Tales of the Red Panda: Pyramid of Peril

by Gregg Taylor

  “I hate waiting,” he said.

  “I can hear you, you know,” the Stranger called without looking around.

  “Sorry,” the Red Panda said back, before turning to Kit and putting his finger to his lips to signal that she should be quiet. She stared back at him and almost did herself an injury trying to answer him only with her eyes, but he wasn’t really looking any more.

  There was a pale blue emanation of energy from Max’s hands, an aura which stayed static for several minutes as the Sorcerer focused on sights unseen by his friends who waited nearby, if not patiently, then at least quietly. At length, Falconi turned around to face them.

  “Well,” he said and then paused, as if not knowing quite where to begin. “There is clearly a substantial amount of open space inside that mountain.”

  “Could it be caves?” the Red Panda asked.

  “Hey!” the Flying Squirrel protested.

  The Stranger shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “There are hard edges to the work. Flat walls and right angles, things you don’t find in nature.”

  The Red Panda looked cross. “How can you tell all of that?” he asked.

  “How much time do you have?” the Stranger asked sweetly.

  “Almost none,” the Red Panda deadpanned.

  “Magic,” Falconi said simply, as if this explained everything, which in all fairness, it kind of did.

  “What’s all of this cave stuff?” the Flying Squirrel said, disgruntled. “I thought we were lookin’ for a pyramid, like I said.”

  “We were,” the Red Panda agreed, “but we found tremendous open space instead.”

  “You see, my dear,” the Stranger said, “most pyramids are almost entirely solid. Even the mighty Pyramid of Cheops has staggeringly little open space inside. But this is something else entirely.”

  The Flying Squirrel blinked at them. How could two such brilliant men be so very dumb? “You’re saying that the big pyramid-shaped thing can’t be a pyramid because it has too much space inside?”

  “Yes,” came the reply from both men at once.

  “Space that was obviously man-made?”

  “Yes,” Falconi admitted.

  “So.” Kit was bringing things in for a landing now. “Regardless of what you boys decide to call it, can we all agree that this particular big, pyramid-shaped thing is probably what we’re looking for?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “It’s an interesting point,” the Red Panda said at last.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a very small bow.

  “In any event,” the Stranger said, running his left hand along the surface of the rock as the blue glow returned to his outstretched fingers. “Unless I miss my guess, there is a way in just… here.”

  “A way in?” the Red Panda asked incredulously. “It looks like a wall of solid rock.”

  “I’m sorry,” Falconi corrected himself. “It is. I meant that under the wall of solid rock is a way in to the original structure.”

  “We can’t just say pyramid?” Kit asked.

  “If it helps you, I suppose,” the Stranger agreed, only slightly grudgingly.

  “There’s a door here?” the Red Panda said, intrigued.

  Falconi nodded. “Or a significant structural flaw. In any event, I believe we could gain entry here, if we could get through the outer layer of rock.”

  “How deep is it?” the Red Panda asked.

  “Not more than four or five feet,” the Stranger said brightly.

  The Flying Squirrel whistled. “Might as well be four or five miles,” she said.

  The Stranger smiled. “Well, not to be immodest,” he said, “but I could blast our way through in a moment. At least I could under normal circumstances, and I am feeling quite a bit better than I was.”

  Kit wrinkled up her nose. “I detect an if or a but coming up in a heck of a hurry, don’t I?” she asked.

  “Well,” Max said, “our foes would surely hear such an explosion, magic or not. And once the door is open, it is open. How would we prevent them from entering after us?”

  “After you?” A voice rang out from everywhere and nowhere. “My dear Mister Falconi, we will not follow you into the Pyramid of Anubis.”

  “Pavli,” Falconi said as if it were a curse, and spat as he did so.

  “I don’t see nothin’!” the Flying Squirrel called.

  The desert winds began to shriek and howl around them. Sand flew through the air, cutting like a razor as it lashed at them, whirling higher and higher into the air, sucking the hot, dry air away from them with terrifying speed.

  The Red Panda struggled for breath, fighting to see through the blinding, unnatural sandstorm. He dropped to his knees, losing the battle to remain conscious. He could see the others fall, helpless, and just before he joined them, Pavli’s voice rang out once more.

  “The secrets of the Eye shall soon be in our hands!”

  Twenty

  “Enough of this!” a deep voice boomed from what seemed like somewhere far away. The Red Panda shook his head as he forced himself back to consciousness. His hand moved reflexively to his face, but he was unable to complete the motion. Grimly, he realized that his arms were bound behind his back.

  “Rope,” he thought. “Well, that won’t take long when the moment comes.”

  But this was not the time. His eyes opened beneath his mask and he saw the tall, dark shape of Thatcher looming over him. No… not over him, over a wiry man in a dark suit and a fez who was sitting on the ground holding his left arm in considerable pain. “Hello El-Nemr,” the Red Panda smiled. “Still alive, I see.”

  El-Nemr said nothing, but glowered at the man in the mask. The Red Panda turned his head and saw another man, dressed much like El-Nemr, lying prone in the sand as if he had caught the full weight of the mask’s electrical charge. It was a safety feature in case their enemies tried to remove their masks, and it usually succeeded in making people very angry. The Red Panda could see that El-Nemr was furious, and he let his grin grow wider in mockery, but said nothing more.

  “Enough of this foolishness, Pavli,” Thatcher snapped. “Why bother with a mask when we have already seen his face?”

  “Ask him,” Pavli said, fanning himself slowly with his white Panama hat.

  The Red Panda’s smile faded, but did not retreat entirely. “You saw what I allowed you to see,” he said.

  “You see, Thatcher?” Pavli asked. “Disguised. Playing the part of this American millionaire, as if such a person would really undertake a vile business like this.”

  August Fenwick was neither an American nor anything quite as pedestrian as a millionaire, but it didn’t really seem like the time to say so.

  Thatcher was unmoved. “Do you really think that you would know him if he were unmasked?” he asked. “Let him keep his child’s costume.”

  Pavli shrugged. “So be it,” he said. “His woman may have a similar device, but we will have to have that mask of hers off one way or another. She will fetch a very good price, my friend.”

  The Red Panda said nothing.

  “Don’t be quite so hasty,” Thatcher said with a smile that showed his rotten teeth.

  “Do you really think that I would waste such beauty on a butcher like yourself?” Pavli said in mock protest.

  “You may not have a choice,” Thatcher said in perfect seriousness.

  “You see, my friend?” Pavli said. “Things are much worse than you think. You have brought us Maxwell Falconi. We do not need you.”

  “We do not need any of them!” Thatcher roared. “They have shown us what we should have seen with our own eyes. The Eye of Anubis is within my grasp!”

  “Our grasp, dear Thatcher,” Pavli’s voice warned. “And then within the grasp of our… clients.”

  “Who are they?” the Red Panda asked.

  “Ah, still trying to solve a mystery,” Pavli said, amused. “I am afraid that professional courtesy does not permit me to share that k
ind of information. Suffice to say that they have a great deal of money and a willingness to part with it, which are two of the qualities that I admire most in a business relationship.”

  “Pavli, you twisted creature,” Falconi’s voice rang out as he awoke. “You would sell such a horror as the Eye? You would put power like that in another’s hand? It is not of this Earth!”

  Pavli shrugged. “The heart wants what it wants, my friend. Mine wants money and the luxury that it buys.”

  “What use is money when the world stands in tatters?” the Stranger cried.

  “Pah!” Pavli spat in disgust. “Typical moaning of the Council and the errand boys. You could have been much more than this, Falconi. With your power, your intellect-”

  “I could have destroyed the world and damned its people even more quickly than you?” Falconi called. “What glorious ambition! At least your partner is an honest man. His lust for power is no secret. He will not part with the Eye once it is his, not were the price ten times what you will fetch for it!”

  Pavli shifted uncomfortably. “We have an arrangement,” he said, “and we will both honor it.”

  From nearby, there was a small moan as the Flying Squirrel awoke.

  “Boss?” she said, if only barely.

  Pavli was glad of the distraction. “Perhaps my friend Thatcher will console himself with the girl after all,” he said with a smile at the Red Panda, and he walked over toward where Kit lay on the ground, her arms bound as the Red Panda’s were. “He will pull her apart, cell by cell. Kill her piece by piece, but keep her alive for longer than might seem possible. She will suffer as no one ever has, all for his dark pleasure.”

  Kit rolled over quickly and brought her boot up directly into Pavli’s groin as hard as she could from her prone position. Pavli gasped and stayed on his feet for a moment, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood instantly. Then the color ran away from his face and he looked for a moment like he might vomit, but instead he dropped hard to his knees and finally exhaled.

  Thatcher’s voice roared with laughter, though none of El-Nemr’s guards dared to join in. Kit sat up and said nothing, but glared at Pavli with a look that suggested anything he had to say about her he could say to her face, or he’d get another one just like that.

  “My dear Pavli,” Thatcher said, still convulsing, “I am sorry, but you really should have seen your face. And it is your own fault for dealing with this sideshow act when the main event is right here before us.” He turned to Falconi and smiled. “The Stranger. Master of Magic. Hero to mankind.”

  “Well,” Falconi said, “perhaps not quite all of that.”

  Thatcher smiled. “You say you understand my motives,” he said. “If that is so, you have a general idea of what I will do to get what I want. And as much as I would be perfectly willing to drink your blood from your severed skull before opening this mountain and claiming what is mine, the fact of the matter is that you have powers which can benefit me. Your affinity for the enchantments of the Egyptians could make the path through the Pyramid of Anubis crystal clear and free from harm.”

  “Perhaps,” Falconi said.

  Thatcher leaned in and spoke quietly in Falconi’s ear. “Pavli is weak. You know that. He commands mere vassals well, but he has been corrupted by the world of men and their worship of money. Very shortly that world will come to an end and money will mean nothing. He will be useless to me. Join me now. You have brought us this far, bring me to the Eye of Anubis and you shall stand at my right hand.”

  “What use is power when all it does is destroy?” Falconi asked.

  “It lets you choose, Maxwell Falconi,” Thatcher said, drawing himself to his full height. “It lets you choose who is destroyed, and how. It lets you choose… like this.”

  Thatcher stretched his arm out towards the Flying Squirrel without turning his gaze from where Falconi sat, and instantly raw power flew from his outstretched fingertips, blazing like fire in spite of the bright morning sky. Pavli had only just regained his feet, but he leapt back as nimbly as he could as the spell hit the girl full force.

  She screamed, not in fear, but in instant and unbearable anguish, and writhed in the dust unable to control her movements enough to evade at all.

  “No!” the Red Panda shouted, on his feet instantly, his hands ripping at the cord that bound them. El-Nemr caught him in a tackle that slowed him down enough for the rest of Pavli’s guards to reach them, but in the end it took seven of them to bring him down and another four to keep him there. He disappeared beneath a writhing pile with a furious cry.

  Thatcher smiled and the power to continued to flow through his arm, tearing into the girl a short distance away. He allowed himself to watch for only an instant before turning back to the Stranger.

  “Thatcher, end this!” Falconi demanded. “What could be worth this senseless brutality?”

  “Power!” Thatcher cried in a voice that seemed to roll across the desert like a mighty peal of thunder. “Power greater than any living mortal has ever known! The power of life and death itself, Falconi! You will not stand in my way!”

  The screams to his right had stopped and Thatcher turned to face his target, certain that she had passed out or perhaps even died of pure pain and terror. What he saw froze his face in astonishment. The girl was struggling to her feet, slowly, her face a mask of rage and determination, and somehow she had worked her hands free. Thatcher’s eyes opened wide in amazement and he increased the power of his attack. White-hot beams of pure anguish cut through the air. For a moment, the Flying Squirrel seemed beaten, but then she managed to get up to one knee, reaching for something on her belt. Thatcher could hear the rising chorus of El-Nemr’s men under attack from the man they struggled to restrain and knew that he had only moments, but how the girl could withstand such an attack… from where she could summon such will, he could not imagine.

  Thatcher saw the sudden motion of her arm and knew that she had thrown something. He raised his left hand quickly to form a shield, but the missile cut right through his energy as if it were not there. A bright red combat boomerang hit him in the temple at nearly full force causing him to stagger backwards, cursing. And what was more significant, it broke his attack, just for an instant.

  The moment was more than Kit Baxter needed. She crossed the distance between herself and Thatcher in seconds. She fired her Static Shoes as she left the ground and put every ounce of her accelerated mass into a right jab that crushed the wizard’s nose into a fleshy smear across his face. He staggered backwards and she was on top of him, throwing punches with a rage that was blind but still highly trained. A flurry of blows crushed into the orbital bones on Thatcher’s face, cracking the back of the dark sorcerer’s head against the hard stone of the mountain.

  The Red Panda was emerging from under the scrum, his own face a mask of anger, throwing grown men around like rag dolls as they fought to restrain him. Pavli seemed frozen, unsure of what to do. Should he help Thatcher, or was the man destined to betray him, as it seemed? Should he finish off the man in the red mask, even if it meant killing his Captain and most of his men in the process? Had he noticed Maxwell Falconi, hurriedly working his own restraints against the rock surface behind him, it might have made up his mind for him, but mercifully, he did not.

  Kit’s fists were beating a rapid rhythm against the largely unconscious Thatcher’s jaw now, and something like a shriek of delight passed her lips as she put her elbow into her foe’s teeth, leaving his mouth a bloody, ragged mess. At last she seemed certain that she had a few seconds to work, and she was suddenly all business once again. She reached for the back of her belt and produced one of the copper-colored bands they had recently removed from Max’s arms, its lock still propped open by a knife of anti-magic alloy. She wrapped it around Thatcher’s right arm, pulled the blade free and used the handle of the throwing knife to smash the lock shapeless, for what it was worth. She then quickly set about repeating the motion with the second band.

 
She was rapt by her work, and the adrenaline was still buzzing in her ears. She barely registered the gunshots that suddenly rang out… the Red Panda had her back so there was no need to fear, though if someone had hurt him somebody was going to die. She was not in the best of moods.

  She heard Max cry something in a loud voice, and she might have registered that his words were, “Get Down!”, but they didn’t make much of an impression on her. Just as she secured the band to Thatcher’s second wrist, a large heavy shape hit her in a flying tackle and brought her to the ground again. She felt a wave of something indescribable pass through the air above her, like a wall of… not heat, exactly… but the rush of it felt like a punch in the chest, and whatever it was, it had missed her. An instant later there was an explosion nearby and a rolling and scattering of rocks, but she could worry about that later.

  She shifted left to get a clear shot at her new attacker, and brought a right cross with her as she rolled. The man’s shape caught her fist in a crimson gauntleted hand.

  “Easy, slugger,” the Red Panda said.

  She blinked hard. Whatever that spell had done to her still hurt like Hades, her fists would be sore for days after the beating she had laid on Thatcher, and her eyes and mouth were full of dust, but the Red Panda was sprawled over her in a most undignified fashion, and it was totally, totally worth it.

  For reasons passing understanding he got up before she could properly register the sensation and pulled her to her feet, beaming at her. She was still a little woozy, and she wavered as she stood looking around her. Pavli and his men were scattered all over the ground nearby, and while they all looked better than Thatcher, none of them looked that good.

  The Red Panda reached out and brushed something off the side of her face, his hand cupping her cheek and staying there just an instant longer that you might have thought it needed to. She started to laugh in spite of herself. He was proud of her and wasn’t really trying to hide it, and it made her a little giddy.

  “What the heck happened there?” she asked.

  “He did,” the Red Panda said, pointing over his shoulder.