His steps slowed, then stopped. "Ah," he said quietly, to the question.
After a moment, he lowered the weight of his burden. There were a few soft sounds - fabric on fabric, the metal and stone sound of a lighter - and then a flare of light and a great whooshing.
The circular chamber where they stood was suddenly illuminated -- a ring of fire burning in the walls. This was an exchange - a small room from which multiple corridors ran. Down each of the corridors ran a walkway on the left side and a narrow but deep channel of water on the right. It was clear, by the design, that these corridors could be flooded, although it was not apparent that the corridors could be sealed, leaving the exchange untouched. The sharp alkaline scent of lime permeated the air, intermingled with the scent of water.
"I made a promise, when I left Persia," Erik said, and his voice echoed through the room. "A promise to a foolish little daroga, to whom I owed my own life. No more wanton killing. I've found other ways of achieving my goals with most. These corridors have been empty for the entire time I've been here."