They were taken into a huge, gloomy building and down a long corridor. As they approached it, a sound greatened before them; a rolling muted thunder of mixed anger, pain, and terror. They entered a long, narrow corridor, one wall broken at regular intervals by small metal doors. Mike realized the sound came from beyond these doors—from the angry throats of prisoners—that this could be nothing other than the city's prison. There was no doubt of it.
The cavalcade stopped. One of the doors was unlocked and thrown open, the three pushed roughly inside. The door slammed, the lock was turned and the guards stalked away as they had come.
The interior of the cell was very dim. Mike blinked his eyes, striving to pierce the dimness. He opened them and got a surprise. This was more of a cage than a prison. The entire wall opposite the door consisted of bars.
The three went forward and stood in mute wonder at what they saw. The cells were elevated and ran in a circle around an amphitheater—a great lighted pit—so that the prisoners were spectators at the drama that went on below.
It was indeed a strange place, this pit, its purpose temporarily obscure to the three prisoners. It contained great vats of steaming, multicolored liquids, many tables, a great number and variety of frames, racks, and instruments.
There were perhaps a dozen men at work down there. They appeared to be making preparation for what was to follow. Mike wondered about their occupation, then turned sharply on Nicko.
"What's the matter with you? Why aren't you finding out about this?"
Nicko stared in amazement. "Me? How the devil can I—?"
"The H'Lorkan. He might be able to give you some information. Ask him!"
Nicko shuddered as though coming out of a daze. "Sure. I guess my wheels got kind of stopped."