"To think these shafts have been here all the time," said Boпndil, unable to keep quiet any longer.

"It's what happens when things aren't used. They get forgotten. I bet it's been free of poisonous gases for ages," his brother remarked.

"Aha!" Tungdil pointed to a door measuring four paces wide and three paces high and inlaid with golden runes. "This must be it."

They held up their oil lamps and scraped away at centuries of accumulated grime until they could read the runes. The inscription was written in an ancient dwarven dialect, and it took a bit of concentration for Tungdil to work it out. At last he recited the lines to the twins:

Whether finding friends

Or fighting foes,

May Vraccas be with you

And bring you safely home.

As he uttered the last syllable, the door creaked back, allowing the three dwarves to enter. Inside was a vast chamber filled with all manner of cogs, their teeth meshing vertically and horizontally in a confusion of rust and verdigris. Various rods connected them to a series of cauldronlike vessels and the apparatus was topped with chimneys of all shapes and sizes. There were hatches below.

Boлndal studied the machinery with interest. "To think the three of us have restored to life a forgotten miracle of science," he said reverently.

"Not yet we haven't." Tungdil took a closer look at the cauldrons and discovered slim tubes of glass, each with a single leaden ball. The tubes were calibrated and the cauldrons marked with the dwarven symbol for water. He knelt down to look inside the hatches and came across traces of ash. He laughed and thumped the sheet of metal. "Bavragor would say it's a distillery, but I reckon it's some kind of engine."

"How does it work, scholar?" asked Boлndal, while his brother disappeared behind the array of cauldrons and crankshafts.

Tungdil had seen diagrams of similar devices in Lot-Ionan's hooks. "Think of it as a kind of mill," he explained. "The gears turn and drive the equipment."

"Look at this!" called Boпndil from the far side of the machinery. "There's more stuff over here!" They followed.

At the center of the chamber was a starting ramp wit h eight metal rails sloping gently toward eight closed doors. The uppermost end of four of the rails terminated in a wooden barrier, slung over with decaying sacks of straw.

"Those must be tracks for the wagons," said Boлndal.

Tungdil nodded. "We'll be gliding along a monorail. It's a hundred percent safe."

"Try telling that to Goпmgar," joked Boлndal.

Tungdil glanced across at Boпndil, who had discovered a depot of a hundred or so wagons in a corner of the hall. "Let's take a look."

There were various different designs of wagon. Some boasted ten narrow benches, while others had a single seat and were obviously meant for freight.

Near the front of each vehicle was a lever. Tungdil took hold of one and jiggled it gently. There was a squeaking sound from below. He peered beneath the carriage. "Brakes," he announced. "If you pull on the lever, the wagon slows down. We'll have to scrape off the rust, though."

"Hang on, scholar," said Boлndal. "How do you propose to lift the wagons onto the rails?" He glanced at the starting ramp, which was two paces high at its uppermost end. "They're too heavy for us to carry."

"True." Tungdil pointed to the ceiling. "But look up there."

"Hoists! We can use the hooks to raise the wagons and place them on the rails. I say we give it a go and see what happens."

They collected some leftover charcoal and set light to it with their oil lamps. Next they set out to fill at least one cauldron, which they did by drawing water from a pool at the bottom of a nearby waterfall.

"What now?" Boпndil asked eagerly.

"We wait," said Tungdil.

They dozed for a while, worn out from their exertions, until Boпndil woke up and grabbed Tungdil's arm. "Look!" he shouted. "The lead ball just moved!"

Tungdil sat up. The ball had risen and was dancing excitedly halfway up the glass tube. Hot steam shot from two of the vents.

"Well, well," exclaimed Boлndal, watching attentively to see what happened next.

The crankshaft turned on its axis and the first of many gears screeched into action, achieving half a rotation before grinding to a halt. A third valve opened and a hiss of air escaped.

"It's powered by steam," explained Tungdil, full of admiration for the engineers who had designed the contraption millennia ago. "It's like a water wheel, except it's turned by steam instead of water." The twins looked at him blankly. "Surely you must have tried holding a lid on a boiling pan?"

"What do you think I am?" Boпndil said testily. "A cook?"

His brother understood what Tungdil was getting at. "The steam turns the gears and the gears power the hoist, so the wagons can be lifted onto the rails without us breaking our backs!" He looked at the thicket of rods and wheels. "It'll take more than just one cauldron of water to get that going."

"It shouldn't be a problem," said Tungdil. "We're leaving tomorrow morning and by then we'll-"

Boпndil spun round and glared at the door. "Did you hear that?" he growled, already keyed up for a fight.

"An orc by the sounds of it," teased Tungdil. "You'd better go and look."

"Too right!" He set off at a jog, stopping to peer both ways at the door. Picking up a stone, he weighed it in his hands and turned to the right, only to whirl round and cast his missile into the shadows.

There was a loud squeal, then the rapid patter of footsteps in the darkness. Tungdil saw a small yet somehow familiar silhouette dart past the entrance where Ireheart was waiting, ax in hand. The creature was too quick for him.

"What was it?" Tungdil asked Boлndal. "Did you see anything?"

"No, but from the way it took off, I shouldn't think it was a threat." He watched his brother traipse back dejectedly.

"Shame it wasn't an orc," he grumbled. "I would have killed the little critter if it hadn't been so fast."

"We're nearly done here anyway," said Tungdil. He pointed to the row of eight doors. "We can head back once we've had a look at these."

"Even I know what's behind them," protested Boпndil, who had been longing to whet his ax on a worthy opponent. "Rails, that's what."

There were eight levers at the top of the starting ramp. Tungdil pulled the one next to the first rail and the corresponding door swung open. The rail continued through the opening, into utter darkness.

"It's going to be quite some journey," said Boпndil. "We'll be as good as blind in there. It's darker than a troll's backside."

His brother laughed. "Stop exaggerating. You know perfectly well that we don't have any trouble seeing in the dark." Even so, he had to concede that the tunnel would pose a considerable challenge. Visibility was limited to about ten paces. "The long-uns would need torches," he said.

"We should use torches as well," Tungdil told them. "If we get too accustomed to the darkness, we'll be dazzled by the least bit of light. What happens if there's a cleft in the rock? Even the tiniest chink of sunshine would blind us."

Boпndil, always the intrepid explorer, disappeared through the opening and took a few paces along the rail. Tungdil read the inscription chiseled into the wall.

"It leads to the firstling kingdom," he announced for the benefit of the twins. He was beginning to understand how the underground network had worked.

Four of the rails carried outgoing passengers away from Ogre's Death, and the other four were for wagons returning home. The wooden barriers and straw sacking served to absorb the impact in case the brakes failed.

He turned the matter over in his mind and paced along the row of doors. "Look at this," he exclaimed, stopping suddenly. "There's even a tunnel to the thirdling kingdom!" Maybe the folks were more united back then. Why else would they build a tunnel to Lorimbur's dwarves?