'That's excellent, Thribble,” Erik said, his voice intense and serious. “Now, my last question: if the staff hung horizontally, with all its weight supported on ropes, are you strong enough to guide it into position?'
'I could try,” the demon twittered. “Would it hurt me? I know what a Mage Staff can do to the unwary.'
Erik turned towards Numal, who stood a little further down the rock-pile, his face pale and drawn.
The Necromancer shook his head. “I heard, Sergeant. My staff will not hurt Thribble.'
'You won't be harmed, friend demon,” Erik assured Thribble, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Wait a few moments, and we'll see what we can do about getting you out of there.” Crawling back from the hole, he stood up and massaged his lower back.
Quelgrum followed the Sergeant's example; his spine seemed as if it were on fire. “What are you planning, Sergeant?'
'Of course, Sir; it's really very simple. We use two ropes, tied around the staff about eighteen inches apart. We leave one rope slack, lower the staff and then use the other rope to pull it horizontal. With that arrangement, we can tilt it, turn it, or move it in any other direction, as guided by Thribble. We take the weight, and he can just finesse it into position.'
Quelgrum nodded as the simplicity of the plan flooded into his forebrain. “That's so simple that it's almost brilliant, Sergeant,” he said, mirroring Erik's smile for a few moments before his expression darkened. “I see only one little flaw; we don't seem to have any ropes.'
'We're only talking about supporting a few pounds’ weight, Sir. Belts, pieces of string and strips of strong cloth should do; perhaps about ten feet for each rope.'
Erik still wore his army uniform, equipped with a multiplicity of leather straps and burlap webbing, and he began to divest himself of these, his practiced hands joining them together with sturdy, locking knots.
'I reckon this will do for one rope, Sir,” he said, grunting as he tugged on his improvised rope. “I just hope my trousers don't fall down in front of all these ladies.'
Quelgrum wore a leather belt and a single cross-strap angled across his chest, and he added them to the cause; the resulting rope was, however, some way short of the needed length. He considered asking the nuns to tear strips from their ample robes, but he thought better of it. He did not want to foster accusations of lewdness or prurience; he needed all the help he could get from these ladies.
Shakkar wore no clothes, but after Numal provided the rope cincture from around his waist, and Tordun had contributed his ample belt, Erik pronounced himself satisfied. He tested the knots and nodded.
'Your staff, please, Necromancer Numal?'
Numal handed the six-foot weapon to Erik.
'Don't worry if the knots come loose, Sergeant; I can always retrieve Justice with a word, if she falls. I've told her not to hurt you, demon Thribble or Questor Grimm.'
'Thank you, Lord Mage,” Erik replied.
His nimble hands made swift work of fastening the makeshift ropes around the staff. “I'm ready, General.'
'Very good, Sergeant. Carry on.'
Erik leant over the hole and began to lower Justice into the chamber. Quelgrum tried not to breathe.
'That is far enough, Sergeant,” Thribble called from below. “You have just enough room to level the staff.'
'So far, so good,” Erik muttered, and he began slowly to manipulate the ropes, like a puppet-master playing a marionette's strings.
'Stop!” the demon squeaked. “Hold it steady, please.'
The General heard a series of breathy, high-pitched grunts as Thribble worked, unseen, below him.
'One side is in place,” the imp declared, and Quelgrum fancied he heard a distinct tone of satisfaction in Thribble's voice. “Hold it there, please.'
The General heard a rat-like, scrabbling, scurrying sound, followed by further grunts.
'You may release the ropes, Sergeant,” the demon twittered after several minutes. “The staff is secure.'
Erik released his hold, and the improvised ropes shimmied into the hole, like a pair of rapacious snakes seeking prey.
'We must clear away the rubble on the far side of the hole, General,” he said, locking Quelgrum's eyes with his own. “Once the block's revealed, we'll probably need to use the levers to ease the stuff away from it, starting next to the block and moving outwards. We can't rush this, Sir; we have to move it in small increments so it doesn't get away from us. If the block tumbles, we'll be in a world of hurt.'
Quelgrum clapped his hands to draw the attention of his crew of nuns, and he relayed Erik's earnest instructions to them. As they began to clear the rubble away with careful movements, he heard a harsh, peremptory cough behind him. Turning his head to his left, he saw Lady Drexelica standing at the foot of the rock pile, her arms akimbo in an aggressive, unladylike stance. He noted the pursed mouth, as if she had drunk vinegar when expecting fine wine.
'How long will this ridiculous charade continue?” she demanded, her tone icy and brittle. “While you carry on with this futile exercise, there are innocent women dying down there; women who could be saved in a tenth of the time it would take you to rescue a foul rapist who may already be beyond help!'
'We haven't forgotten your sisters,” Quelgrum replied, his voice as stern and uncompromising as Drex's. “However, my first loyalty is to Baron Grimm. Further excavation may put him at risk, and I have no intention of allowing that.'
Drex snorted. “I thought you would say that,” she said, talking to herself as much as to the General. “I should have known better than to trust a group of males.'
She half-turned away from him, as if resigned to his decision, and began to walk away. After a few steps, she stiffened, spun around and surged towards the rock-pile. With a sick, cold shock, Quelgrum realised she was about to throw herself at the stone block, in an attempt to send the whole heap down on Baron Grimm. He tried to move to interpose himself between her and the hole, but his feet skidded on the loose rubble, sending him sprawling on his face.
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Chapter 25: An Angry Mob
Drex dashed up the slope like a soul possessed. From the corner of her eye, she saw figures running toward her, but they were too slow or too far away to catch her.
Justice will be done, she told herself. I will be free from the foul rapist at last.
She laughed, preparing to launch herself against the stone block to send it tumbling down onto Grimm, but the harsh laugh was crushed from her by a pair of strong arms, and she realised her feet were now pounding against nothing more substantial than thin air.
'No!” she screamed, putting all her strength into the cry, but all that emerged from her lips was a breathless gasp as she floated over the stone block, her flailing feet missing it by scant inches. Higher and higher she flew, rising up to dizzying heights. The milling people below now looked like insignificant mites.
Her vision blurring, her lungs burning, she felt a cold shock of terror, expecting her abductor to drop her onto the stones below at any moment. Her fear, however, soon gave way to a warm flood of inner peace and acceptance.
The Names will greet me with open arms, she thought, closing her eyes in a moment of spiritual rapture. I offer my soul to their beneficence and grace…
She felt almost disappointed when her feet again touched solid matter, and the cruel, crushing arms loosened their hold on her. Drawing a rasping, whooping breath, she opened her eyes, and she staggered from a sudden, dizzying fit of vertigo. She would have fallen, were it not for a scaly arm that restrained her.
'Peace, young mistress,” a familiar, bass voice rumbled, as she stared down at the sheer drop mere inches from the tips of her toes. “I have brought you up here to cool down a little. Do not worry; I will not let you fall.'
As rationality returned to her, Drex found herself perched on the parapet of the Priory's only remaining
