“More than once. Go on your back, feet first.” She engaged her gun with a loud clank. “Go down with one gun ready.”

She was serious.

But even she was hesitating. “Remember, the faster the better.”

“Hold on. What can we expect past the worms?”

“A ten-foot drop into the chamber. The gateway. With any luck, Silvie.”

Then she threw herself into the shaft and slid away, like a log down the mud waterfalls south of Middle.

Johnis withdrew one of his guns, chambered a round as she’d shown him, held the weapon close to his chest, pulled the hood over his head, and jumped into the slimy tube.

The worm gel was even more slippery than he’d expected. He slid down the chute like a rock, eyes clenched, breath held against the stench. Then his boots slammed into a soft body, and he was in the nest.

Squeals of protest filled his ears. He was all the way in, from head to foot, and he could feel the soft, lumpy bodies on his cheeks. And he still wasn’t through!

Panicked, he gasped. A mistake. The taste of the worm gel was no less offensive than its odor. And then he was out of them, falling free. He opened his eyes for orientation, but it was dark, and gel was thick over his face.

He landed hard, rolled once, and came to his knees, the breath knocked clean out of him. The goo . . . he had to get the goo out of his eyes. The gun in his fist prevented a clean swipe of his face, but he managed to get most of the stuff off.

Johnis jumped to his feet, his gun extended in the dark.

Fire hissed loudly five feet from him, and he saw that Darsal had ignited a flare from her pack. Her hood was back, and she’d managed to avoid getting any of the mucus on her face.

Johnis glanced around the room, saw no immediate danger, and shrugged out of his plastic suit, glad to be dry. His stomach was on the verge of protesting violently, but he held it in check. Free now, he could think straight.

And see the worms on the ceiling. The huge concentric circles on one wall looked exactly like the rings on the books’ covers.

“Johnis?”

He spun to the sound of Silvie’s voice. She stood against the far wall next to Karas—shackled.

Johnis reached her in four long bounds, dropped his gun at her feet, and fumbled frantically with her cuffs. But the metal clasps were locked tight.

“Easy!” Darsal whispered.

“Darsal,” Karas said. “I thought . . .”

“Do I look dead?”

“What . . . what happened?”

“Later. Right now we have our hands full.”

“Thank Elyon,” Silvie breathed. “Thank Elyon!”

Johnis grabbed her face and kissed her. She returned the kiss, and not till he pulled back did he think about the worm salve on his skin. She didn’t seem to mind.