They travelled another twenty metres up the sewer before reaching a junction beyond which the pipes became too narrow for the monowheel. They looked up; grey light filtered down through a grating. Feril stood on the top of the vehicle and pushed the grating up and back.
The android climbed out; she passed it the Lazy Gun, then Feril pulled her up to join it. She strapped the Gun to herself while Feril replaced the grating. She handed Feril the laser rifle anal kept the pistol for herself.
They were in a broad, damp gallery; tall windows on one side contained not a single intact pane. Rain gusted in. Moss grew on dulled mosaics underfoot as the woman and the android jogged along to the darkness of a doorway. They turned a corner and ran right into a small monk walking towards them, one iron-manacled hand chained to the wall at his side, his gaze fixed on the steaming bowl he was carrying.
Sharrow bumped into the monk, splashing the gruel over his habit and the wall at his side. He looked angry for a moment, then his mouth fell open as he saw the android. His brows furrowed as he looked at their chainless hands. He had time to look frightened, briefly, before Sharrow cracked his head off the stones above his chain track; he slid unconscious down the wall.
Feril looked back at the prone figure as they ran on.
They climbed what seemed a never-ending spiral of steps rising out of a vast gallery, exiting at the top of a massive stone tower and crossing to the main House over a thin stone bridge, high over an ancient deserted dock where dilapidated cranes stood pierced with rust and coated with moss. Thigh-thick lengths of rope lay coiled on the rotting dock-sides like enormous worm-casts.
They followed the chain system through draughty corridors and dark halls, turning each time the number of rails decreased. They had to hide twice as monks passed them in gloomy corridors. The second group carried rifles and were running in the direction of the distant gatehouse.
The chain system’s inset hierarchy took them constantly upwards and inwards, ascending broad, shadowy flights of steps, ramps that spiralled and zigged and zagged higher and higher into the middle then upper levels of the House. Halls and balconies, tunnels and corridors filled the stone-space; their feet sounded off paving-slabs, wooden planks, ceramic tiles and pierced metal. The tracks on the walls were reduced to two, then one as they penetrated the vast building.
Finally they found a corridor whose walls were quite smooth, with no rails whatsoever. They walked cautiously into a small, walled courtyard ceilinged with chill grey mist where bedraggled plants lay beaded and heavy with moisture. What appeared to be a well in the centre of the courtyard looked down into a vast hall where they saw tiny figures moving to and fro. A rancid draught of air rose from the well, bringing the noise of small, alarmed voices.
They looked round the windows facing onto the hidden garden. Feril nodded at a door in one corner.
It wasn’t locked. They walked into a short corridor lined with pornographic holos. Feril stopped outside a door. She could hear voices now, too.
They burst in. The girl in the bed gave a shriek and ducked under the bedclothes. The fat, naked man sitting at the screen whirled round, his eyes wide. A senior brother’s habit lay folded on a chair. She lasered the screen; it had been on sound only. The naked man put his arms up, sheltering himself from the debris of the exploded screen.
“You have five minutes,” she told him, “to take us straight to any ‘Honoured Guests’ who’ve arrived here in the last three days.” She looked at Feril. “Start counting.”
The fat man sat up, trying to muster his dignity. He took a breath.
“And you had better fucking know who I mean,” she told him, before he could speak, “or you’re cooked meat.”
“Daughter,” the man said, standing, his voice confident and controlled. He pointed to the habit on the chair. “At least allow-”
“Oh, at least nothing,” she said, suddenly angry. She fired the gun at the floor between his feet. Splinters burst from the varnished wood. There was a yelp from beneath the bedclothes and the fat man hopped on one foot, holding the other. His eyes had gone wide again. “Move!” Sharrow yelled.
They walked through the apartments; the fat brother limped, leaving a trail of blood. She limped after him, frowning at the red spots they were leaving in a trail behind them. She kept looking back. They climbed steps, crossed a terrace underneath a roof of stained glass, and then the fat man pointed a shaking hand at a door.
She stationed him two metres back from the door, a finger to her lips. “Keep him there,” she told Feril quietly. The android stood behind the naked man, gripping his quivering shoulders. She went to the wall at the side of the door and tested the handle. It turned and she pushed; the door swung open.
“No!” the fat man screamed, an instant before his torso exploded open through a giant red crater in his midriff. Blood gushed from his mouth as his eyes rolled back and his entrails flooded out. She ducked and rolled across the bottom of the door, firing.
Feril let go of the man and stepped to the side.
Sharrow jumped up and stuck her head round the side of the door; Molgarin lay on the floor inside, screaming.
“You?” she said, frowning.
Molgarin was propped up on his elbows, howling. He was dressed in a dull habit; the HandCannon lay where he had dropped it. The laser had burned deep into one shin and shattered the other; blood pumped onto a dark carpet.
He saw her. “Don’t kill me!” he screamed. “Don’t kill me! I’m not immortal! I’m an actor, not some warlord! My name’s Lefin Chrolleser! I worked in a rep company on Trond I swear! For pity’s sake, please! He made me do it! He made me! I’ll take you to him! Please don’t kill me!” He put his head back, sobbing and spluttering. “God, my legs! My legs!” He looked back at her, eyes streaming, and wailed, “Oh, please don’t kill me, please… I promise I’ll take you to him…”
Sharrow looked at Feril. “Could you carry him?” she asked.
The android nodded. “I think so.”
She burned the man’s leg wound with the laser to stop the blood. His screams echoed through the stained-glass rooms.
They walked unhindered through the midst of the chained. Nobody followed them. Feril carried the moaning man. She limped in front, following his whispered directions.
They took a creakingly ancient lift, descending into the bowels of the House down a circular shaft.
He watched the scene at the gatehouse on the monitor. Armed monks swarmed over the wreckage and ran along the walls. Ancient weapons were hauled out from under tarpaulins inside long-neglected towers; geriatric tanks were trundled out of storage and hauled into positions where their rusty cannons could cover the breach.
He shook his head. He ought to have attended to this. He had been foolish to rely so much-as they had-on the reputation of the place keeping people away.
He checked the bank of broadcast and subscription-beamed monitors again. Most stations local to southern Caltasp were blanked out. The rest of Golter was reporting on the small war that had broken out with the Rebel States. The Court was keeping a surprisingly firm grip on the relevant facts. His own information was that the war had already gone tactically nuclear, and larger weapons couldn’t be ruled out. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was depressing and elating at the same time; another pointless war, another increase in Golter’s lamentably high background radiation level and yet more destruction… But this might be the beginning of the end for the World Court. The time might be coming.
He looked at the House monitor screens.-They really ought to have proper security surveillance. There wasn’t even any surviving record of exactly what had happened at the gate; the recording apparatus had been sited in the gatehouse itself.