Gherrit clenched his eyes tight, then opened them. No change. They were in a metal cage hung over a pit by a chain going up into darkness. At least it was stoutly constructed. The floor was one sheet of metal, the bars thick and reinforced by hoops at knee, hip and shoulder height, and again above that before the bars curved in to the ring that held the chain. He thought of Gzhunghik the underwoman, who at least had food and water. There was no door and when he angled the light downwards through the bars there was nothing but receding walls and endless gloom. To add to the desperation the floor was a litter of bones, the walls of the pit out of reach on all sides.
“You are a terrible travel guide,” Fremin told him, then added “At least the demon did not come along. And my leg hurts.”
Gherrit circled the cage, sending it swaying slightly, the chain above creaking with each movement. He picked up a rib and examined it finding that, first, it was probably from a human and second and to his relief, had not been gnawed on. He dropped it over the side and listened, and there came no clatter, or any sound at all. It seemed they were above a bottomless pit.
“This whole thing has been here ages, and that chain is probably half rusted through,” Fremin complained. “If you keep jumping around we’ll fall to our deaths.”
Gherrit stopped. “And if we do not find some way out?”
“What? To some place that ‘cannot be worse’. Like, maybe a bottomless well of dog vomit?” After a moment she muttered “Sorry. All this is getting on my nerves.”
“Mine too. I can see another of those, what did you call them? Ideographs. Two of those on the wall. There’s three round marks below it. Maybe we touch one of them. It can’t …”
“Don’t say it!” Then “Just how are we going to push a button from here? My arms are not that long.”
Gherrit sat down and played idly with a bone. At least three people had died here, as evidenced by five femurs. Or had one of them had three legs? There were no skulls, so maybe all were headless creatures. Both seemed possible down here in the gloom. He looked at the femurs, looked at the dim glowing spots on the wall and remembered a day fishing out in the gulf. The boom had broken, leaving the sail sagging and useless against the wind. His grandfather had made a makeshift repair with a boat-hook and an oar, lashing them tight to the boom across the break with turn after turn of rope. It had served to get them home. They had no rope but …
Gherrit sorted through the bones until he had piled together all the long ones – femurs, humeri, tibias, radii and ulnas. The remainder, mostly ribs and vertebrae, were shoved to one side. Then he took his mutilated shirt off and again tore strips. Bone was laid alongside bone, overlapping and lashed together as tightly as he could, then another laid and another. His pole was still not long enough when he ran out of binding. Fremin had followed this, first puzzled and then interested. Now she sighed heavily, took of her jerkin and then her shirt, re-donned the jerkin and started tearing up the shirt.
“Keep your eyes on the job,” she grumbled as she handed over the first strips. “I’m not interested - I’m bloody cold. Mothers! If this does not work I’m going to strangle you.”
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“Again,” Gherrit reminded her, but he did keep his eyes on the job even if his peripheral vision told him the jerkin was entirely inadequate. Another femur was lashed on, then two radii and an ulna. Gherrit stood up carefully, edged over until his feet were on the rim between the bars and very carefully fed the rod through. Fremin kept the end steady behind him, supporting it. The whole creation drooped and wobbled as he reached it it out over the void, the tip waving in small circles. He threaded his other arm through to steady it, lined the pole up and pushed.
Fremin gave a scream as the floor disappeared, bones and all falling away. The cage lurched sideways and only her snatch at the rim kept her from following the bones into the pit.
She swung wildly, pulled herself up from hoop to hoop until a knee could find purchase, then a foot. Only when she was standing on the rim did she speak.
“Couldn’t get worse! Couldn’t get worse! What next? The cage turns into a spider?”
“Hold on. I’ll try the next one,” yelled Gherrit. He too had been frightened speechless, not just by the lurch and fall but by the silence from below. Wherever the cage contents had gone, they had not reached bottom yet. He steadied his arms, reached out again and poked the next dot. Nothing happened apart from Fremin muttering “Nothing is the best result yet.” Another poke and they were elsewhere.
“Mother’s arse! Is this the best you can do?” They were standing in a bare cell high up in a cliff. An arched opening gave a splendid view over snow and scree and forest far below. The same opening also admitted frigid air and had allowed a dusting of ice to lay frost patterns on the floor. Shirtless Gherrit had goosebumps all over, and Fremin’s jerkin was little protection. She anxiously checked the pouches at her belt before hugging her arms across her bosom, all the while complaining vigorously.
“I think the Powers have it in for you, and haven’t realised I’m just an innocent bystander. A bystander who is freezing her tits off by the way. Literally. In this costume I ought to be at Mer Ammery Carnival, not three-quarters of the way up some bloody mountain. Although I would be limping along in the parade.”
Gherrit forbore to retort that he was freezing his tits off too, turned way from the view and examined the cell. One the back wall was another glowing dot. He looked at Fremin, grimaced and touched it. A door opened on to a stair down.
“That’s unexpected. Just a door. Not an opening to the afterlife or a drop into a volcano. Maybe the builders suffered a momentary outbreak of sanity. Still, this is less like a deranged delving. Wait a moment.” Despite the chill Fremin took the time to sketch the land beyond the window, taking care to note prominent landmarks. Only then did she resume complaining.
They trod down the steps, flight after turning flight. It was still icy cold but they were out of the wind. Gherrit rubbed his arms and flexed his fingers to keep them working, while Fremin’s complaints shifted from the cold to her leg. His own legs were aching when they came to the last flight and entered a small hall, while Fremin was limping badly. This too had arched openings providing chilly views over the country below, a country not appreciably nearer. Gherrit risked a peek to see sheer cliff falling away below until it met an ice-covered scree slope. The wind rising off the slope cut through to his bones and he retreated to join Fremin in examining the back
wall.
Four door outlines were incised into the stone, each with several characters above, apparent to him if not to Fremin. What they could both see were some faint marks below the ideographs. Fremin hobbled over, fished out a piece of chalk and carefully traced over the marks, then had Gherrit draw the characters. She recorded the results and then studied the drawings intensively, hissing from time to time in pain but concentrating, oblivious to the cold and her open jacket. Finally she pointed to one of the marks.
“I think this is ‘south’ and the next word is ‘three’. I can’t be sure, but the script is right and it’s close to the Kabinese words. Maybe Azic? That’s related and in the right area for the Ssaveds – up until now. If I’m right, this one is ‘down’. I cannot decipher the other two.”
“Sth … the demon said this was the southernmost delving in the Hansippif. I vote for south over down,” offered Gherrit. Fremin nodded, absently trying to pull her jerkin closed.
“So how do we open them?” He peered closely at the door, tilting his head and shining the light at an angle. “There are three darker spots, just here. Touch them?”
Fremin shrugged. “As good a guess as any. I’ll hold your shoulder again. Please do not drop the floor out from under me this time.”
Gherrit spread his fingers and placed the tips over the dots. A swirl, a dizzying moment and once again they were elsewhere.