It seemed forever before the men stopped, and when they did, Skif was gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might splinter with the tension. They knocked on the door, quite softly, in a pattern of three, two, and five.

:Got it,: Cymry said. :Alberich doesn’t know if he’s going to try going in that way, but if he does, that will make it easier.:

The door creaked open. “Got ’nother one?” said a voice in a harsh whisper, with accents of surprise. “Tha’s third’un tonight!”

“Pickin’s is good,” said the man to Skif’s right, as the one carrying him grunted. “Got’r eyes on two more prime ’uns, so le’s get this’un settled.”

“Boss’ll be right happy,” said the doorkeeper, as the men moved forward and closed the door behind them.

“Tha’s th’ideer,” grunted the man with Skif.

They moved more slowly now, and to Skif’s dismay there was a fair amount of opening and closing of doors, and direction changes down passages. This place must be a veritable warren! How was Alberich supposed to find him in all of this if he got inside?

:Let us worry about that,: said Cymry—right before there was the sound of another door opening, then the unmistakable feeling that his captor was descending a staircase.

Descending a staircase? There’s a cellar to this place? There isn’t supposed to be a cellar here!

Skif was in something of a panic, because part of the emergency plan figured in the Companions coming in as well as Alberich, and the Companions were not going to be able to get down a narrow, steep set of stairs into a cellar.

He had to remind himself that he was not alone, he was armed, and he was probably smarter than any of these people. No matter what happened here, sooner or later they would have to take him outside this building, and when they did, he could escape.

Even if he and Alberich couldn’t actually catch the head of this gang of slavers right now, so long as Skif could get a good look at him, they’d have him later.

What’s the worst that can happen? he asked himself, and set himself to imagining it. Alberich wouldn’t get in. He’d be held for a while, maybe with other children, maybe not. The master of this gang would inspect them; Skif could make sure he saw enough he would be able to pick him out again. Then—well, the question was how attractive they found him.

He had to stop himself from shuddering. Just by virtue of being healthy and in good shape, he was as pretty as most of the street urchins they’d been picking up. Which meant there was one place where they’d send him.