by Dana Fredsti
Cam and Harcourt nodded.
“And Harcourt?” Blake added.
“Yes?”
“You’ll keep quiet, or you’ll wait here for us. Your choice.”
The professor swallowed, then gave a quick salute.
“Quiet as a church mouse in cheesecloth.”
* * *
Reaching a clearing, the three paused and scanned for sentries. A trio of tall, palatial buildings stood before them. The rectangular courtyard they enclosed might have once been a sunken garden, but more forest had sprung up there.
A few hundred meters away, the thin line of smoke they’d followed still trailed fitfully skyward, coming from somewhere in a grand temple-like structure to their right. Ivy-bound pillars and classical statuary covered its sides, and a pair of colossal obelisks stood at the entrance, tall enough to dwarf the rest of the facade.
Blake went first, cutting through the sunken forest and then slipping across between the obelisks to the broad entryway. Cam came close behind, silent in his soft deerskin boots. They both cringed as Harcourt crashed out of the trees with coattails flapping, one hand securing his top hat. Loudly snapping twigs underfoot with every step, he panted for breath.
Glaring at him, Blake turned and peered around the corner. Dust-blown outer walkways stretched off to the left and right, empty except for leaves and weeds. Straight ahead, the main entrance hall led them up to enormous twin doors. They stood slightly ajar, held in place by vines and other growth.
Approaching the gap, Blake peered into the gloom. Skylights and long windows, all but obscured by dirt and vegetation, let in slanting, fitful spears of light, making visibility unreliable at best. The chamber was huge, like an aircraft hangar, easily big enough to fit three or four football pitches. Tall shapes with sinister contours loomed in the shadows.
He listened carefully for sounds of human activity, but heard only vague, ambient noise. Waving the other two forward, he stepped inside. The dim light revealed a network of steel girders crisscrossing the ceiling and, closer at hand, a large wooden plaque stretched overhead, boasting flaking gold letters:
PALACE OF MINES AND METALLURGY
The place was a labyrinth of displays and exhibits from around the world, devoted to aspects of geology and mining. In the hazy light from outside, he caught glimpses everywhere of statues, flags, decorative banners, gem and mineral showcases, models, equipment, maps, and a thousand informative displays.
“We should make torches,” Cam said, eyeing the cloth banners and wooden poles.
“No need for that,” Blake replied, approaching a display of mining equipment. He gave some of the lanterns an experimental shake. “These will do us just fine.”
* * *
Armed with working lights, the men moved further into the maze. Many of the exhibits were in shambles, although some barely seemed disturbed at all, and none appeared to have been looted. The debris on the floor seemed to have been heavily trampled, though, as if some sort of steamroller had wound a twisted path through the interior.
Climbing to a raised section designed to evoke the deck of a battleship, they passed under heavy steel gun turrets, going past smaller field cannon and stacked pyramids of cannonballs.
Nearer to the center of the vast exhibition hall, rising well over fifty feet high, an iron statue of Vulcan stood at his forge, hammer in one hand, the other holding a spearhead raised to the heavens. They passed him, walking by elegant sculptures of onyx and copper, and elaborate life-sized dioramas of the mining techniques from the California Gold Rush, complete with antique tools. They stopped when they reached an unusual pair of statues.
The first was a giant slab of what looked to be salt crystal, roughly carved into the shape of a fleeing woman wrapped in a shawl, face turned to look back the way she came. There was a placard at her feet.
LOT’S WIFE
In an inspired arrangement, she faced a demonic figure standing with crossed arms, four times her size, a bright yellow column sculpted into the leering visage of a devil. The sign for this one declared it to be “a monument to Mephistopheles,” made of twenty-four hundred pounds of sulfur. Its acrid brimstone reek left a dry, noxious taste in the mouth.
Harcourt pulled out his handkerchief and tried to stifle a wheezing, choking fit.
“Nev Kawgh…” Cam exclaimed softly.
“You’ve got that right,” Blake agreed.
A drawn-out rustling sound echoed through the building, adding to the uneasy feeling that they were in some dingy carnival’s haunted house. The trio quickly moved on, past the battered remains of exhibits from Hungary, Peru, Japan, and Australia, before they caught a glimpse of the orange glow of an open flame, flickering from the cracks in a concealing makeshift shelter.
“Kha?” Cam pitched his voice low. “Leila?” Blake stopped him with a light touch to his shoulder, stepping carefully around the debris.
“It’s clear.”
Someone had assembled a modest fire, recent enough that its untended embers were still lit. The traveler or travelers had tried to jerry-rig a concealing shelter using tabletops and other scavenged bric-a-brac.
“Do you think it was their doing?” Cam asked Blake, who shrugged.
“No way to know, but if it was, where are they now?”
From the shadows behind them, they heard the crunch of breaking wood, and turned their lantern beams in time to catch furtive movement underneath a lean-to formed by a collapsed tabletop, as though a large man in black was crouching to sneak up on them.
“Who’s there?” Blake called harshly.
The figure didn’t respond, silently slipping out from under the table to reveal a head the size of a steam shovel.
It wasn’t a man in black—it was a giant snake.
29
The sea cave proved its worth as a shelter from the frosty weather outside. Though it stank and was crowded with barking seals and scuttling trilobites, the women were able to stake out a little spot along a side wall to lie down together, bundled up in their parkas.
Whether from all the combined mammalian body heat, or whatever twenty-third-century magic the Vanuatu had used to create their polar gear, Nellie was thankful for the warmth. After a time, the seals settled down and it became quiet enough for them to try to sleep.
Between watching for any sign of the mysterious laughing phantom, and anxiously hoping the portal would open again, Nellie found sleep impossible.
* * *
Even after the star-studded blackness of the cave mouth washed away into a crisp sky blue, she still lay there, watching Hypatia sleep, her features framed by the fur-lined hood of the parka. Nellie passed the time noting the ways the diffuse dawn light slowly played across the soft contours of her companion’s serene face.
How beautiful she was, Nellie thought. She felt a little strange, allowing herself to entertain such a fascination for an older woman. There was no harm in it, of course. After all, anyone with eyes could see how objectively lovely Hypatia was. Nellie marveled at how strongly her keen intelligence and her kindness shone through her innocent features. She—
Hypatia opened her eyes.
Nellie froze, embarrassed—though she couldn’t say why, exactly. But Hypatia only smiled, putting her at ease again.
“Good morning.”
“Is it?” Nellie responded with a cheeky little smile. Hypatia sat up, taking in the recumbent crowd of seals.
“May I assume that no malevolent spirits came by in the night?”
“None dared try get past me, or our army of gallant defenders.”
Hypatia laughed. “And we did not freeze to death in our sleep.”
“All true.”
“Then I declare it a very good morning indeed.”
* * *
Together they decided the first order of business was to locate the portal that had dropped them there. Stepping carefully around the sometimes-indignant seals, they studied their surroundings, and found only damp and slimy cavern wall
s.
Nellie didn’t express out loud what they both were surely thinking—that they were losing precious time. That they might be stranded forever. That they would die here. She stopped and pressed a hand against the cold limestone. Closing her eyes, she tried to reach out with her mind, the way Amber had.
Amber, can you hear me?
There was no response.
“Nellie? Are you praying?”
Nellie opened her eyes again and explained, so Hypatia joined her efforts. However, after a few minutes without a response, they agreed to go out in search of breakfast.
In daylight the features of the landscape became clear. One small strand of sandy beach opened to the sea. The rest of the coast was taken up by tumbled mounds of boulders and sandstone cliffs slanting down from the forested heights above. Cliques of seals had already staked out prime sunbathing spots on the sand. Overhead a sea eagle circled, screeching at an unhurried line of passing pterodactyls.
They scrambled over the rocky tidal pools. Nellie pointed down to the small shapes moving among the shadows, trilobites, crustaceans, and tiny fish.
“Do you like crab?” she asked. “I’d wager we can catch some of these little ones.”
Hypatia shook her head. “Let us not eat animals. The writings of our fathers Plato and Porphyry offer many proofs of the impropriety of killing living beings for food.”
“Oh,” Nellie said. She hadn’t expected that particular response. “What about mussels and clams? Surely they’re low enough not to warrant any fuss and bother.”
“They know enough to cling tight to the rocks.”
“True enough, I suppose. But…” She was out of logic. “How are we to survive out here otherwise?”
Hypatia smiled. “If we must become beasts ourselves to live, so be it, but first let us see if there is kelp or seaweed to sustain us.”
Nellie nodded glumly, still eyeing the fat little trilobites while Hypatia began to climb down across the tumble of rocks and boulders. She drew closer to the water’s edge, where the white surf splashed over the green mossy stones.
There was a long shape in the water.
“Hypatia…?”
The other woman halted and looked back inquiringly. Nellie pointed to the serpentine form gliding through the surf just as it broke the surface, arching up on a neck as tall as a New York streetlight, the jaws of its giant head—both snakelike and sharklike—wide open and lined with a thick fringe of sharp white teeth.
It plunged downward with blinding speed.
“Hypatia!” Nellie screamed.
The beast’s teeth clamped down, plucking its prey off the ground and lifting back up to rend the body apart with a few crunches of its massive jaws, then swallowing the bloody remains down. Hypatia was gone. The surf churned bright crimson, staining the foam.
Nellie stood frozen in place, staring at the carnage. Hungry for more, the beast pulled itself up closer to the beach, hauling its gargantuan body with powerful rectangular flippers. It arched up again, stretching open its jaws for a new attack.
“Nellie! Get down!”
But she could only stand there, numb with disbelief.
All the seals on the beach were in a full panic, barking in terror and squirming away in all directions like caterpillars. The beast snapped its head down again, striking out to snatch up a nearby seal trying to escape. Nellie watched in a daze as it craned its neck to snatch a third victim, looking around for fresh prey even as it swallowed the previous one.
It turned toward Nellie.
“Nellie!”
Hypatia? Like waking from a bad dream, Nellie saw Hypatia, still alive, huddled among the rocks. It didn’t kill her, it was just a seal. Still alive. Still alive. Slowly coming out of her daze, Nellie looked up to see the dinosaur turning its attention on her. It’s the Loch Ness Monster, she thought as the creature rose up, again opening its wide maw.
“Nellie!” Hypatia screamed a third time.
There was no time to think as the monster struck her. Nothing but sheer instinct and adrenaline stirred her muscles to twist and dive just as the monster came crashing down, jaws snapping on air instead of flesh. Throwing her body to the side, she dove headfirst into the stand of boulders. She landed hard on her arm and shoulder in the gap between the rocks, with only dumb luck and the padding of her arctic wear to protect her.
The monster was on her again.
A row of blood-stained Bowie-knife teeth snapped away at her, slaughterhouse breath blasting at her like a bellows as the enraged dinosaur tried again and again to force its way into the rocky crevice. It struggled to haul up its body closer on the rocks, looking for a better angle. Hypatia screamed again, and the monster reared its head back for another strike.
Nellie’s world narrowed to a view of the mottled throat and grisly rows of teeth coming for her. The beast screamed out a deafening prehistoric roar that shook her bones and turned her stomach to jelly. Then its serpentine neck jerked back at an unnatural angle—
She wasn’t dead.
The monster was moving backward.
She scrambled to her feet and looked down toward the shore. What looked like a locomotive-sized killer whale had clamped its own toothy jaws on the dinosaur’s tail. The first monster flailed madly, trying in vain to bite back at its attacker, but this only allowed the newcomer to get a grip on its long sinuous neck. Huge flippers beat the air uselessly as the bigger predator hauled it back down into the dark blood-drenched sea.
For long moments, the only sound was that of the surf. Then Hypatia appeared at the crevice and helped Nellie out of it, hurrying the shell-shocked woman away from the shore as quickly as possible.
“That’s it, keep going,” Hypatia said. “We’ll look for food and fresh water up in the forest.”
30
Inside the Palace of Mines and Metallurgy, the snake’s jaws yawned open, more than wide enough to engulf a full-grown man. The flesh inside glistened white and pink and pale blue, billowing out at them.
“Move!” Blake kicked the fire as he yelled, sending a spray of red-hot coals into the oncoming mouth. Hissing like a locomotive, the reptile arched back, shaking its head violently as the men scrambled to get out of its path. Before Blake could get around the makeshift shelter, the enraged snake struck again, smashing through with the strength of a giant’s fist, sending it and the man flying.
Blake hit the floor in a roll, his lantern dashed out of his hand to tumble and shatter across the tiles, igniting in a splattered pool of oil. He turned to see Cam hurdle over the railing into the Peruvian booth, the light from his lantern arcing back and forth. Harcourt squealed with panic as he struggled to run, tripping over himself in his haste to escape.
Rapidly coiling its formidable bulk around a standing pillar, it anchored itself and tried again to snap up Blake, just missing as he dove under a table. The strike shattered a display case above in a noisy burst of splinters, glass, and Australian opals. Its momentum carried it forward and, in a smooth liquid motion, it twisted back around.
Struggling to see in the gloom, Blake scanned for cover. He didn’t dare make a straight run for the door—he’d never be able to outrun the thing—but if he could use the terrain to his advantage—
His thought was cut off as the prehistoric nightmare came at him again. Reacting on pure instinct he rose, angling the tabletop and shoving it straight toward the monster.
For such a massive creature—wide as a rhino and as long as a Mack truck—it could move with uncanny speed. They collided and the impact knocked Blake backward across the floor. With only the table in its jaws, the snake reared back, head thrashing back and forth like a dog with a rat.
Ordering his battered body into action, Blake scrambled to his feet again and ran, hoping the snake would choke on the wooden pieces. Those hopes vanished as the table buckled and broke apart with a crunching snap. Needing cover, he dove behind a pillar in the nearest patch of shadows.
Heart pounding, he leaned against t
he pillar and let his body slump to the ground, fighting to control his unsteady breath. Then came the sound of Harcourt’s terrified wailing. A tiny, uncharitable part of him wished the snake would be distracted enough to chase the noisier target instead.
Enough of that.
Blake peered around the corner. In the glow from the flames on the floor, he could just make out a portion of the blackness that shimmered in a sinuous movement, gliding silently and inexorably toward him. The dark that hindered his vision didn’t bother the snake at all. So Blake bolted forward, cutting at an angle toward the pool of flames. The snake changed course, circling around the fire to cut him off. With both hands, Blake ripped down a drape of festive swag and dragged it through the flaming oil, gratified to see it ignite at once.
Waving his makeshift firebrand, he stoked the flames, and the serpent shifted again to give the fiery pool of oil a wide berth. With slow, cautious steps, Blake backed away, scanning desperately for a strategic exit, but unwilling to turn his back on the hungry reptile.
He backed into a booth, nearly tripping over debris on the floor. It was the gold rush exhibit. Had it included a pickaxe? He risked a glance over his shoulder.
Bad idea.
A streak of movement flashed in his peripheral vision and he whirled back around, ducking just as the snake lunged past him—missing him by sheer luck, tearing away the remains of the flaming cloth and extinguishing it in the process. Once again the room was plunged into semi-darkness.
Where’s that goddamned axe?
Desperate, he dove blindly, without thought, crashing painfully into a wooden sluice. He scrambled to get to his feet—but the snake already had him.
Unable to see, Blake heard and felt the snake’s body encircling the sluice, followed by the awful cracking sound as the coils began to constrict the slats. Once the coffin-like trench collapsed, he would be crushed to a pulp.
