The Serpents of Arakesh

by V M Jones

  A look of hope crept onto Gen’s pale face.

  Jamie was grinning. ‘Yeah — way to go, Rich. I vote we pack our bags and head on up —’ He gestured over to the stairway … to where the exit should have been.

  There was a long, long silence.

  ‘Well, how do we know it means Gen?’ Jamie asked at last. ‘You aren’t the only one who doesn’t like snakes. A snake’s a snake, even this little dopey one. I’m scared of it too!’

  I felt a sudden rush of affection for Jamie, standing there with his arms folded staunchly over his chubby chest.

  I clambered to my feet. ‘Good point, Jamie. Let’s all have a go.’

  Gen shook her head wordlessly. She didn’t even bother to watch as one by one we filed up to the case, fished out the limp little snake, and held it uselessly up against the beaker. It didn’t take long. Rich replaced the snake in its case, and there was an awkward pause. Slowly Gen rose to her feet. ‘I’ll do it. I don’t have a choice.’

  She looked very small and fragile as she walked across to the glass case, her face as white as paper. As she reached the case she paused, closed her eyes and swayed slightly.

  ‘It’s OK, Gen, it really, really is,’ Jamie was gabbling. ‘It’s a docile little snake, hardly a snake at all, almost more of a worm — oops, sorry, I didn’t mean that. But it’s quite cute, when you look at it …’

  ‘Shush, Jamie.’ Gen spoke absently, her entire being focused on the serpent lying motionless in its cage. Slowly, she reached her hand out, ready to slip it through the opening. But then she froze. Tears were pouring down her face. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t. And now we’ll be trapped here forever. I’ve failed you all.’

  Awkwardly, Jamie trundled up beside her; bashfully, he took hold of her trembling hand. ‘I’ll help you, Gen,’ he offered. ‘Maybe if we did it together …’

  ‘Can I go and sit down again by the wall?’ Gen whispered in a tiny, ashamed voice. Without meeting our eyes, she crossed the room and sank to the ground as far away from the snake as possible, with her knees curled up and her face buried in her arms.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘So,’ said Rich. ‘Looks like that’s that. But you know what my old Grannie says, Gen? There’s no such word as can’t. Maybe if it was just you it might be different. But it’s not. It’s all of us … even the darn cat … and Hannah.’ He’d started off sounding frustrated, but now he sounded angry, and I knew the anger was hiding something stronger — fear. ‘I don’t want to be mean, or unsympathetic. But I don’t fancy waiting here while you can’t, and that gong rings, and the temple closes and it gets dark … waiting to find out who’ll eventually come in, and what’ll happen to us when they do. Just because you —’ he spat the word out — ‘can’t.’

  Gen’s thin shoulders were shaking. None of us said anything. Then slowly, stiffly, she stumbled to her feet. Her face was blotched and swollen. ‘Do you think …’ she looked at Jamie, her eyes pleading. ‘Do you think that it might work … if someone else handed it to me? I might be able to hold it for a second.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I’ll try.’

  We all hustled forward before she changed her mind. Kenta grabbed the beaker while Jamie fished out the snake. I hovered behind Gen in a way I hoped was supportive, ready to catch her if she fainted. Rich stood apart with his hands on his hips, watching.

  ‘Now, Gen,’ said Jamie, ‘hold out your right hand. Come on. Just take hold of it gently, behind its head — it won’t bite, I promise.’ Gen’s hand reached out till it was almost touching the snake. She whimpered, and pulled back.

  Richard snorted.

  ‘Try closing your eyes,’ Kenta suggested. Gen closed her eyes, and swayed slightly. Her eyes opened again. ‘I can’t. It’s worse when I can’t see it.’

  ‘Hey,’ goes Rich sarcastically. ‘Here’s an idea. Don’t be so pathetic. Just do it!’

  Gen looked at him. For a second, her eyes flashed fire. Her lips compressed into a thin line. She reached out and snatched the snake from Jamie’s hands. Instantly, it sprang to life, writing in her grasp and hissing. Gen started to scream, in tiny, high-pitched, hysterical gasps. Her eyes were locked on the serpent, and her hands frozen, the snake twisting between them.

  Like lightning, Kenta pushed the beaker under the snake’s head; like lightning, the snake struck and the venom spurted. As gently as I could, I prised the snake away — Gen’s hands were ice cold and stiff as stone — and replaced it in the cage. Gen backed away like someone sleepwalking, her eyes huge and unfocused, the horrible keening sound going on and on.

  ‘Do you think I should give her face a smack — just gently?’ asked Rich hopefully.

  But I was staring at the wall, where a doorway had silently appeared. Problem was, it wasn’t the one that would lead us upwards, to the next level. It was the one leading down — the one we’d come through what seemed like hours before.

  And from it came the faint, unmistakable sound of a cough.

  Blind man’s buff

  We froze. Even Gen was instantly silent.

  Jamie hissed, ‘Quick — hide!’

  But there was nowhere to hide. The only possible place was behind the pillar — and there was no way it would conceal us all. The options flashed through my mind in a second, while the soft scrape of footsteps echoed closer up the stairwell.

  ‘The potion,’ I breathed. I ripped the cover off the beaker and handed it to Kenta. Without hesitating she put it to her lips and took a tiny sip. Instantly, both she and the beaker vanished. I groped, felt her hand, felt my fingers close round the smooth glass. I had it again; passed it to Jamie. He sipped, and was gone. Rich. Flick — he vanished. Last, Gen. ‘Don’t think about it — quick!’ Gone. There was only a drop left. I tilted the beaker and sipped; felt a weird flickering chill. I held out one hand in front of my face. There was nothing there. Softly as a shadow, I crept to the shelf and replaced the beaker.

  We’d done it! I scanned the room — and my heart gave a sickening lurch. There sat Tiger Lily in a patch of sun, preening her whiskers. I lunged for her and snatched her up — just as the tall, cloaked form of the white Curator appeared in the doorway.

  Tiger Lily didn’t seem at all put out to have her beauty routine interrupted. She reached up one velvet paw and gave my face a pat, as if to reassure herself I was really there. Then she gave my chin a couple of licks.

  The wall closed again behind the Curator. He glided across to the shelf and took down the beaker. With an exclamation of annoyance, he fumbled in the folds of his gown, and took out a new cover and tie. He stretched it over the top of the beaker with practiced hands, and crossed to the glass-fronted recess. Reached in, withdrew the snake, hissing and writhing. He held it up to the beaker and the snake struck.

  And of course, not even the tiniest drop of venom spurted out. In any other situation, there’d have been something comical about the way the Curator held the beaker up to the light to double check it was still empty, with a look of utter disbelief.

  But there was nothing comical at all about the look that dawned on his face — a look of slow comprehension, then rage, twisting his features into a grotesque mask.

  From somewhere beside me, one of the girls let out the tiniest whimper, almost too soft to hear. Almost … but not quite.

  The Curator smiled. He shuffled slowly towards us, hands outstretched, groping and patting at the air, like a nightmarish game of blind man’s buff.

  Tiger Lily started to struggle. She wriggled and squirmed. I hung on desperately, but with a slither and a twist, she slipped out of my arms. I made a frantic grab — but I couldn’t see what I was grabbing at, and missed.

  I couldn’t see what I was grabbing at.

  There must have been a tiny smear of potion on my chin — just enough to work on a little cat like Tiger Lily. She was safe!

  Pat … pat-pat … pat … The Curator had turned, and was groping his way towards wh
ere I stood, his eyes glittering as they probed the emptiness. But from the floor came a hiss — the hiss of an angry, frightened cat.

  The Curator stopped, disoriented. Waaaaaaaoooow. Sssssssss! I could see Tiger Lily clearly in my mind’s eye — low to the ground, ears flattened, tail like a bottlebrush, eyes fixed on the Curator. But of course I couldn’t really see her … and neither could he. For a moment he looked uncertain. Waaaaoooooooooow! The eerie, feral cry unwound again, soft at first, then louder, then trailing away to nothing.

  The Curator’s hooded eyes searched the ground. His thin, grey lips peeled away from his yellowed teeth in an answering snarl, and he hissed back at the invisible presence on the floor.

  And then he was staggering backwards, clawing at his chest, batting blindly at his face. Thin, parallel scratches streaked down his cheeks like someone drawing on a magic slate with an invisible pen, beading with blood as I watched. He took two stumbling steps backwards … lost his balance … tottered and fell. His head hit the stone floor with a crack like a rifleshot.

  There was a long, long silence.

  ‘Do you think he’s …’

  ‘Dunno. Hope so.’

  ‘He may have cracked his skull. We should help him … I suppose.’

  ‘Get real, Kenta. The only thing we need to think about is whether to tie him up, or get out now.’

  ‘I vote we tie him up. I know some real wicked knots, from Scouts.’

  Suddenly I realised the voices weren’t disembodied any more … gradually, faint as ghosts at first, the figures of the others were taking shape around me.

  Tiger Lily materialised on the floor beside the prone Curator, cleaning her paws fastidiously.

  ‘That didn’t last long, did it?’ said Rich. ‘I guess because we only had a tiny sip.’

  ‘It lasted long enough.’ I was digging in my pack for Q’s rope. I tossed it to Jamie. ‘Come on then, Jamie — let’s see how good those knots are.’

  In no time flat, the Curator was trussed up like a chicken.

  Jamie stood back, dusting off his hands on the bum of his breeches, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘How about a gag?’ suggested Gen, sounding remarkably cheerful.

  Suddenly, I felt a laugh bubbling up inside me. ‘Aha! Now that you mention it,’ I said, reaching deep into my pack again, ‘I do believe I’ve got the very thing!’

  An emerald vision

  We left the Curator snoring on the floor, my bright red boxers adding a festive touch to the scene. Jamie had amazed us all by producing the Curator’s magic pass with a smug flourish that for once it was easy to forgive — especially when it worked first time.

  ‘Four down, one to go,’ said Rich cheerfully as we trudged up the final flight of stairs. ‘And this one doesn’t look too bad either — at first sight, at any rate.’

  All in all, things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, and I reckon we all shared the same sense of dread at the prospect of what we might find at the top of the staircase. Once again, though, the room was bright and airy. My eyes scanned the walls. Shelf: check. Phials: check. Beaker: check. Staff: check.

  But where the snake’s case had been in the room below, there was a blank wall. Well, not blank: a wall entirely covered with what looked to me like weird variations of letters of the alphabet. They stretched up from about waist level to as high as I could reach.

  ‘Cool!’ Jamie said beside me. ‘Runes!’

  ‘Not runes,’ Gen contradicted. ‘Letters of the alphabet. Look — there’s an s, and there’s a q… and there’s another s, over there.

  ‘Yeah, but that one’s not a letter of the alphabet, is it?’ Jamie objected.

  ‘I think some of these may be from alphabets of different languages,’ Kenta chipped in. ‘That sign over there: the circle with the line through it. I think that’s Greek.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, Kenta: and see there? That’s pi, the Greek letter pi you use to calculate the area of circles and stuff like that. Maths rules!’

  ‘I see an e over there!’ said Rich, not to be outdone.

  Sure enough, as I stared at the wall it gradually became less of a meaningless jumble. Here and there was a letter I recognised, some repeated more than once, but the vast majority were weird squiggles I’d never seen before.

  But no matter how carefully I scanned the wall, I couldn’t find the one I was looking for: a squiggle that might give us a clue as to where the snake was hiding. Even though there were enough letters — or runes, or symbols, or whatever — to fill a dictionary, the Serpent of Beauty and Eternal Youth was nowhere to be seen.

  I listened to the others exclaiming and arguing with a growing feeling of unease. The triumphant buzz I’d felt at seeing the Curator hit the deck was wearing off, and I was starting to think logically again. And logic told me that some time — sooner rather than later — someone was going to wonder why he was taking so long and come looking. And when they found him, he’d be tied up in enough knots to sink a battleship, with a royal issue pair of satin boxers stuffed in his mouth.

  It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now I desperately wished we’d simply left him lying there, out cold and looking like staying that way. After all, he’d only heard Tiger Lily, not seen her … and without the rope and boxers, there’d have been no proof the rest of us ever existed. But it was too late for wishing. Way too late.

  Now, whoever found him wouldn’t have to be a genius to figure out that there was something unusual going on … and work out where the culprits must have gone. The Invisibility Potion had saved us last time, but it was finished, right down to the last drop.

  Just as before, I was betting the only way out would be up — once we’d cracked the code that revealed the snake and the hidden door to the stairway. And I was uncomfortably aware that we were leaving solid ground further and further below us. For all we knew, we were following each successive clue, and every successive stairway, deeper into a trap — a trap from which, like the poem said, there’d be no escape.

  ‘Guys,’ I chipped in, ‘this is all real interesting and educational — but I think we need to get started on working out the clue and finding the snake. Because unless he’s on an extended morning-tea break, they’re going to come looking for that white Curator pretty soon.’

  Kenta scurried over to her backpack and produced the parchment without another word. This time, the message was longer.

  I am the beginning of eternity

  The end of time and space;

  The beginning of every end

  And the end of every place.

  ‘It’s a riddle,’ said Gen, hot on the trail.

  ‘And it’s cryptic,’ agreed Kenta.

  ‘What’s cryptic?’ asked Rich.

  ‘It means the meaning is hidden — not straightforward.’ Jamie explained.

  Richard groaned.

  ‘Could it link in some way with the main poem?’ Kenta suggested.

  ‘Bright beauty burns with fire eternal as a gem

  An emerald vision age will never end?’

  ‘Eternal …’ murmured Gen.

  ‘Maybe we need to approach it logically again,’ suggested Jamie. ‘Ask ourselves what the poem is describing. What is the beginning of eternity? Or, what is the beginning of every end? It sounds like a contradiction to me.’

  ‘Unless it was a circle,’ said Rich slowly. ‘Circles don’t have beginnings or ends.’

  ‘Good thinking, Rich,’ said Jamie. ‘Are there any plain circles on the wall?’

  But there weren’t.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ said Kenta suddenly. ‘It mentions beginnings and ends twice. That must mean they have special significance. It must be the beginning and end letters of the alphabet — a and z!’

  But no matter how carefully we looked, we could see neither the letter a nor the letter z anywhere.

  ‘I don’t suppose it could be those letters in a different alphabet?’ Rich said desperately. ‘Like, maybe, Russian or s
omething?’

  We all stared blankly at the wall. No one needed to point out that the chances of any of us knowing what a and z were in Russian were non-existent.

  ‘I know the Greek for a,’ said Jamie suddenly. ‘It’s alpha. It looks a bit like a, too. Look — that’s it over there!’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’ said Gen excitedly. ‘Alpha, beta, gamma …’

  ‘Delta …’ supplied Kenta.

  There was a pause. Rich and I exchanged a glance. For a moment it had looked pretty promising, but there again, it was a bit much to hope that three kids would know the whole of the Greek alphabet.

  ‘Pi?’ offered Jamie hopefully.

  Gen’s face was screwed up in concentration. ‘We haven’t got time for this! We have to hurry! Oh, why can’t I think! I know it — I know it! I just can’t — alpha and … alpha and …’

  ‘Omega!’ squeaked Kenta triumphantly.

  ‘Yes! Omega! And it’s like … an upside-down horseshoe, I think. Is there one? Oh, please let there be one!’ Gen was hopping up and down, her face glowing.

  ‘I saw something like that a second ago, I’m sure,’ said Jamie. ‘Yeah, look: over there!’

  Rich marched over to the wall. ‘What do you reckon? We push them, or what?’

  With one finger, he pushed the alpha sign, and then the omega. Nothing happened.

  ‘Maybe you have to press them at the same time,’ suggested Gen.

  Rich did. Nothing.

  ‘Or cover them up with your hand — kind of … warm them up, maybe?’ hazarded Jamie.

  But that didn’t work either.

  And then it hit me. ‘Jamie — the pass!’ I couldn’t believe we hadn’t thought of it before. ‘The Curator’s magic pass! Let’s forget about the clue — who needs the darn potion, anyhow?’

  Jamie scurried over to the wall and swept the pass up and down near where we’d come in. Up and down, back and forth. He turned it over and tried again. Nothing. I watched the hope fade from his face; bleakly, he shook his head. ‘The other one opened easy, first time. Sorry, guys — it’s just not working. Maybe they only have access up to a certain level.’