A hot wet smell slithered out of the open pipe and rubbed itself uninvited against her nostrils. A centipede scuttled around the base of the cistern in a hurry. Maybe it was late for dinner. How many legs do centipedes have? she thought. It went by too quickly for her to count. Probably more than me. Holding her nose, biting her lip, closing her eyes and ears, she slid herself onto the edge of the opening, and let herself slide into the dark.