The brig was a confined space with barely room for the single bunk attached to one wall, a toilet, sink, and a bench. Kritzinger had been knocked about the cell like salt in a shaker. Without a window or a soul in sight, he had no idea what was happening.

The outer door to Kritzinger's cell swung open to reveal an unfamiliar tanned, leathery face on the other side of the bars.

"Are you the famous Udo Kritzinger I've heard so much about?"

"Who are you?" Kritzinger demanded, glancing nervously at the machine gun resting against the man's hip.

"Friend of a friend," the man said, and stepped aside. Kritzinger gripped the bars in disbelief.

"Vale."

"They were expecting us, Udo. They were ready for us."

"I didn't betray you," Kritzinger said calmly. "I know it might seem like it, but Balsa overheard our conversation. You must believe me."

"I believe you. If you had betrayed us, Balsa wouldn't have had you locked up." Vale held up a ring of keys. "We've come to get you out."

The fortress lurched and the three men fought to stay on their feet.

"Tell me what's happening," Kritzinger begged, as Vale began swiftly inserting keys one by one into the lock. The sixth one turned. With a satisfying click, the door swung open.

"The city's built on a volcano, so I've been told. Why it's stirring, I can only guess. We need to find a way off this fortress and out of this mountain, before it all comes apart. Hamish seems to think you could help us with that."

Kritzinger thought for a moment. He looked at Vale and his face split into an unaccustomed grin.

"I do have an idea."

******

Dorothea and Turner scrambled up the stairs alongside the fortress, leading up from the water, platform to platform, to its summit. Turner reached the first platform and spun around to offer a hand to Dorothea in time to see the dark shape of the golem disappear into the steaming depths below.

The air was muggy and unpleasant. Heat could be felt rising up from the waters below and tremors continued to assault the fortress. Dorothea shifted the bag on her shoulder slightly, finding Emet's weight inside a comfort rather than a burden.

The top of the fortress jutted beyond the uppermost ladder. Overhead was a hatch to permit access. Turner struggled to slide open the stubborn latch. Dorothea reached up to help and together they managed to shove it to one side. They pushed up the hatch and were greeted by gun barrels. The gun barrels promptly disappeared, replaced by Bastion holding out a hand to tug them through the hatch, one at a time. Dorothea was pulled aside by Angeline as Gorso threw an arm about Turner.

"Hot damn, I can not believe the luck of you two," said Gorso.

"Harder to kill than a Davishnan roach you both are, and those are some hardy buggers." Angeline hugged Dorothea. "Good to see you kids."

"I'm afraid this is all my fault," Dorothea confessed. She knew only too well that the Brigade and all Davishnans considered the Golem City a sacred place and she felt responsible for the devastation. "I'm sorry, but it was the only thing I could think of to do."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Herrera said, appearing behind the group. "You were trying to save our lives. And, as for the city, well, maybe this is for the best, now that its existence has been made certain."

"Any ideas as to how to escape?" Gorso asked. "Because we're still coming up with nothing."

"Our new friend says he does."

Dorothea looked up and gasped when she saw Kritzinger. He smiled and pointed up at the sole remaining dirigible hovering overhead.

"The zeppelin? No, no, they're controlled from the bridge," Angeline said.

"Normally, yes. They're typically unmanned and operated remotely, but they were designed to be detached from the fortress and driven manually for maintenance purposes."

"Then where is everybody?" Collin demanded suspiciously. "If that's the case, why haven't we been overrun by soldiers?"

"There's a transport plane in the hanger below us, designated for evacuations. I presume they've gone there."

All eyes lifted to the zeppelin overhead.

"So how do we get into it?"

"See that ladder?" Kritzinger pointed at a ladder that stretched from the fortress to the dirigible. "It leads to a service hatch in the undercarriage. If we can climb up to it, we can pilot it from inside."

"Collin? Would you scout it out for us?"

Shedding what ammunition he'd been carrying, Collin darted over to the ladder that hovered nearly two metres off the ground. He launched himself at it and hauled himself up, hand over hand, until one foot caught the bottom rung. He moved quickly, despite the tremors. Once at the top, the now disconcertingly tiny Collin gave a broad wave and climbed inside.

"Okay, everyone," Herrera cried, "no time to waste! Dorothea, you and Turner head up first. The rest of us will follow. Quickly now!"

Dorothea looked up at the immense dirigible and the impossibly tall narrow ladder they had to climb and closed her eyes for a moment.

"You can do it," Turner whispered. "Do you want me to take the bag?" She shook her head and shifted the shoulder bag so that it rested against her back. Bastion hoisted her up, only letting go when he was convinced she had a firm grip. She began to ascend carefully, pausing at each tremor, her face pale. Bastion ushered Turner up next. One by one, they climbed the ladder, Angeline, Gorso, Kritzinger, and Bastion, followed by Vale, and, finally, Herrera.

They made their way up the swaying ladder at a halting pace. Not quite halfway up, Turner glanced down and froze. Angelone looked up.

"Something wrong, Turner?"

Turner clung to the ladder, trembling so hard he could barely get the words out.

"Spent most of my life underground in the mines," he gasped. "I've never been so high before. If a mine shook like this," he added, "we'd know it was all over."

"Just forget about the ground and keep your eyes on what's above you." Her eyes twinkled. "That shouldn't be hard for you."

Turner nodded and looked up. He watched Dorothea climbing quickly ahead of him. He willed himself to do the same.

"That's it, Turner," Herrera yelled from further down the ladder. "You're nearly there!"

Above him, Dorothea suddenly hesitated.

"Can anybody else hear that?" Her head turned about, searching. "I think it's a plane."

"Brace yourselves," Herrera yelled. Everyone clung onto the shaking ladder for dear life as a large jet ascended, skimming over the zeppelin in its quest for height. It was difficult enough to hang on when the unrelenting steam and heat made everything so slippery. The turbulence in the airplane's wake caused the ladder to sway sickeningly, and there were frightened shouts as everyone tried desperately to hold on.

No sooner had it passed overhead than a sudden whoosh could be heard, followed by a huge explosion. Debris rained down as the zeppelin and its ladder continued bucking like a bronco, the ten fragile figures helpless to protect themselves.

Something hit Turner in the face, something wet. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of one arm coiled tightly around a rung in an attempt to clear his vision. His sleeve was covered with blood. Turner nearly lost his grip on the ladder, trying to figure out where he was bleeding. He was fine, he realised. It must be somebody else's blood. His heart nearly stopped when it dawned on him that, if it wasn't his blood, it could only have come from above him. He looked upward at Dorothea, fearing she wouldn't be there. But she was. She was fighting to hold on, just as they all were, but he didn't see any blood. He looked at the trail of smoke above the zeppelin and then looked down.

What was left of the plane had spiralled downward, a trail of smoke and wreckage. They watched as it crashed into the simmering water. The emblem of the Commission was visible on the tail fin bobbing above the surface, until it gave up and slowly sank beneath the surface.

"Balsa!" cried Kritzinger and pointed to a small figure below. Even at this distance, it was possible to see the man was shouldering a rocket launcher. Balsa shrugged the weapon off his shoulder and pulled another shell from a large duffel bag at his feet, intent on reloading.

"Go! Go! Go!" Gorso cried.

The group hastened up the swaying ladder.

"Bastion," Herrera called, "do you have a shot?"

Bastion pulled out one of his pistols and tried to aim at Balsa. "No good. The ladder's shaking too much."

A strong tremor shook the fortress just as Balsa attempted to launch the second rocket. He was knocked backwards and the missile shot straight up, missing the zeppelin and crashing into the cliffs overhead. Rocks rained down from the smoking wound. A stray piece of granite struck Vale, who fell from the ladder. His body bumped against Herrera, who nearly followed in his wake. "Vale!" Kritzinger yelled out and everyone stopped climbing and looked down. Vale's body landed in the churning waters below.

"Keep climbing," Herrera shouted. "Just keep climbing."

"What are you doing?" asked Bastion, as Herrera started to descend back down the ladder.

"Taking care of this," Herrera shouted back. "Mr Gorso, make sure everybody gets out of here."

The Brigade's leader retreated back down the ladder, almost sliding down it.

"You heard the man," Gorso said, speaking with less than hearty enthusiasm. "Just keep climbing." As ordered, they all returned to the final stretch of their long and perilous climb.