To my surprise they each shook my hand warmly, grinning in the light of Marijane’s flashlamp. But they said nothing—merely beckoned me to the open cover of the manhole down which I had hidden Pwill Jr. and the interfering guard. It was not until the cover had been lowered behind us and we stood in nightmarish darkness except for the thin beam of the flashlamp, listening to the scuttering of the rats, that Ken Lee said, “You’d have been done for if anyone opened that hatch, Gareth.” I felt pleased at his using my first name. But I didn’t get the point of his remark, and said so. “What happened? My guess is that you had to take a drink to brace yourself—and then you threw up from the stink here.” “More or less,” I confirmed. “But—I still don’t get you.” “You can still, even now, smell the vomit,” Ken said. “Did the Vorra ever drink brandy? If someone had opened the hatch and found the body, and that too—a soldier who had served on Earth and recognized the smell—but skip that.
