A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

his curse as he broke the
knife's point – not very promising sounds. Ahead, the rat
circled the edge of the pit, whiskers twitching at the flow of
warm air coming from the shaft. She could climb round to
the other side, and Bottle was willing the creature to do so
– yet it seemed his control was weakening, for the rat was
resisting, her head tilted over the edge of the pit, claws
gripping the pocked side, the air flowing up over her ...
    Bottle frowned. From the shaft above, the air had been
coming down. And from the pit, flowing up. Conjoining in
the tunnel, then drifting towards the children.
    But the rat ... that air from below. Warm, not cool. Warm, smelling of sunlight.
    'Cuttle!'
    The sapper halted. 'What?'
    'We've got to get past this! That pit – its edges, they've
been cut. That shaft, Cuttle, it's been mined, cut through –
someone's dug into the side of the tel – there's no other
possibility!'
    The children's cries had ceased with Bottle's words. He
went on, 'That explains this, don't you see? We ain't the
first ones to use this tunnel – people have been mining
the ruins, looking for loot—'
    He could hear Cuttle moving about.
    'What are you doing?'
    'I'm gonna kick this block out of the way—'
    'No, wait! You said—'
    'I can't dig through the damned floor! I'm gonna kick
this bastard outa the way!'
    'Cuttle, wait!'
    A bellow, then a heavy thump, dust and gravel streaming
from above. A second thump, then thunder shook the
floor, and the ceiling was raining down. Screams of terror
through the dust-clouds. Ducking, covering his head as
stones and sherds descended on him, Bottle squeezed his
eyes shut – the dust, so bright—
    Bright.
    But he couldn't breathe – he could barely move beneath
the weight of rubble atop him.
    Muted yells from behind, but the terrible hiss of rubble
had ceased.
    Bottle lifted his head, gasping, coughing.
    To see a white shaft of sunlight, dust-filled, cutting its
way down. Bathing Cuttle's splayed legs, the huge foundation
stone between them. 'Cuttle?'
    A cough, then, 'Gods below, that damned thing – it
came down between my legs – just missed my ... oh Hood
take me, I feel sick—'
    'Never mind that! There's light, coming down. Sunlight!'
    'Call your rat back – I can't see ... how far up. I think it
narrows. Narrows bad, Bottle.'
    The rat was clambering over the children, and he could
feel its racing heart.
    'I see it – your rat—'
    'Take her in your hands, help her into the shaft over you.
Yes, there's daylight – oh, it's too narrow – I might make it,
or Smiles maybe, but most of the others ...'
    'You just dig when you're up there, make it wider, Bottle.
We're too close, now.'
    'Can the children get back here? Past the block?'
    'Uh, I think so. Tight, but yes.'
    Bottle twisted round. 'Roll call! And listen, we're almost
there! Dig your way free! We're almost there!'
    The rat climbed, closer and closer to that patch of
daylight.
    Bottle scrambled free of the gravel. 'All right,' he gasped
as he moved over Cuttle.
    'Watch where you step!' the sapper said. 'My face is ugly
enough without a damned heel print on it.'
    Bottle pulled himself into the uneven shaft, then halted.
'I got to pull stuff away, Cuttle. Move from directly
below ...'
    'Aye.'
    Names were being called out ... hard to tell how many
... maybe most of them. Bottle could not afford to think
about it now. He began tugging at outcrops, bricks and
rocks, widening the shaft. 'Stuff coming down!'
    As each piece thumped down or bounced off the foundation
stone, Cuttle collected it and passed it back.
    'Bottle!'
    'What?'
    'One of the urchins – she fell into the pit – she ain't making
any sound – I think we lost her.'
    Shit. 'Pass that rope ahead – can Smiles get over to
them?'
    'I'm not sure. Keep going, soldier – we'll see what we can
do down here.'
    Bottle worked his way upward. A sudden widening, then
narrowing once more – almost within reach of that tiny
opening – too small, he realized, for even so much as his
hand. He pulled a large chunk of stone from the wall,
dragged himself as close as he could to the hole. On a slight
ledge near his left shoulder crouched the rat. He wanted to
kiss the damned thing.
    But not yet. Things looked badly jammed up around that
hole. Big stones. Panic whispered through him.
    With the rock in his hand, Bottle struck at the stone. A
spurt of blood from one fingertip, crushed by the impact –
he barely felt it. Hammering, hammering away. Chips