"Sir?” Edward wondered yet again if the man was crazy.
"Beat, words, melody, and dance. You must learn them separately. Together they're a key."
"A key to what?"
"A key to a portal, of course. I hope it's one of the keys to Stonehenge. Let's try the next verse."
"A key to a portal to where?” Edward said angrily.
"Obedience without question! Second verse—"
"Sir!
They glared at each other, but Edward was so riled now that it was Creighton who looked away. He smirked into the looking glass and picked up his razor again.
"The keys are all very ancient,” he remarked cheerfully. “Shamanistic, most of ‘em. Been used for thousands of years. We've got a chappie at Olympus who's made quite a study of them, trying to figure out how they work. Not all keys work at all nodes. In fact we know how to work very few of them as portals, and not all of those lead to Nextdoor, although most of them do—that's why it's called Nextdoor, I suppose. The European ones are definitely biased in favor of the Vales and vice versa, he says, but there are exceptions. There's one in Joalland itself that connects to one in New Zealand. Does that surprise you?"
"No,” Edward admitted. “And another in the Valley of the Kings?"
Creighton cut his cheek and barked out an oath that would have had any boy at Fallow sacked on the spot.
"What do you know about that?"
Apparently Edward had poked a very sensitive tooth, which he found highly satisfying. “It's sometimes called the Valley of the Tombs of Kings. Near Luxor. A bunch of pharaohs were buried there."
Creighton glared, blood streaming down his neck. “Answer my question, boy!"
"Will you first answer some of mine?"
"No, I will not! I am not playing games!” He was, though. “This is a matter of life and death, Exeter—your death, certainly. Possibly mine too. Now tell me how you learned of the Valley!"
Reluctantly, Edward conceded. “A letter my father wrote just before his death, sir."
"Where did you see this letter? Where is it now?"
"Back at the hospital."
With another oath, the colonel took up a perfectly good shirt and dabbed at his cut. “Who was he writing to? Not you."
"No, sir. A chappie called Jumbo. The letter was never sent, obviously. I found it in his papers last week."
Creighton grunted. “Well, you're right. Jumbo is one of us. There is a portal in Egypt. Now the opposition may learn of it! Damn it to hell! I wonder if I can send a telegram from one of these villages?” He glared wordlessly at the shirt.
"I expect the police will impound my belongings, sir."
"You think that will stop the Blighters? Well, you didn't know; it's not your fault. The Luxor portal is handy because it leads directly to Olympus. Some others do, but they're better known. This key I'm teaching you usually leads to somewhere in the Vales. What else was in that letter?"
"I think,” Edward said icily, “that you cheated."
"Absolutely unthinkable,” Creighton told his reflection blandly.
"I think that when my parole ends, you will have made it impossible for me to enlist!"
"Did I ever say I wouldn't?"
"That,” Edward snarled, “is hairsplitting! Bloody lawyer talk!"
Creighton made his Hrrnph! noise and glared again. “And that is insubordination!"
"You extracted my word of honor. Where's your honor?"
"Insolence! Impudent puppy!"
They were both shouting now.
Edward swung his legs around, dropped to the floor, and straightened up to confront the colonel. He cracked his head resoundingly against the roof, seeing blue flames.
Creighton snorted mockingly. “See? You can't even stand on your own two feet. You're a dead man without me around to save you, Exeter. You'd never get into uniform. The Blighters will track you down, and this time they won't beat around the bush. They'll snuff you like a candle."
Edward sank down on a suitcase to massage his scalp. Trouble was, he had every reason to believe the maniac. “One of the first things I heard you say, at the hospital, was, ‘He cannot cross over with that leg.’ Cross over to where?"
Not getting an answer, he looked up. Creighton was regarding him sourly. Then he shrugged. “Nextdoor, I hope. Nobody's ever tried Stonehenge before, that I know of, but we'll have to risk it. If it doesn't work, we'll head over to the big circles at Avebury and try there. All our usual portals in England will be under surveillance. According to the Filoby Testament, my lad, you arrive at one of the nodes in Sussland, which is in the Vales, on Nextdoor. We must trust the prophecy."
"On Nextdoor? Not in Nextdoor? Nextdoor's an island?"
Creighton turned back to the looking glass. “No,” he said. “Not an island. Nextdoor is a lot more than an island."
"And that's where the guv'nor was living before he came back to New Zealand? The missing thirty years when he did not grow old?"
"You're a sharp little nipper, you are!” Creighton said. “Give me that first verse again."
40
SUSSWATER WAS SAID TO BE THE LEAST NAVIGABLE RIVER in the Vales. Muddy yellow, it roared along the bottom of a canyon whose sides were hundreds of feet high and usually sheer. In only three places was it narrow enough to bridge, and the bridge at Ruat had been the first and most splendid. When Trathor Battlemaster had laid siege to the city he had begun by throwing down the stone arch on the north bank. The south arch still stood, a notable landmark dangling vestiges of its ancient chains and straddling a paved road now trod by none. From its base the towers of Suss were clearly visible to the north, the sun glinting on the roof of Tion's temple. They seemed but an hour's stroll away, yet it would take a strong walker all day to reach them. The citizens of Suss had blocked any effort to rebuild the bridge, lest Ruatvil rise again as a rival.
So Piol Poet had said.
The Sacrarium must once have been a noble and imposing monument, standing by itself near the edge of the cliffs. It was revered as the oldest holy building in the Vales, its builders long forgotten. Even Trathor had not dared violate a temple so sacred, but time, storm, and earthquake had done it for him. All that could now be seen was a pentagonal platform of giant blocks bearing remains of a circle of pillars. Many were represented only by their bases, less than a dozen still retained their full height. What sort of roof or lintels they might once have supported was unknown, and theologians could not explain why they had originally numbered thirty-one. Pilgrims still came, although rarely, and devout persons had kept the inside of the circle clear of rubble. The surrounding land had been too holy to plow; it had grown a forest instead, and now the lonely ruin was buried in jungle.
Eleal was confident she could find a shortcut. Rather than follow the old highway and the pilgrim path, she would head directly northeast until she reached the edge of the gorge and then approach the Sacrarium from the other side. Holding her hat on with one hand and her sandals in the other, she ran barefoot through the grassy woodland of Ruatvil, skirting its stony ruins. A few young goatherds watched her, but no one challenged her or jeered at her awkward lope. Puffing and sweating in the heat, she came to the woods and realized her error. She had forgotten how dense the jungle was.
Thorns and brambles became so thick that she was slowed to a stumbling walk. Masses of stone lay hidden everywhere. She found the way hard going in sandals, but she forced her way through, being as quiet as she could. Her hat kept catching in branches; she took it off and carried it in front of her to shield her face from twigs. The grove was utterly silent in the heat of the afternoon. Not a bird sang. Even insects seemed to be sleeping.