General Quelgrum regarded Sergeant Erik with apprehensive eyes, as the younger man stood gazing into the dark chasm.
"Well, Sergeant?” he said. “You're the combat engineer. Can we get him out?"
Erik straightened up and shook his head. “It'd be a tall order, even with a full squad of trained engineers and all the right tools, Sir,” he said. “Even if we could construct a crane out of this old lumber, there's no safe footing.
"There's a large stone block resting on Baron Grimm's staff, Sir. All that's stopping it toppling over is the packed rubble around it. If we open up the hole, the whole lot could collapse. The only solution I can think of at the moment is a large treadmill crane to lift it vertically, but there's nowhere to stand one. If we mount it a long way from the hole, a wooden lifting arm will never take the strain."
"If we level an area near the hole, can we make a crane?” Quelgrum hazarded.
Erik shook his head. “I'm afraid not, Sir. We'd need tools, metal bolts and braces, strong ropes or chains, and some way of shackling them to the stone. A crane's out of the question, Sir."
Quelgrum rubbed his forehead. “Can we brace the block in some way, so it won't fall if we clear away the rubble?"
"I don't think so, Sir. These beams are pretty sturdy, but they were only meant to hold up the roof, braced by cross-trees. They were acting in compression or tension and at their strongest. If we try to brace the rock with them, they'll break for sure. If we try to slide one of them under the block, it'll break. In any case, we'd never reach far enough under the block to make sure it was firmly seated in the rubble. One false move, and this whole mass would collapse."
"So that's it, then?” Quelgrum said in a tart, sarcastic voice, his mouth twisting. “We just say goodbye to Baron Grimm and walk away: is that what you want, Sergeant?"
"No, Sir,” Erik replied, his face calm. “I don't want to give up on Baron Grimm any more than you do. Nonetheless, with the materials we have on hand, we can't save him. Two of these beams broke when we were just trying to use them as class-one levers, with the load near the fulcrum. None of them would take this block's weight bearing down on its centre."
Quelgrum compressed his lips and spun on his heel, his eyes closed. He did not like Erik's analysis, but he knew he was in no position to refute it.
"May I speak?"
Quelgrum opened his eyes to see the slight, bowed form of Necromancer Numal, and he nodded, too full for words.
"My staff is as unbreakable as Questor Grimm's. It can take the weight."
Quelgrum turned his head to the right. “Well, Sergeant? Does this change the situation? We can roll the block back onto Necromancer Numal's staff, so it can be stable while we clear the rubble away."
Erik rolled his eyes upwards as if scanning the heavens, his head cocked to one side. His lips moved without sound. After a few moments, he faced the officer again.
"It's worth a try, General,” he said, “but I can't see how we'd secure the staff in position without widening the hole further. That could tip the block over. If we try to slide the staff under the block, it'll probably be at an angle, and that could cause all sorts of trouble."
Silence descended for a few moments.
"Help! Somebody, please help!"
The faint, thready sound was at the very limit of Quelgrum's hearing, and, for a moment, he thought he had imagined it. He looked into Erik's face, to see a pair of wide, wondering eyes.
"Yes, Sir,” the Sergeant whispered, in answer to the General's unasked question. “I heard it, too."
Quelgrum inched his way back up to the hole, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Necromancer Numal, can you cast another one of your globes of light here, so I can see into this Names-cursed hole?"
"Of course, General,” Numal said He uttered a swift, staccato stream of mage-words and soft, white globe of luminescence formed in the palm of his outstretched left hand, rose into the air and meandered in a lazy fashion over towards the small opening.
"Thank you, Lord Mage,” Quelgrum said, gazing into the hole.
"Ah! Now I see,” he muttered, as the small globe cast its cold, brilliant effulgence into the chasm.
Redeemer was wedged across the gap, with the enormous stone block perched atop it. The cube must be at least six feet on a side, and it rested at an angle of perhaps forty-five degrees to the vertical, a bare hand's-width of stone overhanging Redeemer on its nearest side.
At least it isn't lying on edge, he thought, raising his head a little to ease the crick in his neck. That could have caused all sorts of problems. All we have to do now is thread a six-foot staff through an eighteen-inch hole so that it finds a firm footing at each end… Still, perhaps Questor Grimm can help, if that was his voice I heard.
Bending his head to the opening again, he called into the chamber, “Baron Grimm? Are you awake?"
"Questor Grimm is unconscious,” a faint, high-pitched voice replied. “I, Thribble, raised the alarm, General. What kept you? Are you deaf?"
The General felt a fierce blaze of frustration: not only was Baron Grimm unconscious, perhaps badly injured, but the only hope of wedging Numal's staff in position rested on the narrow shoulders of a six-inch-tall creature from the underworld, whose main talents lay in elaborate story-telling and mimicry.
"Your voice doesn't carry well, friend Thribble,” he called, fighting to keep the bitter disappointment from his voice. “I came as soon as I heard you. It is good to know that you and Baron Grimm are still alive."
"How will you extricate us out from this dismal hole?” the tiny demon demanded, his piccolo-like voice tinged with unmistakeable peevishness.
"I don't know,” the soldier admitted. “All we can think of is to wedge Necromancer Numal's staff under the block over your heads, and then remove the rubble slowly, letting the block settle into a secure position. With luck, we can then hoist both of you out of there."
He heard a faint snort, like a small child's sneeze.
"So why do you not do so, General? Questor Grimm requires medical assistance."
"We need to ease the staff into position from your side. Could you bear its weight?"
"I could probably manoeuvre it into position if you lowered it on a rope, General,” Thribble declared.
"The hole's too small; we can only lower it vertically, friend demon. You'd have to rotate it into position. I doubt you have the strength to do that, even if you found a convenient perch."
"A moment, please, Sir,” Erik said, kneeling on Quelgrum's left side. “I have an idea."
The General raised his eyebrows. “I'm open to any suggestions, Sergeant."
"If you don't mind, Sir, I'd like to ask little Thribble a few questions first,” Erik replied. “There's no sense in getting our hopes up if my idea's no good."
Quelgrum nodded. “Go ahead, Sergeant."
Erik crouched over the hole and said, “Master Thribble, we need to wedge Necromancer Numal's staff parallel to Baron Grimm's, perhaps two feet apart from it. Are there any ledges or stone blocks we can rest it on?"
"A moment, please, friend Erik."
Quelgrum heard faint scrabbling sounds to his left, a few moments of silence and then another brief interval of scratching to his right.
"I think so, Sergeant,” the demon chirped, panting a little. “The floor of the hall subsided, but the lower supporting walls are still intact. They are supporting Questor Grimm's staff. I am sitting on one of them at the moment, and it looks very sturdy. The walls are somewhat less than a man's height apart."
"Very good. Is there enough room to rotate the staff through a right angle from the vertical, if it's completely inside your chamber?"
"I think so, Sergeant."
"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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