"I'll get by with a little help from my friends..."
				-The Beatles

                 **  ---   <<<<  ----  >>>>   ---  **

Raine readjusted his posture to the lessened weight on the line and
caught a hint of movement out of his left eye.  Without looking, Cat
said, "Good idea."  But she didn't move from her braced position,
either.

Raine tracked the movement without moving his head until he could see
Danu walking silently into his sightline.  She knelt, passing out of
his vision, and hammered something into the stone near the edge of the
well.  From the ringing sound, he knew she was pounding something
metallic.  There was a pause, then more hammering.  Another pause, and
then at the shriek of the trapdoor below, a final flurry of banging,
then the soft whispering of a rope sliding across stone.

In a quiet voice that carried strangely well, she called down, "Gents?
I ran a second line.  Secure yourselves to it as backup, please."

The whisper of a distant curious voice floated back, "Who the hell was
that?"

Instead of answering, Danu leaned back, in a bracing posture.  Raine
could only see her head and shoulders.  Without looking at him, she
said softly to the air directly before her, "Next time, we belay."

All he could do was snarl a soft agreement at the back of his throat
as he leaned his weight against the line that held open their only
sure way back.

                 **  ---   <<<<  ----  >>>   ---  **

"Gravy Train," Wings chuckled, hovering easily in front of Siaran.
"You look like you've been washing in the stuff."

Siaran scraped a bit of slowly-hardening soft-rock from his face and
flicked it at the pixie, who dodged sideways in a burst of light.  The
gunk splatted against the wall of the alcove, hardening instantly with
a chiming sound.

"Wot th'ell's Gravy Train?"  He sniffed the air and frowned, the grey
specks in his eyes brightening briefly to silver-blue.  The stale
smell in the alcove vanished and a very faint breeze began to blow.
Disturbed by the breeze, more liquid rock began to drip down from the
ceiling, like water sweating off a pipe, and Wings dodged sideways as
it dripped past him.

"Dog food, one of the gladiators in the bigfolk pits had wolfhounds,
and he swore by the stuff.  Always looked the same to me going in as
it did comin' out."  He scratched his head, and a faint sparkling dust
fell onto Siaran's backpack.

"C'mon, matchstick, we gotta get movin',"  Wings fidgeted.

"Wot's yer hurry, Wings?"

"Bad feeling about this softrock."  Wings flew up above Siaran and
shook, spraying him with dust.

Siaran winced, snorting at the clouds of falling dust.  "Yurrgh, that
pongs almost as bad as Tahd's old socks," Siaran growled, "Don't you
ever _wash_?"

"I worked up a sweat fightin' the spiders," Wings retorted.  "Now
think happy thoughts, you dink!"

Siaran grinned and thought about gluing the pixie's butterfly wings
together.  At the idea he rose into the air, his pack trailing
alongside him.  Behind them, the walls began to slowly melt...

                 **  ---   <<<<  ----  >>>   ---  **

"By the prophets, I can't see, Carroll--you've got to guide me."  The
tall Rameshander placed both feet against one wall. He leaned back
across the shaft, falling slowly, and jammed his shoulders against the
far wall.  Another rope whispered down the smooth rock wall, and Tuek
grabbed it and threw a quick loop around his waist with a bowline to
secure it.  The other end he threw to Carroll, who used a fisherman's
bend to secure it to his belt.

"Ok, the walls are fairly smooth here.  Just come down slowly, that's
it, you've got a yard to go.  Two feet.  One foot.  There, brace
yourself.  There's a bit of a crack just below your left foot.  Good.
Now can you reach down--there, I've got your hand.  Hold my belt, I'm
going to roll to the right.  On three--one, two, three."

Carroll turned, awkwardly, trying to pivot on his left shoulder.  He
began to slide against the stone wall.  His shirt pulled up across his
throat, choking off a cry.  Tuek slackened his grip for a second and
*reached* down to twist his fist in the rope attached to Carroll's
belt, then braced again with everything he had.  He grunted with pain,
his shoulders wedged against a sharp out crop.

"Blood, Carroll, hurry!"

The last slip had let the trapdoor close almost too far--the gap between
it and the wall was half an agonizing inch too narrow for Carroll to 
reach between.

_Fyrk, bite off my cuff button, then drag up my sleeve. Quick!_

It took two tries for Fyrk's pointed incisors to tear through the
cotton.  Tuek's strength was fading, and the pair slipped half a foot
before Fyrk was out of the way.  Carroll thrust his arm into the crack
fast, tearing strips off his forearm, and jammed the spike in place.
He took a breath, released the spike, and waited one, two, three long
seconds for it to slip.  It held.  He breathed a silent prayer of
thanks.

Carefully, he pulled his arm from the crack, wincing with the pain he
hadn't had time to feel going in.  Once free, he rolled back over and
took up his share of his own weight again.

"It's secured!  Take us up!" said Tuek; and the rope started pulling
them up.

                 **  ---   <<<<  ----  >>>   ---  **

The Witts' End Gang is:
  Archibald "Archi" Halidon (fogelinc@pt.cyanamid.com)
  Carroll Jarvek  (colin@callisto.pas.rochester.edu)
  Chrainein "Raine" Hydor (li@inigo.data-io.com)
  Danu (kjc@cs.rutgers.edu) 
  Kyle "Wings" Dorshan (hutch@hutch.intel.com)
  Siaran (Andrea.Evans@orb.nashua.nh.us)
  Theodora "Cat" Rediche (fogelinc@pt.cyanamid.com)
  Tuek Esmar (aaron@amisk.cs.ualberta.ca)