side, even assuming you could find it.
How long since it had last been opened? Had it ever? A fresh wave of panic swam over me at the thought that I might be trapped down there in the blackness, cowering while I waited for the palace guard to find me. Before my lantern could blink out altogether, I set it down and yanked at the lever with both hands.
It gave just slightly. I could smell the faint tincture of old grease. It might have been months or years since the mechanism had been oiled – but it had been oiled. I leaned my whole weight into the lever and it groaned. I lifted my feet from the ground, so that nothing held me but the slim beam of metal – and only when it started to move did the possibility that it might simply snap cross my mind.
It didn’t. Rather, ever so slowly, the lever edged downward. As it did, the wall before me shifted, dust shivering from the old stones. A great section, almost the entire end, began to edge outward, opening like any normal door. By the time the lever was horizontal I could see faint moonlight softening the wall’s outer edge. By slow degrees, it opened, wider and wider – and then it stopped.
The mechanism complained; the lever moaned alarmingly. I strained my eyes against the failing lamplight, and finally saw why the hidden door had stuck. Had I ever considered this far ahead, I’d have guessed immediately. The barracks had been burned almost to the ground during Mounteban’s time in power. What reason was there to think this secret passage should come out in one of the few sections to have escaped the fire?
It hadn’t, of course. The door had come up against a beam as thick as my thigh. Beyond, I could see dim outlines of other obstructions, more timbers and chunks of masonry and mounds of dirt overflowed from the heat-shattered walls. Expecting the mechanism to push through that wreckage was like expecting me to dig to the surface with my fingers. Moreover, the moment I slackened pressure on the lever, the door began to edge shut. I didn’t know how long I’d have the strength to hold it – or if I once let go, if I’d ever get it open again.
Under the circumstances, there was only one thing to do. “Help!” I wailed. “I’m down here! Estrada, Saltlick... please, they’re coming! It’s dark! Someone, anyone, help me –”
“Be quiet, Damasco! We won’t work any faster for you bellowing at us.”
Estrada’s voice – and just then, it was sweeter than any music. A moment later came a resounding crack, closely followed by another. Stones rained from above, a great wooden balk came crashing down, scattering debris – and in its wake a massive shape plunged into view. It was only when it moved that I realised it wasn’t some chunk of the demolished barracks.
“Saltlick?” I asked.
“Easie!” Saltlick greeted me with such casual good cheer that we might as well have chanced upon each other in the street. He easily shouldered the beam aside, thrust out an arm to hold a leaning hunk of wall in place. The door opened a little further, then came to rest once more, this time against Saltlick’s foot. More stones bounced down to glance off his back, but he hardly seemed to notice.
There came a scrabbling from the shadows behind him. A moment later, Estrada ducked beneath his outstretched arm and brushed past me. She acknowledged me with a terse, “Damasco,” and called back, “Hurry, before it all collapses!”
There followed a stream of indistinct figures. First came Navare, who greeted me with a quick nod before hurrying on. Of the rest, half were in guardsmen’s uniforms, men I dimly recognised, and the rest were obviously Mounteban’s freebooters, looking powerfully disgruntled with the company they’d found themselves in. Every fourth or fifth man carried a lantern, so that the passage was soon bright with ruddy light.
“All right. Now you, Saltlick,” said Estrada.
I realised, suddenly, what was about to happen... but too late. Even
How long since it had last been opened? Had it ever? A fresh wave of panic swam over me at the thought that I might be trapped down there in the blackness, cowering while I waited for the palace guard to find me. Before my lantern could blink out altogether, I set it down and yanked at the lever with both hands.
It gave just slightly. I could smell the faint tincture of old grease. It might have been months or years since the mechanism had been oiled – but it had been oiled. I leaned my whole weight into the lever and it groaned. I lifted my feet from the ground, so that nothing held me but the slim beam of metal – and only when it started to move did the possibility that it might simply snap cross my mind.
It didn’t. Rather, ever so slowly, the lever edged downward. As it did, the wall before me shifted, dust shivering from the old stones. A great section, almost the entire end, began to edge outward, opening like any normal door. By the time the lever was horizontal I could see faint moonlight softening the wall’s outer edge. By slow degrees, it opened, wider and wider – and then it stopped.
The mechanism complained; the lever moaned alarmingly. I strained my eyes against the failing lamplight, and finally saw why the hidden door had stuck. Had I ever considered this far ahead, I’d have guessed immediately. The barracks had been burned almost to the ground during Mounteban’s time in power. What reason was there to think this secret passage should come out in one of the few sections to have escaped the fire?
It hadn’t, of course. The door had come up against a beam as thick as my thigh. Beyond, I could see dim outlines of other obstructions, more timbers and chunks of masonry and mounds of dirt overflowed from the heat-shattered walls. Expecting the mechanism to push through that wreckage was like expecting me to dig to the surface with my fingers. Moreover, the moment I slackened pressure on the lever, the door began to edge shut. I didn’t know how long I’d have the strength to hold it – or if I once let go, if I’d ever get it open again.
Under the circumstances, there was only one thing to do. “Help!” I wailed. “I’m down here! Estrada, Saltlick... please, they’re coming! It’s dark! Someone, anyone, help me –”
“Be quiet, Damasco! We won’t work any faster for you bellowing at us.”
Estrada’s voice – and just then, it was sweeter than any music. A moment later came a resounding crack, closely followed by another. Stones rained from above, a great wooden balk came crashing down, scattering debris – and in its wake a massive shape plunged into view. It was only when it moved that I realised it wasn’t some chunk of the demolished barracks.
“Saltlick?” I asked.
“Easie!” Saltlick greeted me with such casual good cheer that we might as well have chanced upon each other in the street. He easily shouldered the beam aside, thrust out an arm to hold a leaning hunk of wall in place. The door opened a little further, then came to rest once more, this time against Saltlick’s foot. More stones bounced down to glance off his back, but he hardly seemed to notice.
There came a scrabbling from the shadows behind him. A moment later, Estrada ducked beneath his outstretched arm and brushed past me. She acknowledged me with a terse, “Damasco,” and called back, “Hurry, before it all collapses!”
There followed a stream of indistinct figures. First came Navare, who greeted me with a quick nod before hurrying on. Of the rest, half were in guardsmen’s uniforms, men I dimly recognised, and the rest were obviously Mounteban’s freebooters, looking powerfully disgruntled with the company they’d found themselves in. Every fourth or fifth man carried a lantern, so that the passage was soon bright with ruddy light.
“All right. Now you, Saltlick,” said Estrada.
I realised, suddenly, what was about to happen... but too late. Even
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