“Not at all!” Ark smiled. He ran, or rather squelched in his soaking wet creepers, down the tunnel in the direction of sewage flow, looking for evidence. Someone crafty had built this place — squeezed all the utilities through the same pipe but charged for them separately. He hoped he was right as he pounded along the iron mesh floor. Mucum’s heavy footsteps followed behind. The tunnel twisted and turned as more sewage outflows transformed the fast-flowing stream into a roaring river. At least this time, there were no rats.

Ark slowed to a halt. Built into the side of the tunnel was a door with a porthole viewing panel and rotating locking wheel. He peered through with his left eye, unable to believe his luck. There was a small chamber followed by a second door. The double system was put in to prevent infection. Dendran effluent and drinking water did not make a good mix. But this was no time to worry about health and safety. He grabbed the wheel with both hands and tried to force it free. No good. It was stuck solid. He looked nervously up and down the passage as he tried again.

Mucum pushed him out of the way. “Think I’m thick, eh?” Mucum grabbed the wheel, braced his legs, and strained.

Ark could see the veins bulging along Mucum’s arms. Of course! He’d been pushing clockwise, tightening the seal.

Mucum gave one last grunt and the wheel finally began to turn. “See?” he gasped. In a few seconds, the wheel spun around on its bearings. The seal was broken. With a hiss, the door gave way reluctantly, an all too loud screech echoing into the darkness.

Ark checked the tunnel. Clear. They both slipped in, Ark closing the door behind him and turning the locking wheel as fast as he could.

Their timing was spot on. As Ark leaned against the curved wall to get his breath, he felt the telltale tremors. Footsteps. Coming their way. They were trapped in a tiny capsule space between two doors, like spiders in a jar. It was too late to even think about turning the second locking wheel. The smell of his clothes, concentrated in this confined space, made him feel like retching. He pulled on Mucum’s shoulders, motioning him to crouch down into the shadows. “Keep your head down!” he whispered.

“All right!” muttered Mucum. It wasn’t Ark’s plea but the thought of all those sharply honed swords that convinced him.

Seconds later, as Ark peered up, a face squashed itself against the glass, a face he recognized. Grasp’s man. Surely, if Ark could see the guard, then the guard could see him? But what did eyesight need? Reflection. The moment Salix looked down, he’d see Ark staring back.

14 • GOING DOWN