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From your hiding place among the boulders you watch the activities of the loathsome undead. The causeway and jetty are teeming with cadaverous soldiers who, under the direction of several spindly, black-clad creatures, are busily transferring materials to and from the ice-boats and the open mouth of the submarine. The tunnel entrance lies only two hundred yards away, yet reaching it without being detected by the enemy looks to be a near-impossible task. You are trying to formulate a plan of action when suddenly you notice a means by which you can achieve your goal.
The track, which branches away from the causeway and leads to the tunnel entrance, passes close beside your hiding place. Every so often a wagon loaded with equipment trundles along this track towards the jetty, and an empty one trundles back. When the next empty wagon appears, you get ready to abandon your hiding place and leap aboard its open tailgate.
Patiently you observe your chosen wagon. It is being hauled by a shaggy, grey-furred beast of burden which is harnessed by heavy leather straps. As it trundles past the boulders you break cover, leap aboard the tail, and hide yourself from sight beneath a greasy, foul-smelling tarpaulin. Through a crack in its ancient wooden planks you watch with trepidation as the wagon moves slowly towards the tunnel entrance. It enters the tunnel, unchallenged by the skeletal warriors who stand guard here, and ascends a gentle gradient to another ice-walled cavern. Several passages connect at this point from all directions, like the spokes of a giant wheel converging at the hub.
