her hands, and Thud in turn grips hers. His are so thick that even her long fingers fail to circle them. She pulls. She pulls again, so hard she can feel her face turning deep red. She releases his arms with a gasp of exhaled breath.
“I moved, I think,” he says “I just got to get my knees in the hole.”
She grips him again, bracing her feet against the stone at either side of the opening. She pulls until her body is as taut as a bowstring and almost parallel with the ground. Suddenly Thud’s body comes free and Bronwyn shoots away from the wall like a quarrel from a crossbow.
She lands squarely on her rear ten feet away with a jolt that clacks her teeth like a nutcracker. She slides backwards on the smooth, small pebbles until she comes to a stop in a few inches of cold water. Her jaw aching, her coccyx feel inches shorter, she is afraid to bite down, certain that at least three inches of her spine must be protruding from her mouth, and the water she is sitting in is making her feel exceedingly uncomfortable.
Thud emerges from the window like a fat pupa wriggling from its egg case. He waddles over to where she sits and helps her up. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” she answers, waggling her jaw. She thinks she can feel her vertebrae rattling like beads on a string.
“All right. Now we just follow the water.”
He starts off ahead of her and she has to hop and skip a few steps to catch up. Bronwyn decides then and there that she would have to speak to Thud at the first opportunity about this continual habit of giving her orders. He has to be made to understand that she does not take orders, and that he is making her angry. Of course, there is no real point in making an issue of the matter until they reached safety. No point, she decides, in offending her rescuer.
They keep to the scanty strip of gravel as often as they can, not wishing to make any noise by splashing water or taking the risk of a fall.
The narrow ravine they are in is absolutely lightless at the bottom. Only the upper stories of the buildings, which loom above them in dizzily vertical walls, are silverily phosphorescent in the light of the hidden moons. Directly overhead is a ribbon of indigo sky, like a blued-steel bandsaw blade . The buildings between which they are passing seem for the most part uninhabited; probably all warehouses or factories; only an occasional ruddy light shines through the midnight walls, like a nova in a starless sky. They pass under several footbridges, which span the stream at various heights. They pass by the open mouths of numerous drains, pouring or dribbling their effluvia into the community sewer that the stream has become.
They have just detoured around a fat iron conduit that protrudes from the wall beside them when Thud suddenly stops with a low warning hiss and pushes Bronwyn back behind the big pipe. With an almost inaudible whisper, he says into her ear: There’s someone up ahead.
Her heart shrinks, curling into a quivering little ball like a frightened hedgehog. She bends down and looks under the pipe where it clears the bank by half a foot. She can see nothing; then, suddenly, she hears the faint, crisp sound of paper being crumpled. She looks in the direction of the sound, avoiding using her direct vision, bringing the more sensitive peripheral part of her retina into play. Under the shadow of a footbridge...yes! The sudden flare of a match and the bearded face of one of Payne’s Guards appears and is gone again. She blinks and can see the negative image of the face. Thud touches her shoulder, and his breath tickles her ear. It smells like cloves. “Wait here. Don’t move, please.”
She reaches to touch him, but he is already gone. She ducks down and peers from under the rough, wet pipe. Thud has melted into the darkness. An agonizingly long moment passes; then she hears a mumbled grunt and the clatter of something metallic dropping onto the stones. Quiet again for a heartbeat and
“I moved, I think,” he says “I just got to get my knees in the hole.”
She grips him again, bracing her feet against the stone at either side of the opening. She pulls until her body is as taut as a bowstring and almost parallel with the ground. Suddenly Thud’s body comes free and Bronwyn shoots away from the wall like a quarrel from a crossbow.
She lands squarely on her rear ten feet away with a jolt that clacks her teeth like a nutcracker. She slides backwards on the smooth, small pebbles until she comes to a stop in a few inches of cold water. Her jaw aching, her coccyx feel inches shorter, she is afraid to bite down, certain that at least three inches of her spine must be protruding from her mouth, and the water she is sitting in is making her feel exceedingly uncomfortable.
Thud emerges from the window like a fat pupa wriggling from its egg case. He waddles over to where she sits and helps her up. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” she answers, waggling her jaw. She thinks she can feel her vertebrae rattling like beads on a string.
“All right. Now we just follow the water.”
He starts off ahead of her and she has to hop and skip a few steps to catch up. Bronwyn decides then and there that she would have to speak to Thud at the first opportunity about this continual habit of giving her orders. He has to be made to understand that she does not take orders, and that he is making her angry. Of course, there is no real point in making an issue of the matter until they reached safety. No point, she decides, in offending her rescuer.
They keep to the scanty strip of gravel as often as they can, not wishing to make any noise by splashing water or taking the risk of a fall.
The narrow ravine they are in is absolutely lightless at the bottom. Only the upper stories of the buildings, which loom above them in dizzily vertical walls, are silverily phosphorescent in the light of the hidden moons. Directly overhead is a ribbon of indigo sky, like a blued-steel bandsaw blade . The buildings between which they are passing seem for the most part uninhabited; probably all warehouses or factories; only an occasional ruddy light shines through the midnight walls, like a nova in a starless sky. They pass under several footbridges, which span the stream at various heights. They pass by the open mouths of numerous drains, pouring or dribbling their effluvia into the community sewer that the stream has become.
They have just detoured around a fat iron conduit that protrudes from the wall beside them when Thud suddenly stops with a low warning hiss and pushes Bronwyn back behind the big pipe. With an almost inaudible whisper, he says into her ear: There’s someone up ahead.
Her heart shrinks, curling into a quivering little ball like a frightened hedgehog. She bends down and looks under the pipe where it clears the bank by half a foot. She can see nothing; then, suddenly, she hears the faint, crisp sound of paper being crumpled. She looks in the direction of the sound, avoiding using her direct vision, bringing the more sensitive peripheral part of her retina into play. Under the shadow of a footbridge...yes! The sudden flare of a match and the bearded face of one of Payne’s Guards appears and is gone again. She blinks and can see the negative image of the face. Thud touches her shoulder, and his breath tickles her ear. It smells like cloves. “Wait here. Don’t move, please.”
She reaches to touch him, but he is already gone. She ducks down and peers from under the rough, wet pipe. Thud has melted into the darkness. An agonizingly long moment passes; then she hears a mumbled grunt and the clatter of something metallic dropping onto the stones. Quiet again for a heartbeat and
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