast’s belly would appear from the inside. “Try what up there?” he asked dubiously.
“Come on.” Giliead started up the ladder and Ilias followed reluctantly.
Giliead climbed up onto the floor above, the metal creaking faintly. Ilias poked his head through the opening warily, but the sight was disappointing. It was only a long straight narrow passage built of flat metal bars, with walls of some kind of slick brown fabric. It seemed to run the whole long length of the creature.
Sitting on his heels, Giliead studied the corridor thoughtfully. “Still think it’s alive?”
Ilias climbed up to sit on the narrow metal catwalk. He touched the wall tentatively but jerked his hand back with a grimace. “It feels like skin. Dead skin.”
Giliead leaned close to the wall, running a hand over it thoughtfully, with the air of someone who did this every day. “Huh.”
“Well?” Ilias demanded.
“It could be skin,” he conceded, getting to his feet. “Come on, let’s see what’s up here.”
After a short time of searching it became apparent that these narrow metal catwalks and skin walls made up most of the bulk of the creature. Ladders at intervals led up to more catwalks and more brown walls, fading into murky dimness in the stretches where the curse lamps weren’t lit.
Giliead’s hopes were raised when he climbed cautiously up to one of the dark stretches, only to find yet another identical catwalk and another ladder. Coming back down to the lighted area, he said with a grimace of frustration, “This isn’t telling us anything, is it?”
Ilias agreed, leaning around Giliead to see up through the opening. “At least down below there were things to look at.”
“We’ll go down again. If there’s something to tell us where they came from, it’ll be there.”
A faint sound from back down the catwalk made them both turn.
A man’s head and shoulders suddenly popped up from the opening below the last ladder, facing away from them, no more than twenty paces away. He was dressed in the brown clothing of the wizards, though his cap had been pushed back and the eye coverings were hanging down around his neck. He had dark hair, clipped close to his head, and his skin was moon-pale, as if he had spent all his life underground. Ilias ducked instinctively and Giliead fell back a step toward the ladder behind them. But the wizard had already pulled himself up and turned to step onto the catwalk. He froze, staring right at them.
Ilias couldn’t read the man’s expression in the dim light, but he could imagine it. For a long heartbeat nobody moved, then Giliead said matter-of-factly, “Shit.”
The wizard gasped and fumbled at the sheath at his belt. Ilias saw the hilt of one the curse weapons and knew they were dead. He pulled his knife, drawing back for a desperate throw, when Giliead snatched it out of his hand. He looked up in shock to see Giliead grab the curse-light bubble above his head, yanking it down so the black rope was visible. He put the knife against it in obvious threat.
That can’t work
, Ilias thought, whipping back around to face the wizard.
The man had frozen, one hand still on the weapon, his expression horrified.
Ilias threw a wary look up at Giliead. “It worked,” he whispered.
Giliead took a sharp breath, acknowledging the danger. “Get down the ladder,” he said softly.
Ilias slid past him, careful not to jostle his arm. “Do it. If you turn your back on him—”
“I know.”
Ilias reached the ladder, catching hold of a rung and setting one foot on it. “Ready,” he said. The wizard shifted nervously, his hand still on the weapon’s hilt.
Giliead sliced the cord. The curse popped loudly and the light winked out. White sparks showered down as Giliead yelled and dropped the knife. Ilias heard the wizard shout in horror and feet pounded on the walk but he was already swinging down the ladder, dropping to land lightly on the padded floor. He saw a large room, with tables and benches and walls lined with metal cabinets. Two doors, one directly in front of him and one behind. Just as Giliead landed behind him, the door on the far side of the chamber swung open and there stood three wizards.
They weren’t wearing the eye coverings or caps, so it was easy to see their expressions of complete astonishment. Ilias registered that they weren’t identical after all; one was taller than the others, another more squarely built, and the third had beard stubble showing starkly against the whiteness of his skin.
Giliead swore under his breath and grabbed for another light bubble. Ilias dived for the other door, their only clear exit. He could still hear the wizard on the catwalk above the thin metal ceiling, yelling like a madman. He was afraid to see what the other three were doing. He hit the door with his shoulder, feeling the wood crack. The room went dark as it burst open, sending him staggering into another narrow corridor. He looked back desperately, but Giliead was already shoving through the door behind him.
They ran, banging open the doors, looking for anything like a way out and finding only tiny unlit chambers filled with shadowy incomprehensible objects. Then Ilias shoved a door open to see a small room with a wide square window looking out into the darkness of the cavern. “Gil, here!”
Footsteps thudded down the metal floor behind them as they tumbled through the door. Giliead tripped over Ilias in the confined space and they both hit the floor in a heap. Ilias struggled to his knees, yanking the door closed and fumbling at the unfamiliar bolt, just managing to slide it home.
He fell back as the wizards pounded on it from the other side. It looked stronger than the other doors but they didn’t have much time. Giliead was already struggling to stand, heading toward the window. Ilias lurched to his feet, looking around for something else to block the door.
The walls were lined with cabinets but when Ilias tried to pull them down across the door he discovered nothing was movable. He turned to Giliead, who had stopped at the window set at an angle in the far wall. He was swearing in frustration.
“What is it?” Ilias stepped up beside him, reaching for the metal bar that was just outside. He flinched when his hand banged into an invisible barrier. He fell back a step, thinking it was some protective curse, then realized the openings were covered with clear glass. “Oh, no.”
“We need something heavy.” Giliead turned around, trying to pull down one of the shelves. It refused to give, too firmly attached to the wall.
Ilias turned, looking around again, and saw a rough gray rock with crystal shards growing out of it, mounted in a metal stand atop one of the cabinets. It looked heavy. He reached for it but Giliead turned suddenly and knocked his arm away.
Ilias stepped back, knowing that look. “It’s cursed?”
Giliead stared at it, eyes narrowed. “Yes, there’s something . . . I’m not sure what.”