The guide stopped his tapping on a certain spot. He tapped six more times around the place.
“Let us hope that this portal is not locked, as some of the others were,” Venser said.
But when the guide pushed, the circular section of metal swung outward and the hole became visible. The guide took the small lamp he’d lit and leaned into the hole. “It appears to be a chute,” he said, his voice echoing.
“What good news,” Koth moaned.
Chapter 20
To Venser it did not seem possible that they could go any deeper. But deeper still they went. The chute turned out to be not just a chute, but a chute that branched and reconnected and became as wide as a large pay road. Venser was glad to not encounter a toll master though, as that would surely have been a fell Phyrexian indeed. He could
But his paranoia could have been triggered by the knowledge that he would have no more fluid. His hand went to the empty pocket in his shirt, where the small bottle had been. He could feel the beginnings of his tremors. Most likely his body and brain were shutting themselves down. He was nearing his end. That much was clear.
He remembered as an apprentice being warned against anneuropsis extract. The other students called it moth juice or moth extract. Some used it despite their teacher’s warnings. It had been, if Venser recalled correctly, a big help in study and retention.
And retention was important with the amount of information they had to metabolize on a daily basis. There were so many newly discovered metals and mana matrices, how could the teachers or anyone over the rank of distillate possibly understand the difficulties encountered memorizing it all.
That was the general justification for its use, anyhow. He knew it was a bad idea to use the fluid. On the other hand, his marks were excellent, and he kept sipping the bottles. He kept sipping it even after he left the high walls of the academy behind him and went into a life of invention and adventure, study, and planeswalking. He kept sipping it even after most of his friends from the academy had stopped.
But they never did what he did. They never went where he went and took the chances he took. They were stuck on Dominaria working for the collective, or eking out a living teaching. With how he lived, Venser
His teachers had warned the students about how dependent an artificer could become on the juice. They had told him how it happened-they brought in a former potioner to talk about how he made the fluid. Venser did not remember all the ingredients that went into it. He knew most though. What he did remember completely was how it was made. And it disgusted him. It was left in ceramic jars in tar pits for a certain amount of time, if he remembered rightly, and then buried in a special kind of mud, things like that. If his memory served, it was even buried in the dung of different creatures, some of the dung came from obscure planes-the dung of a huge beast from Zendikar was used, as well as strange plants from that wilderness.
And as he slid to almost certain death, he wished more than anything he had ever wished that he had another bottle. Wished it so much that his palsy began to shudder down his synapses. Venser looked to the side. The glow from Koth’s gills illuminated a circle around them as they slid at different speeds down the wide chute. Elspeth was carrying her sheathed sword in her hand. Koth was between her and the fleshling, looking remarkably comfortable as he slid on his back. His abdominal wound was wrapped in lengths of torn white linen Elspeth had packed for just that purpose.
The guide was nowhere to be seen, of course. But when the chute ended, he appeared again, leaning against the wall in the room the slide emptied into. The room seemed to be writhing, somehow. They had come once again into a room of guts and veins, with wet tubes threading through everything and walls that stunk and appeared to sweat or bleed. Koth looked around and sneered. Elspeth’s nose twitched. The fleshling peered into the darker corners. But still the guide leaned against the wall. For one mad second, Venser remembered the terror of Koth’s mother being puppeteered by a Phyrexian. Then the guide stood away from the wall.
“The way is over here, when you are recovered,” he said.
Venser was pleased to see his mouth and lips working normally, as they had before. Koth’s mother’s movements were jerky, and her mouth’s motions did not match the words being spoken, he remembered.
The chute had flung them into the middle of the pocked floor. Koth shrugged away Elspeth’s proffered hand, and stood. He did not stand quite straight, but looked much improved from earlier.
Elspeth obviously agreed. She nodded at him. “You’ll feel the wound for a day or two, but the enchantments have sped the healing and you will be able to fight shortly, do not worry.”
Koth did not look overjoyed at the news.
“I know you have been anxious to fight again,” Elspeth continued, pursing her lips.
It was hard with the white warrior, Venser reflected, who had almost no apparent humor about her, to tell when she was trying to be funny. This time was no exception, and Venser puffed out his chest and began walking.
“This way,” the guide said. Koth turned about-face from his original direction and followed the guide.
The guide led them across the darkened room, which was veritably throbbing. The tubes and pipes were larger than Venser remembered seeing in other rooms, and he mentioned that to the guide, who shrugged. But to Venser it seemed that something was being pumped. The tubes, veins in actuality, expanded and contracted and there was a whooshing sound as well as a rhythmic booming, as though someone was striking a vast metal drum.
The guide approached what looked suspiciously like a real door, except its size was greater than what Venser would have expected in that deep place. Double a man’s height and as wide as two more, the door showed, in metal relief, the gears and cogs that made up a machine. Hundreds of different colored metals made up the different inlays and parts of the door, which Venser thought mere decorations. But the guide turned the huge brass knob, and cogs in the door began turning. Soon all the works that made up the door began to turn and move and the door opened and creaked inward. The guide stepped aside like a doorman at a ball and ushered them inside.
Why all the mechanisms? Venser wondered. If it is a lock then why did it open so easily at the guide’s touch?
He soon found out why. They followed the guide into the chamber, which like almost all the places in the depths of Mirrodin, was dimly lit. The room smelled strongly of metal falling to corrosion. The droning sound was softer there. The room and the sound reminded Venser of something, but he could not recall what.
A huge column stood at the far end of the room. Hundreds of tiny yellow mites sped around it in a circular orbit. Venser turned to ask the guide what the place was, but he found the guide staring stock-still at the top of the column. Venser waited a moment, but the guide didn’t move. Elspeth had noticed it too. She reached out and took the guide’s wrist. After a moment of feeling his wrist for the beat of his heart, Elspeth frowned. She checked once again that her finger was in the right place behind his thumb before pulling her hand away. The guide’s arm fell.
“I feel nothing,” she said.
Koth, who was walking with virtually no hunch by then, did not even look over. But the fleshling did. “He is a machine,” the fleshling said softly. She looked at each of their faces. “Surely you knew that.”
“A Phyrexian?” Koth said.
“No,” Venser said, waving his hand before the guide’s eyes. “He shows none of the tell-tale signs. “This is an extremely deftly made mechanism that fooled us all. Even me.”
“He seems to have brought us where he was supposed to,” Elspeth said.
“It’s dark everywhere,” Koth said, as if in explanation of the deception. “We were running the whole time.”
Elspeth gave Koth a dark glance. “Yes
