He was going to the lower levels. He was going to find the Fireclown.
CHAPTER THREE
HE WAS unreasoningly annoyed that the liveried operator should recognize him and stare at him curiously as he was taken down to the forty-ninth level. In the back of his mind he was thrilling to the experience, unremembered since boyhood, of exploration. He had chosen nondescript clothes so that he might move about incognito.
He was alone in the unmanned elevator as it dropped swiftly to the ninth level, causing him the added excitement of being alone and virtually helpless against danger. He stepped boldly into the ill-lit corridor named-incongruously-Orangeblossom Road, and then advanced cautiously until he saw a sign which read: Escalators (down) five levels.
He rode the escalators into the chilly depths of the City of Switzerland, feeling as if he were descending into some frozen Hell and at the same time making a mental note that if people were, indeed, inhabiting the lower levels, then City Administration should, out of humanity, do something about the heating arrangements.
He wished he had some warmer clothing, but that would have meant applying to Garment Center, since he rarely went outside save on vacation, and then all necessary apparel was supplied.
But as he advanced deeper he became aware of a growing warmth and a thick, unpleasant smell that he gradually recognized as being, predominantly, the smell of human perspiration. In spite of his revulsion he sniffed it curiously.
As he walked slowly down the ramp leading to the notorious first level, reputed to be the haunt of undesirables well before the Fireclown first made his appearance, he saw with a slight shock that the light, was dancing and had an unusual quality about it. As he drew closer his excitement increased. Naked flame! The light came from a great, burning torch which also gave off uncontrolled heat!
He approached it as close as he dared and stared at it, marveling. He had seen recordings of the phenomenon, but this was the first time… He withdrew hastily as the heat produced sweat from his forehead, walking along a corridor that reminded him, with its dancing, naked light, of the fairyland of his childhood fantasies. On reflection, he decided it was more like the ogre's castle, but so delighted was he by this wholly new experience that he forgot caution for a while. It only returned as he rounded another corner and saw that the roof was actually composed of living rock, so moist that it dripped condensed water!
Alan Powys was not an unsophisticated young man, yet this was so remote from his everyday experience that he could not immediately absorb it on any intellectual level.
From ahead came sounds-the sounds of excited human voices. He had expected a vast conclave of some description, but he heard only a few people, and they were conversing. Occasionally, as he drew nearer, he heard a reverberating laugh which seemed to him so full of delighted and profound humor that he wished he knew the joke so that he could join in. If this was the Fireclown's famous laughter, then it did not strike him as at all insane.
Still, he told himself, keeping in the shadows, there were many forms of madness.
A cave came into view on his right. He hugged the left-hand wall and inched forward, his heart pounding.
The cave appeared to turn at a right-angle so that he could only see the light coming from it, but now he could make out fragments of words and phrases. At intervals there came a spluttering eruption of green light and each time he was caught in the flare.
"… shape it into something we can control…"
"… no good, if s only a hint of what we might…"
"… your eyeshield back. I’m going to…"
A hissing eruption and a tongue of green flame seemed to turn the bend in the cave and come flickering like an angry cobra towards Alan. He gasped and stepped back as the roaring laughter followed the eruption. Had he been seen?
No. The conversation was continuing, the pitch of the voices now high with excitement.
He crossed the corridor swiftly and stood in the mouth of the cave, straining his ears to make out what they were talking about.
Then he felt a delicate touch on his arm and heard a whispering voice say: "I'm afraid you can't go in there. Private, you know."
He turned slowly and was horrified at the apparition that still touched his arm.
He withdrew, nauseated.
The horrible figure- laughed softly. "Serves you right. They could keep me just to stop people nosing around!"
"I didn't know you had any kind of secrecy," Alan babbled. "I really do apologize if…"
"We welcome visitors, but we prefer to invite them. You don't mind?" The skinless man nodded towards the corridor. Alan backed into it, forcing himself to ignore the bile in his throat, forcing himself to look at the creature without obvious revulsion-but it was difficult.
Flesh, veins and sinews shone on his body as if the whole outer covering had been peeled off. How could he move? How could he appear so calm?
"My skin's synthetic-but transparent. Something in it takes the place of pigment. They haven't worked out a way of giving the stuff pigmentation yet-I was lucky enough to be the guinea-pig. I could use cosmetics, but I don't. My name's Corso. I'm the Fireclown's^ trusty henchman and deal with anyone interested in corning to his audiences. You arrived at the wrong time. We had one this afternoon."
Obviously Corso was used to random explorers, particularly those curious about" the Fireclown. Deciding to play his part in the role Corso had mistakenly given him, Alan looked down at the floor.
"Oh, I’m sorry. When's the next one?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"I can come then?"
"Very welcome."
Alan turned to retrace his way.
"See you then," said the skinless man.
When Alan turned the corner of the corridor he had to lean against the wall for some moments before he could continue. Too many unexpected shocks this evening, he told himself.
As he began to recover his composure his curiosity started to operate again.
What was going on? From what he had seen and heard, the Fireclown and a group of his friends were conducting some sort of laboratory experiment-and Corso, the skinless man, had been left on guard to turn pryers away.
Well, everyone had a right to their privacy. But his curiosity came close to overwhelming him. He began to return towards the cave when a soft voice that he recognized said:
"It wouldn't be wise. If you went back a second time Corso would know you were no innocent would-be initiate."
"Junnar!" he hissed. "What are you doing here?"
But he heard only a faint scuffling and received no reply.
Perhaps, however, the Negro's advice was good. There was no point in making anyone suspicious since he would, if discovered, be excluded from any future chance of seeing the Fireclown.
He began to return toward the ramp. What on earth had Junnar been doing in the lower levels? Was he there on his own business or on Simon Powys'? Perhaps the Negro would tell him tomorrow, if he could find an excuse for leaving the C.A. building and visiting his grandfather's apartment.
Vaguely irritated, that he had seen so little of the Fire-clown's domain and nothing at all of the Fireclown himself, he finally arrived on the sixty-fourth level, took the fastway to his flat and went to bed with something of his earlier sudden mood eliminated.