XXIIITheir laughing captors pushed Finn and Whelm into a cramped metal cage standing near the drop into the wreckage. Whelm sat down in resignation as soon as he was pushed inside, holding his damaged arm gingerly. But Finn struggled, bending his neck at an awkward angle to remain upright in the confined space.
“Let us out! We've done nothing wrong. We're on your side!”
The wreckers ignored him. One – a small, squat man with a red face, as if he was so furious he was about to explode – struck Finn's hands with the flat of his blade. Finn jumped backwards and the door was slammed shut, then secured with chains and padlocks.
Finn pulled on the bars of the cage, as if he could tear them apart with his bare hands. There had to be some weakness in the metal, some means of escape.
“Best not
