Part 5 (1/2)

Krayn lifted the lamp from its tripod and held it up as they leaned forward to peer at the inscription. Lannic's shadow was cast across it in an elongated manner, distorted by the angle of the slab. The lamp was the only light source apart from a faint glow from the tunnel mouth up and behind them.

'We need better lighting, really. It looks like one of the Cl.u.s.ter dialects. An old one, too.' Lannic straightened up. 'It's not one I know, I'm afraid. Mean anything to you, Klasvik?'

Klasvik looked pale, even in the subdued light. His voice was quiet and grave: 'I can't see much of it, but what I can see yes. I'm afraid I can read it.'

Krayn turned the light full in Klasvik's face and he blinked. 'My Volanthan is a little rusty, but a loose translation of what I can see would include Those unbelievers who disturb the rest of your temple of dramatic art shall suffer death for their blasphemy. Those unbelievers who disturb the rest of your temple of dramatic art shall suffer death for their blasphemy.'

Source Doc.u.ment 3 Original Text of the Menaxan Tablet and Translation by Leontium Klasvik Library of Curios, Thrastus 3 (ref 2699/E) Original text of the Volanthan engraving on the slab at the entrance the Pentillanian Theatre of Menaxus

Leotium Klasvik's translation (3985).

Great G.o.d Dionysus, father of all thespians, read these words from the humblest of your company: For any desecration of your theatre, you will be avenged. Those unbelievers who disturb the rest of your temple of dramatic art shall suffer death for their blasphemy. Though it take years of empty time, I know you will find, in your Art, the instrument of your revenge, as was ordained.

Death shall come on swift wings to him that touches the tomb of the drama.

Chapter 3.

Ghosts The problem that most students have in studying drama is one of immediacy. In many cases this lack of appreciation of the application and practical worth of the texts disappears when the student is involved in performance. But for some the feeling that the study of ancient drama is irrelevant is not purged.The lucky few discover the true worth of the drama in later life often under the strangest circ.u.mstances and in situations where an interpretation of; say, Hamlet is the last thing on their minds. The moment of revelation is often coupled with the realization that Shakespeare and Osterling wrote not about fictional characters, but about real people in real situations. They were interpreters of life.The Dramatist's Art F. Van der Cleele, 2811 F. Van der Cleele, 2811 Tashman and Cambri were the most concerned by the discovery of the monolith. The archaeologists were more interested in the scientific and historical implications than the alleged curse. Lannic was slightly peeved that her previous expedition had missed it but, given they were now digging into the theatre via a very different route from the initial excavations, that was hardly reprehensible. Bannahilk and Fortalexa took it all in their stride: unless people were actually dying then they were not concerned.

Bernice was more worried than the other archaeologists, although she did not believe in the inscription in the way that Cambri in particular seemed to. At least, she believed it existed: she had seen it. And her expertise told her that it was old, although she also noted slight inconsistencies in the wear on the upstrokes of the lettering and tentatively put that down to meteorological erosion while it was still 'in use' as it were. Her concerns were more to do with the existence of the stone in the first place. The others seemed overjoyed to have found something, Benny was more interested in why it was there at all to be found. The whole thing seemed bizarre. It was melodramatic and, as they were proving by ignoring its words, ineffective.

That was perhaps what really niggled at her. Unless the threat was sustainable, why make it? A deterrent based on fear and superst.i.tion alone would suggest a primitive and impressionable culture completely at odds with the sophisticated and civilized theatre complex they were here to excavate. Even the curses on the ancient Egyptian tombs of the pharoahs had turned out to have a deeper, extraterrestrial meaning as she knew very well since she had just finished excavating the source of it...

Only Gilmanuk appreciated her worries: His explanation was straightforward. The slab was either a prop from some noted production or was purpose*built to be a welcoming curio at the side entrance of the theatre. Bernice didn't like it, but she had to admit that this was a simple and plausible explanation. After all, it was no more pointless or eccentric than posting a sign saying Abandon Hope All You Who Enter Here Abandon Hope All You Who Enter Here above the gates of h.e.l.l. Or writing Police Public Call Box above the enterance to a time and s.p.a.ce machine. above the gates of h.e.l.l. Or writing Police Public Call Box above the enterance to a time and s.p.a.ce machine.

Cambri was drilling away at the tunnel wall while Klasvik aimed the water cannon. She hated every moment of it, she would rather be on the battlefield, where she belonged. She would rather be wading through slime towards the Rippearean front line on Frauton Five than plas.h.i.+ng about in this mud*hole. She was a soldier; combat infantry. She had signed up on her eighteenth birthday (the day before her conscription notice arrived), and had seen action in eleven battles in three campaigns. She was concerned with the recently deceased and the soon*to*be dead, not the long*decayed. She ran her grim hand through her short dark grimy hair and dug the end of the drill viciously into the mudface. She felt it give.

She paused, confused, then pushed again. It was certainly giving, the whole of the centre of the tunnel wall was bowing in slightly as she leant on the drill. She almost turned the drill on, but if there was an opening up ahead then she might fall through into it, and there was no knowing how deep it might be. It could be a small air pocket or it could be a whole creva.s.se.

She turned back to Klasvik, waving for him to stop the water. But her arm froze in mid air.

Klasvik saw Cambri turn and raise her arm. Then she froze, like a statue. What was it now? She was forever muttering and complaining under her breath. He wished she'd come right out and say what was on her mind, however forthright. She could take a lesson or two fro Krayn there.

He stemmed the flow of water to the main hoses. But Cambri still didn't move. Then, suddenly, her arm fell to her side. She was staring past Klasvik, her mouth half open. Then she blinked and shook her head as if to clear it. Klasvik turned and looked behind him up the tunnel. It was empty.

Cambri was still standing looking past him. Klasvik called out to her but she made no sigh of having heard so he climbed down from the cannon and, placing his feet carefully in the slurry, he slithered down to her. 'Well, why have you stopped?'

For a moment she still did not acknowledge him. Then she shook her head again. 'Didn't you see it?'

'What?'

'The figure.'

'What figure?'

'You must have seen it.'

'Seen what?'

At last Cambri turned to look at Klasvik. 'A character drressed in armour. He was standing right behind you.'

'Armour?' Klasvik had a thought. 'Must have been Fortalexa or Bannahilk. I didn't see him. He must have gone back before I looked.' He peered back up the tunnel. He could see now that there was a figure picking its way down the slope towards them through the dimly lit tunnel, one hand on the wall to steady itself. But it looked more like Professor Summerfield than one of the military.

'No. It wasn't either of them. He just disappeared faded away. And anyway, it wasn't that sort of armour.'

Bernice arrived just in time to catch the end of the exchange. She was due to relieve Klasvik. 'Wasn't what sort of armour?' she asked.

'Military combat armour.'

'Oh?' Klasvik was getting bored with this. 'And what sort of armour was it then?'

'It was ceremonial armour. Metal. He had a metal helmet covering the top of his head. He had a breastplate and leggings. I could see as he turned sideways against the lights just before he faded away.'

Klasvik snorted in disbelief, but Bernice was attentive.

Cambri turned to her. 'He also had he was holding ' Her voice tailed away and she stared down at the tunnel floor, her foot making circles in the viscous liquid.

'Yes?' encouraged Bernice. 'He was holding...?'

Cambri looked up. Her eyes held Bernice's for a moment, before they faded into vacancy. 'He was holding a sword.' Then she turned and walked off up the tunnel, splas.h.i.+ng muddy water with each automatic step.

Cambri told her story three times, and still Bernice was the only one to give it any credence. She and Klasvik had followed her back up the tunnel. Cambri had not answered their calls, but had headed straight for the hold. The whole area, now almost devoid of crates, had been converted into an operations room with computer terminals linked through from the main deck and the com*net control centre. Cambri was slumped in one of the chairs when Bernice caught up. She was staring into s.p.a.ce.

The others did believe that Cambri thought she had seen something but they were betting on shadows and tricks of the light. They did not believe that it could be put down simply to an over*active imagination; that that was a failing from which everyone tacitly agreed Cambri not suffer. was a failing from which everyone tacitly agreed Cambri not suffer.

Bernice was not sure exactly what Cambri had seen either, but she was sure it was something more substantial. Her whole demeanour, her transition from frustrated warrior full of pent*up emotion into placid dreamer suggested at the very least a shock. And it took more than shadows and tricks of the light to shock an experienced soldier.

But whatever Cambri had seen, the whole incident was all but forgotten when she recovered enough to mention that the wall at the far end of the tunnel was thin enough to yield when pushed. Lannic was certain that this meant they were about to make progress.

'A breakthrough?' Fortalexa suggested with a smile in his voice. It was lost on Lannic, but Klasvik frowned at the electronics officer's levity.

'More likely a dirty great crevice,' offered Krayn gloomily. He hated to think his work at the tunnel face might have been wasted.

Tashman however found the thought amusing: 'Yeah,' he laughed, 'we'll either have to go home, or you'll have to dig us another tunnel.'

'Only one way to find out,' said Bernice. Lannic nodded, and led the way out to the tunnel. Benny paused in the doorway for a moment and looked back at Cambri.

She was sitting in the chair still, her hands cradling a hot caffedeine solution.

They crowded round the mud wall at the end of the tunnel. They were all there except for Cambri. Fortalexa and Bannahilk stood at the back, deferring to the archaeologists. So did Krayn, but more out of boredom than politeness.