Part 25 (2/2)

'No, no!' Romana cries.

Huvan wills wills, in the new way that he can. 'It is done,' he says softly, not quite sure what it is he has done. He has an image of the palace, corroding and dying, falling from the sky, and nothing more. Somehow, he knows not how, he has done it. He thinks.

He cannot look at Romana, does not need to see her face.

He doesn't understand, every time he tries to impress her he just seems to make everything worse. What more does he need to do? What will win her over? He will have her, but he would rather she came to him voluntarily. He feels it is important for him to win her rather than take her. Why, when the other way is so much easier? He realises he still has a lot to learn.

'Come,' he says, concentrating on a much easier path. He doesn't want to think too much any more.

The hatch levers click and the small doorway opens, a simple trick.

'At last,' says the Magus, stepping out. 'At last, the tomb of Valdemar. After all these years, all the work. The time of greatness is almost upon us.'

He can barely contain his excitement; so human of him despite what he thinks he has become.

Romana follows him, Huvan behind her. The three of them stand inside the pyramid, the war of Ashkellia's atmosphere crackling over their heads.

'Yes,' says Huvan, 'the tomb of Valdemar.' He takes a deep breath of the cold, ancient air. 'Let's open it.'

Chapter Thirteen.

It seems worth noting that, despite all appearances to the contrary, Robert Hopkins has managed to retain his firm convictions concerning the cold materialistic nature of the universe. His stubborn existentialism remains intact, despite the horde of zombies that have risen from the dead and are now presently in the process of slaughtering his men.

He is running now, armour clanking, not entirely certain how he got away from the battening undead. He vaguely recalls giving orders as the robed ghouls descended upon his iron clads, with a savagery of breathtaking dimensions considering they were ripped and hacked-up corpses. These orders consisted, in the main as he remembers, of shouting 'Fight to the last man! Protect your leader! Get me out of here!' or something he will choose to re-remember in the future.

Hopkins recalls also the brave Lieutenant Carlin cleverly hacking through the creatures and taunting a few into following him into the empty airlock chamber. Whether he did this deliberately, Hopkins does not know. What he does know is that his cousin's actions gave him an opportunity to fight his way clear, his shotgun blasting already tattered cadavers into non-existence, and hammer on the controls that opened the bay doors. He remembers Carlin's horror-struck face as the floor gave way beneath him and he fell, three of the ghouls already fastening onto him, into the clouds.

Oh, brave Lieutenant Carlin! His sacrifice will be long remembered in the annals of the New Protectorate!

Turning away, and using his sword to strike down the snarling body hurling itself at him, Hopkins had realised his men were already doomed. They grappled with their attackers on the ground, fighting to the last as the creatures ripped them apart.

He ran. He thinks he did anyway, it all gets a bit foggy at that point.

Typically, now that he is out of that b.l.o.o.d.y piazza, anger has taken over from fear as his dominant emotion. Once more, Neville has outwitted him! He must destroy this decadent; nothing else matters.

At last, somewhere in the sumptuous living quarters, Hopkins collapses and must catch his breath. With trembling hands and heaving chest, he sheaths his black-stained sword. The shotgun has gone, lost in the melee, but he still has his pistol. He listens for pursuit but hears nothing except distant screaming. The noise does not last long.

What to do, what to do now? He could make his way back to the s.h.i.+p but then what has he learned? He must find Neville, if he has to fight his way through all the devils this palace can throw at him.

There is a noise, something that just caught his hearing.

He c.o.c.ks his heavy pistol and kneels, scanning the corridor both ways. Didn't sound like one of those creatures. Already he is rationalising. They weren't undead at all. Some kind of cyborg, some trick of Neville's to reanimate dead flesh, programmed to respond to their arrival. Highly original, and lethal, but nothing supernatural about it.

He hears the sound again. Definitely not the guttural screeching of the ghouls. Something else, something like a voice.

'h.e.l.lo?'

Hopkins leaps away from the wall. It, the voice, came from behind him. He suspects more of Neville's trickery; another trap, this time an a.s.sault on the senses. Nothing to be afraid of, it's just another conjuring trick.

'h.e.l.lo?' It comes again.

The wall isn't a wall. It's a door, a door with its ornate golden handle broken off.

'Have you come to rescue us?' comes the voice. It sounds like a woman.

Hopkins looks round. Nothing. All is quiet.

Then the tapping begins, on the other side of the door.

'Help us,' says the mournful voice, unmistakably female.

'We've been locked in here so long.'

Hopkins takes another look around. Nothing, no sounds, just the empty corridor. Should he respond? Perhaps they know something, whoever the people are behind that door.

After all, they would undoubtedly have been locked in there by Neville; the handle snapped off to prevent their release.

Anything to get to that black sorcerer is worth the risk.

Anything!

In the end, it is the empty-follicled goose b.u.mps he feels running down his arms that make up his mind for him.

Despite the ma.s.sacre and the voices, he will not be swayed by superst.i.tion and a lot of b.u.mps and lighting effects. The body is weak, afraid, but the mind controls the body and that is everything he stands for.

'Did Neville put you in there?' he asks in a whisper. He's not so stupid as to announce his presence to those things that are presumably looking for him.

There is a silence, as if whoever is behind the door is not really expecting a reply.

'h.e.l.lo?' it says, she says, again.

'Yes, h.e.l.lo,' Hopkins replies impatiently. 'Did Neville put you in there?'

'Neville... yes...' the voice comes slowly, cautiously. 'Will you free us?'

Ah. Now. That is the question. He may be desperate but he isn't stupid.

'Who are you?' he asks.

'Prisoners, that's right, prisoners. He betrayed us, tried to kill us, but we were too clever for him, oh yes. Open this door and we will help you.'

'Do you know where he is?'

'Oh yes, open the door, quickly, or he will escape you again.'

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