Барб Хенди - The Night Voice

“Nonstop to the top, sir,” the dwarf said with a quick bow of his head.

Chap’s ears pricked. He did not see how bits of iron warranted such a change of demeanor, let alone bypassing any supposed stops on the way up.

“Thank you,” Chane replied, stepping to the lift’s gate, turning around, and waiting as he eyed Chap without emotion.

Chap’s irritation got the better of him again. No, he would never admit openly that Chane was ... useful. He stepped up under the gaze of the attendant and onto a thick wooden platform framed by huge wheels. And as soon as he was on the floor’s thick timbers, he heard the gate shut ...

“Brace yourself,” Chane rasped as he grabbed hold of the rear railing with his free hand.

The lift lurched upward, and Chap quickly spread all fours. He did not wonder how the attendant had signaled whatever machinery above raised the lift. He wanted to snarl at Chane for not warning him better as the lift gained speed—and more speed—and crags and gashes of the mountain rushed by.

After that, all that Chap could do, besides brace himself, was try to swallow his stomach back down ... again and again. He wanted to close his eyes but dared not as he needed to see what was happening around him. A loud racket rose louder and louder under the platform from the immense wheels on the lift’s two sides.

He barely noticed any of the small settlements bypassed along the way. The vibrations alone threatened to empty his stomach and ... and something else he had not lost control of since he was a puppy.

“Not far now,” Chane rasped.

The last thing Chap wanted was assurances from that thing .

The lift finally approached the top and began to slow, but at the roll over the lip of the mountain shelf, the lift suddenly rocked.

Chap lost control.

When the tram finally stopped, Chane was staring at him. The undead cleared his throat uncomfortably while looking away and then hurried to open the front gate himself as a rotund attendant arrived.

Chap just stood there, shaking in sickness ... and shame.

He shook off each back foot with every step as he left a puddle behind.

The rotund and somewhat grimy lift master snarled at him, “You filthy mongrel.”

Chap hung his head and hunched his shoulders. He wobbled down the ramp, still trying to shake off his rear paws, and did not look back toward what the lift master would have to clean up.

Chane stood ahead on the immense landing of Chemarré, looking the other way toward a large opening into the mountain. All around them, the roads appeared to flow in steep runs between sharp turns. All ways were bordered by various buildings of stone built with thin-line fitted blocks or carved from the mountain’s native rock.

Chap hesitantly looked around the landing and spotted the lift’s crank house and a huge enclosed turnstile driven by mules. He did not see how the lift had achieved such speed, and he looked again to the enormous open arch in the mountainside.

Orange-yellow light glowed from within.

“We’re at Chemarré’s way station,” Chane said, heading for the arch.

Feeling even more at a loss, Chap followed. The entryway was not as large as he had first thought, but it was still immense. Ahead was a vast tunnel with central stone columns so big that two, or even three, people could have hidden behind one. On the right was another opening to another space.

There were numerous people about, heading this way or that. Most were dwarves in various attire, some in armor and a few with huge dogs that sniffed in his direction. There were some humans among them, and most of these were dressed as prosperous merchants, vessel captains, or other traders a little more wild and rough looking.

Chane headed for the central tunnel and into that other side archway. As Chap followed, he stopped at what filled his sight.

Two tunnels, each the width of three roads, ran directly into the mountain. Triple sets of twined steel-lined ruts in the granite floor ran into each of these.

At the near ends of the ruts stood platforms of stout wood planks and timbers, like the docks of a harbor. One platform was crowded with dwarves and humans jostling to board and find seats in a string of open-sided cars. A half-empty string of the same stretched out beside the other platform.

“Trams,” Chane said quietly, “to get through the whole mountain to the other two settlements.”

Those trams of connected cars, constructed of solid wood painted in tawny and jade tones, rode on steel and iron undercarriages. Their wheels were shod with steel. Rows of benches faced ahead inside each car, separated by a narrow walkway down the center. Passengers were protected on the outside by waist-high rail walls. Each car was roofed, but only their fronts contained a full wall and a door, probably to break rushing winds once the tram gained speed.

The very thought made Chap grow queasy again.

“Apparently, majay-hì have difficulty with dwarven travel,” Chane said. “Though not quite father like daughter.”

This time, Chap did snarl.

A wide, bearded dwarf in a plain leather hauberk stepped to the nearer platform’s edge and cupped his mouth with large, sinewy hands.

“Maksag Chekiuní-da!” he boomed, and then, in Numanese, “Leaving for Point-Side!”

After this, he trundled along the platform, shooing lingering passengers into the cars.

“Not ours,” Chane commented.

No sooner had the last passenger settled than a cloud of steam billowed around the tram’s lead car, making it impossible to see clearly. Chap barely made out its front, which seemed to end in a point.

The steam lit up with a bright glow from within. Its front point burned like one of the massive pylon crystals along the main tunnel. Whatever crystal rode on the tram engine’s front had to be so much larger. And its light pulsed in a slow rhythm.

A sharp explosion of steam belched from the lead car’s undercarriage, and the glow brightened to a steady, hot yellow.

The tram’s whole chain of cars inched forward with a metallic scrape of wheels along the ruts. In moments, it picked up the speed of a trotting horse. As it bore into the tunnel, the sharp glow in the lead lit the way, and Chap heard its wheels’ rhythm building steadily. Within a few breaths, it vanished from sight.

Chane stood watching after it as well.

“Crystal power ... some kind of arcane engine,” he whispered, and then pointed to the other platform. “That will be ours.”

Chane stepped ahead, but Chap lingered. This was going to be worse than the lift up the mountainside. Reluctantly, he followed.

Another stationmaster, a female, walked the platform and herded passengers into the cars. The Cheku’ûn, “Bay-Side,” tram filled quickly.

“Here,” Chane said, entering a car and dropping onto the nearest empty bench.

Chap crept in, resisting the urge to growl at other passengers. The female dwarf—still directing people—glanced at him.

“How long to Cheku’ûn?” Chane asked her.

“No stops on this run,” she answered in a deep voice, “so by Night-Summer’s end.”

She went off to the next car in the line, and Chap was left wondering what that time frame meant. He glanced up at Chane.

“The trip will take about a quarter night,” Chane explained.

Chap grew even sicker. He had hoped to finish their task here and be gone with the third orb by dawn. That was not going to happen, and he sank onto the tram’s floor as Chane piled his packs and the chest on the empty side of his bench.

The car lurched, and Chap could not hold back a whimper.

Chane would never admit it, but by the journey’s end, he felt sorry for Chap. As the tram pulled into Cheku’ûn station, Chap was still flattened upon the floor with drool dripping from his jowls. Shade had also grown ill to the point of vomiting during her first tram ride.