Chip ran to gather the bags they’d dropped on their way in. He’d just made it back when the various tunnel charges went off.
* * *
“I never ever want to speak to you again,” Ginny said fiercely. “You left the Professor there to die, you . . . you Vat.”
“Suits me, Shareholder bitch,” he said, dragging the bags along past her. He didn’t even look at her.
“Uh. Ginny.” Someone plucked gently at her elbow. It was fat Fal, being uncharacteristically quiet. “The Korozhet wasn’t in there. Honest. The only sign he’d ever been there was that smell. Ask Melene. And if Chip had let you back into that tunnel, methinks all that would have happened, would be that you’d have been killed too.”
She sniffed back the angry tears. The inside of her head was a confused and miserable mess. Not a small part of her was wishing that she was dead. “He shouldn’t have said that Professor had murdered people.” It was a subconscious slip. They were “people” to her now.
Fal shrugged. “Chip’s a valiant little whoreson, but he speaks his mind. I know it couldn’t be true, but . . . be fair, Ginny. That is what it looks like.”
“It’s all so unfair!” she sobbed. “Thanks, Fal.” She found herself hugging the most unlikely rat in the world.
“Gently, gently,” said Fal, in faintly crushed tones, but speaking gently himself. He comforted: “Never mind Ginny. It’ll all come right. If we ever get out of this we’ll steal you the biggest box of candy in the whole world to give to him. Meanwhile, have a drink.”
Bronstein fluttered up. “Come on, girl. Come on, you fat-rat. We must finish this now.”
“Methinks ’tis typical of a bat,” grumbled Fal, getting to his feet, “letting a little thing like an unfinished job get in the way of drinking and kinky sex.”
* * *
The tunnel into the tower was typical of a Magh’ structure. It was a wide spiral inwards. After about fifty feet of cautious advance they found something that wasn’t, in their experience, typical of Magh’ architecture.
A door.
It wasn’t a human-type door, though. It was a circular structure, with a spiral of interlocking black plates. Chip reached out and touched it. At this stage he was still so mad he didn’t care if that had got him killed. He’d saved her damn life! And all she cared about was that murderous ball of prickles!
The door certainly wasn’t metallic. It felt more like some kind of gritty hardwood.
“To be sure if there’s a door this must be an important place,” said Bronstein. “Well, let’s blow it. Shot holes . . .”
“Why bother?” Chip asked, pushing the panel upwards. It had moved when he’d put his hand to it. It opened like a camera iris, the plates spiraling into the wall. Warm, sticky air gushed out. The air carried a prickly “green” scent with it, reminiscent of fresh-cut bell peppers.
Chip stepped through the gap. And stopped. The tower was perhaps six hundred meters tall. The roof of the chamber they stood in was fully half that height. And it was full of racks. Endless vertical racks about a foot apart, going almost up to the roof. A soft champing noise came from the quarter-mile high grub-racks of the scorpiary. “Oh, fuck me,” said Chip.
And not even Doll said “not now, I’ve got a headache.”
* * *
Eamon came fluttering up. “Maggots are coming down the walls. Pouring down, like, like . . . Maggots.”
O’Niel fluttered up as well. “Well, boyos. I hope this was where you’d be wanting to go. Because, indade, there’s no going back.” There was an explosion.
“Just the tunnel mouth,” said Eamon.
Then there was a long slow rumble. Ginny and the galago hastily bundled in. Nym spiraled the door shut on a last view of the tunnel filling up with fine sand.
There was a long silence. Then Chip spoke quietly. “Well. That’s it. We’re stuck. This is the wrong address. And that was obviously the last ditch defense. I’ll bet the whole thing has a double hollow wall, full of that fine stuff. We can’t even dig our way out.”