Under the Eye of God (14 page)

They dropped down a service shaft to the bottom level of the palace. The mutable gravity field managed their descent. They stepped out of the well and trotted rapidly up the passage toward the distant sniffer team.

Designed for speed more than strength, the pursuit troops had a much leaner and hungrier look than their bigger, better-armored brothers. They had longer necks and narrower flat heads. More birdlike, and brighter-colored than the Dragons, these slender lizards bobbed and weaved with a slightly uncertain, nervous, uneasy quality. Lithe and sleek, they looked like recreations of the ancient Deinonychus.

Holding their tails high and lashing them wickedly back and forth, the tracking team moved up and down the wide corridor, waving their gas-testing devices slowly through the air and listening to the resultant signals on their headsets.

“He came down here,” Lieutenant Jheeter, the team leader reported. He spoke in quick clipped phrases. He had a whistling, high-pitched voice. Naye-Ninneya hated the effeminate sound of it. “He came down the same shaft you did. He went through the storage bays to the corridor on the other side, he came out in the master kitchen—almost right into the butcher's arms—then he panicked and dashed back into the service corridor. He found another drop-shaft and went down two more levels. We've tracked him as far as the recycling section. I've sealed the floor. He can't get out.”

Naye-Ninneya gave as much of a compliment as he ever did, a noncommittal grunt. “Let's go.” He strode off down the passage, Keeda and the trackers following hastily behind.

The recycling section smelled of garbage and methane. Waste material of all kinds lay piled in great unsorted heaps of filth. Someone had just dumped it here, day after day, week after week, without regard for sanitation.

Naye-Ninneya suppressed a shudder of distaste. He tried to close his nostrils against the stink. It didn't work. He still could easily identify the different flavors that filled the air: spoiled meat and rotting fish, wilted vegetables, rancid cheese, stale vomit, blood and offal from the butchery, the stink of urine from some unidentified mammal, and a more unpleasant odor that made his stomach churn—the distinctly foul smell of human shit.
Someone should do something about this disgrace
, he thought.
This dishonors the palace
. He said nothing aloud, however. Instead, he turned to the twitching team-leader. “You tracked him through this stench?”

“Only this far,” Jheeter piped in reply. “We've had to send for the heavy-duty sniffers. We didn't expect this—this unfortunate decay.” The smaller Dragon chose his words carefully, not wanting to say anything that even
implied
disapproval. A palace lizard already had enough enemies.

“Who runs this section,” Naye-Ninneya asked blandly.

“Dhrynnka Moloch.”

“Ahh,” said Naye-Ninneya, as if that explained everything. And in a way it did. Not quite a Vampire—merely a ghoul, Moloch liked to feed off the dead flesh that others left behind; but first, she liked to wallow in it. Of course, she'd keep a place like this. The reek and filth disgusted Naye-Ninneya. Ghouls!
²⁶

Naye-Ninneya had confronted Moloch on more than one occasion. She affected the pretense of mild and pleasant demeanor; she wore a bland wide-eyed expression and spoke in quiet gentle tones; but she fooled no one. Her face still gave her away. Dhrynnka Moloch had a mouth like a torn pocket, a tiny twisted pucker of permanent acidity—and despite the presumed gentleness of her voice, the content of her words too often carried deadly import. Moloch served as the Lady Zillabar's personal advisor on legal matters, and in the Lady's absence acted as her representative. Naye-Ninneya would have liked to kill her. Not eat her—only kill her. Some things even a Dragon won't touch.

Nevertheless, someday he hoped to preside at her execution. He had killed other lawyers in the past. He particularly enjoyed it. He planned on dispatching many more in the future. More than a hobby, he considered it a personal responsibility to reduce the numbers of these vermin whenever he could. Fortunately, the Lady Zillabar used up attorneys at a fearsome rate. He doubted that Moloch would last too much longer—although, to give the darkness its due, Dhrynnka Moloch had lasted much longer than any other the Captain could remember.

Anyway, that not only explained the mess down here—it also explained why the mess would continue. Dhrynnka Moloch wanted it to feast on, probably with the rest of her grisly ghoul friends. Naye-Ninneya tried not to think of it.

A sound distracted him. He cocked his head sideways, trying to locate the source. He closed his nostrils against the stink and began moving around the nearest heaps of refuse. He had to go much farther into the room than he wanted to before he found what made the noise—Jheeter followed him, so did Keeda. They came around a pile of blackened bones, charred and broken, and found Kask stomping desperately across the trash. Kask barely glanced up. “He came this way. I saw him.” His tail lashed rapidly back and forth in frantic agitation.

Captain Naye-Ninneya stopped and stared. He held himself back. He had too much anger boiling in him. If he tried to speak, his language would fail him and he'd just end up killing Kask and Keeda both. And probably any other creature who came close before his fury ebbed again. He forced himself to turn away. Keeda started to follow—

“Keeda, help him,” Naye-Ninneya managed to say. He headed quickly back out. If nothing else, the futile pawing through refuse would keep the both of them from causing any more harm. He only wished Lieutenant Jheeter hadn't seen the disgraceful performance of those two idiots.

“I can spare some troops to help them,” Jheeter said, following him diplomatically.

“No. They earned the right to pursue the animal without help.”

“Ahh,” said the wise Lieutenant. “Yes.”

Naye-Ninneya looked at the smaller Dragon, frowning. Jheeter stared innocently back. They both knew that everything depended on the heavy-duty sniffer now. If Jheeter found the fugitive morsel, the Captain would carry a heavy obligation.

“The dog-child?” Naye-Ninneya asked. “Could it hide in all this mess?”

Jheeter waved its head from side to side like a snake. “I doubt it very much. Intimidating as this refuse may seem, the industrial sniffers do have the sophistication to isolate the creature's scent out of all this, uh—decay. I apologize for the delay, my Captain. We were all upstairs, unobtrusively sniffing Kernel d'Vashti's guests for the arrival of the Lady.”

Naye-Ninneya's tail lashed impatiently. He forced himself into an attitude of patience. “No problem,” he said stiffly. “You sealed the level. The creature can't escape.” He didn't dare risk antagonizing Jheeter—not now. And especially not if he succeeded. He hated this—having to let a subordinate plant an obligation on him.

“Ahh,” Jheeter whistled brightly. “Here we go. The unit has arrived. Now, we'll find your creature for you. This will take only a few moments.”

Jheeter took one of those moments himself to give instructions to his troops, specifically to direct the efforts of the three who carried the heavy-duty sniffer; then he turned back to Naye-Ninneya again. “If I may offer some advice, you should let this creature rest before you eat it. All this exertion, all the strain, will make the flesh taste gamy. I'd give it at least a week myself. A gentle killing preserves the flavor best—”

“The creature belongs to the Lady Zillabar,” Naye-Ninneya interrupted curtly. “A gift for Lord Drydel.”

“Ah. Oh, yes. Of course. My mistake. Nevertheless, if you could suggest to the Lady . . . well, you know. I mean, if she wants to please her guests—”

“The Lady Zillabar has significantly more culinary skill than either you or I—or both of us together, for that matter, will ever possess. Vampires have much more delicate palates and pay significantly more attention to their diets than do Dragons. I have no doubt that the Lady will know how to prepare the creature appropriately.”

Jheeter looked crestfallen. His tail drooped at the Captain's rebuke.

Naye-Ninneya remembered too late how emotional the lesser breeds had become. A sign of decadence—or latent insanity—no doubt. But he added quickly, “However, your suggestion does have merit. I'll pass it along to the Lady. She should know that this creature has suffered a good deal of strain today and it could affect the flavor of its blood.”

“Thank you, Captain. You do me great honor.”

“No. You do the honor to yourself when you serve your masters well. Remember that.” A thought crossed Naye-Ninneya's mind. Maybe he could just kill Jheeter when this situation ended. It would certainly simplify the whole affair.

Jheeter had lowered his head in polite deference. Abruptly, his headset chattered in his ear. “Ahh,” he said. “We've picked up the trace.” He pointed. “This way—”

Naye-Ninneya pounded after the lighter Dragon as they threaded their way quickly through the repulsive heaps. The muck squelched under his boots with a queasy sticky sound. He'd probably have to discard them when this affair finally ended.

“Here!” pointed one of the troops. “It went down here—” The bright-colored Dragon pointed through a hole in the wall. The gas-tester kept chiming happily to itself.

“Where does that go?” Naye-Ninneya frowned as he peered into the dark hole.

“I think this space contains nothing but insulation,” said Lieutenant Jheeter. “Who has the map?” One of his troops produced a map-board immediately.

“It looks deep,” said Naye-Ninneya.

“Hmm.” Jheeter scratched his chin worriedly. “On the other side of this insulation, I believe, you'll find the ruins of the old catapult.” He pored over the map. “Not to worry. It doesn't seem to go very far.”

Naye-Ninneya grunted. History held little interest for him. The early settlers of this world had carved mountains of ore out of its surface and smelted it into massive ingots. They had carved a catapult right up through the center of the towering MesaPort peak and boosted the ingots into low orbit by magnetic acceleration. When the mines ran out, the catapult fell into disuse and disrepair. Although no reason remained for anyone to stay on Thoska-Roole, life has a peculiar habit—once established, it stays. Sometimes it even thrives. On Thoska-Roole, it just held on and maintained.
²⁷

“The launching catapult needed very heavy insulation and shielding,” Jheeter continued explaining. “The mountain provided most of it, so the builders only installed a few access tubes into this space—”

A terrifying thought suddenly occurred to Captain Naye-Ninneya. He turned immediately to Jheeter. “The catapult. The catapult itself. How far
down
does it go?” He let a hint of menace color his voice.

Lieutenant Jheeter blinked. And then he realized what the Captain had asked. He gasped. “Oh, darkness, no. It goes all the way down.
All the way down to the surface
.”

Naye-Ninneya groaned.

He knew what would happen next. He could see the whole future laid out like a map. He would send Kask and Keeda down the hole after the vermin—and Lieutenant Jheeter's troops too. He would mobilize every Dragon in the palace. He would send troops down to the surface to comb the rabbit warren of tunnels at the base of the catapult, hoping to catch the fugitive coming out of one of the outlets. They would set traps and tracers. They would sniff the air and scan kilometers of desert. They would send probes up the tunnels. It might work. It probably wouldn't. Incompetency fed on itself. His troops had never trained for this. They could win a war—but they couldn't catch a mouse.

Soon, he would have to tell the Lady Zillabar that he had failed in his responsibility. His elite Dragon-Guards had allowed one of her gifts to escape. The size of the search would not mitigate the failure. The Lady only accepted results, never excuses.

The Dragons had soiled the Lady's grace. Even if they caught the creature now, it wouldn't erase the stain.

His life had ended.

Finn Markham hung spread-eagled in energy chains, halfway up a bleak stone wall in a cavernous chamber. A drab gray light gave the cave a dank oppressive look. Beside him, his brother also dangled against the wall, pinned in a spider web of soft-glowing beams. The bare rock floor remained tantalizingly out of reach.

“Can you move?” Sawyer gasped his question.

Finn grunted in reply.

“Does that mean yes or no?”

Finn shrugged. He
tried
to shrug. He couldn't move. Even the simple act of breathing took a tremendous effort that left him teetering exquisitely between exhaustion and anoxia. “It means no,” he managed to say. He had to whisper to get the words out.

“If you move slowly—”

“—I'll pass out. Do you have any other ideas?”

“As a matter of fact . . .” Sawyer had to stop to catch his own breath, then he continued, “I do have a plan—”

Slowly—oh, so slowly—Finn Markham turned his head to look skeptically at his brother; his famous raised-eyebrow look.

Sawyer grinned feebly back at him. “Ah, you can move,” he said. “Awright. You overpower her, and I'll run for help—”

Finn let out his breath painfully.

Below them, a gargantuan shape moved through the gloom. Murdock lumbered among her equipment like a great shambling beast absent-mindedly looking for a pair of misplaced ballet slippers. She moved through a maze of bulky racks and chambers, cylindrical vats, and several luminous work stations, all scattered helter-skelter across the floor of the cave without apparent plan or design.

Abruptly, she found the object of her search, one of the work stations. She studied its screens for a long thoughtful moment, then made a minor adjustment. Abruptly, Sawyer and Finn felt themselves moving higher up the wall, all the way up to the ceiling until they banged their heads against the rough stone roof. It gave them a better view of the layout of Murdock's installation, but also effectively made the possibility of escape even more remote. Satisfied, Murdock began stripping off her cloak, her helmet, and her body armor.