We looked at each other in the near-dark, and wondered what the hell we were doing. Well, I did anyway. One day I will learn to keep my stupid mouth shut, I really will.
It should have been a rare and magical experience, my first time Outside. But the prospect before me, of getting close enough to all those Storad who would quite like to see me publicly executed, big and mean, with bigger, meaner-looking weapons, put rather a crimp on it. I reminded myself that this was my suggestion, and all I could come up with in response was a new rule: stop making stupid suggestions that might get you killed.
We took the tunnel, left the guards about halfway along where they could come and rescue us if it all went tits up (or scarper, more likely). After that it was just Pasha, Halina and me, nice and quiet. Secret. Pasha’s sort of magic had a few very useful applications in a situation like this, especially as I made Halina take the lamp and had him listening at all times. No repeat of last time. This time we’d come prepared with a plan. I like to think I learn from my mistakes.
Being able to look through people’s brains had its advantages. Especially when a quick rummage could lead to a small suggestion to any guards who might be lurking that, you know, there aren’t really three people sneaking past. Honest.
Of course, if that was all, it would have been too easy and if the Goddess exists I’m fairly sure she makes it her personal mission to ensure my life is as complicated as possible.
Once we got close, I had Halina douse the lamp and we felt our way forward. The tunnel led right behind the Storad camp, out into a gully full of broken rocks and moss and shadows. The entrance was hidden among a tangle of broken mountains and stunted trees, the tunnel so narrow and bent here that from the outside it looked like just another bit of rock.
Dench knew the tunnels were there somewhere, if not the exact locations of all of them. Dench was not stupid. He’d once been head of the Specials, and he knew tactics like I knew the ten best ways to talk a woman into bed. Shame, really: would have made the whole day go a lot better if he hadn’t.
So I was pretty sure he’d figure we’d try something – Pasha’s rummages, what little he could do over the range, had said as much. Dench knew at least in part what Pasha and I were capable of, so he had to expect we’d try something like this, if not exactly when or where. Plus, the last time we’d tried the tunnels… yeah. It made the whole journey an exercise in simultaneously looking for every possible way he could try to stop us, and trying not to overthink it. Because if I thought about it too much, I could recall just how pissed off Dench must be with me, and what he’d do to me if he found me. It was not a comforting thought, so I didn’t think it.
Instead, we made our quiet way to the end of the tunnel, easy enough thanks to Pasha making sure no one was ahead the whole time. Calmed my nerves just a tad, especially if I forgot how he’d said those Storad before had been muffled somehow.
One step out of the tunnel, and there it was. Outside. Mythical, denied, a dream of what else life could be. Real. It might have been worth the weight of duty on my shoulders just for the feel of it. Open air. No buildings looming over me, no long drop beneath me to shiver my nerves. The sky, right there above me with nothing to block the moon but clouds; no criss-crossing walkways to hem me in. The pass above us, with vague humped shadows lurking – the new machines, with half an army camped beside them.
That valley wasn’t much, I dare say. A steeply sloping tumble of rocks, all shifting shadows in the moonlight, with the road that led to the top of the pass running through it, a couple of warped and knotty trees struggling to survive in the constant wind. That was all. But it felt like something else.
I didn’t get the chance to decide what exactly, because the valley still had plenty of Storad in it. Plus Dench was a canny bastard and he knew me too well.
There are two things that will distract me beyond rational thought. One is the sudden appearance of a naked lady, which Dench had sadly failed to provide. The second is the fondness, or slavish devotion, I have for certain foods. Like, nice ones that taste good. Especially at that point when we were all on starvation rations of what had never been very appetising in the first place. We were trying to be quiet but it was hard when my stomach rumbled so much it could be felt, earthquake-like, in my boots.
The bastard had something roasting. Something nice that smelled stronger as though it was cooking just feet away. A fat, meaty smell almost choked me in my own saliva, reminding me of long-gone steaks, of gravy I could wallow in for days.