The pulse had come as he had stood in that soulless room, and this time it was as though he had really heard the sound. The walls themselves had seemed to tremble. Startled, he had swung his lamp around and the light had caused a shadow on one wall. He moved closer to inspect the shadow and found a mud brick jutting out a fraction from its neighbours. He had used the trowel he carried, standard equipment along with brushes for the diggers, to cut round the brick and ease it from the wall. The stench of released gases sent him reeling backwards.
He approached again more cautiously, and the smell was still strong but less of a shock. Other mud bricks easily came loose and soon a passageway was exposed. A dreadful fear had overcome him then and he had almost run from that place. But a curious fascination stayed him.
He crawled into the narrow passage, holding the lamp before his face.
The passage led downwards, so steeply at certain points that he had to use his strength to prevent himself tumbling forward.
Before long it opened out into a wide circular chamber, at the centre of which was a gaping hole, an open pit. Around the opening lay human bones, their rotting robes those of high priests and priestesses.
Resting against the walls were clay tablets of cuneiform writing, wedge-shaped signs that represented words or syllables. He trod carefully to the edge of the pit and stared dawn at the blackness. That was when his fear became too much to bear, for something was urging him to descend, an inner compulsion inviting him to leap.
And the mind-sound was a sound, disgorging from the pit.
THUD-UP He had fled.
Despite his terror, he had resealed the opening to the secret passageway, using dirt from the floor to cover the cracks (not that the room was of any interest to Sir Leonard and his team of archaeologists, who had treasures in abundance to drool aver without bothering with empty chambers). This discovery would be his alone.
Four days went by before he gained enough courage to venture down to that pit again, four days of nagging agitation and four nights of feverish nightmares. He knew he would go back; the difficulty was finding the will to do so.
He waited until evening once more when all digging had stopped, only a few guards that he, himself, had helped organise left on duty above ground. This time he returned to the pit with rope and stanchion . . .
. . . Kline wailed as he slept and Khayed and Daoud leaned over him anxiously . . .
. . . and fearfully, his limbs trembling so badly that lee almoyt lost his grip, lowered himself over the edge of the pit. He descended slowly, drawn by an allure he could not comprehend, his lamp dangling below him, attached to his waist by thick string. He was aware that something evil awaited him, something ancient and cruel, for his dreams over the past few nights had revealed that at least to him, although no images, no visions of what it was, were presented. For in his sleep he had tasted the joys of carnality, had been seduced by the delights of depravity, had been pleasured by the thrill of vileness. The dreams had promised that those glories would be his if . . . if . . . if . . . he would but claim them. And to claim them, he would have to descend the pit.
THUD-UP!
The pulse was thunderous, reverberating around the shaft, causing a tremor, dislodging dust. His grip on the rope slipped and he plunged.
But not far.
For the pit was not deep at all. Its very blackness had created that illusion.
His legs buckled and he crashed onto his back, the lamp toppling over, fortunately still burning. Without pause to regather his breath, he reached out and righted the lamp lest he be cast into complete darkness.
Only then did he suck in the foul air and feel the pain of his jarred body.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, his back against the crumbling wall, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and frightened.
Opposite was a niche. A square hole that was no more than two foot high, cleverly concealed in shadow so that no one above would ever realise it was there.
It was some time before he was able to crawl towards the niche.
The lamp revealed a closed receptacle of some kind inside, its surface dulled by centuries of dust. He brushed shivery fingers across the front and felt metal; bumps and ridges that might have been symbols were embossed on what must have been a door, for set in one side was a small projection that served as a handle.
He stared. He did not want to open it. He knew he was going to.
His hand shook so violently he could barely grasp the handle. Squeezing his fingers tight around it, he tugged.
The door opened easily.
And his scream threatened to bring the walls of the pit down on him. . .
. . . Kline's scream caused Khayed and Daoud to leap away from the bed in surprise. They quickly ran forward again and babbled soothing words to their master, assuring him it was only a nightmare, that he was safe under their watchful protection, nothing would harm him while they lived and breathed.
He looked from one to the other, his face a cracked mask of seams and ruptures. Suddenly he understand. 'He's dying,' Kline rasped.
35 THE WAITING GAME
He watched the Granada cruise by, its headlights brightening both sides of the narrow road. Keeping low and pulling aside minimum foliage so that he could observe but not be seen, he checked that there were still only two occupants in the patrol car. When it was gone, he stood and held up his wristwatch, waiting a moment or two for the moon to re-appear from behind rolling clouds. Just under twenty minutes this time. The driver varied his speed during the circuit around the estate so that there was never a regular time interval between certain points. The driver of the second patrol car did the same.
The man sank into the undergrowth, making his way back through the thick woods, only bringing out a flashlight when he was well clear of the road. Soon he arrived at a lane, one that eventually joined the route he had been watching; he continued his journey away from the estate.
Two vehicles were waiting in a picnickers' clearing a few hundred yards on, their occupants sitting in darkness. He flashed his torch twice, then switched off before climbing into the back seat of the first car.
'Well?' the passenger in the front said.
'Two patrols. Professionals, as you'd expect. We could easy take them out, though.'
'Shouldn't be any need.'
'No. It'll be no problem to get into the place. We only have to wait for them to pass, then make our move when they're out of sight. The fence'll be easy.'
'We'll wait awhiles, give them time to settle in for the night.'
'It's been a time coming, Danny.' His expression couldn't be seen, but the man in the front was smiling. 'It has that,' he said, the softness of his accent hardened by the intent of his words. 'But all the sweeter for it.'
36 A ROOM OF MEMORIES
Halloran 's senses reeled.
It wasn't a room he was standing in but a kaleidoscope of memories. They spun before him, some merging so that yesterday mixed with yesteryear, experiences of childhood confused with those of later times, scenes superimposed upon others. It was as if screens or veils fluttered in front of him—he thought of the veils he and Kline had passed through together in the dream of last night—thin, transparent layers, older images on those new.
He turned, ready to run from there, but the doorway was no longer behind him. Instead there were more visions, closing around him, the colours vivid and fresh, the details perfectly defined, as though they were being lived at that moment.