The Alchemy Press Book of Ancient Wonders

by Peter

  “That I can well believe,” muttered Number Two.

  “Ignore my lesser head,” said Odysseus quickly through his dominant side. While he would take this giant lizard at its word, he would also keep weapons primed, just in case. “There are many questions I would like to ask,” he continued, “but tell me first, what world is this?”

  “This is Machu Picchu, Cloud Planet of the Fourth Quadrant. The cloud bit is obvious, but don’t ask me what the rest means. According to local legends, there are individuals here who are the last surviving members of what would otherwise be extinct species. Some even from other planets! Rather odd, don’t you agree?”

  “Odd indeed.”

  “And by the way, my friends call me Denny. So much easier than my full mouthful.”

  Denny the Deinonychus. A talking lizard. Big! Odysseus had never come across anything like it before.

  “A four-legged, four-armed, two-headed intelligent being,” said Denny with a rumble that passed for a chuckle. “I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

  “Nor I you, Denny. You must be the biggest creature in all the universe.”

  “Oh my. You definitely don’t know dinosaurs. Just wait till you meet my friend, Sunny. He’s a Supersaurus, all fifty tonne of him.”

  “Fifty tonnes?”

  “That’s what I said, and thirty metres long. Don’t worry, he’s always been a vegetarian. Let’s go and find him. I’ll walk slowly so you can keep up.”

  Odysseus would normally have challenged such a slight, but even his dominant head realised that though he could march for days on end, the big lizard would certainly be able to out speed him. So he adopted hike mode and trudged along without comment.

  They saw Sunny long before they reached him. Or at least, as they followed the edge of the forest and approached a bend in the outline, they saw a head towering above the tallest trees.

  “Sunny! Sunny!” shouted the Deinonychus, jumping up and down and waving. But the monster carried on eating the succulent tree-top leaves. “He’s not the most clear-sighted being on the planet,” explained the lizard.

  “He is the biggest, though, isn’t he?” asked a flabbergasted Odysseus, who was relieved to hear that he most certainly was. But nothing had really prepared him for his first sight of the creature’s size when they finally turned the bend.

  The huge body.

  The pillar-like legs.

  The long, long neck.

  “Put me to sleep, please,” begged Head Number Two.

  “No way,” replied One. “We need full input on this,”

  The Supersaurus lowered his head to see them better. “Well, well, Denny. Who have we here? Not another near extinction?” The voice was not as loud as might have been expected from such a large being, but was loud enough.

  “No, just a visitor,” explained Denny. “Odysseus by name, from the planet Ithica.”

  “Welcome to Machu Picchu, Odysseus,” said the Supersaurus, swinging his long neck to bring his head in line with the newcomer. “What brings you to our quiet little world?”

  “To be honest, a faulty direction finder on my warp drive,” said Odysseus. “I’m executing short hops through non-space until I emerge near a planet where I can get repairs carried out.”

  “No luck here then,” said Sunny.

  “We are not industrialised,” added Denny.

  Odysseus’s two heads looked at each other, wide-eyed, hardly able to credit that he was in a conversation with two dinosaurs.

  “I hope you will stay a while though,” continued the Deinonychus. “I would value your opinion on my collection of moving pictures. And you must try our broccoli pie.”

  “Oh him and his broccoli pie,” smiled Sunny indulgently. “He would live on it if he could.”

  “Scrumptious!” exclaimed Denny. “And here’s the master chef.”

  Coming out from the trees was a thickset two-legged, two-armed, one-headed being, with that single head being flattish on top and with a sharply receding chin. Odysseus was relieved to see a being shorter than himself.

  “Come and meet our guest,” called Denny.

  “Guest? Not staying for lunch I hope. Broccoli pie! Broccoli pie! That’s all I do. All I cook. Enough broccoli pie to feed a dinosaur.”

  “Consider yourself lucky I prefer my tree-top leaves,” said Sunny.

  “This is Keb Moust, last of the Neanderthals,” introduced Denny.

  “I am Odysseus, Lord of Ithica,” said head Number One.

  “And we would quite fancy a slice of your broccoli pie,” added Two.

  “More mouths to feed,” grumbled the Neanderthal. “And he’s got two of them!” And off he stomped.

  The Supersaurus returned to tree-top munching then, while the Deinonychus showed their visitor around. “I christened him Sunny because he gets nearer the sun than anyone else I’ve ever known,” he confided.

  The strange triangular shaped buildings turned out to be called pyramids and contained tunnels and chambers, so it had been reported; Sunny and Denny being far too large to explore themselves. Some had already been there before the dinosaur’s arrival. Others had been built since, by beings who stayed only until their particular construction had been completed.

  “That one is the King Minos Pyramid,” pointed out Denny. “It’s filled with what Keb refers to as treasure. Shiny. Yellowy. Pretty in its way but of no interest to Sunny and myself.”

  Another was called the Knights Templar Pyramid, but that only held a single artefact, according to Keb, in what he called the Star Chamber. In both cases the aliens had arrived in numbers and had deemed Machu Picchu a suitable place for the building and guardianship of what they left behind.

  Odysseus also saw a number of other near extinct species, including a bad tempered and rather ugly bird called a Dodo.

  “No wonder they fell away in numbers,” suggested Head Two. “I wouldn’t want to wake up next to a face like that every morning.”

  “Now you know how I feel,” said One.

  Then it was time to eat, and broccoli pie was the only thing on the menu. Head Number One saw food as merely a means to an end, as fuel for the body, so ate whatever was put before him. The lesser head though, had more in the way of taste buds, and actually did find the dish to be most enjoyable.

  The entertainment that followed, however, was strange indeed for Odysseus. On Ithica, sporting achievement and physical power were held as ideals to strive for. The tiny minority who tried to write books other than instruction manuals, who wanted to recite something they called poetry, who wanted to stand on a platform and pretend to be someone they weren’t, were not tolerated. They were condemned, sneered at, even physically abused. So for him to watch these images of different species indulging in what Denny described as acting, well, his reactions veered from revulsion to a guilty interest.

  The Deinonychus sat transfixed throughout, even though he had obviously viewed it all many times before. “I don’t suppose you have any of these entertainments in your space vehicle?” he asked. “Any you could spare?”

  Odysseus assured him that such things were unknown on his home planet. “Otherwise I would have willingly let you have them.”

  “Well thank you for that at least,” responded the lizard.

  Denny and Sunny were both disappointed but gracious when Odysseus told them his search for a repair planet would have to continue. They walked to his transporter craft to see him off. Keb Moust even brought some broccoli pie as a farewell gift, for which he thanked the Neanderthal most sincerely.

  Later, back on board the battle cruiser, Odysseus prepared for the next short hop. “I think there may be many strange places ahead, before getting back to Ithica,” said the dominant head.

  Number Two finished eating a piece of broccoli pie. “Tell me, if they should ever make a – what did Denny call them? – flim, movings, flickers? One of those. If they should ever make one of our journey, who could pretend to be us?”

  Number On
e considered for a moment. “Not that I was really taking notice, but there was a being in samples from a planet called Earth who caught my eye.”

  “Planet Earth?” Number Two was shocked. “But they were mere bipeds! How could one of those convince as a mighty Ithican?”

  “I know, I know,” muttered head Number One, feeling more than a little ashamed. “But that Kirk Douglas being did seem to have the right attitude.”

  With a shrug, Odysseus tried to dismiss the thought, giving the order for his next short hop into non-space.

  The Sound of Distant Gunfire by Adrian Cole

  “ARE YOU SURE your brother will be all right on his own?”

  Manning glanced at his wife and their eyes met in a brief, shared moment of concern. He eased it aside with feigned exasperation. “Sure he will. It’s what he’s here for. Besides, he doesn’t have to go far. Just a few miles. To the cafe and back. In this weather, there’ll be loads of other cyclists along the trackway.”

  “It’s a shame you can’t go with him.” She looked uneasy.

  “Darling, he needs time to himself. It’s part of the process. I’m damn sure he doesn’t want me constantly dogging his heels. I can’t think of anything more relaxing than that ride.”

  “Yes, well you cycle out there all the time.” She remained rueful.

  “So I know what I’m talking about. Vaughan will be fine. He will.”

  She would have said more, but Vaughan had materialised from the hall. He knocked gently on the kitchen door as if wary of disturbing them.

  “Come in, mate,” said Manning. “No need to be so formal.” He laughed.

  Vaughan managed a smile. It seemed an unfamiliar thing on that gaunt face. He was barely thirty, but looked ten years older, Manning thought, and the war in the desert lands had desiccated him and set a remote, cold look in his eyes. He came into the room silently, as if it took a great effort.

  Linda pushed a small pack across the table. “I thought you might want to take some sandwiches. To have with your tea at the cafe.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Vaughan, staring at the pack as though unsure whether to trust it and pick it up. Eventually he did.

  “So, you ready to roll?” said his brother. “I’ll show you the bicycle. It’s not top of the range, but it knows the route backwards. When did you last ride one?”

  Vaughan never answered promptly these days. Whereas he had once been as talkative and animated as the next man, now he was far more taciturn, introspective. It was a symptom of his condition, Manning knew, though it was taking a lot of getting used to.

  “I’m more familiar with tanks and armoured cars,” the soldier said eventually, frowning at the memory. “But I can handle a bike. It’s not something you forget.”

  “You could always wait until tomorrow,” said Linda. “Mike’s free then. He could go with you.”

  Vaughan shook his head. “No. I have to do things for myself, Linda. I’m fine. Really.”

  Mike ushered him out into the yard, with a last exaggerated glare at his wife. She poked her tongue out at him.

  Vaughan studied the bicycle intently. He nodded in his slow, deliberate way, as though ticking off its credentials. In the desert, life depended on equipment. Every nut had to be tightened, every cog had to turn. Death waited all too eagerly for the careless.

  “You’ve got a great day for it,” said Mike. “You’ve brought the sun with you. These last couple of days have been the best we’ve seen this year.”

  Vaughan stared at him uncomfortably for a moment, as if Mike had said something harsh.

  “So, you know where you’re headed?”

  Vaughan nodded, apparently satisfied with the machine. “I’ll just ride. How far does the track go?”

  “Altogether? Nearly twenty miles. The first eight miles is well used. After that it heads on up a slow incline to the foothills of the moors. The railway was mainly to serve the clay pits out there. If you do go that far, be careful. Seriously, mate, the pits are dangerous. Filled in now – lakes. But if you stay on the track, you’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll do that. I just want some exercise.”

  “Take it easy. Your biggest problem will be your backside.” Mike grinned. “You’ll feel it when you get back, if you go a long way out. It’s easy enough. The incline is gradual. Had to be for the train. But the further part of the track hasn’t had tarmac down, so it’s a bumpy ride.”

  Vaughan studied the bike again, then, as if making an abrupt decision, gripped the straight handlebars and pushed it toward the gate at the far end of the yard. Mike opened the creaking door for him and Vaughan rolled the bike outside, getting astride it.

  “Just go down to the bottom of the hill and you’ll see the old station. There’s a path. You can’t miss it. Once you’re on the track, you’re away. Follow your nose.”

  Vaughan simply nodded, got on the bike and kicked off. Mike watched him disappear. A movement at his elbow made him jump. It was Linda. She put her arm through his.

  “The war has changed him,” she said.

  “Three of his best mates were blown apart by a land mine. I can’t begin to imagine what that’s like.”

  VAUGHAN FOLLOWED HIS brother’s instructions and within the space of a few minutes was up on the disused railway track, now a smooth tarmac path. He looked around him. The small rural town had receded and so had most of its sounds. Apart from an occasional car in the streets below, it was silent. Behind him was the old railway station, a testament to days gone by, when its concrete platform would have been thronging. Although it was locked up, the windows shuttered against inevitable vandals, someone had cared enough to keep it in good condition, its paint new, its unique woodwork preserved so that it seemed to stand outside time.

  Ahead of him, in an almost straight line for as much as half a mile, the tarmac track ran on, hemmed in by low bushes and banks of trimmed bramble. Overhead the sky was completely free of clouds, the sun gathering mid-morning strength, though it was not the pitiless fireball Vaughan knew from his days in the desert. That stifling, blistering heat could turn a man’s mind, that and the relentless, ubiquitous sand.

  Here the sun was something to be enjoyed, not endured. There was a light breeze, bringing with it the fishy odours of the nearby river and its mud flats: the tide was low. Gulls flapped overhead, snapping the silence with their shouts. Vaughan pedalled with a gentle ease, the old mastery of the machine awakened within moments so that he began to enjoy the sensation of movement, almost gliding across the landscape.

  Half a mile slid by comfortably, a mile, two. The track curled slowly through forest, across a steel bridge that spanned the river and more mud flats and onwards into tunnels of trees that summer had thickened out with foliage. Banks of fern rose up on either side and the air was cool, rich with the tang of wild garlic. Vaughan moved effortlessly, the machine well oiled, and the air flowed past him as though he was slipping like a seal through clear water. The world that he knew – the nightmares he had known – dropped away further and further.

  He wore a watch but deliberately avoided looking at it, instead focusing on the way ahead and its steady curves. Long stretches of the track were very straight and he imagined the old steam engine pounding along, its carriages rattling over the rails. Long gone. Occasionally a figure, or group of them, appeared up ahead, fellow cyclists. They quickly came toward him, most waving cheerfully before disappearing behind him and on to their own destinations. He was in a timeless zone, the world moving yet somehow not moving.

  Ahead of him now, cut into a block of land that jutted across the track like a huge stone wall, was a tunnel. It had been partly obscured by overhanging boughs and long grass as Vaughan was approaching it, but now he knew it for what it was. Twenty feet high, black as midnight, although he could discern a row of overhead lights disappearing down that long gullet. He slowed and then braked gently, straddling the bike. He could feel his pulse thumping. Mike hadn’t said anything about a tunnel.
Vaughan felt a trickle of perspiration running down the side of his face. He slapped at it as if it were a fly.

  From the darkness ahead, shrill voices unnerved him. Almost at once the tunnel disgorged a man, woman and two young children, all on bikes: they rang their little bells. They called to him gleefully as they came out into the sunlight and then were gone on and away. Vaughan took a deep breath, re-mounted and pedalled into the tunnel. It was not the oppressively dark hole he had anticipated. The lights were a gaudy orange, giving off enough illumination to point the way. The old brick walls were sooty black, slick and shiny, although the way ahead to the end of the tunnel was clear enough, two hundred yards in the distance.

  He pedalled slowly, not wanting to risk veering into a wall, especially at a point where one of the overhead lights was out, clotting the darkness. He mastered panic, eyes fixed on the brilliant white of the exit. Somewhere behind him there was a sound, a vague crump that reminded him of something. He felt cold as he realised what he thought it had been. An explosion, distantly faint. Instinct made him brake, stop and look back.

  The tunnel mouth was now a hundred yards behind him, shrunk down to a curved space of white light. As Vaughan looked, he saw a shape forming in the light, a silhouette, dark against the external sun’s brilliance. Another cyclist, evidently, but it was impossible to see any detail. The shadow-shape could have been a man wrapped in a thick duffel coat, head merged into the bulk of the figure, surely a distortion of the light. It had stopped in the entrance and as Vaughan squinted at it, it became motionless. For a few moments Vaughan and the distant shape remained strangely static. He had no way of knowing if the rider – if rider it was – was waiting for him to move on, or waiting for a companion to catch up. Maybe they didn’t feel comfortable about entering the tunnel either.

  Then he was pedalling once more, a shade more quickly, the exit rushing towards him. In no time he was out into the sunlight and warm air again, the track forging on through thick strands of trees. To his left they plunged down towards the river. He could see its wide, gleaming course and hear its running waters. There were brilliant green fields beyond, and more forest, deepening with every mile.