by C K Burch
Dust whistled in admiration. “That's nifty.”
Ryder sniffed. “I don't see it.”
“You won't have to.” Dust shook his head, again in admiration of the dutiful brilliance of ancient times, and he gently tossed the keystone in his palm. “But it does not, in fact, solve the problem of discovering the entrance to the holy grounds. It provides a marker, but as I mentioned before, the Himalayas aren't exactly a small site to survey.”
Jack stood and retrieved the keystone. “The instructions on the keystone say, 'In the light of day, the gates of Shambhala shall be revealed.' Which, following the images of Hanuman, give us our duty: hold up the keystone, and the rest shall be made complete.”
“So, we hold up the stone in the light, and then...?”
Jack stammered. “Well. Ah. It doesn't quite say exactly what the and then part is, but – ”
“You aren't sure how it works?”
“I'm sure of how it works, it's just how it operates that I'm still a little in the dark on.”
Ryder clicked his tongue. “Working and operating mean the same thing, mum.”
Jack's face turned red, and she looked away for a moment to gather herself. “What you saw in the stone is the entrance. This gives us our destination, and also the image of what to look for once we've arrived. Everything, all of it, boiled down into one very simple jewel. I have every faith that this is our path. Once we reach Kalatop, we will discover the entrance. I'm sure of it.”
Dust smiled wryly. “Despite previous expeditions being led by intuition and stones?”
She began to retort, but instead smiled, blushed a different shade of red, and turned her gaze to the keystone in her hand. “Yes, I do suppose that it is an intuition. An informed intuition, but an intuition nevertheless. I daresay that I will only need a clear sky and a few minutes worth of searching.”
Dust lifted his mug in salute. “So it shall be, then. Kalatop or bust.”
Ryder chuckled. “For what it's worth mum, I hope you're right. Truth is I'd rather have them skins than that gemstone, but come what may, aye?”
Jack nodded, a smile delicately woven over her features, but Dust saw her cover the keystone with the lambskin wrap. Her hands moved, but the lambskin did not; her gaze remained on Ryder as she said something that Dust was not paying attention to. Then, a moment later, she picked up the lambskin and the keystone had vanished as though it had never been set down. Jack's left hand casually sought her satchel, and anyone not paying close attention would not have given thought to the idea that she'd pulled a lift.
Well done, Dust thought, and he pretended that he hadn't seen a thing.
“And as for when we reach the lost world?” Dust threw out, hoping to help cover the already smooth movement. “What kind of expectations do we have for our caravan? Because if we're dropping into a massive jungle, we'll probably need a place to start searching.”
“Indeed.” Jack held up her journal. “The details I've been able to deduce paint a rather intricate and advanced civilization that founded the city. Descriptions of roads paved through the jungle, and also irrigation channels, should lead us directly to the city. And what's more, with the map I've created from said descriptions, all we'll have to do is discover the road and make our way to the center. An easy task, at least on paper.”
“No pun intended,” Dust joked.
Jack blushed. “None at all.”
***
Later that night, Dust received an unexpected knock at his door. When he opened it, Jack was standing there, clutching a bottle of liquor and two glasses. Swaying slightly as she stood, it was apparent that she'd already engaged the bottle.
“Having a good night?” Dust inquired, confused.
“I'd like to know if you'd perhaps have a drink with me,” Jack stated. She smiled.
Dust frowned. “Is it a celebration?”
“A conversation.” She sighed. “I'm quite better at words when there's a little drink in me, which is unfortunately something unsuited for when one wishes to be taken seriously.”
“Your brother seems to have a hold on that.”
“Yes, well. Once upon a time, Thomas was a bright lad. Very smart, very thoughtful, a cunning boy. He used to love chess. Of course, he became of age, accepted the drink as his first and foremost interest, and, well, he is as you see him now. Much less serious and much more salacious.”
“Some of us can't hold our drink, I guess. I like to think I'm pretty good at it.” Dust stepped aside and allowed Jack entrance.
“Thank you.” She quickly poured a generous amount of golden liquor into each glass. “I'm hoping bourbon will suit your fancy.”
“Bourbon is delightful.” Indeed it was: Dust accepted his glass and allowed himself a tenuous sip, discovering a smoothness that bespoke of something very well aged. “This clearly was not from Ryder's storage.”
“Clearly.” Jack giggled and knocked back the contents of her glass.
Dust raised his eyebrows.
Jack poured again. “I wanted to say that I appreciate your presence here on the Venture, as well as this venture, Mister McAlan. I'm very much more accustomed to being mocked or laughed at versus being taken seriously, and it's a lovely difference, to say the least.”
“I imagine. You've clearly done your research, you've followed the clues, and as it usually stands with these sorts of things, sometimes one must take a leap of faith. And if you're willing to provide my income, then I'll jump when you jump.”
“But, you see, that's the thing.” Jack sat down on the edge of the bed, and paused as she corralled her words. “Do you actually believe me? Do you believe that the lost world exists, or that I'm barking mad?”
Dust pulled the chair from his desk, and also sat. “Jack, let me tell you, I've seen some crazy shit in my line of work. Sometimes the most tenuous of connections turn out to be impossibly real. I've also seen some very solid evidence and clues fall right through the floor. What I've built up over time is a very cautious mistrust. I'm a firm believer that the truth is out there, but I also know to not get my hopes up about anything until the prize is sitting directly in front of me.”
“But you refused my offer at first.”
“Well, yeah, but that's because I'm not the expedition sort of guy. On the field for months at a time, hoping against hope to find something, no, no thank you, there are other people with more patience for that line of work. I'm more interested in digging through ruins and dancing through traps. I can turn that around quicker and get more pay. But I've been in the position where no one believed me about my own wild theories, and you were willing to pony up to my price, so, you know. One hand washes the other.”
Jack smiled. “I like you, Mister McAlan. You're not at all like what I heard. We have a good number of things in common. Love of the past, a forward-thinking outlook on society, a willingness to accept what we cannot see.”
“A number of things, yes.” Dust mused upon this. “But sometimes, these aren't all the best things. Adventuring can lead to an unwillingness to settle down, to stay in one place for very long.”
“Perhaps. But there are some who might be intrigued by that.”
“Perhaps. But there are also those who are turned way the hell off by it.” Dust took a bold sip and offered the empty glass for more bourbon. He spoke as she poured. “Okay, Jack, be honest. You're clearly well trained in history and what you do. You've demonstrated that. Why'd your father put Thomas in charge of the money? He's an untrustworthy idiot and you're intelligent as hell.”
Jack gave a good pause as she considered this, and emptied her own glass as she did. “Much to my father's eternal chagrin, he does not agree with my...lifestyle choices.”
Dust tilted his head in confusion, then understood, and smiled as he clinked the rim of his glass to hers. “This is something else that we have in common.”
“Do we now? Multiple partners, primarily of the same gender?” She adopted a mocking tone: “Scandalous cavorti
ng with female associates. One of the last things father said to me on the subject. As though he's unaware that I'm aware of his own cavorting behind my mother's back while she was alive.” Disgust thickened the air as she scoffed. “Better to have all know that there's more than one partner involved, than there is to lie with many while lying about it.”
“Hey, it worked for the Greeks and Egyptians.” Dust waved his hand in the air. “I've never done the multiple partner thing. I move too fast to think about it. As far as gender preference, I think for me I find myself more often leaning towards women, but you know, that doesn't stop me from engaging with handsome men as the opportunity arises.”
“How often does the opportunity arise?”
“At least twice, depending on stamina.” He winked over his glass.
Jack caught herself mid-sip, nearly choking on the laughter that threatened to burst forth. She covered her mouth, attempted to swallow the liquor, failed, then attempted once more with success. At this point, her face was flush and tears were spilling down her cheeks. Dust laughed along with, feeling quite proud of himself.
Jack sighed as she calmed down. “I haven't had a laugh like that in weeks. Thank you for dispelling my tension, Dust McAlan. For that alone, you're worth your price.”
“I appreciate your endorsement.” Dust held out his glass to toast. “You're a very interesting woman, Jacqueline Blythe-Wight. I think it's safe to say your partners are lucky to have you.”
A slight pause overcame her, and a distant look crossed her face. It was as though she were weighing whether or not such a statement felt as truthful as it sounded. “As few outside of my partners has said anything of the like, I would be remiss to not thank you for your candor. It's refreshing to hear your praise.”
“At least it's genuine.” He wiggled his glass. “To Shambhala. May it befit your wildest dreams.”
Jack clinked her glass to Dust's. “To Shambhala. May it be so.”
***
A week passed as the Venture crossed the skies over Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and finally India. Life on board the airship was wrought with tension. Ryder kept to himself mostly, quiet and ominous in how he appeared to be stacking chips onto his side of the table, as it were. Work in the cargo hold seemed endless, for anytime Dust went down for a stroll he saw more additions being made to the vehicles. Aside from the netguns and the bolas, the winches and pulleys, the jeeps had been outfit with roll bars over the top of the seating, and the flatbed truck had a metal covering installed over the bed. On top of the steel container was a gunner's seat, not fully covered like a turret, but it would provide enough protection under threat of enemy fire that it might as well be. Ryder, despite his apparent lack of belief in the notion of dinosaurs, was clearly taking no chances with the thought that they weren't actually real. As Dust observed the Venture crew going about their work, he understood that he was being observed as well, and he gave no indication that he knew this. Ryder always seemed to be just outside of Dust's peripheral vision, no doubt believing himself to be a stealthy bugger, but if this treasure hunting business had gifted with Dust with anything, it was an intuition when danger lurked around the corner. And treachery was thick in this atmosphere.
Lord Thomas made himself silly drunk every day. Cairn was a sport about it, running about the halls, fetching some sort of trivial trinket or nonsense for his employer. Thomas had brought on more than just his simple seven suits of white – he'd smuggled a fair amount of his own personal liquor cabinet onboard, involving whiskey, gin, bourbon, and decidedly devious amount of vodka. Dust had never understood the fascination with the Russian drink. It always reminded him of burning. That which is to be imbibed should never burn more than half a second, if that, yet the Russians had a damnable opposite view on the matter.
As Thomas howled and cavorted about the ship, bemoaning the lack of women on the vessel, Cairn followed his master dutifully, his expressions blank at all times. The lad was well trained in not letting his frustrations show over Thomas' behavior, and Dust suspected that there was reason for this. He watched carefully for marks on Cairn, for signs that the boy had been – or was currently being – beaten. But the lad remained spry, and in his downtime away from his master, would jovially ask Dust questions about tombs and ruins, smiling with delight as Dust spun his yarns. He also took note that Cairn did not share quarters with Thomas, but rather bunked with Jack, and this detail made Dust feel slightly better about the situation.
And Jack, for all her exuberance, had spent much of her time on the flight deck, sitting near the railing and gazing out at the horizon, generally near to sunset. Sometimes, as he watched, she held up the keystone to the light of the setting sun, and gazed through it, possibly imagining the moment when she would be able to do so before the gates of Shambhala themselves. No doubt her fancy was on the sounds and the sights of the dinosaurs she so longed to see, and to hear. Sometimes she retreated to the galley, where she could gaze out of the windows at the sky and the clouds, but mostly her path took her to the railing, where the sorbet of color blushed over the world, changing from orange to rose to purple, and finally into the starry, clear night. Dust did not concern himself too much with spying on her, only to ensure that none of the crew were making attempts to steal the keystone. After Ryder's lust for the jewel in the galley, it seemed fair to reason that there would be some sort of pickpocketing mischief. As it stood, the men were either too busy with preparations to give bother or they'd been given instructions from Ryder to leave it be. Either way, Dust found it a blessed relief that he did not have to intervene and cause trouble well before trouble needed causing.
As for himself, Dust made sure his pouches were stocked with bullets, his whip was oiled and curled tight for action, and that his pistol had been properly cleaned and loaded. Lying in his cot at night, he'd remember a time when his bed had not quite been so lonesome, a time that felt rather distant, indeed. After this, aside from his observations, he'd quietly enjoy the house whiskey and fall asleep listening to the drone of the engines, marveling at their power and their speed, and he found solace in what spare moments of quiet that he had. Because he very well knew that once the ship reached its destination, there would be little but chaos and trouble ahead of them. This, he knew, was simply how these sorts of things worked.
***
III
Kalatop rested within a deep green sea of fir and pine trees. Ground fog swirled amongst the trunks, slipping upwards to finger through branches before trailing off in whorls, disappearing in the rising sun. The Venture hovered above the location that Jack had indicated, drifting slightly in the morning breeze; nothing heavy, but just enough wind to make standing on the deck feel mildly perilous. Dust stood beside Jack, who was nervously spinning the keystone between her fingers. Thomas and Cairn were nearby, the poor lad without a jacket and shivering while Lord Thomas pulled at his flask. Ryder held a pair of binoculars to his eyes and looked out over the terrain below them, searching for the spot where the gates should be.
“I'm not seeing anything that'd match any kind of entry,” he muttered.
Jack leaned over the rail and looked down. She pointed. “There! That flat top with the steps leading up to it. That's where we need to be.”
Ryder shook his head. “We won't be able to set down near it. And I'm not seeing any roads leading up towards the spot.”
“Can we get close? Enough to let me down a ladder or something?”
“Close enough for that for sure.” Ryder set aside the binoculars, and made motions at one of the crew, who nodded and sped off.
Dust leaned in towards Ryder. “Looks like all that prep with your vehicles won't be for squat.”
“Get stuffed,” Ryder muttered.
The engines turned and the Venture slowly drifted into position over the flattop. As they hovered the fore over it, Dust noted that it wasn't entirely flat: it was more a series of wide, snow-covered layers, descending from the mountain like wide steps befit for a god. Pine s
urrounded the steps, clearing a path up to the highest point, where it seemed as though there was a path, but it led straight into the forest. Dust couldn't fathom how or where the gate itself might open to Shambhala, but this was where they had been led, and so they must investigate. But then there was the idea of getting the vehicles down there, which even with Ryder's impressive ramp, he didn't see a way of doing. Perhaps this truly was to be a walking adventure.
Ryder strode towards the bow of the ship, and unrolled a rope ladder. He ensured that it was fit snugly at the top, and when he was satisfied, he gestured to Jack.
“Ladies first, mum,” he said with a slithering grin.
Dust stepped forward instead. He still didn't trust the man.
Jack put her hand on Dust's arm, then strode ahead herself. She confidently swung her leg over the bow, and then shimmied down the ladder one swaying step at a time. The bottom of the ladder swung freely above the steps, the bulk of the Venture unable to bring them down all the way towards the ground. After a fleeting moment of uncertainty, Jack dropped from the bottom of the ladder to the steps, her boots going calf-deep into the piled white. She looked up after brushing herself off, and gave a thumbs up.
Ryder smirked at Dust. He gestured again. “As I said, ladies first.”
“And assholes follow,” Dust quipped as he gave Ryder a bow.
Dust swung over the edge, and slowly made his way down the ladder. A minute later, Ryder joined the two of them, leaving Thomas and Cairn up on the deck.
