Stepping through the small door, Royce and Hadrian entered into a strange new world of bewildering confusion. Everywhere they looked were stairs, platforms, axles, and gears. Thousands of interconnected cogs ran vertically, horizontally, and on varying angles. There were flat gears, round gears, solid and hollow gears. Some were diamond-shaped while others looked like grooved toy tops — the serrated heads of giant drills. Hadrian spotted some the size of thimbles and others as big as ships. A few were so massive that he couldn't tell if they were gears or parts of a wall. Some spun with a soft whir, others clicked with constant and perfect repetition, and the big ones didn't appear to move at all. There were levers, also of varying sizes and lengths, along with dials, switches, and cranks. The place was illuminated by yellow and green light. The green came from colored crystals similar to the ones used in Scram Scallie but far larger. The yellow, which was far too golden to be sunlight, shone out of massive glass-covered apertures, as if a great fire burned behind them. Some natural white light spilled from high overhead, but it was faint and hazy, as if showing signs of wear from having bumped and bounced its way down. The whole of the interior smelled of grease, oil, smoke, and cut metal.

The two stood just inside the door, overwhelmed. There had to be a dozen different directions to go, all of them leading into the jungle of cogs and the maze of stairs and catwalks.

"How long do we have?" Royce asked.

Hadrian looked back out at the sun. "Two — maybe three — hours until sundown. Then what? Another hour before moonrise? So, three to four hours, I guess."

Royce sighed. "Up or down?"

"Down, I think."

"Why?"

Hadrian shrugged. "Because up is harder."

"Works for me." Royce picked a path much the way he did in a forest, relying on a sort of gut instinct: this one feels better than that one, and he started down a set of narrow stone steps. "And remember, when we find Gravis — don't kill him. We'll need the little monster alive."

"Yeah, because between the two of us, I'm the one prone to mindless murder."

Everything appeared to be moving. All around them was the sound of machinery: clicks, claps, whirs, ticks, and even the occasional tolling of a bell. After a short while, Royce noticed it wasn't all noise. The sounds repeated. An ongoing rhythmic symphony composed of a million instruments played in the background. Without realizing, Royce began keeping pace, stepping down the stairs to match the common time subdivision of beats. To move out of sync annoyed him.

They came upon rooms large and small. Some were a mystery, like the tiny cubicles lined in sheets of hand-beaten copper, but most were easily identified. There were loads of storage rooms. One they found jammed full of broken cogs, while another was crammed with unbroken ones. They passed by meeting rooms, eating halls, dormitories, even baths, but most of the doors they passed led to workshops. These, too, presented a variety of tasks that could be deduced by the layout of furniture and tools. Stone blocks, hammers, and chisels, not to mention works in progress, defined the abode of a sculptor. Saws, planers, mallets, files, and drills, arrayed on a pegboard beside boxes full of various-shaped spindles, told the story of a woodworker whose main task had been to make handles for tools. There were glassblowing shops, rooms that made nothing but nails, and others that made only screws. All told, Royce and Hadrian found just about everything except the flesh and bone of a living dwarf or a walking dead man.

They were on what appeared to be a productive path that led down several flights of curving stairs only to find the route going back up. This frustrated Royce until he spotted a new passage hidden behind and beneath a complicated series of gears and pulleys. At another point on this insane trail of whirling sprockets, the solution to the baffling dead end was through a trapdoor in the floor, where the two descended by way of sliding down a brass pole.

Then, after a lengthy descent, the two passed through an ornate double door and entered the strangest chamber so far. Five stories tall, at least by dwarven standards, the room had six walls of smooth stone and a domed, vaulted ceiling. By some magic of stonework, sunlight penetrated the space, making it brighter than any other. The reason was obvious, for while there was not a scrap of furniture in the room, the walls were covered in murals.

Royce was reminded of the frescoes he'd seen in the Abbey of Brecken Moor. These had that same flat approach to art, lacking any sense of depth or perspective, but they were not frescoes. These images were painted directly on naked stone. They were also far simpler as they lacked backgrounds or any concept of shading. The colors were flat, making heavy use of outlines, often aided by chisel work that added a three-dimensional aspect to the image. And while each wall was composed of a different set of images, the palette was always limited to only three colors: ocher, turquoise, and charcoal black.

On the far side of the room was another door, which Royce made for straightaway with Hadrian close behind. The door was the typical sort that required ducking to get through, but the moment Royce touched it, the whole thing appeared to dissolve as if it too had only been painted on the wall. Royce gave it a solid shove just the same, receiving nothing in return.

"Dead end," he told Hadrian.

Turning around, Royce saw a gray-haired dwarf standing just outside the room, looking at them.

"Gravis!" Royce hissed and lunged forward.

Inside the shortest measure of the fastest tick of the gears, the other door, the one they had just entered, closed. Before Royce could reach it, the door dissolved.

"That can't be good," Hadrian said as Royce frantically searched the wall for any sign of what had once been. They both scanned the chamber for any means of escape and found none.

"Change your mind about dwarfs yet?" Royce asked, seething.

Hadrian continued to study the walls and floor while slowly pivoting but nodded. "I'm starting to see your side of the argument."

"Hello, gentlemen, and welcome to Drumindor." The voice came from high above, where a small portal opened inside a portion of the vaulted ceiling. Barely big enough to pass a hand through, it offered no hope of escape. On the far side, filling the entirety of the little peephole, was the face of Gravis Berling. "It is awfully nice of you to visit. Impressive, too. That was a long climb, wasn't it? The important thing is that you made it here just in time for the show. The curtain goes up in just a few hours, and granted, for you, the spectacle won't be a long one, but I guarantee you'll never forget it as long as you live."

Gravis slammed the little peephole door shut.

With the little door closed, Gravis's feigned bravado dissolved. He collapsed, shaking and breathing hard both from the sudden activity of running around and sealing the men in the mural room and from the stress that if his trap had failed the men would have killed him. Gravis lay in the little access loft that was used for cleaning the upper portions of the ancient murals, a tight narrow space even for a Dromeian. He felt trapped, and the close quarters had little to do with it.

Who, by Drome, are they?

Gravis lay on his back, his heart pounding as he stared up at the dark ceiling that was only two feet overhead.

Why would anyone come in here now? To stop me, acourse. But why now? Everyone else has left. All the tall folk, anyway. Who are these people?

Gravis knew the answer; he just didn't want to accept it. But there was no mistaking their equipment. The rope they used, the harnesses around their waists — those were not made by men. That they were able to open the bridge door said a lot. The fact they were here just hours before the rising of the full moon, making their quest a likely suicide, revealed even more.

"What do you want from me, Ena?" he whispered in the dark. "Why are you making this so hard?"

He waited, listening as he always did. And as always, he heard only silence.

"All right, all right, I admit it, I wanted revenge," he bellowed, and his voice rattled down the length of the horizontal duct, sounding small and sad. "I wanted to hurt them — kill them. Drumindor belonged to me. I have a greater claim on it than anyone, and it hurt to have it taken away . . . but it only hurt my pride. Acourse that's what they warned you about, isn't it, Ena? That in the end, the pride of the Berlings would break your heart. That's what they told you, and you died believing it — believing they were right."

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"Gah!" Gravis punched the stone wall so hard he nearly broke his fingers.

"And yet, everything they did to me is nothing compared to what I did to you." His words became tiny whispers that barely cleared the hairs of his mustache. "I don't want to hurt them, Ena. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want . . . " Gravis wiped tears with his beard. "All I want is for you to hear me. I want you to know that I do love you. Why did you have to die before I could say it, before I could prove it? I'd have done anything, if I had only known. And I still will. I'll set fire to the scraps of my pride and bury the legacy of my entire family if that's what it takes to convince you. But there are innocent people now. I thought they would all leave. Why didn't they go? I told them. I put out the sign. I warned them! They know what's coming. So why?"

Gravis cried. His beard was long, but not long enough, and soon it was as soaked as his face. Then he lay still until his breathing returned to normal. "What do I do with them? I'm not a murderer, Ena. You know that. I'm just a stupid, old dwarf, a lousy Dherg, who was too blind to see the treasure that slept beside me each night. I'll do anything for you, Ena. But is this what you really want? Can you hear me, Ena? Because I can't hear you. Please, love, please talk to me. Tell me what you want. And if it isn't too much trouble, could you make it quick? Because time is running out."

Royce made a frantic but detailed study of the tiny chamber, inspecting every corner, angle, and seam in the stone — cursing as he did. He knew there had to be a mechanism. Somewhere was a way out. No one decorated the interior of a prison cell with murals, and he doubted an imprisoned artist would have had access to paint.

"Royce," Hadrian said.

"What?" Royce growled. The thief was down on all fours, his head touching the floor as he made his way around the room, searching for a dent or seam.

"Up there."

Hadrian was sitting with his head tilted back as he stared at the wall opposite him.

Thinking his partner had spied a way out, Royce followed Hadrian's line of sight. It only took a second to see what prompted the comment, and while of no help, Royce was just as captivated by what he saw. In bewildered disbelief, Royce got off his hands and knees. Then he, too, sat down and stared at the art on the wall, dumbfounded.

Painted in the still crisp but ancient ocher, turquoise, and charcoal black was the image of two men scaling the side of the North Tower of Drumindor. The figures were simple, mostly silhouettes, but shockingly descriptive. One figure was smaller than the other. He wore a cloak and hood and climbed ahead of his companion. The other one, the larger of the two, who relied more on ropes, carried three swords — the one on his back was huge.

"I wasn't wearing my cloak," Royce said.

"Seriously?" Hadrian scoffed. "You're quibbling about the accuracy of the wardrobe in the illustration? These must have been created a long time ago — thousands of years, maybe." Hadrian began to nod. "This is the prophecy of Beatrice. She was a dwarven princess who predicted things that always came true."

Royce peered at him. "Let me guess . . . more tavern trivia?"

Hadrian looked over and nodded. "At that little pub, Sloan went on about her for quite some time, saying how five thousand years ago she foretold that we would climb the tower. This must be what she was talking about. All these images are prophecies."

This caused both of them to look at the other walls, and armed with Hadrian's explanation, Royce saw how each told a different story in a series of panels that read from top to bottom.

On the one to the right of the door and starting at the top, a man and woman were shown trapped by a terrible monster that was ill-defined and drawn as a huge and vague black shape. Then the woman sacrificed herself: splitting in half. The man used the pieces to create the stars, the moon, and the world. Near the bottom of that wall, the last panel simply showed a beautiful landscape with the sun shining and a wolf howling at the moon.

The next wall depicted a great city and a wondrous tree beneath which were many children. Then that same dark monster appeared again, and the tree turned dark, as did all the fruit upon it. One was given to a man, who ate it. In the next panel, that same man had turned dark and was wearing a crown, robe, and cloak. He also held a spear. He stood on a pile of corpses. In the last panel on that wall, the tree was dead and the man who ate the fruit and led the battle wept.

On the third wall, the weeping man — who no longer wore a crown — was seen directing a dwarf to build two great towers over a volcano. Then a dwarf wearing a crown led a war against elves. A young dwarf girl was on her knees before him, arms up as if pleading, but the king had his back to her. In the next panel, the dwarven kingdom was in ruins, and elves surrounded the two towers. Nearby, the weeping man and the elven queen stood within a doorway, and they wept at the sight of the dead tree.

On the fourth wall was a dwarf who dug down into the underworld. There he received a great sword from the dwarven king from the previous wall. This dwarven digger returned with the sword and was himself crowned king. He married a dwarven girl, and together they sat on thrones in a great castle.

The fifth wall showed the two men climbing one of a pair of towers joined by a thin bridge on the night of a full moon. Beneath the towers, three terrible monsters clawed upward to get out. This part of the image was disturbing because the monsters were horrific and so huge that they made the two towers of Drumindor look like blades of grass. Royce took this as a stylized symbol of the power of the volcano — because what else could it be? In the next panel, the two men fought a tall, thin creature with claws, while a dwarf pulled on a lever connected to a massive gear. Aiding him was a dwarven woman with long hair. In the next panel, one of the men threw a book into the mouth of a great fire. In the last panel, four figures stood together embracing before the South Tower as a full moon shone and wolves howled.

The sixth wall portrayed a great door being opened, and a multitude of people rushed out. They divided themselves into two groups and fought. The three monsters from below the towers on the previous wall escaped and devastated the world. Great cities were destroyed, mountains torn down, oceans drained, and even the sky was darkened as a great war was fought. Then the same dark monster from the first two walls reappeared. It had grown so huge that it consumed the entirety of the world, taking with it the sun and the stars. The final image was of the weeping man down on his knees. He once more wore his crown, robe, and mantle, but instead of his spear, he held a fruit that gave off light. Kneeling beside him was a beautiful woman, and around them was a multitude, but beyond this . . . nothing but the darkness of a charcoal wash.

"Who are you?"

The little peephole had opened once more, and through it, Gravis Berling peered down.

"I'm Hadrian Blackwater, and this is Royce Melborn," Hadrian said in that infuriatingly cheerful and friendly greeting he always had handy.

The dwarf frowned.

"Who sent you?" Gravis asked.

Royce thought a moment as a list of names ran through his head: Lord Byron, Cornelius DeLur, even Pickles put in a showing. They all had a hand in it. Each contributed to their being in that room, but only one person sent them. "Gwen DeLancy."

"Who?" Gravis asked.

"Gwen DeLancy sent us."

"I don't even know who that is," Gravis replied.

"Your loss."

Gravis thought a moment, then asked, "My people are still in the city, aren't they?"

Royce nodded. "A lot of people are."

"Why?"

"They haven't any place else to go," Hadrian explained. "Tur Del Fur is their home. It's the only one they have, but more important, it's the only one they want."

Gravis frowned again and looked decidedly miserable. "I don't want to kill you. I didn't want to kill anyone. But . . . "

Royce didn't like the but.

"I can't do anything about it now. We're nearly out of time. All the spouts have been set and the master gear has been locked. Besides, it's down there." He said the words with revulsion. "Even if I was convinced to stop, even if we had time . . . I couldn't reach the master gear. Not now."

Auberon and the others had all admitted they didn't know how Gravis would accomplish the feat he threatened. Even the other Drumindor workers couldn't offer a guess as to what exactly Gravis had done. According to them, the towers had a fail-safe system that auto-vented when the pressure rose too high. With so much at stake, the overflow valve had been made idiot-proof. It couldn't be closed or locked. But given that Gravis's knowledge of Drumindor was unmatched, everyone agreed he could deliver on his threat.

Royce's plan had always depended on forcing the dwarf to undo what he'd done. Royce just assumed that if he began administering pain that Gravis would comply, but that no longer appeared likely. He couldn't reach the dwarf, and it seemed as if it wouldn't change anything even if he could.

Royce felt defeat like a kick in the stomach. He had no answer, and time was running out. Turning, he faced Hadrian, who had followed him blindly without even asking why, much less how. "Hadrian, I —"

"Why are we on your wall?" Hadrian asked Gravis and pointed.

"You're not," the dwarf replied without looking.

"Really? 'Cause it sure looks like us: him in his cloak and me with my three swords, and both of us scaling the tower just before the rise of a full moon. What's the order here? It starts with that one over there, right? The one where the couple escapes from the dark blobby thing? That's just to the right of the door we came in, and since you read right to left. It goes this way round, correct?" Hadrian swung his arm in a circle about the room. "So, that means that because Royce and I are here — this moment in time right now — is what was prophesied on . . . one, two, three, four — the fifth wall. Isn't that right?"

Gravis didn't answer.

"Which makes you . . . " Hadrian walked over, reached up, and tapped the dwarf pulling the lever. "This guy here. But who is this with you?"

Gravis looked down. He stared at the image, stunned. "By the beard of Drome!" Gravis shouted, then promptly slammed the little door shut once more. Royce heard a faint and muffled scurrying.

"What's going on?" Hadrian asked.

"I think he's coming down."

The door to the room appeared once more. It opened with a sudden jerk, and Gravis Berling entered. Ignoring both of them, he strode to the fifth wall and beheld it with an open mouth. Then he turned to face them. In his eyes were tears and a desperate longing.

"Lift me up," he said to Hadrian. "Please."

Hadrian glanced at Royce, who shrugged. He had no idea what was going on, but the door was open, and he took that as a good sign.

Hadrian reached down and hoisted Gravis up onto his shoulders.

"Move closer to the wall."

Hadrian did as he was told, and Royce watched as Gravis touched the image of the lady dwarf helping him pull the lever. Gravis ran his finger along her outline, then rising up on his toes, such that he balanced on Hadrian's shoulders, he put his lips to the wall and kissed the little image. "I hear you, Ena. I can hear you now."

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