by Brian Lumley
'Bold, I called you,' she said then, her low voice a sin in itself, sand obviously brave, too, like your father — or utterly foolish. It seems the waking world breeds many brave men these days — and lots of fools, too.'
`Zura,' said de Marigny, moving closer still, 'I'm not much of a one for banter, least of all now. As for being a fool: you're probably right. And I'm searching now for two more fools — except they're very worthy ones, whose lives are in jeopardy.'
But an amorous mood was on her and she hardly heard him. Eyes slitted like a great cat's, she licked her lips and reached out to trace the strong curve of his chin, the column of his neck, the broad reach of his shoulders. Behind him, zombies closed in and placed their swords at his back, where he could feel their points just pricking him. And finally:
`Well, Searcher,' Zura sighed seductively, 'it seems you've come searching in one place too many. Anyway, what could you possibly have hoped to find here? Did no one tell you that Zura is the Land of Pleasures Unattained and Desires Unrealized — except the pleasures and desires of Zura of Zura?' And she laughed however coarsely and arched her body against his, so close that he could smell something of the reek beneath her perfume and oils.
De Marigny only smiled — even a little sardonically, perhaps — and continued to watch her keenly; which Zura noted, mistook for appreciation, and silently approved.
And while her thoughts were on other, more intimate things, still she forced herself to carry the line of the conversation, playing it like a lover's game: 'Why don't we talk some more in the privacy of my cabin?' she purred. `And anyway, who are these men you seek, these "worthy fools" of yours?'
'Ex-waking worlders,' he answered at once, still smiling, `and I'm told you know them well. They are called David Hero and Eldin the Wanderer.'
Zura's manner changed on the instant. She snapped erect, nostrils flaring. 'Hero? Eldin? You search for them? For what reason? Anyway, too late, for Gudge has them. Hero will go a-heroing no more, and Eldin's wandering days have meandered to a close.' Now, relaxing a little, her tone grew less sharp than sour. 'Aye, Gudge the so-called "pirate chief" — he robbed them 'away from me, as he'd doubtless try to rob you away, if he knew you were here.'
`Where's he taken them?' de Marigny's expression had also changed; his words were hard-edged and issued from behind teeth very nearly clenched. Suddenly taut as a bow-string, he was visibly eager — but not for anything of Zura's.
She felt spurned, drew herself once more erect, stood regal and smouldering and quite the most beautiful — the most evilly beautiful creature de Marigny had ever seen. `You can't help them!' she snapped then, her mouth writhing. 'You're only one man, so how could you? And I can't help them, not even if I would, for I've only one ship. No one can help them — so forget them!' She caught his hand, adopted a pose less seductive than threatening, said: `And now come and make love to me — love me like you've never loved before, and like you'll never love again — or I give you to my zombies here and now! The choice is yours: you can love me alive or love me freshly dead. For that's how it will be in the end, be sure.'
'Be not so sure!' came the cry of a sweet, angry, infinitely female voice.
`What?' Zura's gasp was one of instant rage and astonishment combined. 'You brought you dared to bring —another woman here? A living woman? In that — ?' She pointed a trembling hand at the time-clock. 'Then damn you, Searcher! Your life is forfeit, and then I'll have you anyway!' De Marigny felt the dead men behind him draw back their swords for thrusting. 'And as for your woman, hiding behind that purple haze — some slut of the waking world, no doubt - this is one dream shell not be waking up from. Instead my zombies -'
But what her zombies would do was never learned.
Twin beams of light, pencil slim but so pure and bright that the eye could scarce discern their colour, leapt from the time-clock's dial and touched, oh so briefly, the undead corpses at de Marigny's back, where even now they would drive their swords home. And where those creaking cadavers had stood ... motes of mummy dust danced in the light of the moon; bones crumbled to chalk in mid-air and rags of clothing fluttered, suspended momentarily; and as twin cutlasses clattered to the deck, so their owners gained merciful release.
And now from the open door of the time-clock, pouring out of the throbbing purple interior, a full ship's complement of sky-sailors, bright steel flashing as they swept aside Zura's zombie crew like so much chaff blown on the wind, toppling their mouldering remains over the rails. For these were Kuranes' veterans of the bloodiest sky-battles, not to be denied by a handful of liquefying flesh and brittle bones.
It was all done in a minute, almost before the mortified (or mortifying) Doyenne of Death could draw breath. But not before she could draw her knife.
'I don't know what sort of vessel or weapon that damned coffin is -' she hissed then, placing the cutting edge of her steel against de Marigny's neck, - and I shall never understand how it is bigger inside than out, but if it issues one more threat-'
Which, at that precise moment, it did. 'Put down your . knife, Zura,' came that sweet, angry, amplified voice a second time; and again a pencil beam struck forth. For the merest moment the blinding ray passed between Zura's neck and shoulder, and ropes of shining black hair fell loose, smouldering; and behind her, where the beam touched wood, the timber of her cabin door turned black and issued smoke.
Zura did not fear death for he was her fondest companion, but she did fear burning, utter disintegration and unbeing. And slowly she put down her knife.
Kuranes' men were at de Marigny's side; one of them took Zura's knife and tossed it down to the deck, looked to The Searcher for instructions. 'Ready the ship for sailing,' said de Marigny; and to Zura: 'I'll ask you again, O Princess - where has Gudge got Hero and Eldin?'
By now Moreen had come from the clock. Zura saw her and sniffed haughtily, said: 'Well, at least this explains something of your reluctance. She's pretty, I'll grant you -for a live one, anyway.' And then she turned away, for Zura could not bear the sight of living beauty, not in her domain of death.
De Marigny caught her arm and turned her back to face him. 'I'll ask it just one more time, then take you back to face Kuranes' justice. The dreamlands. beyond Hali are. hellish, I'm told.'
Zura, pale as death, went paler still. For a moment she slumped, then tossed her head and straightened up. 'Kuranes? Why should I fear the justice of Kuranes? He gave me warning, aye, and set a certain stricture: that I should never more fare forth beyond the borders of Zura the land. Well, nor have I. How then may you illegally abduct me from my own Charnel Gardens, and Kuranes punish me? For what?'
De Marigny was growing desperate. A pale stain was spreading itself over the entire horizon, brightening, sending tenuous streamers of mauve light westward. 'Zura, it's almost dawn. They die at dawn, as I'm sure you know. Now you'll tell me where, and, why, and by whose hand. If not ... then obviously you're in league with the pirates; for which, and for the loss of his finest agents and questers, Kuranes will surely punish you as no one was ever punished before.'
Zura frowned, licked her lips, narrowed her eyes. And slowly she tilted her head a little to one side, nodded, as if to herself, and began to smile. Gudge and his gang owed her one, didn't they? — owed her more than one, for hadn't they also crossed her in the war of the Mad Moon? And in a battle, whichever way things went, lives were bound to be lost and Zura the land enriched. She reached a decision, said: `If I side with you and supply the answers you seek, and if there's to be fighting — for I warn you now, Gudge has three ships and we have only Shroud — will you allow me the captaincy of my vessel, with these fighting men of Celephais and Serannian under my command? This way there'll be no doubt that the pirates are no friends of mine, and Kuranes can apologize, if he pleases.'
De Marigny looked at the stern-faced men flanking her, tilted his chin sharply in a gesture of inquiry. `Well?'
`She's an able Captain,' their spokesman answered. `Indeed, I cheered
her on in the Mad Moon war. And yes, if it will speed matters, we'll accept Zura's orders — lawful orders, that is — for this one night only; for it's a weird ship, this Shroud, and who'd know its whims better than its natural, or unnatural, mistress?'
`Zura, O Princess,' came a croak from on high, where at least one member of her crew had been overlooked. `A ship approaches from the East — Lathi's Chrysalis. The grub-Queen pays you a visit!'
`Moreen,' snapped de Marigny at once. 'Into the time-clock, quickly!' But
`Hold!' said Zura. `I was expecting Lathi sooner or later. For you see, I'd already decided it was time we did something about Gudge, and so invited the Queen of Thalarion to come a-calling. But tonight of all nights! What a bonus — what an omen!'
The eidolon Lathi's paper ship was closer now, she gusted along at a good pace under her varnished paper sails, leprous decks sickly agleam in starlight and the glimmer of a sun not yet quite risen. And soon:
`Ahoy, Zura!' hailed a voice strange and honeyed, .while Chrysalis came alongside and dropped anchor on Zura the land.
Zura, Moreen, de Marigny and the spokesman for Kuranes' men went to the rail and stared across at the paper ship and her mistress, the beautiful ter-Queen, Lathi of Thalarion.
Where Zura was dark and oil-gleamy, Lathi was all golden and blonde and green-eyed. Young as a girl she looked, and lovely as a rose in full bloom. Except —
She sat (or seemed to sit) upon a bench-like seat beneath a canopy of pink-hued paper, paper curtains hung behind her, extending to the sides. Attended by handmaidens — beautiful-seeming, scantily-clad girls who sprawled at her feet — she was naked from the waist up, but from there down was draped in ruffles and fluffs and piles of silky, glossy pink and purple tissues. De Marigny, who knew almost nothing about Lathi, found her astonishingly attractive; and yet, paradoxically, at the same time he felt inexplicably repulsed.
In a quiet aside to Moreen, The Searcher said: `Something fishy about this one. Indeed, almost as fishy as Zura.'
`You're right,' she answered. `Her handmaidens, too. Lathi looks real and human enough, but those handmaidens ... their nipples are painted on, Henri, unreal!'
`I've noticed,' de Marigny felt obliged to admit 'But Lathi's not all she seems either. 'The word "eidolon", after all, is often used to describe a confusing image or reflection -- something other than what is seen. Perhaps, under all those paper, frills, there's a lot we can't see.'
`And a good thing too!' whispered Moreen. 'Are all dreamland's females so brazen?'
De Marigny frowned, left Moreen's question unanswered. He couldn't know it, but he had hit upon the truth: behind the curtains, hidden from view, more of Lathi's termaids were at work even now, massaging and smoothing soft oils into her monstrous lower body - which was nothing less than the vastly pulsating cylinder of a termite Queen! But if her grub-body was monstrous, what of her appetites? De Marigny knew nothing of them the fact that she took her termen whole, and occasionally the men of other races which was probably just as well; otherwise he might not have been so ready to accept the alliance which Zura even now proposed:
'Lathi,' the Princess of Death called out. 'This is The Searcher, de Marigny; you may or may not have heard of him.' And (though less enthusiastically), 'And this is his woman, Moreen. The men are Kuranes' lot, but I can't deny they're brave fighters for all that. Your ship and mine make two, and with these men and your termen to crew them and with The Searcher's vessel, small and curious but carrying an awesome weapon - we plan to give Gudge's gang a well deserved lout. What say you? Have you had enough of Gudge and his so-called "pirates" over and around Thalarion?'
The termen Zura had mentioned were tall for dream-beings, handsome and bronzed, with a light yellowish tinge to their skins like sick gold. They were also like as peas in a pod and uniformly vacant-looking where they stood at the rail of the paper ship, their arms crossed on their deep chests. Blank-faced they stood there, dressed only in loin-cloths, like so many mental eunuchs. And if de Marigny could have seen beneath those square flaps of garments, then he would have known the real extent of their 'vacancy'. For all their robotic attitude, however, the termen were well-muscled and carried scythe-like weapons in sheaths strapped underarm. These were Lathi's 'soldiers', her workers, and if they had one purpose in life it was this: to do their Queen's bidding whatever, and prdtect her life with their own to the very death.
`Had enough of Gudge, did you say?' Lathi now called back, a slightly alien ring to her voice, her beautiful face clouding over. 'Too true I have, Zura of Zura! He's threatened the hive Thalarion once too often. When do we sail?'
`Immediately!' cried Zura with a throaty laugh. 'A surprise dawn attack. Haul up your anchor, Lathi, and we're off.' She fired orders at her new crew, then turned to de Marigny and Moreen. 'Quick now, and as we go I'll tell you all you want to know. Then, while you drive on ahead in that queer coffin of yours and try to rescue those great buffoons, we'll follow on behind and ready ourselves for battle!'
4 Engines of Horror!
In the heart of a certain mountain in the range behind Zura the land, foothills of a mightier, more distant escarpment, itself a stony prelude to the forbidden Plateau of Leng, a pair of haggard questers hung on their crosses over the rim of a black pit and waited for the fast approaching dawn and the death it would bring. The ex-volcano's tunnels were like six outwardly radiating spokes or yibs with Hero and Eldin at the centre; one spoke pointing to each of the four cardinal points of the compass, one pointing straight up through the mountain's peak to the skies overhead, and the last — forming the pit itself — pointing inexorably down.
The tunnels had all been lava runs in the fire-mountain's heyday, with the vertical shaft serving, of course, as the main vent. Even now that shaft (certainly its lower reaches, in the very roots of the dreamlands), while something other than volcanic, remained no jot less deadly. The tunnel to the north was more or less level, cathedral-like in its great height and width, a mile long from the centre to where it opened facing distant, ill-reputed Leng. There, at the mouth of that ancient, gigantic blowhole, that was where Gudge harboured his three black vessels and their crews.
As for the eastern, southern and western tunnels: they were narrow, low-ceilinged, in places choked with tephra and solidified lava; home to spiders and cave-lizards and other small, creeping creatures.
`The hell of it is,' said Eldin ramblingly, breaking a silence which had lasted for maybe a half-hour; during which time the pair had performed sombre inward-directed inspections of their somewhat dubious pasts, perhaps in anticipation of yet more dubious futures, `that we still don't know what it's all about! I mean, why are Gudge and Co. masquerading as pirates? What evil is it they're hiding, or doing, or brewing here? Apart from the sinking of innocent ships, that is, and the eating of their crews. Oh, it has to be something big, be sure — else no rhyme or reason to all the scheming — but what?'
As the echoes of his voice died away in that grim place, Hero tried to shrug and couldn't, so simply answered: `Beats me. Except ...'
`Yes?'
`Except I keep thinking we'll be finding out soon enough. Too soon, if you take my meaning. For it has to do, I think, with this volcano — or rather, this ex-volcano.'
Even as he spoke there came echoing up from below a dull, distant booming or pounding, as if some Colossus of inner earth had chosen that precise moment to commence banging away on demon drums. The reverberations from unguessed abysses caused the air to vibrate, brought down rills of dust and pumice from crevices and small ledges; and slowly the pounding took up a steady rhythm, like that of some huge and nameless engine throbbing away in bowels of nether earth.
'Umm!' said Eldin thoughtfully. `I take it that's what you were talking about, eh?'
`Well it's hardly volcanic activity, now is it?' Hero returned. 'Which in turn begs the question: just what the hell is it? I mean, it must go down deeper than Pnoth, this great black flue, and yet something's alive down there ...'<
br />
`Like Oorn in het pit, you mean? That horrible gastropod mate of Mnomquah's, where we sealed her under Sarkomand at the end of the Mad Moon war?'
`Maybe even worse. than Oorn,' replied Hero, darkly.
`Worse than Oorn?' the Wanderer grimaced. `That's a hell of an imagination you've got there, lad!. But I know what you mean: if not real life down there, pseudo-life — right?'
`Real, pseudo, whatever!' said Hero. 'Nasty-life, anyway. And — '
`Hold your breath!' Eldin cut him short.
Hero heeded the older dreamer's warning at once. This subterranean pounding wasn't new to them; so far they'd hung here for an afternoon and a night, and this was the third time that ominous thundering had rumbled up from below. By now they were well acquainted with what came with it. First the smell:
Yurghhh! said Eldin, screwing his eyes shut, clamping his lips together, even trying to pinch his nostrils in upon themselves against a reek that would make the Charnel Gardens smell good. And then:
ArghhhP agreed Hero, likewise suppressing his sensory tackle, as a hot, stinking black smoke ring came whooshing up from dreamland's core. It dung to the wall of the pit, that rolling ring of noxious steam and smoke and lordknows-what, billowing over the questers, enveloping them, and hurtling on up the shaft in the mountain's heart to the skies above. Overhead the glimmer of stars fading in the coming dawn was shut out as the smoke ring eclipsed them; while down below the pounding continued its, driving, maddening beat, accompanied by subterranean shuddering.
The pair opened their stinging eyes, breathed tentatively at first, then gulped with their mouths at the still foetid air, gradually relaxing the pressure on their nostrils. Eldin was first to speak. 'Lord, what I'd give right now for a clothes peg!' he moaned.
`Save your breath,' Hero gasped. 'You need it, for as we've seen before this is likely to go on for some little time.'
But the Wanderer wasn't listening; instead he was frowning down into the gulf, his chin jutting forward onto his broad chest. 'You'd think there were machines down there,' he said. 'And this the chimney of some monstrous mill, some foul factory of hell!'
