The victory over the light scouts in Entry hall 415 had cleared the air ducts, but in the lower strata of the floor, the real threat was advancing.
Entry hall 416 was a low, underground hall whose floor was broken every ten paces by massive square drainage wells that dropped vertically into the main salt-water channels of the Fourth Century. Here, the air was dense, freezing, and soaked with the heavy, iodine-laden spray of rushing salt water. The stonework was ancient, giant stone, built from massive blocks of hard black rock clamped together with lead dogs that had weathered into soft grey bars.
Qiao Ming stopped at the mouth of the third drainage well, his bare feet planted wide upon the wet hard speckled rock coping.
Qiao Ming walked to the corner of the gallery, where a low stone trough collected the slow trickle of water drops running down the eastern wall.
He dipped his hand into the water, bringing it to his nose. It smelled of cold limestone, ancient thick tar, and the sharp, stone tang of wet hard black rock.
“The water is sweet,” he noted, “which means the outer seawall has not cracked in this sector. The foundation piers are bearing the load without buckling. But the sound traveling through the rock tells us that Zhu Heling’s heavy hounds have found the backup drainage rings.”
