"...He killed them all," a voice says. Only then does he become aware of light, and the hazy silhouettes of figures looking down at him. "The P'ums killed the villagers, no question about that, but he got out and killed them. Damn if I know what he is, but he killed them all, with no hands..."
No-Hands blinked once and then shot bolt upright. He lay in a pool of light beneath the same hole in the ancient church floor he had fallen down. From above there came a youngling's squealing cry, interspersed with the plaintive call, "Tio? Tio!" He raised his broomhandle carbine, and found the detachable stock broken. He removed what remained, and rested the weapon on the stump of his right forearm to steady his aim.
As for where he lay, it was cylindrical and made of brick. It had probably begun as a cistern or septic tank (it momentarily amused him that even a holy place needed such things), but had long since been repurposed as a crypt for the far smaller races of rodents. Most of the remains had clearly piled up where they had dropped, in quantities great enough that it was no longer clear how much deeper the original bottom lay. He scrambled upright, on one bare foot and a boot that covered the muzzle of a shotgun where his right leg had been, untroubled by what he stood upon apart from the fact that it was shifting under his weight. But it was evident that some had been given a more dignified burial, mostly in openings in the walls where a brick had gone missing.
He quickly identified a dozen remains that were clearly recent, enough that their flesh and hides were sufficiently intact to judge the cause of death. At least four had been killed by crossbow projectiles, including the most recent, whose features matched a photograph of the explorer whose journal had led him here. But two more had the visible marks of a snake bite, and a third was frozen in spasms commonly induced by a particularly toxic berry. A fourth had a crushed skull and fractured spine that could only have been caused by a great fall. A fifth had been killed by a bullet from the back. His own weapon lay beside him, smashed beyond use or repair.
"It would have been better to leave them where they lay," No-Hands said, peering into deeper darkness ahead. "These creatures are just intelligent enough for curiosity, and a vanished man stirs them up more than a dead one. Taking the child here was entirely foolish."
He kept the gun trained on a particular patch of dark while he used the hook to reach inside another alcove. "And what is this?" With his hook, he held up a skull in the light, larger both in total size and evident brain volume. The high brow, short snout and serated teeth were all nearly identical to his own features, though noticeably more gracile- a perfect match for a female of the species Archididelphis invicta. A crossbow bolt still protruded from one eye socket.
A hiss came from the dark. then retreating footsteps from a pipe that stretched toward the end of the holy place. No-Hands followed, still holding his fire, not because he held the site in great regard but because it was undoubtedly the only thing that kept his foe from turning at bay immediately. He sped up at the sight of light ahead, only to freeze as he realised the pipe must emerge in the face of a cliff they had both climbed to reach the holy place. He dropped to a crouch and fired a volley down an intersecting passage, only to be struck in the shoulder by a crossbow bolt from the right. He swiveled at bay and emptied the magazine at a shape that came not running but flying straight into his chest.
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