by Brian Craig
And with that parting shot, she walked past him. When he turned, although it was only a moment later, she was gone. He did not think that she would have much difficulty returning whence she had come, if Semjaza came to meet her.
He knelt down beside Jacomo Falquero, and found that the unfortunate man was not quite dead. The stricken Falquero raised a cadaverous hand to touch his own fingers to the blood which leaked sullenly from his throat, and looked at it in terrified surprise.
"Serafima," he whispered. "Oh, Serafima, forgive me!"
"She will forgive you," said Orfeo, softly. "You have done what you have done, and there was not one whit less braveiy in it because we were the victims of a vile deceit. Whichever god you pray to will know that well enough. You are a fine and good man, Jacomo Falquero."
Whether Falquero heard any of what he said he could not tell—and by the time he had finished, the unlucky man was dead. Orfeo gently took the adamantine amulet from around the dead man's neck, and put it carefully away If it still had virtue in it, it was too valuable to leave behind.
Then he stood up and looked about him, wondering which way to go. Even if his destiny would allow him no other choice than to seek the treacherously loving arms of Morella d'Arlette, he would far rather do that than die in the darkness with only a pale corpse for company. No matter how bleak his future might seem, it had still to be faced.
He went on into the eerie gloom.
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Chapter Twelve
The way by which Orfeo had reached the dim-lit underworld had wound about so tortuously that he had no idea which direction was which, nor whether he had descended far enough within the crag to be on a level with Rodrigo Cordova's house. That was undoubtedly the place of safety to which Arcangelo had intended to take Serafima Quixana had they succeeded in their attempt to rescue her from diAvila's clutches, but how the priest had intended to find his way there Orfeo had no idea.
He dared not extinguish the candle in his lantern—although the inner light of the cavern was bright enough to let him see his way—because he had no way of lighting it again should he once more find himself in total darkness. He estimated that the wax might last for another two hours—which would be ample time for him to traverse the distance which separated him from the Cordova house if only he knew which way to go, but which seemed all too short a span for any lengthy exploration of this eerie realm.
He had set off in the direction opposite to that from which he had come, his eyes searching the gloom for any sign that humans had ever passed this way before. According to Arcangelo's story, enemies of the last Quixana Duke had made their way into the castle from Cordova's house, and it was conceivable that some sign of their passage remained—though the feet that there were 159
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things living here, and that there was a continual leakage of water through the caverns, meant that any such traces would most likely have been obliterated long ago.
As he made his uncomfortable way across the broken landscape he heard the sound of many creatures splashing through the shallow pools as they sought to escape his light. Once or twice he glimpsed the red glow of a rat's eyes, but only the pale white lizards stayed still as he approached, hypnotized by the light instead of frightened by it. Bats and birds sometimes came close enough to make him duck, because they only had clear air in which to fly at, or just above, the level of his head; beyond that was the inverted forest of densely-clustered stalactites.
Several of the birds which he saw seemed to be very ordinary-sparrows, finches and starlings—and he knew that there must be cracks and crevices in the outer surface of the rock which allowed them to come in and out. This gave him hope that there might be more than one way out of the caves, and that when his candlelight was gone he might still be able to look for beams of sunlight or to follow draughts of fresher air in the hope of finding a means of escape. And if all else failed.. .but the idea of trying to feed himself by trapping birds and rats and eating them raw was not a thought he cared to dwell upon.
As he went further the space above his head became increasingly constricted, and he found himself dodging the stalactites as well as the stalagmites. It was as though he was walking into the many-toothed mouth of some gargantuan monster—and this was another thought which he found too uncomfortable to keep in his mind for long. The natural light of the cavern was weaker now, and he had obviously crossed the greater part of the entrapped space, but there was no sign of any exit ahead of him as the floor and ceiling gradually came closer. Many of the stalactites had here met up with their stalagmitic counterparts, to form great columns and pillars which often stood in pairs like gateways, but whenever he moved through these portals he found nothing beyond but more of the same.
It was difficult to maintain a straight course, and he decided that he would go to the left, keeping to this region in the hope of finding a path into the darkness which might conceivably lead to more dwarfish workings, and hence to a route into the cellars 160
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of one or another of Zaragoz's aristocratic houses.
When he heard more noises behind him he was not at first inclined to be alarmed, having become used to the shuffling sounds of shy and solitary rats and the fluttering of the birds, but his ear soon told him that there was something different in the pattern and texture of these sounds, and he turned to look back, holding the lantern out to see what was behind him.
The moment he stopped and turned the sounds also stopped—which, far from reassuring him, only reinforced the sudden conviction that he was being followed. He wondered briefly whether the rats which inhabited the caves might be coming together into the kind of horde which he had heard moving beneath the cell he had shared with Falquero, but that seemed unlikely-rats did not hunt in packs, so far as he knew, and came together in such huge numbers in that sewer only because the lure of food drew them from far afield. If there was anything here to draw them it would be Falquero's dead body, not a moving target like himself.
He remembered, though, that Falquero had spoken of other things which hunted the rats.
He continued, listening much more carefully now to see what could be deduced from the sounds which had made him anxious.
Within minutes he became convinced that whatever was making the noises was much bigger than a rat, and that there was probably more than one. He unsheathed his sword, though the fact that both his hands were now occupied made it more difficult to move across the highly irregular terrain.
Once, he stopped abruptly for a second time, spinning on his heel and thrusting the lantern out into the darkness, but the light caught only the faintest flash of white at the limit of visibility, which might have been anything at all.
Orfeo knew that his sword was of limited use in his present surroundings, but he did not want to go back to the more open and brightly-lit centre of the cave—if he was to find a way out then he must find a passage leading away from that region, which he could only do by skirting it. He continued, therefore, to carry his unsheathed blade, trailing it behind him whenever he passed through a narrow gap so that if he were to be attacked from behind he would be able to bring the point into play with minimal 161
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inconvenience.
When the attack came, though, it came from the front. As he struggled to pull himself through a narrow gap he stood sideways, with the lantern before and the sword behind. Without any warning at all something reached down from a group of stalactites and snatched the lantern from his hand, hurling it away to bounce, splintering as it went, into a pool where its light was promptly extinguished.
Something white and huge then dropped down from above directly into his path, and came at him furiously. His eyes, accustomed to the candlelight, found it difficult to focus on the figure, but it seemed long-armed and ape-like, with great oval eyes which caught the faint light, glowing like massive yellow gems.
Because he could not bring his sword around he tried to fend the mara
uder off with his free hand, but his reach, though long for a man, was unequal to that task, and he felt long-nailed fingers trying to close about his neck. The stench of the thing's breath was terrible, and left no doubt in his mind that what he faced was a beast of prey. As his fingers closed over the slender arm, attempting to pull it free, he felt thick coarse hair.
He felt another snatch, as something from behind tied to grab the sword from his other hand—but this second assailant found the advantage of surprise inadequate to ensure success, because Orfeo's hand instinctively clutched the hilt more tightly as soon as the blade was touched, and he was able to thrust the point at the would-be thief.
Where the blade caught the monster he could not tell, but he felt the force of the impact and there rang out a most appalling scream of rage and pain. He thrust again, blindly, while he still tried to force his other attacker back. As the strangling hands tried to crush his windpipe the fingernails drew blood from his neck, but the scratches were slight and he realized that the slender arms were not very powerful. Though he could not force the attacker's arms up and out he found that when he grabbed a good handful of hair and yanked powerfully downwards the arm gave way and the clutching hand came away from his throat.
Orfeo pulled his body backwards from the narrow cleft which confined him, stabbing all the while with his weapon. He struck 162
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home again, eliciting a second anguished howl, and this second cut was evidently sufficient to persuade the attacker that it was time to give up. The scream was drawn out into a long keening sound which dwindled as the beast fled into the darkness.
He pulled the other creature through the gap after him, at last positioning himslf so that he could bring his sword into play. The thing was still groping for his throat, fighting against the grip which Orfeo had upon the hair of its arm, and Orfeo was able to bring the blade round and thrust upwards into its belly. The blow was a killing one, the point being driven through the internal organs towards the heart and lungs, and the beast went instantly limp.
It had not even time to scream, but only emitted a feint, plaintive whimper which turned into a throaty death-rattle.
Dead and bloodied the thing was even more odorous than it had been when alive, but Orfeo nevertheless knelt to inspect the corpse. He had not seen its like before, nor had he ever heard tales of such a beast. It was vaguely humanoid in form, being capable of standing upright—though its feet were adapted for gripping too, so that it could live among the stalactites as easily as the stalagmites. It had hands not so very different from his own—but it was covered in hair and its teeth were the pointed daggers of a carnivore, shaped to rip apart a struggling victim.
For a moment he had thought he was beset by daemons, but now he saw the dead thing he recognized it as a strange freak of nature: a cave-dwelling ape, an eater of birds and rats. The way that the pair of them had attacked him simultaneously from front and rear suggested a rudimentary intelligence, but it was no kin to goblins.
He went to retrieve the lantern, but it was useless to him now and he let it lie. Like it or not, he would have to make what use he could of the faint light emanating from the roof of this little subterranean world.
He continued on his way, but now there was nothing to his right hand side but a vast confusion of dark shadows, and it was impossible to tell where a tunnel might begin if any did. He cursed the bad luck which had allowed the beasts to attack him—which had been bad for them too, given that one of them now lay dead.
Perhaps the other would dine on his late friend's corpse, and bring his—or her—entire family to the feast, but he did not think that 163
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a cannibal orgy could really be counted to their credit or their good fortune.
He ran his finger overthe scratches in his neck, but they seemed very trivial.
His eyes roamed everywhere, looking for a shaft of daylight penetrating the gloom, and periodically he stopped to test the air, hoping to detect a cool current which he could follow to its source—but there was nothing.
Now that he no longer carried his lantern the creatures of the cavern were not disposed to give him such a wide berth. The bats and birds zoomed close by him, making him move his head reflexively—bumping it once or twice as he did so. Whenever he stopped to look around he could see the tiny eyes of rats and reptiles, which seemed always to be pointed in his direction. There was no comfort at all in knowing that they could see him far more clearly than he could see them.
There was even less comfort in knowing that if he did pass close to subtle signs and marks which might otherwise have guided him out of this place, he would now be unable to detect them. His eyes adapted themselves as well as they could to the silvery radiance, but it was barely adequate to allow him to find a path between the great limestone spikes which grew up from the floor and down from the roof.
Eventually, he knew, he would pass by the entrance to the passage which had let him into this half-world, but he did not think he would recognize it, even if he were able to see it. The possibility that he might follow it in error, all the way back to the rim of the pit, was one he had to bear in mind—as was the possibility that any new passage which he found might be equally well-supplied with pitfalls. As he saw no passage at all, however, it was an anxiety which could be deferred.
He began to think of ingenious plans involving the unravelling of thread from one of his garments, which would at least allow him to know if he accidentally crossed his own path, but there did not seem to be enough profit in any such scheme to recommend it.
Hunger was beginning to make itself felt in his belly, but he ignored the pangs. He had been hungry before, and knew the importance of carrying on regardless of it.
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He wondered, too, whether he would ultimately stumble across Falquero's body again—and what kind of feast he might interrupt if he did.
He stood still for a while, to rest his weary limbs. He still had his sword in his hand, and no intention of sheathing it again, but he was painfully reminded that he had enemies other than the apes when an unusually bold rat nipped his ankle. He cursed loudly and kicked out—and when he saw several pairs of red eye-lights suddenly switch off as their owners turned to run he realized how close they had crept while his attention had wavered.
He turned, uneasily, to see what was behind him, but the true danger was above him, and was upon him without warning.
Another of the ape-creatures dropped upon his head and wrapped its long arms around his neck. Within an instant, two or three more were upon him, having swung down from the stalactites.
He stabbed with his sword but it was already too late to make good use of the thin pointed blade—what he needed now was something heavier, with a long cutting edge.
He thrust outwards desperately with his arms, trying to dislodge the beasts which were clinging to him. The stench of their breath and their fur was dreadful, and he felt that he could not breathe.
He shouted, as loudly as his tortured lungs would let him, hoping that the sound would cause alarm where his enfeebled struggles had not—but these were not such stupid beasts as to be frightened when they had the upper hand. The one which had an arm around his neck tightened its grip, while those which clung on to his arms dragged them down to prevent his fighting back.
He staggered and slipped, and was brought to his knees. A filthy hand groped about his features, and he shut his eyes to prevent their being scratched.
Teeth scraped his struggling body as they tried to fasten upon his left shoulder. Others gained better purchase, sinking into the flesh of his thigh.
He was convinced that the end had come.
Then the arm which gripped him about the neck was withdrawn, and he heard a yelp of pain from the ape which owned it. The other apes cried out, too—and their cries mingled with exclamations of alarm and horror which were definitely human.
When lie opened his eyes he saw that there
was light in plenty, 165
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cast by at least three bright lanterns. As the apes bounded from him, sped on their way by pricks and slashes adninistered by several blades, he collapsed to the ground, felling on his back. He felt utterly helpless, exhausted of all strength. But he found sufficient energy to raise a smile when he recognized the fece which was looking down at him.
It was the fece of Rodrigo Cordova.
The joy of it made him want to shout again, but he could not find the necessary breath.
"Orfeo!" said Cordova, astonished and anxious. "We searched day and night for you! How did you come here? We had to break down a felse wall in order to pass from the cellars into the dwarfish workings—and by then our quest had become a different one, for we certainly did not expect to find you inside the mountain."
"My friend," said Orfeo, faintly, reaching up to grasp a hastily-proffered hand, "I cannot tell you how glad I am that you found that path."
"But did you come here of your own accord?" asked Cordova.
"If you did not, then I must have a traitor among my servants."
"It is a long story, my lord," whispered Orfeo, but could say no more, because a wave of giddiness swept over him. The relief of being found had ruled it unnecessary that he should any longer draw upon reserves of strength which were already much depleted.
It was Rodrigo Cordova who completed what he had tried to say: "And this is not the place to tell it. We must take you to a bed now, and let you enlighten us when you are better."
Orfeo did not quite lose consciousness when he was picked up.
Two of Cordova's servants carried him across the underworld, retracing the steps by which they had come to their fortunate meeting.
Orfeo was later able to remember, albeit dimly, their arrival in the cellars of the house and the ascent into the upper part. He remembered being laid upon the bed in the room under the eaves, and being stripped of his clothing so that his many wounds might be bathed. After that, however, his memories became blurred and entangled with nightmarish dreams in which he believed himself still to be trapped inside the crag, pestered by rats and chased by ghostly grey apes.
