Shadowprey: A Black Foxes Adventure

by Dennis L McKiernan

  A moment later, Arik shouted up, “It’s rather large in here. It’s going to take more than one of us to search.”

  “Me next,” said Ky. “I can see in the dark.”

  “So can I,” said Trendel.

  “I’ve got the other lantern,” said Rith. She turned to Kane. “You need to stay above and handle the line.”

  “Oh, dretch,” grumbled Kane.

  “Besides, you big galoot,” said Ky, “I don’t think you can squeeze through that opening.”

  From below, Arik gave the rope a couple sharp tugs, and Kane retrieved it. Then one by one the others went down, Trendel taking one of the rucksacks, Ky the other.

  At his turn, Trendel paused a moment and read the hieroglyphs carved into the lintel stone. “The Library of Forbidden Knowledge,” he called out, “and more rubbish about curses and such.” He slid on down the slope of sand that had spilled into the chamber beyond, where he found Arik and Ky waiting.

  As Rith entered the archive last, she looked about to see a large vaulted foyer, beyond which marble corridors led elsewhere. Dark pillars held up the chamber roof, some eight or ten feet above. Paintings, their colors faded with time, covered the walls. Here and there were hieroglyphs written down the stone in columns.

  After a moment, Trendel said, “I think here were stored the books they did not dare place in the stacks at the Royal Library of Alexandria. In fact, I think any writings herein will predate that library by millennia.”

  Arik said, “Then we should be able to find something that will satisfy Leopold, even if it’s not Hashtupet’s crown.”

  “I remind everyone to take care,” said Rith, “for if it’s papyrus or even leather, documents that old are likely to crumble.”

  “Perhaps we ought to look for gems or something made of gold . . . something that we don’t have to sell to Leopold II,” said Trendel. “On the other hand, if we have to go all the way to the North Pole, then he might be just the one to sponsor our trip.”

  “Oh, lord, let’s hope we don’t have to go that far,” said Rith. “Remember what happened to the Polaris: murder, poisonings, starvation, exposure, death.”

  “Perhaps we can go by balloon,” said Ky. “No, strike that; Kane will never fly.”

  “To say nothing of fierce polar storms,” said Trendel, “and the wind taking us where it will, rather than where we want.”

  “Perhaps Kane would fly,” said Rith. “I think it’s looking down the sheer face of a cliff that frightens him; it’s there he can actually judge the height. He did all right on the Glimmership.”

  “Come on,” said Arik. “Let’s look for an artifact or three that will pay to get us to the top of the world and back, if need be.”

  Ky looked at Trendel and said, “How about we split into two teams? I’ll go with Arik, and you go with Rith. That way, if something happens to the lanterns, each team will have someone who can see in the dark.”

  “Right,” said Trendel, and he said a seer’s word, and then he and Rith set off down one of the corridors.

  In a side chamber, they came upon stacks of papyrus scrolls. Handling them carefully, Trendel looked at them one by one, reading the ancient hieroglyphics.

  “Here’s writing that tells of turning an entire village into a rutting orgiastic mob,” said Trendel. “No wonder it’s forbidden . . . hidden away.”

  “Why would they suppress that one?” asked Rith. “I mean, it could be used to celebrate the birth of a pharaoh’s child.”

  “Because, love, it would upset the social order. I mean, with all that rutting, a mason’s child could be born into a family of wheat-thrashers; a boatman’s child born into a line of hunters. One could not maintain the social caste. Some might even realize that caste is meaningless, and think of overthrowing their rulers.”

  “Ah,” said Rith. “And so royalty, and perhaps the priesthood, decided that this must remain out of the hands of the rabble, eh?”

  “Yes,” said Trendel, and he took down another scroll and read. “Brr. . . . No wonder this one is forbidden; these are dreadful rites. It’s a ceremony for resurrecting a loved one by capturing a foreign king and killing him via slow evisceration while chanting these words.”

  Rith snapped her fingers and said, “That reminds me, I just now recall an Itherian story that I once read partway through.”

  “Then it’s not likely you’ll find that tale in this library,” said Trendel, “or anywhere else on Earth.”

  “I know, but perhaps there’s one like it.”

  “What was it about?”

  “What you said,” replied Rith. “It had to do with bringing back a loved one.”

  “Not by slow evisceration, I hope,” said Trendel, taking down another scroll.

  “No, no. Instead, it had to do with an ancient legend of a truelove being returned from the realm of ghosts, where he had been wrongfully banished. The fable was written in a tome I found in the far stacks of the great library on the Isle of Azaral. It was a long story, and every day I would go to the library and read some more. Yet my ship sailed before I could finish, and so I cannot tell you how it ends. But this much I did learn: according to that legend, ghosts live in a half-world, in an in-between place. The librarian who first guided me to the tome told me that the tale tells of someone being rescued from there. Perhaps if someday we can get back to Itheria, we can go to the library on Azaral and seek out the source—discover a way to restore Lyssa to her natural state.”

  “Maybe summon Arda?” said Trendel, scowling at another papyrus scroll before saying “Ugh!” and putting it back on the shelf.

  They moved on down the stacks, Trendel sampling, Rith frowning as if trying to recapture an elusive thought.

  “Oh, this one we keep,” said Trendel, holding up a parchment of thin-scraped sheepskin. “It maintains potency in a man’s member for prolonged sexual congress. I am certain randy old Leopold will like this one.”

  “Randy?”

  “I saw how he eyed you and Ky when he gave us the commission to find Hashtupet’s crown. Besides, he’s not a young man any more, but instead is an old roué.”

  “Old? I would think he’s about fifty now,” said Rith.

  “Looks older to me,” said Trendel, slipping the parchment into his pack. Then he grinned at Rith and said, “Besides, love, when I get to a ripe old age, you are likely to want me to have this knowledge.”

  Rith snorted, and on they went, filing into chamber after chamber, sampling here and there and taking two more scrolls—one having to do with the alchemy of changing glass into diamonds, and vice versa; the other a map showing the locations of the tombs of long-dead pharaohs, which Trendel declared they would keep themselves for future expeditions.

  Finally, Trendel said, “There’s so much here it would take me years just to even glance at them all.”

  “Perhaps we ought to find Ky and Arik,” said Rith.

  “All right,” said Trendel, “let’s go looking.”

  When they met up with Arik and Ky, they discovered that those two had come across a gem-coated torque as well as a small gold statuette, which surely would pay for any expedition north.

  As they started out, suddenly Rith said, “Now I remember. The Land of the Ghosts had something to do with the North Star.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Ky.

  “That legend I once read,” replied Rith. “The one about someone being banished to the land of the ghosts.”

  “Perhaps there’s something to it after all,” said Trendel. “I mean, my spell says Lyssa’s body lies to the north.”

  “But would her body be in the Land of the Ghosts? I mean, ghosts are there, but a body?” asked Ky.

  “In my legend, the lost lover was there, and he was a body,” said Rith.

  “Come on,” said Arik, “let’s get out of here.”

  It was nearly two hours past midnight by the time the four of them emerged from the Library of Forbidden Knowledge. And when showed what the
y had recovered, Lyssa clapped her hands silently and Kane grunted his agreement.

  The horses were saddled and fed and led to water, and then the tomb raiders set out once more. They rode until dawn, and found another camping site just after sunrise, and there they spent the full of the day.

  When Trendel’s turn came to sleep, he fell into restless slumber, one where his broken dreams were filled with unease. His disturbing visions revolved about the Library of Forbidden Knowledge. In one fragment he dreamt that the moment he and the others had crossed out from the ruins, in a small chamber in the long-buried archive below, with a sliding of stone on stone an ancient sarcophagus ground open. Scarab beetles scuttled out and across the dusty floor and up the legs and onto a table where rested an elixir in glass, about which they formed a circle. A hollow, rasping whisper filled the darkness as from a throat long dead, and in jerky hesitant movements a hand clutched the rim of the stone coffin. A scarab-scribed sapphire mounted in a ring adorned a bony thumb. Long moments passed, but finally something or someone rose up, and another lengthy while passed ere the black-clad being emerged all the way, and tottered across the floor and took up a vial and removed the stopper and drank the contents within.

  42

  Five Months Before the Hearing

  (Coburn Facility)

  Much the same as a deer caught in headlights, Toni looked at Mark Perry.

  “Again I ask: just what the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

  Drew Meyer said, “What does it look like, Mark?”

  But John Greyson said, “We’re trying to save Arthur Coburn.”

  “Coburn’s dead,” said Perry.

  “No he’s not,” asserted Greyson, pointing at his holo. “We’ve seen his soul.”

  Stein snorted, but remained silent.

  “Well, no matter,” said Mark, “the heirs have hired Universal Power to shut down Avery.” He gestured at the blond man at his side and said, “James Packwood and his crew are here to do just that.”

  “You can’t,” said Toni, finding her voice at last. “You know that Arthur Coburn sent Timothy Rendell a message, and we are now bound to try to make certain that Mr. Coburn’s mentality will survive any shutdown and restart of Avery. And right now we’re in the middle of a rescue attempt”—she pointed at the six members of the alpha team in the six witches’ cradles—“and once again Avery has sucked their mentalities into himself. It’s just like the last time, Mark: we can’t get them out without killing them.”

  Henry Stein puffed out a loud breath of air, but said nothing.

  “Dammit, Toni,” said Mark, clearly frustrated, “at the orders of the heirs I threw all of you out of here to stop you from doing this very thing. You shouldn’t have come back here at all. —And just who in hell impersonated me?”

  “Impersonated you?” said Toni, her eyes wide in apparent innocence, dissembling.

  “The guard at the gate and the one at the front desk assured me that I had come here and signed you all in.”

  “How can they say that, Mark? Of course you weren’t with us when we signed in. And every one of us did: you can check the log. How could anyone have worn a disguise when each of us had to enter our names in the book?”

  “Don’t fool with me, Toni. I know someone must have done it . . . must have worn a mask.”

  “Where in the hell would we get a mask of Mark Perry?” asked Drew. “Jesus, Mark, your face is unique, and I’m almost certain that the Halloween stores don’t carry your likeness, though maybe they should.”

  Toni swept a wide gesture that took in everyone at a console. “None of us could have impersonated you. I mean, look at us. Certainly none of the women could. And is any man here even close to your height and weight, much less of similar facial features?”

  Mark growled, “You won’t get away with this, Toni. I’ll find out how you did it. Regardless, you’ve got to get those people out of VR and leave the premises.”

  Again, Greyson pointed at his holo. “Quite impossible, Mark. You see, there are the six souls, or mentalities, if you prefer that term instead, trapped in Avery. And you know we have no way of telling Avery to release them.”

  Mark looked at the glittering spheroids in Greyson’s display and took a deep breath and said, “Shit!”

  Toni said, “Just like before, the Black Foxes have to win the game to be set free, and they will not do that until we make certain that Arthur will survive any shut down and restart.”

  Then Perry looked at the central holo, where the Black Foxes rode horses across a desert. Even though they were in medieval garb the last time he had seen them in VR, it did not occur to Mark to question the fact that they now seemed to be armed with rifles and pistols, and their attire was that of the late nineteenth century.

  “You can’t kill them, Mark,” said Toni. “You have to give them enough time to win.”

  “Aw, crap!” Mark glanced back and forth between the six in the witches’ cradles and the six in the main holo and the six spheroids in Greyson’s holo. Finally he said, “It’s a holiday weekend; President’s Day is Monday. You and they’ve got until nine o’clock Tuesday morning.”

  “Thank you, Mark,” said Toni, relief washing over her face.

  “Come on, Packwood,” said Perry. And he spun on his heel and walked out, James Packwood trailing after.

  When they were gone, Drew asked, “You think the Foxes will be out by Tuesday?”

  “I don’t know, but by that time Melissa French should have an injunction in hand, one that will stop them from powering Avery down.”

  “Surely the Foxes will be victorious by then,” said Alya Ramanni. “Vishnu is on their side.”

  “Speaking of Tuesday,” said Grace Willowby, “shouldn’t we set up waking and sleeping schedules for each of us? I mean, I’d rather not remain awake for—what would it be?—some ninety-six hours, given that we were up starting on Friday morning at around eight.”

  “We’ll need to eat, too,” said Drew.

  “I’ve a printed schedule somewhere,” said Toni, “And the facility kitchen is well stocked.” She rummaged about in the backpack she had brought in. “Ah, here it is. Copies for everyone.” She passed them out.

  Each member of the crew casually glanced at their hours, and then set the paper aside. All then turned their attention to the events in the main holo.

  “Ms. Dupree?”

  “This is she,” said Charlotte.

  “Ms. Dupree, this is James Packwood.”

  “Yes, Mr. Packwood. Is the deed done?”

  “No ma’am. Mr. Perry said to wait till Tuesday.”

  “What?”

  “Well, there’s some kind of experiment going on in there, and—”

  “Mr. Packwood,” interrupted Charlotte, “it matters not what kind of experiment they are running in there. I want you to power down the artificial intelligence. It needs to be done, and I want it done now. After all, it belongs to Finster and me, and no one else can tell us what to do with it.”

  “Ms. Dupree, we no longer have badges to get into the facility.”

  “Mr. Packwood, are you telling me that there is no way to shut the AI down?”

  “We could cut it off at the mains leading into the building, but that would shut everything down.”

  “Then, Mr. Packwood, do so.”

  “Turning the AI back on might require a set series of events, Ms. Dupree, and so we can’t merely power down the facility and then power it up again. It might harm the system to do so.”

  “You mean you can’t do anything at this time?”

  “No, ma’am. Quite the contrary. I am told they have a backup system in there that will permit a graceful shutdown, but starting it up again is more complicated and likely to require AI experts to do so.”

  “Well then, Mr. Packwood, power down the entire facility. And then I’ll have Mr. Perry bring in the technicians they need to turn it back on in a maintenance mode and wipe out part of the memory and then restart the
AI.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  A full hour passed . . .

  And then another . . .

  The crew in the control room watched as the Black Foxes swung wide of a vast Arab encampment. Yet in that same moment the control room went dark. “Son of a bitch!” spat Billy Clay. Five seconds elapsed, and then the emergency lights flickered on as the back-up system kicked in. Some of the consoles restarted as well as the main holo, and on the wall a display lit up; it was labeled Time Remaining Battery Reserve, though the crew knew it as the doomsday clock. The display was counting down: 3:59:53 . . . 3:59:52 . . . 3:59:51 . . .

  Down in the second sub-basement, Kat Lawrence jumped off the flatbed and shouted, “What the fuck?” But her words were lost beneath the sound of the klaxon crying out the alarm.

  43

  Egypt

  (Tomb Raiders)

  “You know,” said Trendel, “instead of Kane taking on all of our sand-flea bites, we ought to get Lyssa to glide back and forth over our campsite and kill all the little buggers before we settle down for the day.”

  Lyssa moaned her staccato laugh.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” said Kane. “I mean, I’d rather avoid all of your itches, even if I suffer them only a short while.”

  “Speaking of itching,” said Ky, “I’m going to ride down to the river and take a bath the next time we stop.”

  “Good idea,” said Rith.

  Trendel waggled his eyebrows and said, “May Kane and I join you?” Then he looked at Arik and said, “Sorry, old man, what with you and Lyssa . . . well, you know.”

  Arik glumly nodded, and Lyssa made a sound like a soft wind sighing.

  It was the fifth night after leaving the Library of Forbidden Knowledge, and they had passed through several small settlements along the river, where they had replenished their supplies. In these places and to renew her own energy, Lyssa had taken a trivial bit of life essence from each dweller therein, mostly from oldsters and women and children, for the hale menfolk seemed to be absent.