* * *
The rain let up at last, and it was drizzling when they opened the lunch that Bitter-Root had prepared for them. Belphebe stood watch over the hill, while Snag and Polacek made pigs of themselves. Shea rose to give Belphebe an apple; she pointed anxiously.
“Shhh!” she whispered. “Two goblins approach.”
Coming through the thorn bushes were two ugly, dark green creatures with heavy clubs resting on their shoulders. They were hotly engaged in discussion, and one seemed ready to use his club on his companion.
Snag appeared at Shea’s side. “Lets take them!” he said, a fiery rage burning in his eyes.
Shea nodded in agreement. “It wouldn’t hurt to gather a little Information. Belphebe,” he said softly, “you cover us. We’ll wait till they get to that dead tree. Snag, you go around to the right, and stay low. I’ll come at them from behind. . . . Votsy!” The Czech was still eating. “Get up here. You’re the bait.”
“What?” complained Polacek, as he finished the last bottle of wine with a high-pitched hiccup. Snag reached over and grabbed the Czech by his collar, lifted him bodily, and stood him up behind the rock.
Shea continued, pointing out the approaching goblins. “When those birds reach that tree, I want you to rush at them. And make a lot of noise.”
“But what if they —”
Belphebe brandished her bow. “Fear not, Vaclav,” she said reassuringly. “Dead they shall be ere they can hurt thee.”
“Don’t kill them unless you have to,” cautioned Shea. “I want a prisoner to question!”
Snag had already disappeared down the hillside as Shea circled behind a clump of tall thorn bushes. He crossed a gully on a fallen log and lost sight of the goblins. Just then he heard Polacek screaming, followed by several thumps and the twunk of Belphebe’s arrow. By the time Shea arrived, one goblin lay dead, and Snag was sitting on top of the other, holding its own club across its neck.
Polacek was sitting on the ground, holding his head in his hands, moaning. “Where were you?” he complained as Shea walked up.
“’Twould seem our dead foe struck Vaclav a blow!” Snag said rather cheerfully. “And now I would throttle the other!” He mashed the club down on the goblin’s neck and its yellow eyes bulged as it made choking sounds.
Belphebe arrived silently, restrained the sailor, and had him tie the goblin to a tree. However, after much questioning, the creature sullenly refused to talk. Finally, Snag put a knife to its stomach and threatened to disembowel it slowly. The goblin talked; he told of an entrance used only by “employees” that was usually left unguarded. Belphebe managed to keep Snag from killing the hapless goblin, and they left it firmly tied to the tree.
The brooms were stashed under a dump of brown bushes on top of the hill. Harold persuaded Belphebe to leave her longbow as well, as it was unsuited for quick travel in the tight passages of a cave. The storm had mostly passed, though a steamy mist clung to the hillside, and occasional wisps of rainfall still hit them as they made their way in the gathering dusk of evening. The entrance to the cave was hidden at the bottom of a steep valley behind the hill. Polacek happily agreed to stand guard at the exit with Snag while Shea and Belphebe made the attempt to steal the magic book.
“What do we do if you guys don’t come out?” asked the Czech.
“We rescue them,” Snag said curtly.
“My thoughts, exactly,” added Shea. “Give us till morning, then do something if we’re not back!”
Belphebe led the way to the low entrance where they found a convenient supply of crude torches. Shea’s lighter provided fire, and they set off into the cool darkness. At first the going was easy, as the floor consisted of firmly packed clay. Them was little sign of use, and they saw only the occasional goblin footprint. The tunnel suddenly narrowed and then merged with a much larger passage. They turned right and continued downhill.
Every hundred feet or so, a smoldering torch was set into the wall, and a small stream trickled noisily at their side. Belphebe stopped Shea with an outstretched hand. Just to the right of them, barely visible, was a side tunnel. The floor of the passage was heavily scored with footprints leading into the tunnel. Their goblin prisoner had mentioned a wooden door, but, at first glance, Shea had seen none.
He nodded in that direction and Belphebe slipped forward. A low, rotting door stood before them unlocked. The two pulled it open and continued on. The tiny passage led steeply upward for nearly fifty feet then turned left and opened into a room. As Belphebe moved her torch, the light revealed stacks of wooden barrels, chests and other booty taken from the wrecked ships. The glint of metal caught Shea’s eye.
“Over there,” he said excitedly. The two of them rushed around a stack of boxes. There on the floor was a pile of swords and other edged weapons. Shea pulled a slender rapier out of the pile.
He smiled as he waved it about, making passes at an invisible enemy. “Almost as good as my saber! Those Italians knew how to make fine weapons.”
Belphebe shushed him, taking a small jeweled dagger for herself. “Let’s be on with our quest, Harold.” A brief search revealed that the only way out was the way they had come. As they descended the steep path. Belphebe stopped Shea again.
“Voices,” she whispered. They stood motionless for a long moment. Then Belphebe relaxed, saying: “They have passed.” Shea leaned over and kissed her cheek. Her keen hearing came in handy at times like this. But they still walked carefully back into the main passageway.IV
The two traveled silently on and the passageway opened into a large, brown-walled chamber. In the distance, Shea could hear the faint drip of water. Just ahead, there was another torch set into the wall, burning fitfully. Belpbebe turned to make sure Shea was at her side and took his band. He thought briefly of Snag and Polacek and wondered what kind of trouble the Czech would have gotten them into by now.
They continued deeper into the cave. Belphebe led the way, almost on tiptoe, being careful not to make a sound. Shea could see goblin footprints in the mud. They ducked under a low rock and rounded a corner. Belphebe tugged at his sleeve. There before them, revealed in the dim yellow light, was a large, iron-bound wooden door set into the wall.
Upon closer investigation. Shea could make out interlocking pentacles lightly painted on the boards. Shea leaned against the door and shoved. It did not move. There was no handle nor visible hinges.
“This must be the old witch’s room,” he whispered to Belphebe. “Give me a couple strands of your hair.” He knew how to handle a door locked in this fashion.
Reaching into his pocket, Shea produced two flattened cigarettes and tied them together in the form of a cross with Belphebe’s hair. He held this up to the door and tried to remember the proper wording.
“Pentacles near and pentacles far,
Now disappear from where you are!
Shemhamporesh!”
The door creaked inward slightly. Just then, however, the sound of bare feet slapping against clay came from all directions. Shea turned to see several yellow-eyed goblins coming toward them out of the darkness.
“Hi, there! We can ex —” But Shea’s words were cut off as two of the goblins rushed at him with stout wooden clubs waving and the others headed for Belphebe. Harold pulled out his rapier, dodged the attack, and lunged at the nearest goblin. The blade sank into the creatures chest as it impaled itself with its forward motion. It fell to the ground dropping its club. As Shea bent to remove his weapon, he felt the swish of another club passing over the top of his head. The goblin cursed.
Meanwhile, Belphebe had stuffed the torch in the face of one goblin and was running around the cave with another in hot pursuit. Shea brought his rapier up butt first into the jaw of his adversary. It fell to the ground moaning. Just then, Shea caught a glancing blow to his shoulder, which spun him around. It was the goblin Belphebe had blinded with the torch. Shea raised his arm and clobbered the monster on top of its head with the hilt of his rapier. The creature dropp
ed to its knees and fell over on its face.
Belphebe ran in front of him with her pursuer hard on her heels. Shea stuck out his foot and tripped the goblin who was trying to club his wife. It snarled, reached over, and pulled Shea’s legs out from under him. A wrestling match quickly developed between them, but Harold had the advantage of more than sixty pounds over the monster. They rolled around on the clay floor, grunting and snorting. Shea got his opponent in a vicious full nelson. Suddenly Belphebe was there with another goblin club. She clouted the monster soundly and it slumped in Shea’s arms.
Harold looked around, panting. There were no more active goblins. “Nice work, kid!” he said in a breathless whisper to Belphebe.
“Nay, to the hilt end of your blade and to your foot go all the credit, husband! She bent over him and dabbed at a scrape on his forehead.
They went back to the door and Shea gave it a gentle shove. It swung open.
A dim red light shone out into the cave from within the room. Harold and Belphebe entered, cautiously. Inside, illumination came from a mound of glowing coals, all that remained of a large fire that had been set in the center of the room. Arranged around the edges of the chamber was an assortment of crude wooden furniture, hanging tapestries, some shelves covered with assorted oddities, and a long low bed on which lay — Sycorax. She slept with her mouth open, snoring softly. Shea and Belphebe held their breaths as they edged around the walls of the room past the sleeping witch. Up close, the hag was even uglier Shea had imagined, and she didn’t smell any too good, either. He noticed a smaller, boxlike structure situated near the bed. A strange hissing noise came frorn within. A quick look inside revealed a disgusting sleeping baby that resembled a dead fish.
“Caliban.” Shea whispered to his wife. She nodded her agreement
They came to the shelves, and Harold examined them carefully, without touching any of the objects they held. The pentagrams were down, but there might easily be other less visible traps guarding the witch’s possessions. Belphebe nudged Shea and pointed to Doc Chalmers’ books of symbols. wedged in between several black leather-bound books. With a careful hand, Shea gently slid the magic book out from between two moldy leather tomes. He opened it briefly; everything appeared to be all right.
Slipping the book into his breast pocket, Shea continued his explorations. Nearby was a small minor and a small green vial with some writing scratched on the side. At the far side of the shelf, Shea could see Sycorax’s red robe, folded neatly, and leaning against it, her long crooked staff.
Beneath the shelves, Harold found a cache of assorted weapons, consisting mostly of daggers, but a large axe with a sharply honed edge lay on top of the pile.
Belphebe spotted the axe and whispered in Shea’s ear. “An opportunity to end this struggle once and finally, presents itself Harold.” She picked up the weapon and offered it to her husband.
Shea paused and thought. The witch was dead before Prospero came to the Island in the play. Why shouldn’t he be the messenger of her destruction? On the other hand, she was asleep with her baby at her side. . . .
“Harold, if you cannot, I shall do the deed!” Belphebe whispered resolutely. Shea steeled his nerve and grabbed the axe from her hands. If the witch had to be killed, he would not fob the heinous task off on his wife. He tiptoed over to the witch’s bed and lifted the heavy blade into the air. He paused again. There was a lump in his throat. This was cold-blooded murder,
Sycoxax’s eyes flashed open and stared ominously into his. Shea was paralyzed. The witch began to scream in a high-pitched shrill voice. Harold dropped the axe to one side, grabbed Belphebe by the hand, and ran for the enhance. As they passed the large wooden door, he reached out and pulled it shut. It slammed heavily behind them, throwing the cave into almost total darkness.
He paused, shaking with fright. Belphebe pulled him forward. “This way, Harold!” They stumbled along in the dark. She pushed his head down as they ducked under a low rock. Once around the next corner, he could see a dim light ahead. They ran at full speed past some broken statues and then struggled uphill toward the daylight that beckoned ahead.
Belphebe dashed out into the dim light of evening, with Shea tight behind her.
“Votsy, Snag!” be yelled, but there was no answer. He could hear a great clamor from the cave behind them. They turned to run up the hill where the brooms were hidden, but the air before them began to blur and a male spirit materialized before their eyes. It spoke two strange words and the ground on which Shea and Belphebe were standing turned to slime. They sank up to their knees, and the spirit laughed. It was the same laugh Shea had heard when he met the harpy.
“Ariel,” Shea said quickly, as Sycorax appeared at the entrance of the cave, “you have to let us go!”
“Kill them!” commanded the witch.
Shea reached into his pocket and produced the tiny lock of hair that Bitter-Root had given him. “See this,” he said in desperation, “Bitter-Root wants you back You don’t work for this damned witch!”
A took of obvious consternation came over the spirit’s face. Suddenly, Shea and Belphebe were once again standing on solid ground. Harold stepped forward and pressed the lock of hair into the spirit’s hand.
“C’mon sweetheart lets scram!” He and Belphebe then raced off into the bushes. The witch issued a volley of curses and shot a lightning bolt at Ariel, who calmly dodged the fiery blast. Amid the turmoil, a crowd of ugly green goblins began pouring out of the mouth of the cave.
“To the brooms!” Shea yelled as he and Belphebe crashed through the thorny bushes to the top of the hill. A small army of goblins followed hot on their heels. At the top of the hill, they found both brooms and Belphebe’s bow. But there was no sign of Polacek or Snag. They quickly mounted and Shea hurriedly chanted the flight commands.
The two shot into, the air mere seconds ahead of the irate goblins and Shea banked into a slow turn. As they circled overhead, Belphebe put arrow to bow and covered their retreat, Shea searched for Polacek and Snag, but they were nowhere to be seen.
On the next pass over the hilltop, they were met by a shower of rocks, thrown up into the air by the surviving goblins. One rock clipped Harold square on the head. The last thing he heard was Belphebe’s shriek.
* * *
The next thing Shea knew, he was bound tightly hand and foot and hanging upside down from a long pole, carried by a group of goblins. He craned his aching head for a better look. All he could see was a procession of the green creatures marching along a rocky trail. It still seemed to be evening, and the sky was overcast. There was no sign of Belphebe. His arms were numb, and his head throbbed painfully; this was a fine mess he had gotten himself into!
The goblins marched on in the growing dark, and Shea endured the pain, until at last they stopped for the night. They dropped him, pole and all, roughly onto some wet sod. At least it eased the pressure and allowed a little blood to circulate into his aching extremities.
Shea turned his attention to the camp. There was a good deal of shouting going on. The dispute seemed to be over the lack of fire. Everything was still damp from the storm, and none of the goblins could start a fire.
As Shea struggled to achieve a more comfortable position, his elbow brushed against his pocket. They hadn’t taken away his lighter! A plan began to form in his throbbing skull.
“Psst! Hey, you!” Shea called out to a sullen-looking goblin, who had been watching the attempts to make a fire. It ambled toward Shea with a puzzled look on its face. “Yeah, you! I can show you how to make a fire. You’ll be a big shot.”
The goblin knelt down over Shea. “What wouldst thou, prisoner?” it growled. “’Tis too damp for fire.”
Maybe for you guys. “But I know some magic tricks that’ll get you a roaring blaze in no time.”
“So show me,” the goblin answered.
“You must untie me first, so I can work the spell and don’t worry, I wont run away,” said Shea.
A little more ha
ggling followed before he could convince the goblin, but finally Shea sat up and sighed with relief as his hands were untied. He gave his lighter to the goblin and showed the creature how it worked. It was enormously pleased and stood up to rush over and show its companions.
Shea grabbed the goblin by the and and said, “Hey, wait that’s only half the show. Now we’ll make some fire-water to go with that. I need a bucket of water and some wood.” Shea untied his feet while the goblin hurried off for the water.
The creature returned with a dented pewter bowl, half full of muddy water, and a wet, rotten tree branch. Shea placed the bowl ceremoniously on the ground and dropped in some broken bits of the branch. On a larger piece of wood, he scratched out some letters with a rock:
H H H H
H C C C C H
H H H H
He thought a while longer. It had been some time since organic chemistry. The stuff he wanted was made of several complex molecules. He snatched out a formula for an iso-paraffin, a napthene, and an olefin. Shea began stirring the mixture with the large stick and recited:
“As From the ground comes the bubbling well,
The nectar of Standard and Phillips and Shell,
Internal combustion, petroleum’s jewel.
Change now, I command thee, to high octane fuel!”
The color of the liquid suddenly darkened to a deep reddish brown, and other goblins who had wandered over to watch, murmured in awe. Shea sniffed his concoction.
It smelled potent enough. He handed the bowl to the goblin with the lighter.
“Place this on top of your pile of wood over there and do your stuff.” He wiggled his thumb at the goblin, and winked. The goblins all walked off to do the deed. Harold began to edge away as inconspicuously as possible, waiting for the fateful click.
The Exotic Enchanter Page 24
