The Eleventh Tiger

by David A. McIntee

  Ian snorted. ‘If it wasn’t a hundred years too early, I’d say this Qin had been reading too much Ian Fleming.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Vicki asked.

  Well, I mean, he even has the old underground base just like in the James Bond books.’

  ‘Weren’t you listening to the Doctor? This isn’t some sort of underground base.’

  ‘But this complex -’

  ‘It’s a mausoleum, Ian. A tomb. One of the old places the Doctor was talking about. And it’s quite reasonable to expect burials to be under the ground, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  By this time they had emerged into a huge cavern at the bottom of the stairs. Pillars the thickness of mighty oaks soared into the darkness above.

  ‘Look!’ Kei-Ying pointed up at the ceiling. The jewels that represented the stars were glowing and tiny serpents of light were slithering between them. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Look at the pattern,’ Ian said. ‘It’s forming some kind of helix. This energy is being transmitted from somewhere else to here for distribution.’

  ‘This is beyond me.’

  ‘Well, you cut irrigation ditches to bring water to fields in a dry spell, don’t you? From a canal or a river?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what if the canal or river dries up? Then no water gets to the irrigation ditches. Or what if the canal isn’t there yet?

  You’d have to build one, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘But then, what does this energy irrigate?’

  ‘Something that needs an astronomical amount of power,’

  Ian told him. ‘I mean, literally astronomical.’

  In the distance, like a lighthouse on the far side of a forest, Ian could see the flicker of a lamp. The soldiers fanned out between the mineral-encrusted stone trees, as did the Wongs.

  Ian realised there was wisdom in their actions, and he too kept close to the columns just in case anyone - or anything -

  nasty was waiting for them on the other side of the indoor forest.

  Their progress was painstakingly slow, and Ian tried to resist the urge to rush forward. He could already feel his fingernails digging into his palms with frustration, though he hadn’t been conscious of even making a fist.

  Fei-Hung appeared at his side. ‘Don’t worry, Ian. Qin must have some plan for Barbara.’

  ‘That’s supposed to make me feel better?’

  ‘Qin thinks he’s a fighter. If he simply wanted to kill Barbara he would have either done it immediately, or when you had shot the major and Qin had no more use for her.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘It’s what I would have done.’

  Ian shivered. He shivered again when he looked towards the source of the light. A stone doorway had been broken down, making a hole through the wall. The faint smell of ozone drifted through it, carried on grey air that felt and tasted like the breath of the dead.

  Two statues were near the door. They were life-sized figures, and not of small men. Any colour they had been decorated with was long gone, but their faces and the detail of their armour were as realistic as they must have been whenever the statues were made. Ian tried to remember how long ago that must have been. Two thousand years, if they were contemporaries of the First Emperor. They looked as if they had been pulled from a high-tech mould yesterday. Not just one mould, but two separate ones, he decided, as their faces were individual and different.

  Ian approached cautiously, hoping not to make a sound that might alert any living men in the corridor beyond the door. He held up a torch to examine the nearest statue more closely. It wasn’t made of stone, but of some kind of pottery clay. Terracotta, he decided. He could even see flecks of ancient paint that hadn’t quite finished disintegrating into the mists of time and memory.

  As the flames danced around his torch, shadows passed across the faces of the warriors. Their gaze seemed to move with every flicker, their cheeks twitching, their lips curling.

  Ian told himself to stop being so damned jumpy, that the figures were only statues, their apparent life only the product of shifting light and his overactive imagination. He could almost have laughed; this same imagination had got him reading Wells and Verne. From there it had encouraged him to find out about other things, and so led him to teach science. Now it was playing tricks on him. If only he could give it detention for its cheek.

  He looked quickly into the corridor, verifying that it was empty, then beckoned to the others. Logan and Major Chesterton rushed forward, surprisingly quietly, their revolvers in their hands. The others followed and Ian brought up the rear. They paused at the other end of the corridor, which split off into a T-junction.

  Ian thought he heard a sound behind him and turned. He knew he had been the last one through the tunnel. Those statues and that damned imagination again. He turned away.

  A heavy footstep crunched behind him and he froze. ‘No, it couldn’t be...’ He looked back over his shoulder.

  A sword in a dusty terracotta hand was raised over his head. Ian ducked aside just in time as it slashed down. The major and Logan immediately opened fire with their revolvers, blasting little craters into the statue’s chest. It continued to move forward, and the second statue was following it into the tunnel.

  Ian scrambled back and the whole party split at the junction. Logan, Fei-Hung and a few soldiers went to the left, and Ian and the others to the right.

  Right was wrong. After a few feet the corridor opened into a long, narrow hall, and the hall was filled with warrior statues. Tendrils of energy were twisting around its walls, and the room was filled with the deafening sound of groaning and the grinding of stone and dust. All around, the sound accompanied movement. Baked clay arms hefted weapons.

  Dust fell from sculpted faces as they formed their first new expressions in over two millennia.

  ‘It’s the Eight Thousand!’ Kei-Ying exclaimed.

  Ian shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. If the Doctor’s right, these things must be templates, like the copies of Qin and his generals’ personae that took over those unfortunate monks.’

  ‘Templates?’ Vicki echoed. ‘You mean they’re like old-style computer disks? The minds of the Eight Thousand were the formatted media?’

  ‘Yes, media for this other force to overwrite and replace.

  Except that this time it’s got ready-made bodies, it doesn’t have to steal some.’

  Ian led his companions in a mad dash through a new opening in a corner. ‘It’s a ready-made army.’

  ‘Ready-made for what?’ the major demanded.

  ‘Conquering the world, I think. It’s an invasion.’

  For hundreds of yards around the hill the ground was rippling and flexing. The surface of the fields pulsed upwards like boiling water in a pot. Suddenly, one of the pulses burst, a bronze blade thrusting up into the air. Next to it, a fist punched its way out of the ground. Then another, and a spear, and another fist.

  Impassive, the frozen faces of the long dead kissed the air for the first time in centuries. Warriors whose torsos were sculpted into ancient armour flexed their moulded fists, and pulled themselves free of the earth.

  The Eight Thousand were going to war.

  Barbara might be terrified, but she still had the heart and soul of a historian who loved the products of ancient civilisations with a passion that few couples could ever hope to match in their love for each other.

  It wasn’t just her job, or what she did, it was who she was.

  Qin’s burial chamber simply took her breath away. She no longer felt like a prisoner, or a sacrifice, or even an audience for the man’s insane ramblings. She was a female Howard Carter, experiencing the splendours of a forgotten age.

  The floor was a sculpted map of China, skilfully and exquisitely formed by the master craftsmen of the third century BC. Every mountain range was exactly modelled in miniature, every city represented by a model palace or pagoda. Rivers flowed through the valleys
and channels of the miniature Middle Kingdom, but they weren’t water.

  Mercury gleamed in the river beds, circulating through the burial chamber like blood through the chambers of the heart.

  In the exact centre of the landscape, representing Chang’an itself, stood a large sarcophagus. It was carved with the full life-story of the First Emperor - his official version, of course -

  and inside it a figure encrusted in jade lay staring up at the ceiling.

  Barbara knew who was wrapped in that precious shroud, and so did her captor. He was staring at it like a man possessed. The thought insinuated itself into her head before she could stop it.

  Apart from the ubiquitous and ever-burning oil lamps, tended by a robot-like terracotta warrior, the chamber was illuminated by a faint column of light that beamed down from the ceiling to the sarcophagus. It had been barely noticeable at first, but was brightening as the minutes went past. Tiny flickers of electric arcs had broken off from it, slithering into the mercury rivers and away to parts unknown.

  Barbara didn’t know what it was, but was sure it must be something evil. She also didn’t know what Qin wanted to do with her and it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, either.

  Qin suddenly spread his hands wide. ‘Be pleased, woman, and welcome your reunion with your friend.’

  Barbara was taken by surprise, but turned to the half-hidden doorway hoping against hope that it was Ian.

  It was the next best thing, and she felt a twinge of guilt at the slight sinking of her heart when she saw the Doctor. He was escorted by another terracotta warrior, and Gao, as well as half a dozen human guards. The humans looked warily at the warriors, which had never spoken in all the time Barbara had been guarded by them.

  In a way Qin was glad of the Doctor’s arrival. He had heard so much about this man, and knew he was a threat, but it was always courteous to see your enemy in person before his execution.

  ‘Welcome, Doctor.’

  ‘I wish I could say it was a pleasure, Abbot, or whatever you’re calling yourself today.’

  ‘You may call me Emperor Qin.’

  ‘I shall most certainly do no such thing!’

  ‘You will, Doctor, or your friend will die.’

  The Doctor fell silent. This mollified Qin slightly - it was only natural that such a worthy opponent would frustrate him in this way. It was something Qin could test himself against, to see whether he could resist the urge to rise to the Doctor’s bait. He knew he could, because he was emperor of a country he loved with all his heart. His country and his people were his muse and motivation, and he would not let them down by allowing himself to be distracted by the Doctor.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘It is fitting that someone of your stature should witness my apotheosis.’

  The Doctor snorted. ‘I can assure you that is not what is about to happen.’

  ‘No? Do you think you can stop me?’

  ‘It is not you I wish to stop.’

  This gave Qin pause. He was in control here. Everything had gone according to his design so that he might rule China and give its people his love for eternity. The loyal people.

  Others, undeserving of his love, would die. ‘There’s no-one elsewhere to stop.’

  ‘But there is,’ the Doctor said. ‘A being beyond your imagination, which sits in your mind like the captain of a ship.’

  ‘I am my own ruler, Doctor.’

  ‘You are not, sir!’ the Doctor replied, his voice becoming more impassioned.

  ‘I am the First Emperor! I am Qin Shi Huang -’

  ‘The First Emperor died two thousand years ago!’ the Doctor insisted.

  ‘I cheated death, Doctor. I fled the body until I could take possession of a new one. And I shall do so again and again, as many times as it takes.’

  ‘Fled the body?’ the Doctor echoed. ‘Fled the body? And how, pray, did you do that?’

  Qin hesitated. He knew this was what he had done - he remembered planning it, seeking out the sorcerers who could instruct him - but he could remember none of the details.

  ‘Exactly,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Qin Shi Huangdi died of obesity and heavy-metal poisoning from eating jade and mercury, and was carried around in a wagon of fish for weeks before being buried. You are nothing more than a copy of some of his memories, in a personality matrix. You are an executable application engram, not the spirit of a deceased ruler.’

  Qin desperately wanted to think of a worthy retort, but couldn’t. Suddenly, he realised he could no longer hear the Doctor’s words. He felt a plummeting sensation in his gut, but that, too, faded quickly, along with his sight. Then there was nothing.

  The abbot’s body stiffened and his eyes began to glow. Light seeped from his ears and nostrils, and escaped from between his lips when he spoke. ‘The being that was Qin is of no more use to us, Traveller. This planet is part of our domain now.’

  5

  Logan and Fei-Hung had somehow lost the soldiers in the maze of tunnels and corridors. If Fei-Hung hadn’t known better he would have sworn the corridors were calmly rearranging themselves, ensnaring the intruders in a spider’s web. The friezes would be confusing enough, concealing doors and corners, but the way they were taking on a new life of their own, brightening and sharpening to a degree of realism that was utterly disturbing, made it ten times worse.

  Fei-Hung felt, rather than heard, the click from under the slab. He immediately dropped, swinging out a foot to sweep Logan’s legs out from under him. Logan fell down with a yell and a crossbow bolt flashed over the top of his head, missing it by a couple of inches and burying itself in the wall at what would have been about liver height if he’d been standing.

  Fei-Hung stayed down, listening out for any more sounds that might indicate danger. Logan’s eyes darted around everywhere, bulging.

  ‘I say, do you think it safe to get up?’

  ‘I don’t think anything in this place is safe,’ Fei-Hung told him honestly. ‘But I don’t want to live the rest of my life on this floor.’ He rose cautiously. ‘We should move more carefully. There may be other traps.’

  Logan broke open his revolver and tipped out the empty cartridges. ‘I think you’re right, there.’

  ‘The traps are a good sign. They suggest we are near something worth keeping people away from.’

  He led Logan round the next corner, and noticed a flagstone that was raised perhaps a tenth of an inch above its neighbours. ‘Don’t step on that one.’

  Logan merely swallowed.

  Beyond the suspect flagstone was a series of doorways. The first led to a room full of the skeletons. The second was a floorless trap with spikes in a pit. The third contained old coins. Finally, the fourth was a more general store room.

  Fei-Hung spied a collection of scrolls heaped in a corner.

  He picked one up, looking for something useful. Writing would never have been invented if it didn’t have benefits, and even the First Emperor had thought a few books worthy of keeping.

  The scroll was large, perhaps two feet long, and he only unrolled a few inches. It was a set of engineering plans depicting the counterweight system used to open and close the mausoleum’s main doorways. In and of itself it was useless, but it was enough to tell him that his instincts weren’t playing him false. There were many scrolls here, and they were presumably all records of different information.

  He stepped back out of the room, carefully avoiding the trip for the crossbow trap that had almost deprived Miss Law of her wedded bliss, and called quietly to Captain Logan.

  ‘What is it, lad?’ the Englishman whispered.

  Fei-Hung brandished the scroll. ‘Drawings. Engineering plans. There might be another one that shows the geological area and the water table.’

  Logan wasted no time; he snatched a handful of scrolls, and started to spread one out on the floor, his eyes bright with excitement.

  ‘Wait,’ Fei-Hung said. He quickly sketched the ideograms for ‘water’ and ‘level’ on a
piece of scrap paper. ‘Look for these words. That will be the scroll we want.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  Logan and Fei-Hung started unrolling scrolls and tossing them aside after glances cut tragically short by the absence of the required symbols.

  After a moment, Fei-Hung felt a stab of guilty pride that he had been the one to find the scroll with the symbols. ‘Look,’

  he said. ‘This is it.’

  Logan took the scroll and spread it out on the flagstones. ‘It certainly looks like a survey showing a water table, though I’m no expert.’ He pointed to some writing in heavier, more emphatic strokes. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It says, “Avoid disturbance here. Do not dig.”’ Fei-Hung looked at Logan, sure the Englishman was thinking exactly the same thing as he was. ‘That’s what we want.’

  ‘We have to get this to Major Chesterton.’

  ‘Then come on!’

  Major Chesterton and his group had the misfortune to be followed by the waking terracotta warriors. Whether this was because they recognised his party as the greater threat, or simply because the major and his companions were close to them, Chesterton couldn’t say. The group had managed to find its way back to the cavern of tree-like pillars, but the warriors were on its heels.

  Rifle and pistol fire cracked and boomed in the cave, every explosion magnified and echoing several times over. Dust and pottery chips sparked from the advancing warriors, leaving scars and pits, but they kept coming. Chesterton had made it clear that Vicki was to be protected at all costs, and his soldiers agreed. God alone knew what had driven the young lady to come along anyway.

  Luckily, few of the warriors had weapons, but as they were bulletproof and had limbs as solid as stone - literally - this didn’t make them any less dangerous. Nor did it take long for the soldiers to start running out of ammunition.

  Chesterton was out of ammo terrifyingly quickly, and found himself in hand-to-hand combat with one of the warriors.

  Worse still, his opponent had a sword. The major barely drew his own sabre in time when it attacked. The warrior was surprisingly fast, and didn’t seem to feel the hits he landed on it. It drove him back, further and further until he heard a noise behind him and ducked. A stony fist swept over his head from a second warrior who was coming up behind him.