The Tomb

by F. Paul Wilson

  The thought was paralyzing. To walk among them …

  Every minute he delayed getting off this ship increased his danger, yet a primal revulsion held him back. Something within him preferred to crouch here and wait for death rather than venture into the hold.

  He fought against it, not with reason but with anger. He was in charge here, not some instinctive loathing.

  “Hold on,” he whispered.

  He stepped out of the corridor and into the hold.

  He moved slowly, with the utmost care and caution. Most of the rakoshi were caliginous lumps scattered across the floor. He had to step over some of the sleeping ones and wind his way between the alert ones. Although his sneakered feet made no sound, occasionally a head would lift and look around as they passed. Jack could barely make out the details of their faces and would not know a puzzled rakoshi expression if he saw one, but they had to be confused. They sensed a presence yet their eyes told them nothing was there.

  He could sense their pure, naked aggression, their immaculate evil. No pretense about their savagery—it was all on the surface, surrounding them like an aura.

  Jack still felt his heart trip and fumble a beat every time one of the creatures turned its yellow eyes his way. His mind still resisted complete acceptance of the fact that he was invisible to them.

  The reek of the things thickened as he wound his way across the floor. They must have looked a comical pair, tiptoeing piggyback through the dark. Laughable except for their precarious position: One wrong move and they’d be torn to shreds.

  If negotiating a path through the recumbent rakoshi was harrowing, dodging the wandering ones was utterly nerve-wracking. Jack had little or no warning as to when they’d appear. They’d loom out of the shadows and pass within inches, some pausing, some even stopping to look around, sensing humans but not seeing them.

  He was three quarters of the way across the hold when a seven-foot shadow suddenly rose from the floor and stepped toward him. Jack had nowhere to go. Dark forms reclined on either side and the space where he stood between them would not allow a rakosh to pass. Instinctively he jerked back—and began to lose his balance. Kolabati must have sensed this for she pressed her weight rigidly against his spine.

  In a desperate move to keep from toppling over, Jack lifted his left leg and pivoted on his right foot. He swiveled in a semicircle to wind up facing the way he’d come, straddling a sleeping rakosh. The creature brushed Jack’s arm as it shuffled past.

  With a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss, the rakosh whirled with raised talons, baring its fangs. Jack didn’t think he’d ever seen anything move so fast. He clenched his jaw, not daring to move or breathe. The creature asleep between and beneath his legs stirred. He prayed it would not awaken. He could feel a scream building within Kolabati; he tightened his grip around her legs—silent encouragement to hold on.

  The rakosh facing him rotated its head back and forth quickly, warily at first, then more slowly. Soon it calmed and lowered its talons. Finally it moved off, but not without a long, searching look over its shoulder.

  Jack allowed himself to breathe again. He swung back into the path of clear floor between the rakoshi and continued the endless trek toward the starboard wall of the hold. As he neared the aft corner, he spotted an electrical conduit leading upward from a small box on the wall. He headed for that, and smiled to himself when he saw the three buttons on the box.

  The shallow well directly under the elevator was clear of rakoshi. Perhaps they’d learned during the time they’d been here that this was not a good place to rest—sleep too deeply and too long and you might be crushed.

  Jack didn’t hesitate. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out and jabbed the Down button.

  A loud clank—almost deafening as it echoed through the gloomy, enclosed hold—followed by a high-pitched hum. The rakoshi were instantly alert and on their feet, their glowing yellow eyes fixed as one on the descending platform.

  Movement at the far side of the hold caught Jack’s eye; the Mother rakosh was heading their way. All the rakoshi began to shuffle forward to stand in a rough semicircle less than a dozen feet from where Jack stood with Kolabati on his back. He’d backed up as far as he could without actually stepping into the elevator well.

  The Mother pushed her way to the front and stood there staring upward. When the descending platform reached the level of ten feet or so from the floor, the rakoshi began a low chant, barely audible above the steadily growing whine of the elevator.

  “They’re speaking!” Kolabati whispered in his ear. “Rakoshi can’t speak!”

  With all the other noise around them, Jack felt it safe to turn his head and answer her.

  “You should have seen it last night—like a political rally. They were all shouting something like, Kaka-ji! Kaka-ji! It was—”

  Kolabati’s fingernails dug into his shoulders like claws, her voice rising in pitch and volume that he feared would alert the rakoshi.

  “What? What did you say?”

  “‘Kaka-ji.’ They were saying, ‘Kaka-ji.’ What’s—?”

  Kolabati let out a small cry that sounded like a word, but not an English word. And suddenly the chant stopped.

  The rakoshi had heard her.

  13

  Kusum stood at the curb with his arm outstretched. All the taxis on Fifth Avenue seemed to be taken tonight. He tapped his foot impatiently. He wanted to get back to the ship. Night was here.

  He still had work to do at the Consulate but, emergency meeting or no, he had found it impossible to stay there a minute longer. He had excused himself amid frowns from the senior diplomats, but he could afford their displeasure now. After tonight he would no longer need the shield of diplomatic immunity. The last Westphalen would be dead and he would be at sea, on his way back to India with his rakoshi to take up where he had left off.

  He still had the matter of Jack to contend with, but had already decided how to deal with him. He would allow Jack to swim ashore later tonight after he had put to sea. Killing him would serve no purpose at that point.

  He still had not figured out how Jack had found the ship. That question had nagged him for hours, distracting him throughout the meeting at the Consulate. No doubt Kolabati had told him, but he wanted to know for sure.

  An empty taxi finally pulled up before him. Kusum swung into the back seat.

  “Where to, Mac?”

  “West on Fifty-seventh Street. I will tell you when to stop.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He was on his way. Soon the Mother and a youngling would be on their way to bring him the last Westphalen.

  And then he would be rid of this land. His followers awaited. A new era was about to dawn for India.

  14

  Jack froze as the creatures began milling about, searching for the source of the cry. Behind him he could feel Kolabati’s body bucking gently against him as if she were sobbing soundlessly into the nape of his neck.

  What had he said to shock her so? Had to be Kaka-ji.

  What did it mean?

  The top of the elevator’s wooden platform had descended to chest level. With his left arm still hooked around one of Kolabati’s knees, Jack freed his right and hauled himself and his burden onto the platform. He struggled to his knees and staggered to the control panel next to one of the propane torches, punching the Up button as soon as he reached it.

  With an abrupt lurch and a metallic screech, the elevator reversed direction. The rakoshi once again focused their attention on the elevator. With Kolabati still clinging to him. Jack sagged to his knees at the edge of the platform and stared back at them.

  A dozen feet off the floor, he let go of Kolabati’s legs. Without a word she released her grip on his neck and slid away toward the rear of the platform. As soon as she broke contact with him, a chorus of enraged growls and hisses broke from the floor. The rakoshi could see him now.

  They surged forward like a Stygian wave, slashing the air with thei
r talons. Jack watched them in mute fascination, stunned by the intensity of their fury.

  Suddenly three of them lunged into the air, long arms stretched to the limit, talons extended. Jack’s first impulse was to laugh at the futility of the attempt—the platform was easily fifteen feet from the floor now. But as the rakoshi hurtled up at him, he realized to his horror that they weren’t going to fall short. He rolled back and sprang to his feet as their talons caught the edge of the platform.

  The rakosh in the middle fell short of the other two. Its yellow talons had hooked onto the very edge of the platform; the ends of the wooden planks cracked and splintered under its weight. As jagged pieces broke loose, it dropped back to the floor.

  The other two had a better grip and were pulling themselves up onto the platform. Jack leaped to his left where the rakosh was raising its face above the level of the platform. He saw gnashing fangs, a snouted, earless head. Loathing surged through him as he aimed a flying kick at its face. The impact of the blow vibrated up his leg. Yet the creature didn’t even flinch. Like kicking a brick wall.

  Then he remembered the lighters in his hands. He thumbed the flame regulator on each to maximum and hit the buttons. As two thin wavering pencils of flame shot up, he shoved both lighters at the rakosh’s face, aiming for the eyes. It hissed in rage and jerked its head back. The sudden movement shifted its center of gravity. Talons raked inch-deep gouges in the wood but to no avail. It was overbalanced. Like the first rakosh, its weight caused the wood to crack and give way. It toppled back to the shadows below.

  Jack swung toward the last rakosh and saw that it had pulled its body waist high to the platform, just then lifting a knee over the edge. He leaped toward it with his lighters outstretched. Without warning, the rakosh leaned forward and slashed at him with extended talons that brushed Jack’s right hand. He’d underestimated the creature’s reach and its agility. Pain lanced up his arm from his palm as the lighter went flying and Jack fell back out of reach.

  The rakosh had slipped back after its attempt at Jack, almost losing its grip. It had to use both hands to keep itself from falling off, but it held on and began to pull itself up again.

  Jack’s mind raced. The rakosh would be up on the platform in a second or two. The elevator had been rising continuously but would never make it to the top in time. He could rush back to where a dazed Kolabati crouched by the propane tank and take her in his arms. The necklace would hide him from the rakosh, but the elevator platform was too small to keep it from finding them—sooner or later it would bump into them and that would be the end.

  He was trapped.

  Desperate, he ranged the platform looking for a weapon. His gaze came to rest on the propane torches Kusum had used for his ceremony with the rakoshi. He remembered how the flames had roared six feet into the air. Here was a fire to reckon with.

  The rakosh had both knees up on the platform now.

  “Turn on the gas!” he shouted to Kolabati.

  She looked at him blank eyed. She seemed to be in a state of shock.

  “The gas!” He flung his second lighter at her, striking her in the shoulder. “Turn it on!”

  Kolabati shook herself and reached slowly for the handle atop the tank.

  “Come on!”

  He turned to the torch—a hollow metal cylinder, six inches across, supported by four slender metal legs. As he wrapped an arm around it and tilted it toward the oncoming rakosh, he heard the propane rushing through the gas port at the lower end of the cylinder, filling it. He smelled the gas seeping into the air around him.

  The rakosh had reared up to its full height and was leaping toward him, seven feet of bared fangs, outstretched arms, and fully extended talons. Jack almost quailed at the sight. His third lighter was slippery with blood from the gash on his palm, but he found the touchhole at the base of the torch, flicked the lighter, and jammed it in.

  The gas exploded with a near deafening roar, shooting a devastating column of flame directly into the face of the oncoming rakosh.

  The creature reeled back, its arms outflung, its head ablaze. It spun, lurched crazily to the edge of the platform, and fell off.

  “Yes!” Jack shouted, raising his fists in the air, exultant and amazed at his victory. “Yes!”

  Down below he saw the Mother rakosh, darker, taller than her young, staring upward, her cold yellow eyes never leaving him as he rose farther and farther from the floor. The intensity of the hatred in those eyes made him turn away.

  He coughed as smoke began to fill the air around him. He looked down and saw the wood of the platform blackening and catching fire where the flame of the fallen torch seared it. He leaped to the propane tank and shut off the flow. Kolabati crouched next to it, her expression still dazed.

  The elevator came to an automatic halt at the top of its run. The hold hatch cover sat six feet above them. Jack guided Kolabati to the ladder. It led up to a small trapdoor in the cover. He went up first, half expecting it to be locked. Why not? Every other escape route was blocked. Why should this one be any different?

  He pushed, wincing with pain as his bloody right palm slipped on the wood. But the door moved up, letting in a puff of fresh air. Momentarily weak with relief, Jack rested his head on his arm.

  Made it!

  Then he threw open the trapdoor and thrust his head through.

  Dark. The sun had set, stars were out, the moon was rising. The humid air and the normal stink of Manhattan’s waterfront were like ambrosia after being with the rakoshi.

  He scanned the deck. Nothing moved. The gangway was up. No sign that Kusum had returned.

  Jack turned and looked down at Kolabati. “It’s clear. Let’s get off this tub.”

  He pulled himself up onto the deck and turned to help her out, but she remained standing on the elevator platform.

  “Kolabati!” She jumped, looked at him, then started up the ladder.

  When they were both on deck, he led her by the hand to the gangway.

  “Kusum operates it electronically,” she told him.

  He searched the top of the gangway until he found the motor, then followed the wires back to a small control box. On its under surface he found a button.

  “This should do it.”

  He pressed: A click, a hum, and the gangway began a slow descent. Too slow. An overwhelming sense of urgency possessed him. He wanted off this ship.

  He didn’t wait for the gangway to reach the dock. As soon as it passed the three-quarter mark in its descent he was on the treads, heading down, pulling Kolabati behind him. They jumped the last three feet and began to run. Some of his urgency must have transferred to her—she was running right beside him.

  They stayed away from Fifty-seventh Street on the chance that they might run into Kusum coming back to the docks. Instead they ran up Fifty-eighth. Three taxis passed them by despite Jack’s shouts. Perhaps the cabbies didn’t want to get involved with two haggard-looking people—a shirtless man with a bloody right hand and a woman in a rumpled sari—looking as if they were running for their lives. Jack couldn’t say he blamed them. But he wanted to get off the street. He felt vulnerable out here.

  A fourth taxi stopped and Jack leaped in, dragging Kolabati after him. He gave the address of his apartment. The driver wrinkled his nose at the stench that clung to them and floored his gas pedal. He seemed to want to be rid of this fare as soon as possible.

  During the ride Kolabati sat in a corner of the back seat and stared out the window. Jack had a thousand questions he wanted to ask her but restrained himself. She wouldn’t answer him in the presence of the cab driver and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to. But as soon as they were in the apartment …

  15

  The gangway was down.

  Kusum froze on the dock when he saw it. It was no illusion. Moonlight glinted icy blue from its aluminum steps and railings.

  How? He could not imagine—

  He broke into a run, taking the steps two at a time and sprinting across
the deck to the door to the pilot’s quarters. The lock was still in place. He pulled on it—still intact and locked.

  He leaned against the door and waited for his pounding heart to slow. For a moment he had thought someone had come aboard and released Jack and Kolabati.

  He tapped on the steel door with the key to the lock.

  “Bati? Come to the door. I wish to speak to you.”

  Silence.

  “Bati?”

  Kusum pressed an ear to the metal. He sensed more than silence on the other side. An indefinable feeling of emptiness there. Alarmed, he jammed the key into the padlock

  —and hesitated.

  He was dealing with Repairman Jack here and was wary of underestimating him. Jack was probably armed and unquestionably dangerous. He might well be waiting in there with a drawn pistol ready to blast a hole in whoever opened the door.

  But it felt empty.

  Kusum decided to trust his senses. He twisted the key, removed the padlock, and pulled the door open.

  The hallway was empty. He glanced into the pilot’s cabin—empty! But how—?

  And then he saw the hole in the floor. For an instant he thought a rakosh had broken through to the compartment, then he saw part of the iron bed frame on the floor and understood.

  The audacity of that man! He had escaped into the heart of the rakoshi quarters—and had taken Kolabati with him! He smiled to himself. They were probably still down there somewhere, cowering on a catwalk. Bati’s necklace would protect her. But Jack might well have fallen victim to a rakosh by now.

  Then he remembered the lowered gangplank. Cursing in his native tongue, he hurried from the pilot’s quarters to the hatch over the main hold. He lifted the entry port and peered below.

  The rakoshi were agitated. Through the murky light he could see their dark forms mixing and moving about chaotically on the floor of the hold. The elevator platform sat half a dozen feet below him. Immediately he noticed the torch on its side, the scorched wood. He leaped through the trap door to the elevator and started it down.

  Something lay on the floor of the hold. When he had descended halfway to the floor, he saw that it was a dead rakosh. Rage suffused Kusum. Dead! Its head—what was left of it—was a mass of charred flesh!