They had reached the bottom of the ramp and were blocked by a large iron door sculpted with screaming faces.

“What are they going to do?” Pindor asked, sidling up to Jake.

The answer came as the massive door swung open. Beyond the threshold spread a domed cavern lit by a central flaming pit. Surrounding the pyre stood a circle of racks and tables, draped with chains and shackles. A single, bare-chested giant wearing a leather kilt sharpened a set of knives with a dreadful snick-snicking sound. Bald-headed and scarred, the dungeon master looked more like an ogre than a man. He turned as they entered and smiled.

Marika clutched Jake’s elbow.

All of the man’s teeth had been filed to sharp points.

The dungeon master pointed to an open cell along the back wall. They were forced toward it by the guards. To either side were more cells cut out of the rock, sealed with stout wooden doors. Tiny barred windows revealed pale faces, some wrapped in bloody bandages. A ghostly moan echoed out from a cell that seemed set off from the others, set deeper in the rock.

Jake shivered and glanced around at the dungeon prisoners, picturing the walled-up houses above. Were these the men and women who had once lived in those homes?

The guards forced Jake and his friends into the open cell and slammed the door shut. The tiny room was nothing more than bare stone with a pile of dried reeds in one corner for a bed. Along the back wall, a dank hole in the floor stank of things Jake didn’t want to imagine. Armored insects the size of his fist dove into that foul pit as Jake shuddered.

Marika hugged her arms around her chest. “How could they do this to their own people?”

Jake shook his head. He pictured the raucous, circuslike atmosphere of the outer city. Still, people shunned those sealed homes, refusing even to look at them.

“I think sometimes it’s easier to turn a blind eye,” he said, “than risk your life by protesting.”

“So no one’s going to help us.” Pindor sank toward the pile of reeds, but something scurried under the straw. He bolted straight up and backed away.

Outside, a horrible scream burst from one of the cells. Maybe the same prisoner who had been moaning before. They all stared at one another, wide-eyed with fear. The cry died into cackling laughter, which was worse than any screaming or moaning. It was the laughter of someone whose mind had cracked into a thousand pieces.

Jake stared at the others. He read the raw desire in all their faces.

We have to get out of here.

13

A CALL FOR HELP

Jake stalked back and forth across the small cell. He sensed the others’ eyes upon him, looking to him to come up with some escape plan. They had checked the walls, the door, even that foul-smelling hole in the floor. There was no way out.