Rip noted how the larger team seemed to fall naturally into assigned roles, without a lot of verbal coordination. The Venture Society evidently had experience in matters such as this.

Bixby and Sharp led the vanguard down the stairs, both alert and ready for anything. Others filled in the gaps behind them. Rip headed down in front of Hilda and Liza, with Blair on one side and Chance on the other. The remainder followed.

At the landing where the stairs ended, the electromagnet still hung limp and powerless from the ceiling. The bent portcullis still jutted out on the right tunnel, unable to retract any further.

Bixby said, “Right. Here, we split up. Hennison and McCaul’s team, head to the left. You see the trap we were in, so keep your eyes open for more like that.”

Eight people peeled off and crept down the tunnel to the left, guns ready.

“Atkinson, your team is establishing our base here. You and your people will stay put.”

A shorter man who looked to be in his 50s, stocky and slightly overweight, nodded and began issuing orders to his team.

“The rest of you, follow me into the workroom.”

He led the way into the tunnel on the right, stopping at the hidden door. Rip made a quick count and found 13 people in this group, including Lord Humphries.

Bixby gestured for Chance to unlock the door again. Everyone spread out to either side, many taking this opportunity to slide the bolts back on their guns.

Chance went down on one knee, twisting his picks. The door opened a crack. He stood and pushed it in, then ducked out of the way as all the group’s firepower pointed inside.

Before them, the same room from last night stretched out in the dim gaslight, now bereft of people and parts.

“I thought this might be the case,” Bixby said. “We did not move fast enough.”

“All is not lost, my good fellow,” Sharp said, easing into the room. “Mr. Twig? What do you see, if you please?”

Twig stepped in after him and scanned the room.

“I sense no traps in here, Colonel. It’s like the place was cleared out in a hurry and they didn’t take the time to do anything.”

Rip raised an eyebrow and decided Twig must have a [Detect Traps] skill. That would be a good one to acquire, he decided. It would surely compliment his own [Disarm Traps].

Before he could ponder the matter, everyone flowed into the room and spread out, looking over the empty workbenches.

“So, it appears they evacuated and took everything with them,” Sharp said.

Bixby said, “Indeed. Lady Finley? What does the society know about the Rats?”

“Not as much as we’d like, obviously,” a thin older woman said.

This, Rip knew, was Lady Madelyn Finley, the leader of Finley’s Fighters. She reminded him of a secret service agent, confident and absolutely sure of herself while remaining reserved in all outward expression.

Unlike the others dressed in khakis, Finley and her group wore form-fitting black leather outfits. They stuck out on the street like sore thumbs dressed like this, but here in the sewer tunnels the clothes seemed appropriate.

“There’s another door back here,” Chance said, pointing. “It was used to carry things out, when we saw it open last night.”

Bixby said, “Right. Let’s pick the lock on that one, too, Mr. Chance.”

One of Finley’s men strapped his gun over a shoulder and moved to cut Chance off.

“Let me, if you don’t mind. I need to build up my skill on lock picking. I just picked it up, recently.”

Sharp nodded and stepped back.

Rip moved closer to watch, considering his own low-level [Lock Picking] skill.

The fellow worked at it for a while, then the bolt snicked back while the man twisted his picks. He put his hand on the latch and a thought occurred to Rip.

“You know, if they didn’t booby trap this place, maybe they—”

The explosion ripped into the room as the door flew off its hinges, killing the man instantly. Fire rushed out from the doorway, the force of the explosion overturning table and chairs, knocking down people like bowling pins. Then it sucked back in, taking oxygen and smoke along with it.

Bixby made it to his feet, first, coughing.

“Beware the door! Cover the entrance!”

Rip climbed up, still stunned from the blast. His ears were ringing and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. But he shakily covered the blown doorway with his gun. Others around him recovered, too, all but the one Fighter who lay sprawled on the floor, dead.

But it seemed clear no one would be rushing out from the blown door.

“You there,” Sharp said. “Take his body back to the entrance. They will place him in one of the trucks. Once you’ve delivered him, return to this location and catch up.”

The Fighter he pointed to grimaced, but picked up the body in a fireman’s carry and returned to the tunnel.

“His daughter just had a birthday,” Finley said.

Ripley noticed the trace of anger in her voice, despite the imperturbable expression on her face.

That’s a stiff upper lip, right there, he thought.

Then he noticed the message on his implant.

[You have earned a new skill: Detect Traps.]

Huh. I wonder if that’s because I was just thinking about it? Or did I really detect that trap beforehand? It was more like a suspicion.

“I shouldn’t have let him do it,” Twig said, interrupting Rip’s thoughts. “I would have seen it coming. My [Detect Traps] skill is over Level 3.”

“Tut-tut, Mr. Twig,” Finley said. “Never blame yourself for Fate’s hand in life or death.”

Twig just stared at the floor, morose. He did not look like he would take Finley’s admonishment to heart.

“Right,” Bixby said. “Let’s carry on. Mr. Chance, Mr. Twig, on me. Let’s see what’s in the next room. Both of you keep an eye out for traps, if you please.”

Rip moved behind Bixby alongside Blair. Together, they followed the three men through the blown door, guns ready.

The others came in behind them.