Though the wanderer heard he played that he did not. Leading on with a few words of direction. He was concerned after the quarrel with the pilot, something was wrong with that one. Who would be following now? His questions were many, he was only sure he would make following difficult.
Naeliim turned the company down a dark hall and worked them through a pipe works. Much of it was steam and sanitation, the smell was foul at times. They worked their way at first to eventually a high balcony that over looked over a vast pool. Mechanical controls appeared to open a series of portcullises that subdivided two sections of the book. From another platform across and elevated from their own came angry shouts. Soon a cascade of hurled rocks joined the choir. Naeliim bid them to cover and launched a blot upwards with his sling. Parc and Klein hid behind boxes but Bendix just stood. He watched intent the drama above almost cocooned and encased motionless. The rage was slow to see at first, but grew like a furious bloom. His eyes were panic and then his fist fell and and again, beat down upon his own leg like a drum. The iron bar struck down rocks and debris from mid air, so missiles still struck Bendix but in his rage nothing was felt.