After Glow

Chapter 27

Emmett felt the psi energy leaking out of the hidden rat hole long before Cornish and Verwood had finished pushing the empty shipping casks out of the way. His senses weren't picking up the usual fleeting wisps of power that were common in the Old Quarter, rather the strong, steady pulses that indicated an entrance into the catacombs. He was aware that Fuzz, still perched on his shoulder, was tensed as if he was about to spring.

"I followed Maltby here a couple of nights." Cornish stepped back to dust off his hands. "He never saw me. He went inside and stayed gone for hours. Figured this was where he had his hole. I came back one evening when I knew he was passed out from doing Chartreuse. I poked around a bit." He waved a hand at the floorboards. "There's a trapdoor there."

Verwood aimed the flashlight at the boards and glanced at Emmett. "Want me to open it, Boss?"

"Go ahead."

The dilapidated building in which they were standing was in the old warehouse district near the South Wall. All of the buildings along this section of the riverfront had been abandoned and boarded up years ago. Eventually it would probably be redeveloped but not for a long time. There were other, more fashionable sections of the Quarter that would get the gentrification treatment before this one did.

Verwood reached down to pry up the hinged section of flooring. The door into the catacombs opened with a squeak and a groan.

They all looked down into impenetrable darkness.

Cornish grinned. "Illusion trap. Maltby installed it to protect his little hole."

Emmett looked at him. "You didn't mention that it was trapped."

Cornish jerked as if Emmett had touched him with the point of a blade. "Hey, hey, it's okay." He stepped back hastily. "I'm a pretty fair tangler. Used to work the ruins on a regular basis. I can de-rez this for you. I did it the night I found it and then reset it so Maltby would never know."

"Do it," Emmett said evenly. "Destroy it so that it can't be reset."

"Sure, right, no problem." Cornish skittered closer to the opening.

Emmett and Verwood exchanged glances and then both moved back several paces. The first rule of working in the catacombs was not to stand too close to a tangler who was de-rezzing illusion shadow, no matter how small. That went double if you had never seen him work before and didn't know how competent he was. One small mistake on the tangler's part and everyone in the vicinity got caught in the explosion of nightmares that swept out on paranormal frequencies.

Cornish worked the shadow quickly and then held up both hands with a magician's flourish. "There you go, one trap de-rezzed. Maltby kept a little base station down there. Fixed it up real nice. When I went in I found one of those small, one-man mag-sleds, bottled water, food, even a portable lav."

Emmett moved back to the opening in the floor and looked down. A flight of rickety, human-made steps disappeared into deep darkness. But the flashlight beam cut through it with no trouble. Not illusion shadow, just an absence of light.

"I'll check it out," Emmett said to Verwood. "You stay with Cornish."

"Hey, I'm outta here," Cornish howled. "You promised I could go if I showed you the rat hole. I even de-rezzed it for you."

Emmett ignored the protest. "Watch him, Verwood. He doesn't leave until I verify that there are no more traps."

"Got it, Boss."

Cornish subsided, grumbling.

Emmett and Fuzz descended the shaky steps. The flashlight picked out the damp walls of a tunnel that had been dug with human tools. The atmosphere was dank and humid. The close confines triggered a latent claustrophobia Emmett hadn't known he possessed.

But the pulse of psi energy was stronger now and he knew that Fuzz was feeling it, too. The dust-bunny's little claws were squeezing and contracting on his shoulder and the small beast was leaning forward so far he was in danger of falling off his perch.

The steps spiraled downward and turned a corner. The tunnel walls were so tight now that Emmett had to force himself to breathe normally.

Then he saw the reassuring crack of green light up ahead. The fact that there were no suspicious dark patches and no suspicious tingles of energy meant that it was untrapped. He paused at the entrance and called back up to Verwood.

"I'm going in."

"Right, Boss." Verwood's voice was muffled and far away.

Emmett turned sideways to slide through the opening in the catacomb wall. The very existence of such cracks in the green stone had puzzled the experts for years. After all, the quartz seemed virtually indestructible, so how was it possible that slits and holes and crannies had occurred?

A number of theories had been advanced, including the possibility that at some time in the past massive earthquakes had proved more powerful than the alien-engineered quartz.

Others had concluded that the damage had been done in the construction process and had gone unnoticed. A third school held that the rat holes had been created by the thieves, renegades, and outlaws among the ancient Harmonics who had had access to the tools and machines that had been used to build the underground maze.

Whatever the cause, the rat holes were scattered around all of the ancient cities. As long as they existed there was no way to completely limit access to the catacombs. There would always be ruin rats, illegal antiquities hunters, thrill seekers, and criminals who would be willing to take their chances underground.

Once through the crack, Emmett found himself confronted by a standard-looking passageway. There were several intersections ahead, each with a number of branching corridors that would, in turn, lead to more intersections and branching passages and so on for miles. Without amber he would become disoriented and lost as soon as he turned the first corner.

He sent a small pulse of psi power through his watch face, orienting his para-rez senses. The tuned amber functioned as a compass. Now, no matter where he went down here, he would be able to find his way back to this spot. He could use someone else's amber to navigate if necessary.

Near the entrance were the supplies and equipment that Maltby had accumulated during his years of ruin hunting. Emmett stepped up into the mag-sled, pulsed the key, and glanced at the amber-rez directional locator situated on the dash. It was functional. Now he had a backup compass.

The little vehicle hummed to life.

Fuzz growled, sounding agitated and impatient. Emmett reached up and took him down from his shoulder. He held the dust-bunny up so that he could look the creature straight in all four of his eyes.

"This is it, pal. You're on. We're playing the Find Lydia game for real. You did it once before. Let's see if you can do it again."

Fuzz blinked. His hunting eyes gleamed. His sleek, sinewy little body quivered beneath the ratty fur.

Emmett put him down on top of the sled's hood directly in front of the wheel, facing the corridors.

"Find Lydia."

He set the sled into motion, moving at a slow speed, praying that Fuzz would send some kind of signal with his body language at the first intersection.

Fuzz leaned forward as if sniffing the scent on some invisible wind. If he was right, Emmett thought, the dust-bunny was actually sending out some sort of psychic probe.

At the first branching in the corridors, they confronted the entrance to five different passages. Emmett looked at Fuzz who was staring fixedly at the second tunnel on the right.

Experimentally, Emmett started to veer to the left.

Fuzz stiffened, bounced a few times, and uttered a series of sharp little growls. His distress was plain.

Emmett obediently turned toward the tunnel that had caught Fuzz's attention.

The dust-bunny settled down, satisfied, and went back to staring straight ahead.

"Fuzz, old buddy, you make one hell of a hood ornament."