The Dragon Pool: The Dragon Pool

by Christopher Golden

  "But when I learned, at last, that the little girl I'd been wasn't entirely wrong--that some legends are not only stories, not variations, but history--everything changed for me. I love the idea of proving the zealots wrong. Not that God doesn't exist, but that their beliefs aren't the only ones with truth to them."

  They reached the top of the trail. Back the way they'd come, the mountainside seemed incredibly steep. Hellboy took thin, reedy breaths. The thin air wouldn't bother him so much once he'd had a moment to rest. At the top of the climb, the members of the expedition were spreading out, dropping down to rest on their packs or their butts or their knees. Nearly all of them were gazing at the astonishing views all around them.

  "So close to heaven, up here," Sarah Rhys-Howard said, catching her breath. The woman had to be hard and sharp in her work for the BPRD, but her eyes were wide with wonder and awe.

  "The roof of the world," Anastasia replied.

  Sarah nodded. Others began to wander the hilltop, getting a better look at the mountain ranges in the distance all around them. Only a handful had even taken note of the ancient monastery a hundred yards from where they stood. It was a squat brown building, well over a thousand years old. In the sun it was the pale color of an adobe hut, with blank, windowless walls that sloped upward from a foundation of wide, ancient brick.

  "Not much to look at," Hellboy muttered.

  Agent Rhys-Howard glanced at him. "It's shelter. For now, it will have to do."

  Stasia slid her arm into Hellboy's smoothly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Don't worry. If Lao is as good as his word, we'll have your man Redfield in his chopper and one of Lao's helicopters up here before the afternoon's half-over. Two trips, and we'll have everyone away from here."

  Hellboy didn't reply. The idea of relying on Lao's word didn't sit well with him, but they had no choice.

  Sarah and Meaney began to bark orders, prodding and guiding the archaeologists, engineers, and diggers as though they were lost sheep. Frank Danovich started to help out, and the people started moving. They trusted the engineer, who'd stuck around in spite of his broken arm, maybe because he sensed that. With all they'd seen, these people needed someone to trust.

  Hellboy stepped away from Anastasia and set down the gear he'd been carrying. Hopefully, the expedition members would retrieve it once they decided where they wanted to set up camp inside the old monastery. If not, he'd carry it inside. For now, he rested, arching his back, stretching his legs and neck.

  "You all right?" Stasia asked.

  "Fine. You?"

  With a groan she set down her pack. "Just need a few minutes before we start grave-hunting."

  "Me too." He looked at her, his arm still feeling her touch. "You were right, you know, about legends."

  Stasia furrowed her brow. "How so?"

  "Seems to me pretty much everything is true, in some fashion. Legends and myths and monsters...I run across the real thing all the time. Yeah. Everything is true. Which means it oughta be chaos, right? So how come it always seems to me like there's some kind of order to it all?"

  She slid down to the ground and lay back against the pack like she was on her living room floor, watching TV. "Design, you mean? Some kind of divine influence?"

  Hellboy cleared his throat--recognizing it as a trait he'd picked up from his father--and shook his head. "Didn't say anything about divine, did I? Yeah, maybe I think there's a design to it all, some kind of answer at the bottom of all these mysteries, if we could just dig down far enough."

  Anastasia took off her Yankees cap and pulled out the elastic she'd used to hold her hair in a ponytail. She shook it out and stared at him, troubled.

  "I wonder if you're right. If you are, I wonder if anyone could ever decipher that design, if it exists."

  Again, Hellboy stretched. He watched Sarah and Meaney checking out the entrance to the monastery, weapons drawn. Meaney went in alone, leaving Sarah with the civilians. He'd be checking the place out for animals or people, though Koh said the place had been empty for centuries, and it looked it.

  "Makes my head hurt to think about it," he said.

  "You know, you're a legend yourself, now. Or you will be."

  Meaney reappeared, and the evacuees started carrying their gear inside the monastery. Hellboy noticed that Koh and Tenzin hung around the entrance. That was good. It was best they not get too comfortable. Tenzin turned and watched him, waiting.

  "I don't know. People know I exist. I was on the cover of Life way back when. I'm no mystery."

  "To a lot of people you are. A big part of the world's population thinks you're a hoax or just a story."

  "I'm the bogeyman," Hellboy said.

  "Only to the bogeymen," Stasia said, propped on her elbows, her hair spilling around her. In another life, they would've been on a picnic or something. The way she lay there, he could almost imagine it--sandwiches and glasses of wine. Another life.

  "So I'm a legend, huh? Guess that means someday, some archaeologist will come along and dig up my bones, try to make sense of what they find."

  Stasia stood, brushing off the seat of her trousers, and picked up her pack. She slid it over her shoulder, and when she looked at him, there was a terrible melancholy in her eyes.

  "No one will be around to dig you up. You'll probably outlive all of humanity, and archaeology. You'll be the only archaeologist left."

  Hellboy stared at her, a terrible weight on his heart. "Wow. You sure know how to cheer a guy up."

  She laughed softly. "It's a gift."

  Together, they walked toward the monastery, where Tenzin and Koh waited. The time had come to discover whether Dwenjue was more than just a legend.

  Clouds had begun to roll across the sky by midafternoon. At first they seemed harmless enough, but soon white wisps gave way to low-slung, ominous black clouds, and it seemed certain a storm would soon arrive. For the moment, however, there was only that electric frisson in the air that preceded a thunderstorm.

  Professors Bruttenholm and Kyichu, Agent Pinborough, Mr. Lao, an archaeology student named Corriveau, and a digger called Gibson had created a makeshift camp a few hundred yards from the ravages of the original. The hillside to the north was not quite so steep, here, which provided the illusion that they might make some kind of escape if the Dragon King emerged and set after them.

  Absurd, of course. The swiftness of the worm would not allow any escape. If it came after them, their choices were to fight or to die.

  Abe Sapien glanced over his shoulder at the men who'd remained behind to watch for the return of the Dragon King. The glance was instinctive--he tried to remain aware of his surroundings at all times. The entire plateau seemed strangely silent to him. Even the wind seemed to have died. The loudest thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing.

  The surface of Lake Tashi reflected the dark, pregnant clouds, the water a depthless stone gray. It ought to have been silver or blue, but Abe imagined it turning red or orange, glowing with fire below. He was not prone to such fancy, but the lake seemed so placid and ordinary that its very calm disturbed him.

  At the shore, he paused. Only up close could he see the bit of mist that had begun to rise from the water. His eyes narrowed. Not mist--steam. The heat emanating from the water felt oppressive. A few inches from shore, two dead fish floated and bobbed as the water gently lapped the edge of the lake.

  Abe surveyed the surface of the lake again, searching for some ripple in the water that would indicate the presence of something large moving beneath the still water. Images filled his mind of the Dragon King surging upward to snatch him in its jaws, there on the shore. Abe felt grateful that Hellboy had insisted he wear his heavy belt, for there might be something in one of its pouches that could have saved him. The pistol never felt right to him, weighing him down, throwing off his balance--and it wouldn't do him a damn bit of good against the flying serpent they'd all seen during the night--but it might buy him a moment or two. Sometimes a mome
nt was enough.

  He crouched by the water. The sulfurous, chemical smell that wafted up from the lake made him wrinkle his nose and gag. Abe cupped a hand over his nose and mouth to try to limit how much of that odor got through. With the other, he reached out to dip his fingers into the water.

  Hissing through his teeth, Abe pulled back his hand. It might not be hot enough to boil, but the lake water had seared his fingers. For the first time, he realized that it was not impossible that it would come to a boil, if nothing was done. Already the fish were dying--were probably all dead. Soon what vegetation remained underwater would also be destroyed by the superheating of the lake.

  He brought his stinging fingers to his nostrils and inhaled. The power of the scent made his eyes water. Abe blinked and stood up, backing away. He wiped his fingers on the bottom of his jacket and stepped back. When his boot hit a patch of soft soil on the shore, his heel sunk in deeply. Some of the sandy earth slipped away, spilling toward the water, and a small channel formed. Water rushed in to fill the depression.

  Abe stared down at the tiny rivulet he'd made with that one step, collapsing part of the shore. The soil seemed to be spilling downward into the lake, like the tiniest avalanche. There had been no further tremors since the one that had harbingered the appearance of the Dragon King, but the lake bottom remained unsteady. Judging by the loose soil on the shore, the situation had worsened.

  He backed away, pulse racing. He shook his head and turned, striding quickly toward the half dozen others who'd remained behind with him. Corriveau and Gibson were bent over a map of the region, talking with each other and gesturing from time to time to the ridge where the excavated ruins had been buried once more. Neil Pinborough sat with an assault rifle slung across his shoulder, gripped in both hands, staring at the surface of the lake with total vigilance.

  Nearby, Professor Bruttenholm and Professor Kyichu were conducting a conversation with Mr. Lao. The black-suited man showed no sign that their words were even reaching him.

  Abe strode over to them.

  "Excuse me, Professor," he said to Bruttenholm. "You asked for an update."

  "I did. Proceed, Abraham."

  Abe glanced at Lao and Kyichu. He'd liked the linguistics expert at first, but now he wondered. As for Lao, Abe worked with one government agency and didn't trust it overmuch. He certainly wasn't going to trust the secretive, hard-edged lackey of an oppressive government. But Bruttenholm had asked for his report.

  So he gave them all an estimate of the water temperature and its probable toxicity.

  "I don't think the rising heat is our most significant problem, though," he added.

  Professor Bruttenholm frowned at that, reaching up to stroke his goatee. "Elaborate, please."

  "The lake bottom is unstable. We know that. I believe it's getting worse. I noticed a strange phenomenon on the shore, soil pouring into the water. I've postulated massive hollows under the lake. What concerns me is the possibility of a sinkhole of some kind. If the ground shifts, the entire plateau could collapse into the earth."

  Mr. Lao stared at him, expressionless. Abe knew such things troubled many people, but he could not be intimidated by such tactics. He was virtually expressionless himself.

  "You are suggesting a major geological event," Lao said.

  "Yeah. That's what I'm suggesting."

  Professor Kyichu laughed softly. "You've guessed this by watching a bit of the shore erode into the lake, a natural process that is constant."

  "What I saw was not natural. I'm sorry to say it, but the Dragon King may not be the worst fate in store for us. If we stay here, we could be swallowed by the earth itself. Or buried alive by some kind of rockfall."

  Kyichu glanced over at the other two remaining members of the archaeological team. "We're not going. We're staying right here until the excavation can be reopened. I'm not allowing anyone else to take credit for finding what I've already discovered."

  "You?" Professor Bruttenholm said, alarm lighting his eyes. "Don't you mean your team? Dr. Bransfield is the leader of our expedition. You cannot think to take all of the credit yourself."

  "That's not it at all," Kyichu scowled. "I want the credit to remain where it belongs, with those of us who made the discovery, not whoever shows up to scour the land of dangers and lays claim to the artifacts and history that will be found here."

  Mr. Lao stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly, betraying the tiniest concern. "Credit where it is due, Professor Kyichu. As long as the artifacts in question remain in the hands of their rightful custodians."

  Professor Bruttenholm arched an eyebrow. Abe thought for a moment that he might challenge Lao's ideas about what constituted the rightful custodianship of artifacts from an ancient Tibetan excavation, but then the old man turned his focus to Kyichu.

  "Han, I won't attempt to convince you to leave the dig site again--"

  "Excellent. It's becoming tiresome," Professor Kyichu replied.

  Bruttenholm's nostrils flared in irritation. Abe had studied the man's facial expressions for years. It was one of the reasons he found himself troubled by Lao's almost total lack of such expression.

  "I'll only remind you," Professor Bruttenholm went on, "that Kora has suffered a terrible trauma, and now she's been separated from her father so soon afterward. To lose you at this point would be a blow from which she might never recover."

  Hatred flashed in Han Kyichu's eyes. "Don't trouble yourself, Trevor. Kora understands what must be done here."

  That was when Abe knew that the professor had become truly irrational. He had seemed to love his daughter very much, and been terrified for her, but from the moment the Dragon King had shown himself, Professor Kyichu's priorities had shifted drastically. Abe could not be certain if it was fame or simply the lifelong dream of an archaeologist to discover something significant, but the man had obviously subordinated all other concerns to his need to be associated with this project. His personal safety, and his daughter's well-being, were secondary. Abe had never been accused of callousness but began to feel that Han Kyichu deserved whatever would come next.

  "Gentlemen, I think you might not be getting how much danger we're in with every moment we stay here," Abe told them.

  "We're not fools, creature," Lao said dismissively.

  Abe bristled. He thought about decking the man. If Hellboy had been there, he probably would have held Lao upside down by one ankle and shaken him, just for amusement.

  Professor Bruttenholm flinched as if he'd been slapped. He stepped between them. "You may refer to my associate as Agent Sapien or Mr. Sapien or even Abe--"

  "Actually, Mr. Sapien would be fine," Abe interrupted.

  Lao held his hands up in apology. "I am sorry. I did not realize the word would offend you. But the sentiment remains. We're well aware of the danger."

  Abe had his doubts. Did Lao truly understand that whatever geological changes were taking place might be far more perilous than the Dragon King? But he had issued the warning. As long as the British Museum expedition members were evacuated before anything worse happened, the job was done.

  Professor Kyichu, perhaps fuming over the words exchanged with Bruttenholm and the suggestion that he did not have his daughter's best interests at heart, turned and walked over to the student, Corriveau, and the digger, Gibson--the only two foolish enough to stay behind with him.

  Abe lost track of the conversation for a moment, and when he tried to catch up, he found Professor Bruttenholm and Mr. Lao discussing weapons.

  "--realize that bullets and even mortar fire will probably not be sufficient to destroy the Dragon King?" Bruttenholm said.

  Lao nodded. "Let us hope that your Hellboy is successful in discovering how the beast was defeated the last time it emerged. I have given it some thought, however. There are other sorts of helicopters I could summon if they become necessary. But it would take time to get them here. While we wait, I have another idea, a way that perhaps we might at least slow the serpent down. On th
e next evacuation trip that our pilots make to Lhasa, I will have them retrieve something that will help us. That is, if you'll allow me to instruct your pilot."

  Abe stiffened. He didn't like the sound of that.

  But Professor Bruttenholm nodded. "As long as your request doesn't interfere with getting those people out of here, we'll cooperate fully."

  Lao smiled. "I thought you might."

  Moments later, they heard the rhythmic chop of a helicopter and looked up to see one of the two under Lao's command speeding toward them from the west. Twelve commandos--for that's what they truly were--leaped from the chopper as it set down and rushed toward Lao. They lined up, at attention, until he barked at them in Chinese as though he was embarrassed by their deference. The commandos took up a position in a scattered pattern along the lakeshore, on guard. As if they would do more than annoy the Dragon King.

  Lao went to speak to the pilot of the helicopter, presumably about retrieving the British Museum expedition members from the monastery on the eastern hill.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Redfield returned from Lhasa, ready for another evacuation run. Abe briefed him on the monastery and the professor's agreement with Lao before Bruttenholm brought the man from Beijing over to speak with the burly, bearded pilot.

  Redfield didn't seem to like working with Lao any more than Abe did, but he didn't balk. Abe noticed that the pilot's eyes wandered to the surface of the lake several times while Lao spoke to him. The fourth time, Abe frowned and glanced over to see what kept Redfield so distracted.

  The steam off the lake had altered. This was no low mist, but a fogbank of steam in the cold air.

  And beneath the surface lurked an orange glow. The fire under the lake had grown, and spread.

  Paris, France, 28 February, 1981

  Hellboy could never have imagined a more perfect day. Winter had seemed to retreat for the day, and there'd been a hint of spring in the air. Stasia was still bundled up in a thick coat, but several times the sun had shone so strongly down upon them that he had carried it for her, over his arm, like a true gentleman. It felt odd, but also nice.