The light was dim in the corridor the man carried him down. Mikhael frowned; suddenly his curiosity was peeked. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“You have an uncle?” the man asked.

Mikhael didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. He looked at the man who carried him through the dim light and nodded. Something made him want to trust this man. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Since you joined the Underground,” the man said. “He thought they were nothing but trouble and now you see how right he was. Left you high and dry, have they?”

“What do you know?” Mikhael murmured. There was no way he could escape. He couldn’t walk, let alone run – or climb the thousands os stairs the man had carried him down.

He looked up at the last of the fading daylight. It was down to a scant sliver, arc-shaped like a quarter moon. “My uncle sent you,” he murmured. “To get me?”

“We have need of someone of your skills,” the man said. Mikhael nodded once. Any hope was better than none – even if that hope was as scant as the light of a quarter moon.

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