The first line of defense behind the door was soon figured out: several long cords strung with bells, crisscrossing at different heights from near the ceiling to below the knee, blocking anything that might try to pass through.
It seemed to be a passageway between areas. Structures that didn't quite fit the Sewer's style branched off on either side, cut through the original walls and built up from smaller bricks with more obvious signs of human handiwork, forming what looked like wine-cellar compartments.
These expanded spaces were filled with hastily assembled wooden frames and large barrels. The stench of grease was so thick it was nauseating. Thin, transparent colors refracted along the gleaming surfaces, trickling down to join the rippling water.
Thick ropes were tied to support posts that looked anything but stable, ran through several simple pulley mechanisms, and extended behind a second door at the end of the passage, where a faint light showed through.
The group shut the hinges of all their lanterns, immersing themselves in the greasy darkness as they moved slowly toward the light.
They heard the cultivator in front freeze abruptly for a moment, seemingly startled, and splash a little water.
Kraft soon learned what had startled him: cold liquid dripped onto his face, as if something overhead were drooling. But a closer look revealed that it was only condensed droplets of water.
The droplets seeped continuously from cracks between the bricks in the rock overhead, though their source was unknown.
Intermittent conversation drifted from the light, kept low so that not even the slightest echo would carry past the two stone doors and into the depths of the waterway.
The cultivators hid one by one in the shadows behind the door, distinguishing the voices. Though not very clear, they could make out two