The Dragon Pool: The Dragon Pool

by Christopher Golden

  A snarl came from behind them. Hellboy spun. One of the dragon-men tackled him, and he fell, one sheared horn scraping the stone wall of the cave. The thing grabbed him by the head and started slamming his skull against the floor of the cave over and over. The pistol flew from Hellboy's grasp. Fire flickered in its eyes like a reptilian jack-o'-lantern.

  Hellboy caught the motion of Tenzin raising his rifle from the corner of his eye.

  "No!" he shouted. He bucked against the dragon-man and threw it off. The creature tried to lunge for him again, and Hellboy grabbed hold of it in midleap, redirected its momentum, and slammed it against the wall. The dragon-man's skull made a dull, unpleasant thunk against the rock, and when he slid down to the ground, he left a streak of blood behind.

  "Crap," Hellboy muttered.

  He had dropped his gun. Now he snatched it up and turned toward the cave entrance. Backlit by the morning sun, he saw several more of the villagers rushing in after them.

  Hellboy pulled the trigger. A spray of rock chips erupted from the wall just inside the cave, but it gave the men of Nakchu village pause.

  "Go," he snapped.

  Tenzin ran. Hellboy followed, still aiming at the cave entrance, until they were around the corner and out of sight. The caves were riddled with small shafts that let light in at intervals, and they hurried through patches of light and darkness.

  "Abe! Stasia!"

  The tunnel became narrower, and lower. Hellboy bent and kept going. Tenzin was ahead of him, which was good. Hellboy was pretty durable. The guide somewhat less so.

  "Stasia!" he shouted.

  The whispering and clicking sounds of pursuit came up the tunnel behind them.

  "Here!" came the call from ahead.

  Her voice.

  Hellboy followed Tenzin into a vast cavern. Far above their heads, small windows in the rock allowed light in. He spotted Stasia first, almost in the center of the room. She had her gun in her hand, but her features were twisted in anguish.

  "What is it?" he asked. "The girl? Did you find her?"

  With the look on Anastasia's face, he didn't know if he wanted an answer. But then she shook her head. Hellboy didn't understand. He glanced around, looking for Abe. He spotted his friend in a darker corner of the cavern. Abe emerged into a shaft of morning sun. He had the Uzi in both hands, but it was almost as though he'd forgotten he was holding it.

  "Abe, what--"

  But then Tenzin started to whisper a prayer, and Hellboy looked past Abe, focusing on the walls of the cavern for the first time. Boxlike shelves had been hewn in the wall, and upon each of them lay a corpse in death's repose. Some of the remains looked almost human. Others were twice ordinary size and had skulls with jaws like a crocodile's. He spun around. Every wall was the same.

  Then Hellboy saw the strange crenellated shapes in the floor where Stasia stood, and he knew that the pale things jutting from the ground were the bones of a true dragon.

  "This is why they didn't want us to come in," Abe said.

  Stasia gazed at Hellboy. "It's their crypt."

  The sounds of pursuit grew suddenly much louder. All four of them turned at once, leveling their weapons at the same entrance Hellboy and Tenzin had used, though there were at least two other tunnels leading away from the burial chamber--probably to other crypts.

  Two dragon-men burst into the chamber. Upon seeing the intruders, they stopped, threw back their heads, and howled in grief. Then, with a hiss, they started across the crypt, flames licking from their eyes.

  A voice barked behind them.

  The two dragon-men stopped and turned to stare at Jangbu, his white, knotted beard making him unmistakable.

  Then another villager slipped past Jangbu and into the chamber. He raised his hands as though in surrender. Smoothly, his features changed again, and in the space of a few heartbeats, he appeared human again.

  "What's this?" Abe asked.

  "I don't know," Hellboy replied.

  "It's him," Anastasia said. "The one I shot."

  She and Tenzin moved toward one another, closing ranks. The guide spoke, addressing Jangbu, but the old man only shook his head sadly. It was the younger one who replied.

  "What's he saying?" Hellboy asked.

  Tenzin held up a hand, wanting him to be patient as he listened to the creature, the saboteur.

  "He's the one who kept trashing the camp," Hellboy said. "He collapsed the excavation of the preparatory chamber."

  The guide shot him a quieting look. Hellboy gestured for him to speed it up. Abe kept his Uzi leveled at the dragon-men.

  At length, Tenzin nodded respectfully to the villager, then turned to Hellboy and the others.

  "His name is Koh. Jangbu is his father. Yes, Koh is one of the men who have been sabotaging the dig. The villagers have been trying to prevent you from opening the preparatory chamber. They believe that now that it is opened, the Dragon King will rise to terrorize the plateau and mountains once more, unless a sacrifice is made."

  "Oh my God," Anastasia breathed.

  Hellboy still held his gun, but lowered the barrel. "Then they did take the girl? Is she alive?"

  The question felt like poison on his tongue.

  Tenzin turned to Koh and shot off the question. The answer came slowly, and when Hellboy saw the regret and humanity in Koh's eyes, he felt sick to his stomach, thinking the worst.

  "The girl was taken by several of the men of Nakchu. They believed that since they were not the ones who disturbed the preparatory chamber, they should not have to sacrifice one of their own. They are the tribe of legend, who provided that sacrifice for centuries, once every year. Their ancestors bred with the dragons who served the Dragon King."

  "It appears we were correct," Abe said.

  "Yeah. Great," Hellboy replied.

  "The girl is alive," Tenzin said.

  Anastasia cocked her pistol and pointed it at Koh, obviously more than willing to shoot him again. "Where is she?"

  "Not here."

  Abe took a step nearer, staring into Koh's eyes as though trying to understand him on some level the others could not. "They only tried to stop us to keep us from defiling their burial chambers."

  Tenzin spoke to Koh.

  Jangbu shouted angrily, emotion seared into his dragon features. The fire that fell from his eyes seemed like flaming tears.

  Hellboy wasn't buying it.

  "What about the ones who tried to stop Redfield from taking off? He wasn't going to fly the chopper in here, so what's that about?" he demanded.

  When Tenzin translated the question, Koh and Jangbu began to argue. Father and son shouted at one another. Hellboy holstered his gun, trying to understand their language. He thought if he could just listen a while longer, he might be able to get it. Languages made sense to him.

  Anastasia took a step nearer to Koh, pistol still raised.

  It was Abe who reached out and took her wrist, pushing the gun's barrel toward the ground. With a sigh, Stasia seemed to deflate, and she held the gun at her side.

  "What are they arguing about?" Abe asked.

  Tenzin looked stricken. In the pale daylight of that chamber, he appeared as though he might throw up.

  "The village is torn. Some want the girl to be sacrificed. Some cannot condone it. Those who want to see Kora given to the Dragon King tried to stop the helicopter from taking off so that he could not warn them."

  "Warn them of what?"

  "That the girl's abductors are bringing her, even now, into the camp. They mean to prepare her for sacrifice. They will kill her today."

  Hellboy felt rage ignite within him. He glared at Jangbu, then at Koh. But when he spoke, it was to his companions.

  "You guys get what that means?"

  Anastasia went to him, staring into his face. She'd see the fury there, he knew, and unlike so many other times, she would not be able to defuse it. Hellboy wasn't even sure she would want to.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked.

>   Abe swore under his breath. "SOP. Redfield will bring back the rest of the team to try to retrieve us."

  "No," Anastasia said. "Professor Bruttenholm wouldn't send all three of them. Surely he'd have someone guarding the preparatory chamber, for this purpose alone."

  "Maybe," Hellboy said. "Or maybe he'd be more worried about us than something that right now is only a theory to him."

  "We've got to get back," Abe said.

  Hellboy unholstered his gun again. He lifted it and pointed it at Jangbu's head.

  "Tenzin, tell them we're leaving. We're sorry about coming in here, into the crypt. But we're going back to the dig and stopping their buddies from murdering that little girl. Tell them there won't be any sacrifice. Not ever. The Dragon King's dead. And if they don't get out of the way, they'll join him."

  As the guide translated, Abe and Anastasia raised their weapons again. Hellboy might have questioned Abe's willingness to shoot the dragon-men before, but if they tried to stop them from getting back to save that little girl, he'd pull the trigger.

  So would Hellboy.

  Jangbu clearly did not doubt it. And now that they'd already been inside the crypt, the villagers had little reason to fight them. At least two or three of their number were dead, but they'd been killed in self defense. Jangbu did not want any more of his people to die. Maybe he didn't want the little girl to be murdered, either; maybe he didn't want her blood on his hands. He and his people had set all of this in motion.

  Now Jangbu stepped aside. He ordered the others to do the same. Some of them withdrew down the tunnel. Others came into the cavern and stood out of the way.

  Hellboy started toward the tunnel through which they'd entered. Tenzin, Anastasia, and Abe followed warily.

  Koh said something, reaching out for Hellboy, who glanced at Tenzin.

  "He wants to come with us. He wants to help save the girl."

  For a long moment, Hellboy glared at the dragon-man. Then he nodded.

  "Come on, then. Maybe your idiot friends will listen to you."

  Chapter 6

  No wind came off the lake. No dust rose from the digging of the team of archaeologists, and though they must have been speaking to one another, Professor Bruttenholm heard no voices. Other than the sifting noise of shovels striking dirt and the occasional chip of tools on stone, there was little sound at all on the plateau of Lake Tashi. The whole mountain range appeared to be holding its breath.

  In his hand he held a bit of potsherd that had been given to him earlier in the day by Dorian Trent, one of the junior members of the British Museum archaeological team. Although in his midthirties, Trent lacked the dynamic ambition of people like Bransfield and Conrad, and as such held a position on the expedition that ranked only a little higher than the students who'd come along. In fact, as far as Bruttenholm could see, the thoughtful, intelligent Trent might well be here primarily to babysit the young men and women who were here to learn. But a single conversation had revealed Trent to be at least as knowledgeable as his more accomplished associates. Bruttenholm had been considering recruiting him for the BPRD's research division.

  That had been hours ago.

  Now, Dorian Trent had been nearly forgotten. Bruttenholm idly ran his thumb over the smoothness of the potsherd, careful not to cut himself on its sharper edges. The design of the piece was typical of the region, according to Trent, save for the repetition of an image along the bottom of a single, strangely hypnotic eye, drawn inside concentric circles. The eye of the Dragon King, Bruttenholm presumed, though he would let the experts make that determination for certain.

  The shush of shovels in dirt became the regular rhythm of his heart as he stood there on the ridge above the slope that led down to the lake. Normally, he found such work fascinating, the unearthing of the history of a people and their customs and beliefs.

  Today, he could only stand, numbly clutching that bit of potsherd, and stare at the sky above the hills into which the archaeologists were digging. He waited for the sound of rotors chopping air or the sight of that helicopter, dark against the sky. Redfield hadn't had time to say more than that the team was under attack, and terrible images wormed their way into Bruttenholm's mind. He feared for his son, and he feared for the others as well. Life had been a chain of such moments ever since he had helped to found the BPRD. Sometimes he wondered why he had not gotten used to it, but he knew the reason.

  Hellboy.

  Having to look out for the lad had kept Trevor Bruttenholm from losing his perspective. Hellboy had kept him human.

  He reached into his pocket. In his kit, he carried a rosary blessed by Pope Joan. In times when he could only wait, and worry, it helped him to hold that talisman. He drew it out of his pocket and wrapped it around his fingers. For a moment he closed his eyes and just breathed in the thin, cool mountain air. Already he had tried to radio Redfield in the chopper but had been unable to get anything but static.

  Professor Bruttenholm had not been put on this earth to wait while others acted. Age had made it difficult for him, and more often than not he remained at BPRD headquarters while field agents performed the tasks he wished he could still manage. But today, he discovered that being in the field, this close to the action, and being unable to help, was far worse.

  "Come back," he whispered.

  With Pope Joan's rosary still twined in his fingers, he turned and glanced east along the ridge, to the place where the preparatory chamber had been unearthed. He'd sent the rest of his team off with the chopper to retrieve Hellboy, Abe, and the others. Young Rafe, one of Dr. Bransfield's prize students, had been set as a guard at the door, along with one of the diggers, a Russian-born Londoner called Sima.

  The Russian was armed with a pistol. No one would give Rafe a gun, though he'd wanted one. Bruttenholm and Dr. Conrad had both forbidden it.

  The professor started toward the excavation of the preparatory chamber. Some of its exterior wall had been revealed, now, and its design and adornment seemed to have once been similar to the interior. There had been no question about the purpose of this structure in those ancient days.

  A sudden clamor arose ahead of him. Shouts and cursing and cries of alarm. A chill went through Bruttenholm. If the trouble was at Nakchu village, what was going on here?

  Quick as he was able, he jogged along the ridge, never more conscious of his age. Half a dozen men and women had gathered at the rim of the hole that led down to the excavated entrance into the preparatory chamber. He saw Han Kyichu and Dorian Trent, an engineer named Priya Arora, and several others.

  As Bruttenholm hurried to join them, Frank Danovich fell in beside him.

  "What the hell's this?"

  "Not a blessed clue, I'm afraid."

  When they'd come within twenty feet of the hole, Professor Bruttenholm saw someone pulling the corpse of Anastasia's prize student from the excavation. Rafe Mattei had been broken so badly that his limbs flailed like a rag doll's as he was lifted from the hole.

  "Goddamn it," Danovich breathed.

  Bruttenholm did not argue.

  Others moved aside to make room as they reached the edge of the hole that had been dug to expose the entrance to the preparatory chamber. The Russian, Sima, also lay in the hole. Bruttenholm recognized him by his belt buckle--an American cowboy buckle--and the still-holstered pistol on his hip. Sima had not had time to draw the weapon before whatever had attacked the men decapitated him.

  His head was nowhere to be seen.

  Dorian started for the open door, which yawned wide with shadows.

  "Not another step, Mr. Trent," Bruttenholm said.

  As one, all of those gathered turned to look at him, some of them with obvious surprise. Until now, though he was the field leader of this BPRD investigation, they'd all seen him as an eccentric old man. Now their eyes said something different.

  "Anyone have a clue who is working in the chamber at present?"

  Professor Kyichu looked at him. "Ellie Morris is there, with Dr. Conra
d. I was about to join them."

  "Good that you had not," Professor Bruttenholm said.

  "Who would do this?" Danovich asked.

  Bruttenholm preferred not to reply, but his gaze shifted for just a moment to Kyichu, who understood immediately.

  "They mean to use the chamber," the man said, realization thinning his voice. "My daughter's in there?"

  "Dorian, Miss Arora, be so kind as to fetch as many of your colleagues as you can, and as many weapons, and return here as quickly as possible, please."

  Trent and Arora hurried away, calling for aid.

  "You think my daughter's in there?" Professor Kyichu shouted, a frantic, mad light in his eyes.

  The white-haired man did not wait for a reply. He jumped down into the hole and started for the entrance to the chamber. A young student and one of the diggers tried to grab him, but Kyichu slapped their hands away. Fools that they were, they allowed him to do so.

  "Danovich, stop him, please," Bruttenholm said.

  As the engineer jumped into the hole and lunged for Han Kyichu, Professor Bruttenholm climbed carefully down after them. He bent over the corpse of the headless Russian and slid the pistol from his holster with the same hand that still clutched Pope Joan's rosary. When he held the gun tightly, the beads of the rosary dug into his fingers and the flesh of his palm.

  Kyichu screamed and railed against Danovich, but the engineer easily overpowered him.

  Professor Bruttenholm walked over to him. "Your daughter is still alive, Han. If we are very fortunate, so are Doctors Morris and Conrad. If you go in there, that might change. Kora, they will not harm unless they can reach the lake, where they intend to sacrifice her. We will not allow them to leave the chamber with your daughter in their hands."

  Even as he spoke, sounds of shouting and running feet filled the air. Diggers came with shovels held like baseball bats. Pistols and rifles and a shotgun or two were leveled at the entrance to the chamber. This was not a military operation, but security dictated the presence of guns, and Bruttenholm felt sure he was now seeing every weapon in the camp.

  The brave members of the expedition surrounded the hole that led to the door into the preparatory chamber. Professor Kyichu stared at them, chest heaving in grief and fear for his daughter, but slowly he relaxed in Danovich's grip.