Forty feet straight up through the shattered floor, suspended in the cold silver wash of the starlight dome, the double hung over the deep gap by four fingers.
Burdenless Step had failed to save its footing when the unbolted pine flipped beneath its boots. But Hookhold had intervened with the instant, inhuman speed of a sprung trap. Its lower body fell through the empty pipe rim. Then, the creature’s left hand had snapped outward, its fingers hooking over the bottom four-inch lip of the central steel I-beam that spanned the gallery foundation.
The impact of sixty pounds arresting its fall in mid-air had dislodged a shower of rusted iron flakes and powdered lime from the beam. But the fingers had not slipped an eighth of an inch.
The creature was hanging motionless, its torso suspended in the upright updraft forty feet above the granite baffle where Len lay. Its clean oxhide boots dangled into the empty dark. Its right hand hung relaxed at its side. Through the wide gap where five scaffold boards had plunged into the sump, its pale gray eyes looked straight down into Len’s face.
There was no shock in its expression. There was no rage. There was only the calm, clockwork recalculation of an audit program assessing an unexpected detour.
