They wended their way through two levels of manmade tunnels, the smells of massed humanity thickening and mingling with potent brimstone, sewage, and other smells Logan couldn’t identify. He tested his bonds periodically, but there was no change. He was barely mobile. Nonetheless, he kept his eyes open for his chance. Simple escape wouldn’t be good enough. He had to kill both guards, get the keys, and remember the way out.

The Howlers were on the third floor, but as they came into the natural caves, merely widened with tools, Logan heard no howling.

“We don’t want to go no further,” Nose said, pausing in front of a double-banded iron door. “These bastards here will do all we need. I’m not gonna even try to get him out of the Hole. I don’t go near those animals.”

“The Hole?” Logan asked.

Nose leered, but seemed eager to terrify him. “Hell’s Asshole. For the rapists, killers, and twists so bad that hangin’s too good for ’em. They drop ’em in there and let ’em devour each other. They hafta get their water off the rocks, and the guards never throw in enough bread. Sometimes they piss on it first.”

“So who’s going to . . . you know?” Weasel asked, drawing his blade awkwardly. “Those bonds won’t hold forever.”

“Who’s going to what?” Nose asked.

“You know. Cut ’em off.”

Logan tested the bonds, but they were still strong. His arms were locked at his sides, his torso held ramrod straight, and his feet could only move a few inches at a time—and the guards knew it. Oh gods. He was running out of time.

“I’ll do it,” Nose said with a snarl. He grabbed a catchpole and draped the noose over Logan’s neck, then handed the pole to Weasel. “You hold him. We can’t take any chances. Gimme that.”

Weasel handed his knife to Nose. It was just an ordinary knife, but Logan’s eyes fixed on it. Fear began to mix with rage, and he felt that ice thawing. Melting. They’re going to do it. Gods, no. He thrashed, thrashed his arms and legs like an animal. But no matter how he shook or twisted or turned, he barely moved an inch.

Nose laughed, and Weasel just tightened the rope on his throat until Logan was turning purple. He didn’t care. Let them kill me now. Oh, gods! Nose said, “It’s too bad you haven’t worked with me longer.”

“Why’s that?” Weasel asked, nervously holding the catchpole with both hands.

Nose rammed the knife into Weasel’s eye. The man stood up on his tiptoes and twitched violently, then fell.

“Because I would have tried to cut you in, instead of cutting you off,” Nose said. He laughed to himself and cut the noose off Logan’s neck. Logan stared at him, stunned to silence, his rage and fear slow to fade.