She obeyed his voice with the halting nervousness of a frequently-whipped dog. Her hands were hidden again within her cloak.
Samlor put his arm around her shoulders, all he could do until they'd left this accursed place, and said to the other man, "Can you make it lighter down here? By the wall?"
Khamwas squatted and held his staff parallel with the edge molding. The phosphorescence was scarcely any light at all to eyes which had adapted to the spark from Star's finger, but it was sufficient to distinguish the square of black marble from the pieces of travertine to either side of it in the intaglio flooring.
Samlor could not discern a difference in the polish of the black marble from that of the rest, but the way it blurred the light which the others had mirrored proved what would have been uncertain under any other conditions.
He tried the stone with the tip of his right little finger; the rest of the hand continued to grip the hilt of his long knife. The block didn't give to light pressure, neither downward nor on either of its horizontal axes, but it didn't seem to be as solid as stone cemented to a firm base ought to be.
"Is there something the matter with the floor, here?" asked Khamwas, resting easily on his haunches.
Samlor would rather that the Napatan keep an eye out behind them, but perhaps he couldn't do that and also hold the staff where it was useful. The glow was better than nothing.
Besides, he doubted that any danger they faced would be as simple as a man creeping upon them from the darkness.
"This block doesn't have the same sheen as the others," explained Samlor as he stood up slowly. "It's not on any path, particularly, so maybe it's been sliding or, well, something different to the rest."
He stepped gingerly on the block, which was only slightly longer in either dimension than his foot. By shifting his weight from toes to heel and then to the edge of his boot, the caravan master hoped he could induce the marble to pivot on a hidden pin. He was poised to jump clear at the first sign of movement.
There was none.
Well, then… if he pressed the block toward the wall-
Samlor's hobnails skidded, then bit into the marble enough to grip as he increased the weight on them. The black stone slipped under the molding with the silent grace of mercury flowing.
There was a sigh from behind them. The two men jerked around and saw that the ornamental pond was lifting onto one end. The water, which had dampened Samlor's boot a moment before, did not spill though it hung on edge in the air.
There was a ladder leading down into the opening the pond had covered.
"Collector, you called him," said the caravan master grimly as he watched his reflection in the vertical sheet of water.
"A good trick," responded Khamwas, nettled at the
hinted contrast of his knowledge against that of the missing Setios.
The Napatan stood and began muttering in earnest concentration to his staff. Samlor assumed the incantation must have some direct connection with their task and their safety.
When the phosphorescent staff floated out of Khamwas' hands, dipping but not quite falling to the ground, the Cirdonian realized that it was merely a trick-a demonstration to prove that Khamwas was no less of a magician than the owner of the house.
It was the sort of boyish silliness that got people killed when things were as tense as they were just now.
Apparently Tjainufi thought the same thing, because he turned and said acidly into the scholar's ear, "There is a running to which sitting is preferable."
Star's hands wavered briefly from the folds of her cloak; Samlor could not be sure whether or not the child mumbled something as well. Flecks of light shot from her fingers. They grew as they shimmered around the room, gaining definition while they lost intensity-jellyfish of pastel light, and one mauve sea urchin, picking its glowing, transparent way spine by spine across a 'bottom' two feet above the marble floor.
The staff clattered and lost its phosphorescence as it fell. Samlor snatched it before it came to rest on the stone. He handed it back to his male companion. "Let's take a look, shall we?" he said, nodding to the ladder. "Guess I'll go first."
"No, I think I should lead," said Khamwas. "I-
He met the caravan master's eyes. "Master Samlor, I apologize. It'll be safer for me to go first, and I'll spend my efforts on making it safe."
The multi-colored jellyfish made the reception room look as if it were being illuminated through stained glass. The sea urchin trundled its way forward to the opening in the middle of the floor, then continued downward at the same staccato pace as if the plane on which its spines rested lay in a universe where, sideways was up.
That might be the case.
The two men walked to the opening and looked down while Star hugged herself in silence.
The room beneath the floor was a cube or something near it, ten feet in each dimension. Mauve light filled the volume surprisingly well, though the simulated urchin did not itself seem bright enough to do so. The floor shone with a sullen lambency.
The furnishings were simple. A metal reading stand, high enough for use by a standing man and empty now, waited near the center of the room.
To its right stood an elaborate bronze firebox on four clawed legs, a censer rather than a heating device. The flat sides of the box were covered by columns of incised swirls, more likely a script unknown to the caravan master than mere decoration. The top was smooth except for a trio of depressions-an inch, three inches, and six inches in diameter. Aromatics could be placed there to be released by the heat of charcoal burning in the firebox beneath.
At each corner of the top was a decorative casting. They were miniature beasts of the sort which in larger scale could have modeled the censer's terrible clawed legs. The creatures had catlike heads, the bodies of toads with triangular plates rising along the spine for protection, and the forelegs of birds of prey. Serpent tails curled up behind them, suggesting the creatures were intended as handles for the censer; but anyone who attempted to put them to that purpose would have his hands pierced by the hair-thin spikes with which the tails ended.
There was no other furniture in the room, but a pentacle several feet in diameter was painted or inlaid on the concrete floor to the reading stand's left. It was empty. The floor and white-stuccoed walls were otherwise unmarked.
Khamwas' lips pursed.
"Go ahead," said Samlor with a shrug. "Maybe your stone's on the ceiling where we can't see it."
"Yes," said the Napatan, though there was doubt rather than hope in his tone.
Khamwas thrust his staff as far into the mauve light as it would go while his hand on the tip remained above floor level.
Nothing happened, but Samlor was not fool enough to think it had been a pointless exercise. His companion was doing what he had promised, concentrating his talents- better, his knowledge-on the task at hand.
Still holding out the staff in his direction of travel, Khamwas backed awkwardly down the ladder. The ferule banged accidentally on the censer as he turned. It made Khamwas jump back but did not concern Samlor, who saw what was about to happen.
The crash and shattering glass from upstairs spun the caravan master, his teeth bared and his left hand groping for the throwing knife in his boot sheath.
"The wind," murmured Star, the first words she had spoken since the trap door rose. She wasn't looking at her uncle or at anything in particular.
But she was right. A door banged shut, muting a further tinkle of glass. One of the window sashes had not been secured properly. A gust had slammed it fiercely enough to shatter the glass.
"Are you all right?" called Khamwas.
The question impressed Samlor, for it sounded sincere- and in similar circumstances, he would have been worried more about his own situation than that of his companions.
"We're going to get drenched when we leave here," the caravan master said. "Leaving 11 still feel good. Any luck yourself?"