So saying, the ork led them down the long, long escalator into the bowels of the Rosslyn station. The platform was a weird cross between an emergency medical station and a flophouse. The air was thick with the stink of blood, vomit, garbage, human waste, and too many unwashed bodies. People lay everywhere, most sporting one or more bandages and many moaning or crying in pain. Topside had been hot, but down below where it should have been cooler, the large number of people canceled the natural underground chill—and then some. Even Kit, who had stayed so bouncy throughout the hot summer night, seemed to be finally starting to wilt. No surprise there. Rosslyn station was, for all practical purposes, a cesspit.