Crypt of the Moaning Diamond by Rosemary Jones Page A

She’s already fainted once.”
    “At least you smell better,” joked Gunderal with white-lipped gallantry as Ivy poked and prodded her arm. “More like cold water than camel.”
    “I’ve had a bath since we last talked,” Ivy quipped. To a worried Zuzzara, she said, “No breaks.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes,” said Ivy with more conviction in her voice than truth. She was no healer, able to sense what lay beneath the skin. She hadn’t felt any movement in the bones, but that didn’t mean the arm wasn’t broken. “Strap it tight, Zuzzara, so she can’t jostle it. Do you have any of your healing potions with you, Gunderal?”
    Gunderal nodded her chin toward a smoldering mass of leather and broken glass. Puffs of noxious purple steam rose from it. “My potions bag is useless. Everything broke and mixed together.”
    Ivy hid her dismay with a shrug and a wave of her hand. “When did you ever need potions for your spells? Can you dry us off a little? Once Zuzzara has your arm tight?”
    “I can’t even make a light,” sighed Gunderal. “I’m sorry, Ivy, I tried earlier when we were looking for you. It hurts, and I can’t move my hand, and the words run together …”
    “Just stop trying,” growled Zuzzara. “You always try too hard.”
    “You don’t understand,” Gunderal snapped back, a slight flush of anger warming her wan features. “Magic is not just waving your hands and shouting some words. It takes concentration. I certainly can’t concentrate with you fussing at me.”
    “Not to worry,” said Ivy, hoping to avoid an argument between the two. Zuzzara would throw her body between any danger and Gunderal, but then she always turned around and fussed at the little wizard, which always set off Gunderal. This
    could lead to some odd results when she was spellcasting, like that flood when all they wanted was a little gentle rain. “Who needs magic?” Ivy added. “We can get out of here without your spells. Just rest now.”
    Mumchance shook his head at Ivy. “It’s not new spells that should worry you. It’s what she started before we fell in here.”
    “What?”
    “Look at the water.” The dwarf swung his lantern over the river. The river flowed along the very top edge of the bank. “She’s been pulling all the water toward Tsurlagol for the last few days.”
    “To undermine the wall.”
    “Well, it’s working very nicely,” said Mumchance. “It undercut our tunnel and now it’s rising higher.”
    “Can we get out the way that we fell in?”
    Mumchance grunted. It was not a happy sound. “I sent Kid and that Procampur fellow to look. But I doubt it. The ceiling of the tunnel has probably collapsed between here and the entrance. We’re buried alive and in danger of drowning.”
    Ivy stared into the darkness, listening to the water hissing below her. “That is a pleasant way to put it,” she said at last. “Any bad news?”
    Mumchance shook his head. “It could be worse. I can smell fresh air—well, not too stale air—and so could Kid.”
    “So another way out?”
    The dwarf shrugged. “Hope so.”
    A clatter of hooves against stone announced the return of Kid and Sanval. They shared the party’s other light between them, one of Kid’s candles stuck in an earthenware bowl. Kid always had candles, bits of string, and a few odd dishes tucked in his clothing. Apparently some of his treasures had survived the fall.
    “Blow it out,” said Ivy, gesturing at the candle. Kid did as she asked, but Sanval looked like he wanted to protest at
    the sudden lack of light. With only Mumchance’s lantern to hold back the darkness, the humans were at a distinct disadvantage.
    “Why do that?” Sanval asked. He kept his voice low and polite, just as if they were sitting in the camp. He hadn’t shouted, yelled, or screamed, although Ivy would have done all those things, and a bit more, if she had been dropped through somebody else’s tunnel into this mess. Since she was the one