Rector hoped that the man with a cane would take an easier path than the nimble Houjin, and he was glad to see that Swakhammer did indeed skip the stairs when possible. “We’re going to go the easy way. I don’t feel like stomping over every hill and through every holler. Got myself tore up last year, and sometimes I think this leg will never heal all the way.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Wasn’t your fault. Anyhow, put on your mask, and I’ll put on mine. I say that to warn you: Mine is a real humdinger.”

As Rector extracted his own gear, he watched Swakhammer pull a huge contraption off a sling over his shoulder. It looked too big to be a mask, but wasn’t; and it didn’t look like a mask at first glance, but it was.

“Humdinger,” Rector echoed with a whistle. “Where’d you get that thing?”

Swakhammer shrugged himself into the mask. The contraption fell over his head, and its edges settled on his shoulders. With the adjustment of a few straps and buckles it was affixed firmly, if weirdly.

“How do I look?” he asked. Every word sounded like it came through a tin can on a string.

“Like…” Rector struggled for words. “Like a horse that someone put in a suit of armor. Sort of.”

Swakhammer laughed, which was also rendered into a metallic sound that came from far away.

“Good enough. I’ve heard ‘clockwork warthog’ more than once, but ‘horse’ is a first. This thing was made by Minnericht, rest his soul … or don’t, I don’t care. But I keep it around because I can breathe real good in it. Masks run small on a man with a neck like mine.”

Privately, Rector thought that Swakhammer had no neck at all. It was as if he’d been carved from a brick, all one set of lines.

“I wish we didn’t have to wear them down under here. Didn’t used to. But since the cave-ins, we’ve gotta do it just to be safe.”

As they walked together, Rector thought this might be a good time to put his salesman skills to work. Or were they detecting skills? He liked the idea of being a detective better. He wasn’t talking people into buying anything; he was asking for information, not money. And in his limited experience, people parted with information a whole lot easier.

“Mr. Swakhammer,” he broached. “How long do you think it’ll be until the underground’s safe for breathing again?”