The Amulet of Power

by Mike Resnick

  “Why have you brought me to this room?”

  “I know your heart and I know your mind,” said the creature. “You will be the one who finds me, but you cannot use me to my full power—yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “I can make a true believer of you.” Its clumsy hands pushed a deck of cards to the middle of the table. “Cut the deck, Lara Croft.”

  “You’re going to convert me with card tricks?” she said sardonically.

  “Cut the deck.”

  She cut to a three of spades.

  The sand creature reached out and cut to the king of hearts.

  “You win,” said Lara. “For whatever it’s worth.”

  “I lose. Observe your card.”

  She looked at the card, and somehow it had turned into an ace of diamonds.

  “Good trick. So what?”

  “These are not mere tricks, Lara Croft. This is the power you can have over your fellow man. You will never lose, not in battle, not in finance, not in anything.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “I know what Omar gave you when you left Khartoum. I know you have the power to destroy me. I tell you, Lara Croft, that I will not allow myself to be destroyed. Of all those who have sought me, you are the brightest. Apply that wisdom to use me as I should be used and I shall willingly serve your ends as you will serve mine. But try to utter those eight words, and you will learn the true extent of my power.”

  And as the words left the sand creature’s mouth, the ace of diamonds she was holding instantly metamorphosed into the living skeleton of a huge snake, growing bigger and bigger until it was larger than the black mamba she had killed.

  Use me against your enemies, Lara Croft, said the snake silently, its words entering her brain, or you yourself will become my enemy.

  She leaped out of the chair, pulled out the Scalpel of Isis, and swung it at an angle that would sever the snake’s head—but when the blade reached it, the snake was gone.

  “Are my skills and powers impressing you?” whispered the sand creature. “We could be effective partners, you and I.”

  Lara glared at it. “I’m impressed.”

  “You still have more foes to vanquish,” it said. “And I see that you have intuited what is awaiting you on Praslin. I will not help you, but if you overcome the final obstacles, I am yours, and together we will rule the world. Strong men will tremble at the mention of your name, and we will carve a path of blood to the thrones of the world.”

  And then, suddenly, she was not looking at a humanoid sand demon, but at a tiny pile of sand on the floor, barely enough to fill a small hourglass.

  She examined the empty room, and finally opened the door and walked back out into the casino. She went over to where Oliver was standing at a craps table and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Ready to call it a night?” she asked.

  “I suppose so,” he said. “I looked for you a couple of minutes ago. Where were you?”

  “I had an interesting experience in that little side room,” she said, pointing.

  “What little side room?” he asked.

  “That one,” she said, and suddenly realized that she was pointing at an unbroken stretch of wall, with no sign that there had ever been a door there.

  “Never mind,” she muttered, and walked out of the casino.

  She knew something was wrong as she approached her room. The door was wide open, and there were agonized moans coming from inside. She ran the last hundred feet, followed by Oliver, and found Ibraham lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

  “What happened?” she asked, kneeling down next to him.

  “A man,” he gasped. “He was searching your room. I tried to stop him, but I was too clumsy. He knocked me down, and before I could get to my feet, he shot me. He had a silencer on his gun, so no one heard.”

  She opened his robe to stanch the bleeding.

  “You haven’t been shot,” she said, surprised. “You’ve been stabbed.”

  “That came later. The Silent Ones also came looking for you. They were very . . . methodical,” whispered Ibraham. “I refused to speak for as long as I could endure it, but finally I could not help myself.”

  “The man who shot you—was he a Mahdist?”

  “Yes,” said Ibraham weakly.

  “Who was he?”

  He tried twice to get the words out, and failed. “Praslin,” he finally rasped. “They know you are going to Praslin.”

  Then his body jerked spasmodically, and he died.

  “Maybe we’d better postpone our trip to Praslin until we can enlist some help,” suggested Oliver.

  “No,” said Lara firmly. “I’ve had enough of Mahdists and Silent Ones and things that go bump in the night. Tomorrow we’re going to Praslin after the Amulet of Mareish, and one way or another I’m going to settle matters.”

  “Meanwhile, what are we going to do about poor Ibraham?”

  “Make sure he didn’t die in vain, that’s what.”

  “I mean, about his body. We can’t just leave it lying here. We have to dispose of it somehow.”

  “I don’t suppose you brought along a pride of hungry lions?” Lara asked.

  “Sorry,” said Malcolm. “I reckon we’ll have to try and sneak him out without anyone seeing us. If the police start asking questions, you’ll never get to the Amulet.”

  “Check and see if the coast is clear,” said Lara. “Meanwhile, I’ll get the sheets off my bed to wrap up the body.”

  When Lara returned to the room, the bedsheets bundled in her arms, she found Malcolm looking at the empty spot on the floor where the body had been. Now there was only a small pile of sand.

  “You didn’t take the body into the bedroom while I was gone, by any chance?” asked Malcolm.

  “No,” said Lara. “It was the Amulet. Like I said, it wants to be found. And it looks like it wants me to find it enough to smooth my path a little.”

  Malcolm looked pale. “But . . . what do you suppose happened to the body?”

  Lara shook her head. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

  “Amen,” said Malcolm.

  32

  Lara waited until the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon before knocking on Oliver’s door. He emerged, totally dressed, a few seconds later, and they walked to the lobby and checked out of the hotel.

  They hailed a cab and took it to the waterfront at Victoria, then transferred to the ferry, and two and a half hours later set foot on the smaller island of Praslin.

  “It’s everything Gordon said it was,” remarked Lara, looking at the empty white sand beaches, the endless variety of flowering shrubbery and trees, and the palms looming over the beach. “It’s not difficult to see why he thought he’d found Eden.”

  “I think it had something to do with the coco de mer,” said Oliver. “I read somewhere that he was sure it was the forbidden fruit, and that the breadfruit tree was actually the biblical Tree of Life.”

  “I’ve seen photos of the coco de mer,” replied Lara. “If he really thought it was the forbidden fruit, he must have thought Eve was thirty feet tall. Those things are the size of a basketball, and it would take an enormous set of jaws to bite into them.”

  “Well, we’re here, for better or worse,” said Oliver. “What now?”

  “Now we stop by the Solare Car Hire and see if the car I reserved is waiting for us.”

  “You rented a car?” he asked. “Just to get to the hotel?”

  “I may have other uses for it,” said Lara, looking around at the various small buildings for the Solare agency. “Ah, there it is.”

  They walked over, and a moment later they were driving down the narrow tarmac road in a late-model Mercedes convertible.

  “I don’t even know where we’re going,” remarked Oliver.

  “Our hotel.”

  “That’s what I meant,” he said. “Which hotel are we staying at?”

  “Well,
it’s not exactly a hotel,” she replied. “Don’t look so distressed, Malcolm. The Chateau de Feuilles has a five-star rating.”

  “I’d have thought you’d be staying at L’Archipel,” said Oliver. “It’s supposed to be the most luxurious hotel in all the Seychelles, and I know you like your luxury.”

  “I wish you’d seen some of the places where I slept in the Sudan before you told me how much I liked luxury,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, I chose the Chateau de Feuilles because it consists of one main house with half a dozen rooms and four cottages, all built into a hill. It’s very difficult to get to, and it’s so small that once you’re there it should be even more difficult to hide. No Mahdists are going to sneak up on us, not at the Chateau de Feuilles.”

  “You make it sound inaccessible,” he replied. “Can we actually drive there, or do we walk the last mile or two?”

  “They assured me we could drive right up to the front door. They also told me that their driveway is quite long and drops off precipitously on both sides, which means they’ll know if anyone follows us in a car.”

  “Where is this hidden paradise?”

  “On the Baie Ste. Anne—Saint Anne’s Bay to non-French-speakers.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “I’m not sure. But they told me how to get there. It’s not difficult; there’s only about twenty-five miles of road on the whole island, and only about half of it is paved. If we just keep going in this direction, we’ll get to their turnoff sooner or later. They’re about as far from the ferry dock as you can get, but on this small an island, that means they might be a fifteen or twenty-minute drive, tops.”

  “I realize that you’re the brains of this operation and I’m just along to ride shotgun,” said Oliver, “but wouldn’t it make more sense to go to wherever you think the Amulet is right now, find it, and get the hell out of here?”

  “We’ll get around to it,” she said. “Right now, though, I want to check in and have that breakfast we skipped on Mahé.”

  “It’s your show,” he said in resignation. “I don’t even know what the damned thing looks like.”

  “No one does—not exactly, anyway.”

  “Then I don’t know how you expect to find it.”

  “I’ve figured out where it is. All I have to do is go there and hunt for something that doesn’t belong.”

  “I don’t know why,” said Oliver, “but I have a feeling you’re making it sound easier than it’s going to be.”

  “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally.

  “I also have the distinct impression that you’re not telling me everything you know.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Lara.

  “I’m sure you are,” he replied. “But I notice you didn’t deny it.”

  She made no reply, and they drove the next five miles in silence, just appreciating the scenery as they circled the island. They came to a sign proclaiming that they could turn left to the Vallée de Mai National Park—the center of Gordon’s Eden, the lush green valley that boasted the coco de mer forest. She passed it and continued along the coastal road until she came to a small sign directing them to the Chateau de Feuilles. She turned onto the resort’s narrow driveway, and finally the main building came into view.

  She parked in front of it, went in, and registered in fluent French, then turned to Oliver as they walked back outside.

  “Did you understand any of that?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t speak a word of French. It was hard enough to learn Swahili.”

  “Well, we each have a cottage of our own overlooking the bay. We’ll find the keys in the locks. I’ve got to leave the car here. There’s just a narrow path to the cottages. I got us the two that are farthest away from the Chateau.” She began walking. “Let’s put the guns away and see what the place looks like, and then we’ll come back for breakfast—or lunch, if it’s as late as I’m afraid it is.”

  Oliver followed her as she went down the path past a large swimming pool surrounded by lounge chairs. The path turned toward the bay, and suddenly they came upon a quartet of very elegant cottages. She walked past the first two, then stopped at the door to the third.

  “I’ll take this one,” she said.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the one that’s closer to the water?”

  “This’ll do fine. I’m going to take a look inside. Why don’t you check yours out, and I’ll meet you right here in, say, five minutes?”

  “Okay.”

  She entered her cottage as Oliver went off to inspect his own. The floors were a bronze-tinted tile, the walls were a cream-colored stucco, and there was a trio of ceiling fans. The bed was king-sized, and centered under mosquito netting that could be rolled down at night. There was a ceramic-tiled bathroom with everything she’d come to expect of a top-rated hostelry, and a stairway leading to a loft that had another bed.

  She looked out the picture windows. There was a lot of foliage there, thick and heavy; it would be difficult, almost impossible, for any intruders to get past the main building unseen, but if they did, they could sneak up to her cabin with impunity. They could even approach by boat and come up from the bay. The Chateau de Feuilles may have been safer than L’Archipel, but no place was safe for her until she finally got her hands on the Amulet.

  Still, there was no sense worrying about it. She’d come this far and survived; she had only a little farther to go.

  She opened the door and stepped back out onto the path, where Oliver joined her a minute later.

  “There’re two bedrooms in mine,” he said.

  “I’ve got a bedroom and a sleeping loft.”

  “Why don’t you move to my cottage?” he suggested. “I can protect you a lot better if we’re in the same building.”

  “It’s not necessary, Malcolm,” she said.

  “I’m an old man,” he said. “I’m not making a play for you.”

  “I know you’re not.” Then, just to make him feel better, she added, “I’d be flattered if you were.”

  “I just think you’d be safer if—”

  “I’m fine,” she said so firmly that he let the subject drop.

  They walked to the restaurant, which actually consisted of a series of linen-covered tables on a patio with a beautiful view of the bay.

  “What next?” asked Oliver when their food had arrived and their waiter was out of earshot.

  “It’s such a pretty location, I think we’ll just relax and spend the day here enjoying it,” said Lara.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought we came here to find the Amulet before they kill you,” he said, puzzled.

  “They’re not going to try to kill me until I find it,” she replied. “I’m tired of being shot at. Let’s take one day off.”

  He frowned. “You’ve got something up your sleeve, and you’re not telling me what it is. How can I help you if you keep me in the dark?”

  “I don’t need any help today.”

  “Even superwomen need help,” he continued. “You told me that your friend Mason saved you two or three times back in Egypt.”

  “I’ll need help tomorrow,” she said. “And I promise that I won’t hesitate to ask you for it.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow. But today let’s just enjoy Chinese Gordon’s Eden. I might even take a drive to the Vallée de Mai.”

  “Not without me,” said Oliver.

  “Not without you,” she agreed. “How about right after we eat?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Half an hour later they were in the Mercedes, driving into the valley of the famed coco de mer. The trees towered above them, a small stream ran alongside the road, the birdlife was profuse and noisy, and it seemed that every flower on the island was in bloom.

  “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” said Lara, slowing the car down and studying her surroundings.

  “Very,” said Oliver.

  “Then why do you look so uneas
y?”

  “I keep looking for assassins behind every one of those trees,” he replied.

  “Don’t. They’re not there.”

  “I can’t help myself.”

  “Just enjoy it. It’s a beautiful day.”

  “You enjoy it. I’ll keep looking.”

  They drove from one end of the valley to the other, then took a newly created road that entirely circled the forest. They passed endless flowering shrubs and trees, a picturesque small stone chapel, even a few coco de mer trees that seemed almost to have fled the valley and taken up residence on its outskirts. Finally she turned the car back toward the Baie Ste. Anne, and in another quarter hour they were back at the Chateau.

  “Wasn’t that fabulous?” she enthused as they walked back toward their cabins. “I’ve spent too much time under the ground. Every now and then it’s nice to remind myself of the beauty that’s on top of it.”

  “It was pretty.”

  “Just pretty?”

  “My tastes were formed in Africa,” replied Oliver. “It’s pretty, but I’ll take the Ngorongoro Crater or the Northern Frontier District.”

  “That’s all right,” she said with a smile. “There’s no shame in being a Philistine.”

  He laughed. “I’ll say this for Praslin. Nothing bites. Except the people.”

  “Another argument for it being Eden.”

  “Well, it’s early afternoon,” said Oliver. “What now?”

  “Now I think I’ll take a nap.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why should you think so?”

  “People have been trying to kill you all across Africa. Now you’re within miles of what you’re after, and you’re really going to sleep?”

  “Got to get my beauty rest.”

  “You’re not kidding?” he said. “You’re really going to take a nap?”

  “I’m really going to take a nap. Wake me about eight o’clock for dinner.”

  He stared at her as if she was crazy, but finally he walked back to his own cottage. And then Lara did the one thing Oliver was sure she wasn’t going to do: She went into her cottage, lay down on the king-sized bed, and went to sleep.

  She woke up as a cool breeze came through the window, and saw that it was already dark out. She washed her hands and face, then sat out on her patio until Oliver came by to take her to dinner.