“From theinside,” Cyrus said.
“And how doyou plan to get inside?” Fibian replied, “They’ve shutthe gates, blown the tunnels.”
“We’ll use thechimneys,” Cyrus replied.
Fibian looked up at the mountainside, at the rock wall that rose far above thefortress doors. On the eastern and western faces, four small chimneys puffedwhite smoke.
“You are askilled climber,” Fibian said, “but you will not be climbinganything with that hand.”
His eyes werefull of fear.
“That’s why weneed rope,” Cyrus said, “lots of rope.”
Chapter 34
THE CHIMNEY
CYRUS ANDFIBIAN STOOD on the western parapet, opposite where they had firstattacked the cliff cannons. Both were dressed in klopsdisguises and had armed themselves with small daggers and klopsswords.
Thenight air bit at Cyrus’ face as snow swirled and drifted into the mine. Hepeered over at the destroyed cannon bunkers. They were nothing more than blackpits of smolder and smoke. The tunnel stairs leading from the cliff cannonswere now rubble, but that would not stop them.
Cyrusheld the coils of rope he had gathered from around the mine. Fibian carried the bent and bound bars of iron they hadformed into grappling hooks.
Cyruspeered up at the chimneys.
“Theone on the left isn’t smoking,” he said, “It must be the one that leads to thedungeon fires.”
“Whatif the dungeons are locked?” Fibian asked.
“Whenthe mine was being overrun,” Cyrus said, “and they had to lock the gates, the queenwould have wanted a hostage by her side, for protection. She’s probablyrealized I’ve escaped. There will be no reason to lock the dungeons now.”
“Whatabout Edward?” Fibian asked.
“That’swhy we have to hurry.”
Cyrussecured the ropes to the two grappling hooks. Fibiantook both hooks in his good hand.
“Standback,” he said to Cyrus.
Hecast both hooks high up the rock face. Both dropped down the chimney. Fibian pulled on the ropes. The hooks bit into the stonelip and held fast. Fibian pumped the lever on hismechanical hand, then began to climb the line. The crab-like claw made a subtlehissing noise with each grasp of the rope.
Cyrusfollowed Fibian’s lead. He was able to find decentfootholds, and the rope held strong, but his wounded hand screamed with eachgrip. He could only use it to hold the rope for mere seconds, just long enoughto reach the other hand higher up the line. His healthy hand began to cramp, beingforced to bear the brunt of his weight.
Fibian reached the chimney first. Hepulled himself onto the lip and reversed the grappling hook’shold. Then he gathered up his rope and threw the length down into the passage.Cyrus watched as he vanished into the mountainside.
Cyrusreached the lip of the chimney. His arms ached and his hands had grown numb. Hehooked his right leg on the chimney’s edge and pulled himself on top. Cyrusgasped for air, sweaty and steaming within his furs. He stared down at the minefar below, at the broken yeti and klops bodies strewnabout the mud and snow. Fear and doubt began to creep in. Could he and Fibian really infiltrate the queen’s fortress, sneak pasther guard of ferocious batalha, and open the gates? Hethought of Edward, and of his promise to Tier. Anger clouded his fear. Hepeered into the blackened shaft. It smelled of charcoal and fire and all thingsgrimy and black. Below, he could see Fibian’s eyescast a blue glow on the befouled walls.
Cyrusreversed his grappling hook, gathered up his line, and cast it down into thepassage. Then he followed Fibian deep into the bowelsof the living rock.
Fibian’s eyes littheir way down the narrow shaft. The tunnel bent east. Cyrus and Fibian abandoned their ropes. The passage carried on downwardat a sharp angle and they half crawled, half slid down the shaft.
Thepassage forked. Fibian guided himself right. Cyrusfollowed. Fibian slipped out of sight. All wentblack.
“Ahh!”
Cyrusfelt his stomach rise into his chest. He was falling. He landed on sharp,clanging metal. Ash and soot-filled his nose. He sneezed and looked about.
“Excuseme, young Master,” Fibian said.
Themetal shifted beneath Cyrus. He realized he had landed on top of Fibian. Cyrus clawed and rolled his way out of an ironfurnace and tumbled onto a rough, stone floor. He drew his dagger and scrambledto his feet. He peered about the room. A single oil lamp burned on the wall,near the doorway. Two klops lay dead within thethreshold, wedging the door open. To his right was an iron cell, broken open.They had done it. They had found their way into the dungeon. Fibian rose up behind him.
“Thisis where they held me captive,” Cyrus said, gritting his teeth, “This is wherethey killed Tier.”
“Youmust focus your anger,” Fibian said, drawing hissword, “We must find Master Edward. We must open the gates.”
“Thisway,” Cyrus said, unsheathing his own sword.
Heled the way to the door. Within the hallway lay the other two dead klops. The cold air was beginning to stink with their rot,or was that just their smell? Cyrus looked down at Agulha,at the mess he had made of the old klops. He turnedto Fibian. The froskmanstared back at him, his expression grave.
Fibian had not been there. He hadnot seen Tier murdered. How could the froskmanunderstand?
Cyruscontinued forward towards the dungeon’s exit. Muffled shouting and bickeringcame from beyond the iron door. The klops soundedfrightened and confused.
Cyrusgrasped the door’s handle and paused.
“We’llmake our way to the south end of the hall,” he whispered, “There’s a small doornear the eastern edge of the gate. I’ll create a distraction. You open thedoor.”
“Whatwill be the distraction?” Fibian asked.
“Rememberhow you first saved us on Rorroh’s ship?” Cyrus said.
Fibian nodded, then grasped Cyrus bythe shoulder.
“Keepyour head down and good luck, young Master.”
Cyrusedged the door open and peered through the crack. The muted tones becameear-ringing shouts. Cyrus sheathed his sword and drew his knife. He crept throughthe doorway. No guards stood in his way. His guess had been right. Why would klops lock, or protect an empty dungeon? He looked back. Fibian gently shut the door behind them.
Withtheir heads down, Cyrus and Fibian pressed into theexpansive gallery. Water klops shoved and stumbledpast, bickering over petty squabbles. Many drank brown liquid from leathercanteens. The tightly packed, churning crowd forced Cyrus and Fibian
