The edge of the cliff seemed a very long way above. Gyre resolved not to look at it, and pulled himself up, hand over hand. Peel one palm away, lift himself on the one that was still stuck, attach the other, repeat. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he fought the urge to scratch his scar. Bad enough to fall to my death without also having my hand glued to my face.

Eventually, his groping palm found empty air, and he had a moment of panic before he managed to slap it down on the floor, past the top of the crevice. Another heave got him over the edge, and he rolled over, hands held out and away from his body. From the other side of the gap, he could hear Kit’s polite applause.

“That,” she called over to him, “might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen someone try. And believe me when I say you’re up against some strong competition in that category.”

“My arms are inclined to agree with you,” Gyre said.

“And they call me Doomseeker.”

“Can you get across the rope?”

“Oh, sure. Just keep that end set.”

Gyre took the slack rope, a long loop of which now hung in the pit, and stuck it in place by jamming his hand against the floor. Kit pulled the line taut, used another alchemical to stick her end in place, and gathered up both packs. She trotted lightly across, as easily as if it were a city sidewalk.

“I really hope this is the right way,” Kit said. “It’d be a shame to waste a performance like that.”

“There’s more scuttlerskin,” Gyre said. “You can try it next time.” He peeled his hand up, carefully, then looked speculatively at the pack. “You’d better do this. Find the little white bottle, would you? It’s the solvent that takes this stuff off.”

Kit found what he needed and looked at it speculatively. “Seems like I should ask for a ransom.”

“Kit …”

“I mean, if I dropped this over the cliff by accident, you’d be in a tight spot, wouldn’t you?”

He waved his hands in her direction. “Hand it over or I’m going to stick myself to you somewhere very inconvenient.”

“Promises,” Kit said, laughing.

*

Beyond the crevice, the tunnels changed again, in a way that made Gyre’s heart race.

The farther they got, the more they looked … alive. Like the tunnel where they’d found the destabilizer, it seemed as though the four hundred years of decay that had afflicted every other ghoul ruin had never touched this place. The smooth but natural rock was replaced by something dingy green and slightly soft to the touch, with a warmth that made Gyre suspect it was insulation. Markings appeared, incomprehensible glyphs that were still sharp-edged and clear, as though they’d been painted days before.