After a moment, the basket tipped upright. The impact of Seth's weight hitting the rope evidently had been taken by the windlass team to mean that the condemned people were all out on the surface; a twitch on the rope was the usual signal. The basket began to rise, hobbling and dancing. Its speed of ascent, added to Seth's took his racing, dwindling figure out of sight quickly. After a while, the basket was gone, too. "He'll never get to the top," Mathild whispered. "It's too far, and he's going too fast. He'll lose strength and fall." "I don't think so," Alaskon said heavily. "He's agile and strong. If anyone could make it, he could." "They'll kill him if he does." "Of course they will," Alaskon said, shrugging. "I won't miss him," Honath said. "No more will I. But we could use some sharp needles down here, Honath. Now we'll have to plan to make our own--if we can identify the different woods, down here where there aren't any leaves to help us tell them apart." Honath looked at the navigator curiously. Seth's bolt for the sky had distracted him from the realization that the basket, too, was gone, but now that desolate fact hit home. "You actually plan to stay alive in Hell, don't you, Alaskon?" "Certainly," Alaskon said calmly. "This is no more Hell than--up there--is Heaven. It's the surface of the planet, no more, no less. We can stay alive if we don't panic. Were you just going to sit here until the furies came for you, Honath?" "I hadn't thought much about it," Honath confessed. "But if there is any chance that Seth will lose his grip on that rope--before he reaches the top and they stab him--shouldn't we wait and see if we can catch him? He can't weigh more than 35 pounds. Maybe we could contrive some sort of a net--" "He'd just break our bones along with his," Charl said. "I'm for getting out of here as fast as possible." "What for? Do you know a better place?" "No, but whether this is Hell or not, there are demons down here. We've all seen them from up above. They must know that the Elevator always lands here and empties out free food. This must be a feeding-ground for them--" He had not quite finished speaking when the branches began to sigh and toss, far above. A gust of stinging droplets poured along the blue air and thunder rumbled. Mathild whimpered. "It's only a squall coming up," Honath said. But the words came out in a series of short croaks. As the wind had moved through the trees, Honath had automatically flexed his knees and put his arms out for handholds, awaiting the long wave of response to pass through the ground beneath him. But nothing happened. The surface under his feet remained stolidly where it was, flexing not a fraction of an inch in any direction. And there was nothing nearby for his hands to grasp.