I do not believe
it was miles to where the Deceivers of antiquity concealed their
treasures and relics but my body believed that before we got there.
Goblin disarmed another dozen traps and found several more that had
fallen victim to time. The underground wind whimpered and whined as
it rushed past us in the tight places. It sucked the warmth right
out of me. But it did not dissuade me. I went where I wanted to go.
And was hungry enough to eat a camel when I got there.
It had been a long, long time since breakfast. I had a dread
feeling it could be longer still before supper.
“It feels like a temple, doesn’t it?” Suvrin
asked. He was less troubled than the rest of us. Though raised
nearer this place than anyone else, he was less intimate with the
legends of the Dark Mother. He stopped staring at the three
lecterns and the huge books they bore long enough to turn to me and
whisper, “Here.” He offered me a bit of crumbling flax
cake from the pouch he wore at the small of his back.
“You must have read my mind.”
“You talk to yourself a lot. I don’t think you
realize you’re doing it.” I did not. It was a bad habit
that needed breaking right now. “I heard you when we were
crawling through the tunnel.”
That had been a private discourse with my God. An internal
dialog, I had thought. The subject of food had come up. And here
was food. So maybe the All-Merciful was on the job after all.
“Thanks. Goblin. You feel any tricks or traps in
here?” There were echoes again, though with a different
timbre. We were inside a large chamber. The floor and walls were
all ice that had been cut and polished by the flow of frigid water.
I presumed the invisible ceiling was the same. The place did have a
feel of the holy to it—even though that was the holiness of
darkness.
“No traps that I can sense. I’d think they’d
leave that sort of stuff outside, don’t you?” He
sounded like he wanted to convince himself.
“You’re asking me to define the psychology of those
who worship devils and rakshasas? Vehdna priests would guarantee
you that there’s nothing so foul or evil as to be beyond the
capacity of those most accursed of unbelievers.” I thought
they would guarantee it. If they had heard of the Stranglers. I had
not heard of them before I became attached to the Company.
Suvrin said, “Sri, I don’t think you
should—”
Master Santaraksita had recognized the ancient books as
something remarkable and just could not resist going up for an
up-close look. I agreed with Suvrin. “Master! Don’t go
charging—”
The noise sounded something like someone ripping tent canvas for
half a second, then popped like the crack of a whip. Master
Santaraksita left the floor of the unholy chapel, folded around his
middle, and flew at the rest of us in an arc that admitted only
slight acquaintance with gravity. Suvrin tried to catch him. Goblin
tried to duck. Santaraksita bounced Suvrin sideways and ricocheted
into me. The lot of us ended up in a breathless tangle of arms and
legs.
The white crow had something uncomplimentary to say about
that.
“You and me and a stew pot, critter,” I gasped when
I got my breath back. I snagged Goblin’s leg. “No more
traps, eh? They’d leave that sort of thing out in the
caverns, eh? What the devil was that, then?”
“That was a magical booby trap, woman. And a damned fine
example of its kind, too. It remained undetectable until
Santaraksita tripped it.”
“Sri? Are you injured?” I asked.
“Only my pride, Dorabee,” he puffed. “Only my
pride. It’ll take me a week to get my wind back,
though.” He rolled off Suvrin, got onto his hands and knees.
He had a definite green look to him.
“You’ve enjoyed a cheap lesson, then,” I told
him. “Don’t rush into something when you don’t
know what you’re rushing into.”
“You’d think I’d know that after this last
year, wouldn’t you?”
“You might think, yes.”
“Don’t anybody ask how Junior is doing,”
Suvrin grumbled. “He couldn’t possibly get
hurt.”
“We knew you’d be fine,” Goblin told him.
“As long as he landed on your head.” The little wizard
limped forward. As he neared the point where Santaraksita had gone
airborne, he became very cautious. He extended a single finger
forward one slow inch at a time.
A smaller piece of cloth ripped. Goblin spun around, his arm
flung backward. He staggered a couple of steps before he fell to
his knees not far from me.
“After all this time he finally recognizes the natural
order of things.”
Goblin shook his hand the way you do when you burn your fingers.
“Damn, that smarts. That’s a good spell. It’s got
real pop. Don’t do that!”
Suvrin had decided to throw a chunk of ice.
On its way back, the missile parted Suvrin’s hair. It then
hit the cavern wall and showered the white crow with fragments of
ice. The bird had a word to say about that. It followed up with a
few more. I began to wonder if Lady had lost track of the fact that
she was not, herself, the white crow, and in fact, was just a
passenger making use of the albino’s eyes.
Goblin stuck his injured finger in his mouth, squatted down and
considered the chamber for a while. I squatted, too, after taking
time out to keep Suvrin and Master Santaraksita from making even
greater nuisances of themselves.
Swan slithered into the chamber, disturbing the crow. The bird
said nothing, though. It just sidled away and looked put out about
all existence. Swan settled beside me. “Wow. Kind of
impressive even though it’s simple.”
“Those are the original Books of the Dead. Supposedly
almost as old as Kina herself.”
“So why is everybody just sitting here?”
“Goblin’s trying to figure how to get to
them.” I told him what had happened.
“Damn. I always miss the best stuff. Hey, Junior! Run up
there and show us your flying trick again.”
“Master Santaraksita did the flying, Mr. Swan.”
Suvrin needed to work on his sense of humor. He did not own a
proper Black Company attitude.
I asked, “Why not try it yourself, Willow? Take a run at
the books.”
“You promise to let me land on you?”
“No. But I’ll blow you a kiss as you fly
by.”
“It’d probably help if you people would shut
up,” Goblin said. He rose. “But by being blindingly,
blisteringly brilliant I’ve worked it out anyway, already, in
spite of you all. We get to the lecterns by using the golden pickax
as a passkey. That was why Narayan Singh was so upset when he saw
what we had.”
“Tobo still has the pick,” I said. A minute later I
said, “Don’t everybody stumble all over each other
offering to go get him.”
“Let’s just go together and all be equally
miserable,” Goblin suggested. “That’s what the
Black Company is all about. Sharing the good times along with the
bad.”
“You trying to con me into thinking that this is one of
the good times?” I asked, crawling into the cave right behind
him.
“Nobody wants to kill us today. Nobody’s trying.
That sounds like a good time to me.”
He had a point. A definite point.
Maybe my Company attitude needed attention, too.
Behind me, Suvrin grumbled about starting to feel like a gopher.
I glanced back. Swan had had an attack of good sense and decided to
bring up the rear, thereby making sure that Master Santaraksita did
not stay behind and tinker with things that might cause a change in
Goblin’s opinion about this being one of the good times.
“Where did he go?” I mused aloud. People were still
working in the cave of the ancients, getting Lady and the
Prahbrindrah Drah ready to go upstairs. But Tobo was not among
them. “He wouldn’t just run upstairs, would he?”
He had the energy of youth but nobody was so energetic they would
just charge into that climb on impulse.
While I tromped around muttering and looking for the kid, Goblin
did the obvious and questioned witnesses. He got an answer before I
finished building up a good mad. “Sleepy. He left.”
“Surprise, surprise . . . what?”
That was not all of it. The little wizard was upset.
“He turned right when he left, Sleepy.”
“He . . . oh.” Now I did have a good mad worked up. A
booming, head-throbbing, want-to-make-somebody-pay, real bad mad.
“That idiot! That moron! That darned fool! I’ll cut his
legs off! Let’s see if we can catch him.”
Right was downward. Right was deeper into the earth and time,
deeper into despair and darkness. Right could only be the road to
the resting place of the Mother of Night.
As I started out, with intent to turn right, I collected the
standard. The white crow shrieked approval. Goblin sneered,
“You’re going to be sorry before you go down a hundred
steps, Sleepy.”
I was tempted to abandon the darned thing before we had gone
that far. It was too long to be dragging around in a stairwell.
I do not believe
it was miles to where the Deceivers of antiquity concealed their
treasures and relics but my body believed that before we got there.
Goblin disarmed another dozen traps and found several more that had
fallen victim to time. The underground wind whimpered and whined as
it rushed past us in the tight places. It sucked the warmth right
out of me. But it did not dissuade me. I went where I wanted to go.
And was hungry enough to eat a camel when I got there.
It had been a long, long time since breakfast. I had a dread
feeling it could be longer still before supper.
“It feels like a temple, doesn’t it?” Suvrin
asked. He was less troubled than the rest of us. Though raised
nearer this place than anyone else, he was less intimate with the
legends of the Dark Mother. He stopped staring at the three
lecterns and the huge books they bore long enough to turn to me and
whisper, “Here.” He offered me a bit of crumbling flax
cake from the pouch he wore at the small of his back.
“You must have read my mind.”
“You talk to yourself a lot. I don’t think you
realize you’re doing it.” I did not. It was a bad habit
that needed breaking right now. “I heard you when we were
crawling through the tunnel.”
That had been a private discourse with my God. An internal
dialog, I had thought. The subject of food had come up. And here
was food. So maybe the All-Merciful was on the job after all.
“Thanks. Goblin. You feel any tricks or traps in
here?” There were echoes again, though with a different
timbre. We were inside a large chamber. The floor and walls were
all ice that had been cut and polished by the flow of frigid water.
I presumed the invisible ceiling was the same. The place did have a
feel of the holy to it—even though that was the holiness of
darkness.
“No traps that I can sense. I’d think they’d
leave that sort of stuff outside, don’t you?” He
sounded like he wanted to convince himself.
“You’re asking me to define the psychology of those
who worship devils and rakshasas? Vehdna priests would guarantee
you that there’s nothing so foul or evil as to be beyond the
capacity of those most accursed of unbelievers.” I thought
they would guarantee it. If they had heard of the Stranglers. I had
not heard of them before I became attached to the Company.
Suvrin said, “Sri, I don’t think you
should—”
Master Santaraksita had recognized the ancient books as
something remarkable and just could not resist going up for an
up-close look. I agreed with Suvrin. “Master! Don’t go
charging—”
The noise sounded something like someone ripping tent canvas for
half a second, then popped like the crack of a whip. Master
Santaraksita left the floor of the unholy chapel, folded around his
middle, and flew at the rest of us in an arc that admitted only
slight acquaintance with gravity. Suvrin tried to catch him. Goblin
tried to duck. Santaraksita bounced Suvrin sideways and ricocheted
into me. The lot of us ended up in a breathless tangle of arms and
legs.
The white crow had something uncomplimentary to say about
that.
“You and me and a stew pot, critter,” I gasped when
I got my breath back. I snagged Goblin’s leg. “No more
traps, eh? They’d leave that sort of thing out in the
caverns, eh? What the devil was that, then?”
“That was a magical booby trap, woman. And a damned fine
example of its kind, too. It remained undetectable until
Santaraksita tripped it.”
“Sri? Are you injured?” I asked.
“Only my pride, Dorabee,” he puffed. “Only my
pride. It’ll take me a week to get my wind back,
though.” He rolled off Suvrin, got onto his hands and knees.
He had a definite green look to him.
“You’ve enjoyed a cheap lesson, then,” I told
him. “Don’t rush into something when you don’t
know what you’re rushing into.”
“You’d think I’d know that after this last
year, wouldn’t you?”
“You might think, yes.”
“Don’t anybody ask how Junior is doing,”
Suvrin grumbled. “He couldn’t possibly get
hurt.”
“We knew you’d be fine,” Goblin told him.
“As long as he landed on your head.” The little wizard
limped forward. As he neared the point where Santaraksita had gone
airborne, he became very cautious. He extended a single finger
forward one slow inch at a time.
A smaller piece of cloth ripped. Goblin spun around, his arm
flung backward. He staggered a couple of steps before he fell to
his knees not far from me.
“After all this time he finally recognizes the natural
order of things.”
Goblin shook his hand the way you do when you burn your fingers.
“Damn, that smarts. That’s a good spell. It’s got
real pop. Don’t do that!”
Suvrin had decided to throw a chunk of ice.
On its way back, the missile parted Suvrin’s hair. It then
hit the cavern wall and showered the white crow with fragments of
ice. The bird had a word to say about that. It followed up with a
few more. I began to wonder if Lady had lost track of the fact that
she was not, herself, the white crow, and in fact, was just a
passenger making use of the albino’s eyes.
Goblin stuck his injured finger in his mouth, squatted down and
considered the chamber for a while. I squatted, too, after taking
time out to keep Suvrin and Master Santaraksita from making even
greater nuisances of themselves.
Swan slithered into the chamber, disturbing the crow. The bird
said nothing, though. It just sidled away and looked put out about
all existence. Swan settled beside me. “Wow. Kind of
impressive even though it’s simple.”
“Those are the original Books of the Dead. Supposedly
almost as old as Kina herself.”
“So why is everybody just sitting here?”
“Goblin’s trying to figure how to get to
them.” I told him what had happened.
“Damn. I always miss the best stuff. Hey, Junior! Run up
there and show us your flying trick again.”
“Master Santaraksita did the flying, Mr. Swan.”
Suvrin needed to work on his sense of humor. He did not own a
proper Black Company attitude.
I asked, “Why not try it yourself, Willow? Take a run at
the books.”
“You promise to let me land on you?”
“No. But I’ll blow you a kiss as you fly
by.”
“It’d probably help if you people would shut
up,” Goblin said. He rose. “But by being blindingly,
blisteringly brilliant I’ve worked it out anyway, already, in
spite of you all. We get to the lecterns by using the golden pickax
as a passkey. That was why Narayan Singh was so upset when he saw
what we had.”
“Tobo still has the pick,” I said. A minute later I
said, “Don’t everybody stumble all over each other
offering to go get him.”
“Let’s just go together and all be equally
miserable,” Goblin suggested. “That’s what the
Black Company is all about. Sharing the good times along with the
bad.”
“You trying to con me into thinking that this is one of
the good times?” I asked, crawling into the cave right behind
him.
“Nobody wants to kill us today. Nobody’s trying.
That sounds like a good time to me.”
He had a point. A definite point.
Maybe my Company attitude needed attention, too.
Behind me, Suvrin grumbled about starting to feel like a gopher.
I glanced back. Swan had had an attack of good sense and decided to
bring up the rear, thereby making sure that Master Santaraksita did
not stay behind and tinker with things that might cause a change in
Goblin’s opinion about this being one of the good times.
“Where did he go?” I mused aloud. People were still
working in the cave of the ancients, getting Lady and the
Prahbrindrah Drah ready to go upstairs. But Tobo was not among
them. “He wouldn’t just run upstairs, would he?”
He had the energy of youth but nobody was so energetic they would
just charge into that climb on impulse.
While I tromped around muttering and looking for the kid, Goblin
did the obvious and questioned witnesses. He got an answer before I
finished building up a good mad. “Sleepy. He left.”
“Surprise, surprise . . . what?”
That was not all of it. The little wizard was upset.
“He turned right when he left, Sleepy.”
“He . . . oh.” Now I did have a good mad worked up. A
booming, head-throbbing, want-to-make-somebody-pay, real bad mad.
“That idiot! That moron! That darned fool! I’ll cut his
legs off! Let’s see if we can catch him.”
Right was downward. Right was deeper into the earth and time,
deeper into despair and darkness. Right could only be the road to
the resting place of the Mother of Night.
As I started out, with intent to turn right, I collected the
standard. The white crow shrieked approval. Goblin sneered,
“You’re going to be sorry before you go down a hundred
steps, Sleepy.”
I was tempted to abandon the darned thing before we had gone
that far. It was too long to be dragging around in a stairwell.