by Samuel Fort
Chapter 6 - Arrival at Steepleguard
The funnel cloud descended from the black sky and sucked him out of the car, throwing him into a gray fog. Ben felt himself falling. Surveying the brown terrain below he realized that the vortex had carried him back to Afghanistan.
As soon as he was on the ground he heard the terrible high-pitched screech of a base alarm, followed by a man’s voice screaming “Incoming! Incoming! Incoming!” Yet the former Marine found that he was standing in middle of the desert, far from any base or bunker.
It was night and the silhouettes of the steep, jagged mountains of eastern Afghanistan surrounded him like the coiled, spiked tail of a dragon. He saw lights hurdling down from the starry sky to the Earth below, and he thought, ‘rockets!’ and knew only the Taliban used rockets like this and they only fired them at Coalition bases, so he ran toward the falling stars.
There seemed to be millions of them, which was ludicrous, because the insurgents never had more than a few dozen on hand and rarely fired them all at once. They were psychological weapons that rarely caused casualties and thus were used sparingly. Each time one of the lights overhead descended behind the mountains there was an ear-piercing ‘CRACK’, like a shotgun blast at close range, and he cringed.
He found he was running through a field of dead horses and then he was on one of them and racing toward the mountains and the battle. He could hear explosions and screams and the too-familiar whooshing noises as glowing objects zipped over him to the mountains ahead.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Somehow his reanimated horse made it to the top of one of a mountain in just a few leaps, but when he got there the battle was over. The skies were still and all was silent. It was cold and the air smelled of burnt wire. Below him was a narrow valley dotted with hundreds of giant glowing oysters, and he wondered why there were oysters in Afghanistan.
They began to pop open, one by one.
His horse collapsed and he fell and rolled into the valley, stopping a few feet from one of the shells. It was covered in colorful squiggles that glowed like neon lights. It was still closed but he could see movement through the crack between top and bottom. Someone was inside.
No, not someone - something. It was too big and too wrinkled and hideous to be human. He saw a tentacle or snake or worm slipping through the cracks and moving toward him. He was paralyzed and could feel his chest emptying of breath. The mountains began to rotate - to slither - around him, growing closer with each revolution, and he realized they were not mountains but something else entirely.
“Run!” said the blasphemy inside the shell as its cold, slimy tentacle wrapped itself around his neck. “Run, or die!”
“Ben, wake up, we’re almost there.”
It was Lilian’s voice coming from somewhere far away.
“Ben?”
He felt his body moving left and right and with a start he jerked forward, his eyes opening.
“What?” he said. He turned to see Lilian looking at him.
“Steepleguard is just around the corner,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for almost three hours.”
“Oh,” he said, self-consciously wiping a drop of spittle from his chin.
She looked at him with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He watched as Lilian turned right off the main road and ascended a secondary paved road that was surprisingly wide and well maintained. Ten minutes after that they took another turn and drove past a large stone monument bearing a bronze plate that read “Steepleguard Hotel.” The tires hummed and bounced as the surface beneath the car changed from asphalt to cobblestone.
The hotel finally came into view and the immensity of the structure took Ben’s breath away. Built in the Swiss Chalet style, the brown brick edifice was really several structures, some four stories tall, others five, and still others six, that seamlessly abutted one another. Countless dormers and towers of stone and masonry jutted out from the walls. It was as if all the buildings of a medieval Swiss village had been somehow squeezed together. The roofs, for there were many, were steeply pitched and composed of layers of etched turquoise metal that he assumed was copper. Snow capped mountains surrounded and towered over the building, yet also seemed to pay homage to it.
“Wow.”
“Yes,” agreed Lilian.
“How many rooms does this thing have?”
“Four hundred or so guest rooms. There are also a few guesthouses in the woods. If you think this is impressive, wait until you see the Great Hall.”
“What does Ridley do with all this space? You could house a displaced nation here.”
“Most of Steepleguard is sealed off. He works out of a few rooms on the bottom floor.”
“Does it have electricity?”
“Yes. There are no distribution lines to the hotel because of its remoteness, but there is an impressive array of generators and sophisticated geothermal and solar apparatuses that Ridley installed a few years ago.”
“I’m surprised he thinks it worth the effort. It’s an amazing place but it must cost a fortune to maintain it.”
“Money’s not an issue for Ridley.”
Ben chuckled sardonically. “Of course it isn’t.”
They came to a stop at the end of wide cobblestone walk that led to two immense black oak doors that served as the hotel’s main entrance. The doors were easily two stories tall and elegantly carved with reliefs of mountains, lakes, wildlife, and, curiously, a five-circuit Cretan labyrinth. The harp-shaped handles were made from deer antlers.
“The servants will see to our bags,” Lilian said as they emerged from the car. She walked around the vehicle and slipped her hand inside the crook of Ben’s arm. “May I?”
Arm-in-arm, they proceeded down the cobblestone walk toward the hotel’s entrance. As they did so the doors swung outward and an old man stepped onto the stone porch. Ben assumed the figure was Ridley.
Their greeter was a sight to behold. He wore an untethered red silk robe that flapped lazily over a gray sweat suit, and his shuffling feet were adorned in sandals and socks. The man’s gray hair was cut so short that the flesh of his scalp shown through it, though his silver goatee and eyebrows were disproportionately full. The whites of his eyes had been replaced with something approaching the color of parchment. With his pronounced stoop, he stood just over five feet tall. Ben guessed his age at ninety years, minimum.
“Greetings, Ben,” the ancient man said as he clasped the researcher’s outstretched hand in both of his own. The grip was firm. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, sir.”
“Lilian,” said Ridley pivoting, and the woman bent over so that the old man could hug her.
“Good afternoon, Scriptus.”
“How are you both?” the host asked.
“I am well,” said the woman, “but Ben is recovering from a chance encounter with Fiela last evening.”
Observing the stitches, the old man mumbled, “That was unfortunate.”
“It’s just a scratch, really,” said Ben. “She returned this morning and apologized. She even cooked me breakfast.”
Ridley perked up immediately. “I am glad to hear it. She is somewhat impetuous, you see, but she is a treasure. You’ll agree with me once you get to know her better, I promise.”
“I’m sure. We’ll she be joining us, then?”
“Later,” said Ridley. “She has some cleaning up to do, first.”
“Ah.”
“Well, well,” the man said, slapping Ben on the back. “Enough of this. Let’s go inside.”
The first room they entered from outside was what Lilian had referred to as the Great Hall, and as she had promised, Ben was stunned by its size. Clearly designed to impress arrivals to Steepleguard, the cavernous room was, he figured, at least as large as the Sistine Chapel, and probably larger when the four stories of room balconies overlooking the hall were factor
ed in.
Above the highest balcony, two-dozen stained glass windows poured colorful, diffused light into the hall. Two rows of marble columns the size of those found at the Parthenon segregated the hall into three distinct regions, the center leading to a distant check-in counter, on either side of which were a set of wide staircases that curved steeply up and away from the counter and to the second floor balcony.
The areas to the left and right of the columns were lounges, each harboring stone fireplaces so large a man could walk into them without crouching. The entire hall was devoid of furniture or rugs and their footsteps echoed loudly as they entered the room.
“Home sweet home,” announced Ridley. “How was your trip up?”
“Wonderful,” said Lilian. “It’s so nice to get away from the city.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He gave the woman a purposeful look and added, “Lilian, why don’t you go and situate yourself while I speak to Ben.”
“As you wish, Scriptus,” she said. The woman stepped toward Ben and startled him by brushing her lips against his. “Thank you, Ben.”
“For what?”
“A leap of faith.”
