lie low until night. When it's dark, we'll escape."
"I understand," Raistlin said calmly.
I wish I did, Tanis thought bitterly. I wish I understood what was going on in that mind of yours, mage. But the half-elf said nothing.
"We go now?" asked Bupu, looking at Tanis anxiously.
"We go now," Tanis said.
Raistlin crept from the shadowy alley and moved swiftly down the street to the south. He saw no signs of life. It was as if all the gully dwarves had been swallowed up by the mist. He found this thought disturbing and kept to the shadows. The frail mage could move silently if there was need. He only hoped he could control his coughing. The pain and congestion in his chest had eased when he drank the herbal mixture whose recipe had been given him by Par-Salian-a kind of apology from the great sorcerer for the trauma the young mage had endured. But the mixture's effect would soon wear off.
Bupu peered out from behind his robes, her beady black eyes squinting down the street leading east to the Great Plaza. "No one," she said and tugged on the mage's robe. "We go now."
No one-thought Raistlin, worried. It didn't make sense. Where were the crowds of gully dwarves? He had the feeling something had gone wrong, but there wasn't time to turn back-Tanis and the others were on their way to the secret tunnel entrance. The mage smiled bitterly. What a fool's quest this was turning out to be. They would probably all die in this wretched city.
Bupu tugged on his robe again. Shrugging, he cast his hood up over his head and, together, he and the gully dwarf flitted down the mist-shrouded street.
Two armor-clad figures detached themselves from a dark doorway and slunk quickly after Raistlin and Bupu.
"This is the place," Tanis said softly. Opening a rotting door, he peered in. "It's dark in here. We'll need a light."
There was a sound of flint striking metal and then a flare of light as Caramon lit one of the torches they had borrowed from the Highbulp. The warrior handed one to Tanis and lit one for himself and Riverwind. Tanis stepped inside the building and immediately found himself up to his ankles in water. Holding the torch aloft, he saw water pouring in steady streams down the walls of the dismal room. It swirled around the center of the floor, then ran out through cracks around the edges. Tanis sloshed to the center and held his torch close to the water.
"There it is. I can see it," he said as the others waded into the room. He pointed to a trap door in the floor. An iron pull-ring was barely visible in its center.
"Caramon?" Tanis stood back.
"Bah!" Flint snorted. "If a gully dwarf can open this, I can open it. Stand aside." The dwarf elbowed everyone back, plunged his hand into the water, and heaved. There was a moment's silence. Flint grunted, his face turned red. He stopped, straightened up with a gasp, then reached down and tried again. There wasn't a creak. The door remained shut.
Tanis put his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Flint, Bupu says she only goes down during the dry season. You're trying to lift half of Newsea along with the door."
"Well"-the dwarf puffed for breath-"why didn't you say so? Let the big ox try his luck."
Caramon stepped forward. He reached down into the water and gave a heave. His shoulder muscles bulged, and veins in his neck stood out. There was a sucking sound, then the suction was released so suddenly that the big warrior nearly fell over backwards. Water drained from the room as Caramon eased the wooden plank door over. Tanis held his torch down to see. A four-foot-square shaft gaped in the floor; a narrow iron ladder descended into the shaft.
"What's the count?" Tanis asked, his throat dry.
"Four hundred and three," answered Slurm's deep voice.
"Four hundred and four."
The companions stood around the trap door, shivering in the chill air, hearing nothing but the sound of water pouring down the shaft.
"Four hundred and fifty-one," noted the knight calmly.
Tanis scratched his beard. Caramon coughed twice, as though reminding them of his absent brother. Flint fidgeted and dropped his axe in the water. Tas absent-mindedly chewed on the end of his topknot. Goldmoon, pale but composed, drew near Riverwind, the nondescript brown staff in her hand. He put his arm around her. Nothing was worse than waiting.
"Five hundred," said Sturm finally.
"About time!" Tasslehoff swung himself down onto