Empire of Ruins

by Arthur Slade

  She gazed into the darkness of the temple. Each hour that passed without discovering the God Face grew more frustrating. The Guild Master had expected her to return to land at Etna with their prize weeks ago. Whenever the Prometheus returned from their ship with supplies there were new telegrams asking about progress. Progress! Progress! It was impossible in this backward, overgrown hellhole.

  She had sent three soldiers into the temple in the last three days. One had climbed as high as he could up the cliff face and thrown himself, screaming, to his death. The second had fled into the forest; they’d found his body hours later, a spear in his back. The third was in the medical tent, tied to a cot and singing lullabies. Lullabies! There was no point in sending another soldier inside; they had weak minds. The tincture that kept them obedient affected their brains in too many ways.

  And where had Mr. Socrates gone? To the port? Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t conceive of his giving up. But she had lost sight of the enemy airship during the battle with Modo. She didn’t think he could have gotten his pitiful airship limping back to port. He would have had to set down—but the rain forest hid its secrets far too well.

  She stared through the rectangular doorway into the dark passage that led inside the mountain. It taunted her now, had done so for days. Somewhere, beyond whatever traps the Egyptians had left, was the God Face. She believed she could hear a low thrum coming out of the darkness, a sign of whatever power lay hidden in the tomb. Or was it her imagination? Was she also becoming unhinged?

  Not likely. She was stronger than that.

  “Visser,” she shouted. “Visser!”

  A moment later he bounded up the stone steps. The man never slept. He was such a small fellow, his spidery fingers always drumming on his sides. His eyes and birdlike movements reminded her of the falcons he carried around. Rows of keys jangled along his belt.

  “Yes, Miss Hakkandottir.”

  “Please, make my hand perform properly. Tomorrow morning we shall make the appropriate preparations and I will enter the temple.”

  He was silent for a moment. “If you don’t emerge, or return incapacitated, do you have orders?”

  “You won’t need orders,” she said, “for you and your lovely falcons will be accompanying me.” She was pleased to see him shiver a little. So, the cold-blooded killer wasn’t so fearless. “We will emerge sane,” she promised. “Now make these fingers work.”

  Married to Adventure

  Octavia returned to her bed—a spot on a buffalo blanket under the shelter, next to Lizzie. She sat down, trembling. It had taken all of her willpower not to turn away from Modo’s face; not to let out a little cry of surprise or revulsion; and, and this was the most important part, not to cover her eyes. In the past several months she’d pictured his possible face ten thousand times, but she had not anticipated what he’d revealed—a face well beyond her imagining.

  If not for their friendship, she couldn’t have held herself together. The look in his eyes—not begging, but fearful that she would turn away—kept her strong. She steeled herself and she looked back at him. How could he have grown up with such deformities? To see them in the mirror every day? But he could bear it. So should she.

  In some corner of her mind she had believed he’d only been imagining the extent of his own ugliness; that it would prove to be some small bump, or birthmark, or perhaps crooked teeth. If that had been the case, he would still have had one of the several handsome faces she’d seen so often. But this was more than any singular deformity, and there was nothing familiar about his appearance except his eyes. He’d needed her to look at him, and so she had.

  She had wanted to go a step further, to touch his face and soothe the pain he so obviously felt. She had lifted her hand to do so and instead had squeezed his shoulder. Like a chum! As if he had just scored in cricket! She had given in to the fear that touching his face would undo all of her strength.

  Octavia had already forgotten what she’d said to him, but she hoped that it had at least consoled him. A great pity welled in her heart, though Modo had made it clear he didn’t desire pity.

  “You must sleep,” Lizzie whispered.

  Octavia stiffened. Lizzie was now sitting up and looking at her.

  “No, not yet,” Octavia said. She closed her eyes and Modo’s face was still there, burned inside her eyelids.

  “He is not a handsome man.” The words were said without sarcasm or pity—just a statement of fact.

  “You saw him?”

  “Yes. I heard whispers and investigated. It was … private. I apologize for interrupting.”

  That was the greatest number of words Octavia had heard Lizzie string together.

  “I—” Octavia couldn’t find any words. “It’s all right. But I—Do you ever—? Were you ever married?” The question came out of nowhere, to Octavia’s great embarrassment.

  Lizzie laughed quietly. “A half-breed such as me? No.”

  “But surely you have dreamed about it.”

  “No. This is all I dreamed about.”

  “This? This what?”

  Lizzie gestured. “A life of adventure. Of travel. In the sky. That’s my marriage.”

  Octavia nodded. It was the most logical thing she’d heard in days. “I understand, Lizzie.” She paused. “I guess I should sleep now.”

  “Yes. You will need your strength,” Lizzie said. “I will relieve Modo.”

  Octavia closed her eyes, but listened until she heard Modo’s soft footsteps. He lay down a few feet away, mask on. She watched him through half-closed eyelids.

  Sleep well, my friend, she thought, knowing full well he would not.

  The Horus Stone

  Modo slept fitfully, curled into a hunched ball. He sweated so much that he felt naked, which wasn’t a wonderful sensation in a rain forest. At one point he was asleep long enough to dream he was imprisoned in Bedlam, except the room was overgrown with vines. Every few minutes or so, he would wake up and look at his pocket watch, reading it by the moonlight: 2:00 a.m.… 2:15 … 3:00 …

  At 3:25 he decided to stay awake, lying still. In thirty-five minutes they’d be climbing down the ridge and sneaking past the metal-jawed hounds, the mechanical birds, and the Guild soldiers. Or at least, that was the plan. Their chances were slim. Was this what all soldiers felt like the day before an attack?

  The vision of Alexander King’s room had been so clear. Even now he could picture it with such clarity and detail. And then, just as clearly, he could recall his interview with King, the way the man had gouged and bloodied his own face, the crazed look in his eyes. Something in the temple had caused that mania. Something so powerful that it was holding Miss Hakkandottir back.

  What had King said to him in that odd doggerel?

  “The mountain keen, the forest green, the God Face burns inside …”

  Modo could still see the man’s mad eyes. It was as though he were here with him in this rain forest.

  “The west at your spine, the face divine.”

  Modo thought about this. If the west was at his back, then he would be facing away from the entrance to the temple. So how did King enter? Walking backward?

  “Through the doorway go, beneath the Horus stone. The face it waits, it waits, it waits!”

  Modo pictured the entrance of the temple, his well-honed mind adding each detail. The doorway was guarded by the sphinx statue. It looked as though the vines surrounding it had been stripped away by the Guild soldiers. He hadn’t seen anything that represented the Egyptian god Horus. Modo, as a child, had been particularly drawn to etchings of the Egyptian gods. Horus was the one with the human body and a falcon head. There were blast marks at the door, a sign that it had been opened with dynamite. Even with all her cunning and manpower, Miss Hakkandottir had had to stoop to blowing up the door. So how had Alexander King entered?

  And, quite suddenly, it all became clear.

  In the same moment, Modo heard soft footsteps and, without opening his eyes,
he swung out his arm and grabbed the hand that was about to touch his shoulder. He looked up to see Tharpa and smiled in relief.

  “I know how we’ll enter the temple,” Modo said, getting to his feet. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

  He took several steps into the jungle until he was hidden from sight. Today, he decided, he’d transform and go without the mask, so he could see everything completely as they searched. He buttoned his mask into his largest pocket.

  When his transformation was finished he joined the others. Mr. Socrates nodded at Modo, saying quietly, “Tharpa says you have information.” He looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink: his eyes were red; his white hair, normally short, had grown during the trip and was poking in several directions. He put his sun helmet on.

  “Yes, remember that rhyme King was murmuring during my visit to Bedlam? It’s only now that it’s making sense.”

  “Enough prelude,” Mr. Socrates ordered.

  His tone made Modo’s stomach turn, but he pressed on. “I’ve realized there must be another entrance on the west side of the ridge. If Miss Hakkandottir isn’t aware of it, then it won’t be guarded.”

  “And how did you come to this conclusion?” Mr. Socrates asked.

  “Alexander King repeated a rhyme to me. ‘The west at your spine, the face divine. Through the doorway go, beneath the Horus stone.’ If the west is at our backs, then we would be on the opposite side of the temple. I couldn’t see any symbols of the god Horus at the front entrance.”

  “Are we to trust our mission to the rhymes of a madman?” Mr. Socrates asked. “I taught you to use logic.”

  “This is logical, sir,” Modo said defensively. “I don’t believe King could have entered through the front. He had a much smaller party than Miss Hakkandottir, and she was forced to blow her way in. I believe he must have stumbled across a back entrance.”

  “Do you expect us to waste hours searching for it?”

  “No. It should be relatively simple. We only need to find the Horus stone he mentioned in his rhyme.” Even as Modo spoke, he could hear how silly his words sounded. A rhyme? He was trusting a rhyme? It had seemed so logical when his eyes were closed, but now that he was awake with the whole party looking at him, he began to doubt himself.

  “It’s the safer path,” Tharpa said, bolstering Modo’s hope.

  “If you say so,” Mr. Socrates said, a slight bitterness to his tone. He took a deep breath. “You may be correct, Modo. And if so, this would be a safer choice for a small raiding party like ours. We’ll attempt to find it. If unsuccessful, we’ll have to create a diversion and use the front door. We leave immediately.”

  They cleared their camp and quietly continued their hike around the shoulder of the mountain. As they moved higher, there were more rocks, but the trees still clung to each crevasse and gave them cover. Mr. Socrates led them around the ridge, using his compass, and when the west was at their backs, they began to walk straight east.

  Modo checked his watch. It was five o’clock now. The sun would rise in an hour, and along with it, the Guild soldiers who weren’t already on watch.

  The group struggled to get their footing on rocks and foliage made slippery by the rain. The sun began to rise, heating the jungle. At this altitude, the heat and humidity still made him sweat. Occasionally, Mr. Socrates would give him the eye, and Modo felt himself shrivel inside. This was taking too long.

  Then, just as Modo was about to give up, Tharpa pointed at something that looked at first like nothing more than a shadow. They stopped at a sheer cliff, and Modo saw a carved column that had been attacked by vines, rain, and time. But at the top he could make out the falcon-headed Horus! The god of life, Modo remembered, and that was what he felt as he looked at it—a sudden burst of life. This was the entrance!

  “Is that it?” Octavia asked.

  “It may be,” Mr. Socrates answered, a lightness in his voice.

  They walked past the statue and arrived at an area where large rocks had fallen from the cliffside above. Behind these, they found the entrance to a cave.

  “This is the route King took,” Modo said. “It must be.”

  “Then lead us, Modo,” Mr. Socrates commanded.

  The interior was black. Modo immediately took a few steps into the darkness. Though he worried that he was about to fall into an abyss, he didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Socrates.

  “Wait, you overzealous fool!” Mr. Socrates hissed. He’d followed Modo into the cave. “Take this.” He rummaged in his haversack and pulled out two bull’s-eye lanterns. He struck a match and lit the wick of one of them, then slid open the blind. A bright light, magnified by the bulging glass, lit his face, accentuating his wrinkles. He handed the lantern to Modo. “We couldn’t use these outside. They would have made us easy targets. Here we should be free from prying eyes. Don’t drop it.” He lit the second lamp.

  Modo held his lamp as high as he could. The walls were rough, hewn by human hands, and weeping with water. He stooped to avoid banging his head and walked deeper into the cave. Judging by the bones and offal and guano on the floor, different types of animals had used the cavern as a shelter. As he moved forward, the walls gradually grew closer together and smoother.

  He turned a corner and had to duck as several large gray bats flapped a few inches above his head. Octavia gave a bit of a shriek, followed by Lizzie’s laughter. Modo wanted to turn around to tease Tavia, but he thought better of it.

  The tunnel grew so narrow that Modo had to get down and crawl on hands and knees, a tricky thing to do with the lamp in one hand. He was reminded of the London sewers, but at least there he didn’t have the entire weight of a mountain sitting above him. His shoulders brushed either side of the tunnel. If he got jammed inside would they be able to pull him out?

  The passage widened and Modo emerged into a large square chamber, where he was able to stand, and soon everyone was there, gawking along with him. The room had been carved out of solid black igneous rock, once lava, the floors and walls now as smooth as glass. The ceiling, several feet above them, was embedded with hundreds of glittering jewels. He raised his lantern and the reflection from the gems blinded him. They were almost within his grasp. He reached up and took a step without looking down. Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him backward, nearly knocking him over.

  “What the blazes,” Modo muttered, staggering to maintain his balance.

  “It’s a long fall,” Mr. Socrates said, releasing Modo’s shoulder and pointing at the floor. “You’re much more useful to me in one piece.”

  Modo saw that he was standing at the edge of a deep chasm, about three feet wide and stretching the length of the room. It was very difficult to differentiate it from the black polished-rock floor.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said.

  “Don’t thank me,” Mr. Socrates grumbled. “Please, pay attention to everything around you. The Egyptians designed this room to entice you to look up when you enter, thus distracting you from the crevasse and certain death. There’ll be more clever traps like this one.”

  “So the hole is here to defend against grave robbers?” Octavia asked.

  “That and, I presume, it prevents any rainwater from entering the main chamber of the tomb. Instead, it all runs into that crevasse. Who knows how deep it is?”

  “So you believe this is a tomb?” Modo asked.

  “It’s always about tombs with the Egyptians. They were, how shall I put it, obsessed in that way. I can guarantee you that there’ll be a king’s chamber somewhere in this mountain, and there we’ll find the God Face.”

  He pointed his lantern at the wall on the other side of the crevasse, and the light suddenly brought to life white hieroglyphics.

  “Well, well. What have we here?” said Mr. Socrates. “It says, ‘Any man who shall enter this my tomb, an end shall be made for him. I shall break his neck like a bird’s.’ Well, that’s good news for Octavia and Lizzie. Being women, not men, they should be safe from this curse and a
ny neck discomfort.”

  “You can read hieroglyphics?” Modo said.

  “I’ve dabbled in Egyptology. A little hobby of mine.” Mr. Socrates sounded wistful, but then he looked down at Modo and narrowed his eyes. “Enough talk. Lead us forward.”

  “Yes, sir.” Modo jumped the chasm easily, then walked into the tunnel on the other side of the room, followed by Mr. Socrates and the others. He was beginning to feel like the canary in the coal mine, but an order was an order. He would follow it.

  The sides of the tunnel were just as smooth as the entrance chamber. Every few feet, brass torch holders poked out of the rock, the wooden torches long since rotted to dust. After a few minutes they arrived at an open space where the tunnel branched off in three directions. Modo stopped and looked back to Mr. Socrates for instructions.

  “The middle one,” Mr. Socrates said without hesitation.

  Modo led the way, wondering exactly how the Egyptians had been able to cut these passages through pure igneous rock. It would have taken a thousand years! It seemed like a crazy thing to do. Not to mention boring and dangerous. The tunnel gradually became smaller, and once again Modo and the others were forced to crawl. He sensed that the path was declining very gradually. They’d calculated that the cave was directly opposite the main entrance, and it was safe to assume they were traveling toward the front of the temple.

  The passage soon opened into another chamber. Just inside it, Modo stood up and walked down three stone steps. He shone his lantern across the room, and what he saw left him breathless. A sphinx carved out of solidified lava watched them with two gleaming ruby eyes. The red stones made its eyes appear alive in the most uncanny and unnerving way.

  Mr. Socrates let out a surprised “Oh!” when he saw the sphinx. “We’d be the envy of all the world’s Egyptologists if we could just …” His voice trailed off; then he snapped back into action. “Forget the sightseeing. The room doesn’t have any obvious exits. Everyone feel along the walls. Let me know if you find anything unusual—levers or off-center stones, depressions—anything that might open a secret door.”