Part 15 (2/2)

'That was probably how it was planned,' said Brockwell.

'No doubt,' the Marquis agreed. 'But now how do we reach the top so we may resume our quest?'

”That at least is no problem,' said Thorrin breaking his long silence, and with some of his normal self-a.s.surance returning.

Qwaid kept his hand near his pistol. He and the Doctor were alone and the Doctor's presence was beginning to trouble him. He suspected he was even smarter than Alpha.

On the Doctor's advice, Drorgon had been sent, much to his evident unease, walking down towards the base of the stairway. The Doctor had scratched a line just above one step and across the groove in the rock, and now, torch in hand, he waited patiently.

'This had better work, Doc,' Qwaid warned him.

'If the stairs move as a unit and they are designed to prove an efficient two-way trap for a moving person, then it has to... ah, look!'

Slowly the halves of the scratch mark on either side of the groove were separating. It was uncanny, and it was only by pressing his hand to the rock across the groove that Qwaid could tell that the section the steps were mounted on was sliding smoothly upward in response to Drorgon's descent.

'You see,' said the Doctor brightly, 'only a gentle acceleration at first, then building up to a walking pace. Carefully designed so you feel no jerk. It probably slows down just as gradually.'

Above them the mist was thinning at last and in a moment the open sky, studded with the first stars of evening, appeared.

Myra had volunteered to keep Brockwell company as he trudged down the stairs to make them carry the rest of the party upward. She was also there to provide an additional counterbalance, in case it took a certain minimum weight to trigger the mechanism. For a while they descended in silence as her thoughts dwelled on Qwaid and his likely progress so far, and how the Doctor and Peri Brown were coping.

Since she could do no more than she was already doing, such speculations rapidly became morbid. She glanced at Brockwell, and was reminded that there were lighter aspects to their situation.

'That was pretty smart, the way you worked this out,' she said.

'Ever thought of becoming a detective?'

Brockwell smiled. 'Thanks, but I don't think I'd be very good at it.'

'You might. Scientists, like detectives, have to notice small but significant details I imagine. I do it all the time. Can't stop noticing trivial things.' She smiled. 'For instance, how long have you been in love with Arnella Rosscarrino?'

Brockwell almost fell and Myra had to steady him. His face was a picture of crestfallen alarm. 'But how did you know? Please don't tell her.'

Myra smiled sympathetically. 'I promise I won't say a word, but she might work it out for herself eventually. The way you avoid looking her straight in the face, and tripping over your own tongue when you speak to her. Away from her you're quite different.'

'Do you think her uncle has noticed?'

'I think he's too wrapped up in this quest business. Rather like Thorrin.'

Brockwell's face fell further. 'Yes. He's becoming... well, obsessed, I suppose. You aren't seeing him at his best, you know. He can be kind and -' His phone beeped and he took it from his pocket. 'Yes, Professor?'

'We've reached the top, Will,' came the satisfied reply. We can only see a line of rocks for the moment. The stairs are turning into a slot in the cliff. There must have been a similar slot at the bottom, but one of the steps must have been filling it too closely for us to notice.

Probably just as it was meant to. We're about to jam the stairs so you can follow us up.'

There was a jerk underfoot and Brockwell and Myra staggered.

'Has it stopped down there as well?' Thorrin asked.

'Yes, Professor. We're on our way back up now.'

Qwaid turned away from the stairway slot they had blocked with a sliver of rock and peered suspiciously about him. It would take Drorgon a while to make it to the summit and he wanted to get an idea of the lie of the land while he had the chance.

In the fast-failing light it was evident that the rim top of the sheer cliff was crowned by a continuous jagged ridge of rocks, cut through by streams and small rivers that formed the waterfalls they had seen from the far side of the valley. Beyond the narrow parapet was a drab stretch of ponds and shallow lakes, streams and mud flats, reminiscent of a river delta. This glistening expanse was dotted with small islands. Some were merely jumbles of rocks rising a few metres above the sluggish waters, while others must have been anything up to a kilometre across, their outlines made s.h.a.ggy with miniature jungles of small trees. As the gloom descended he noticed distinct yellow twinkles of light coming from several of the larger isles.

'Fires?' he wondered aloud.

'Apparently so,' said the Doctor. 'Or possibly simple torches. They don't appear to be either bright or steady enough to be anything else.'

Qwaid got out his binoculars and scanned the nearer islands.

Under magnification and enhancement he saw what looked like lighted windows in the sides of rough shacklike structures, set along the narrow sh.o.r.elines. They twinkled occasionally as figures moved in front of them, but he could make out no further details. Who lived here? The buildings were nothing like the neat domes they had seen near the landing, ground. Was it dangerous, or might there be a clue here as to where to go next? He turned the problem over in his mind as he continued his sweep across the flats. Suddenly he halted. To their right and perhaps a little over a kilometre away, he saw a party of six figures leave the line of rocks and begin to pick their way across the mud flats.

'We're right where I wanted us to be, Doc,' he said with a grin. 'soon as Drorgon gets up here we edge along until we're behind them. They should leave a clear enough trail in this ground to Follow. Let them find out what's going on up here.'

Myra led the way, a rope from her belt fastened her to Brockwell, and the others followed in their footsteps. She used her staff to probe the way ahead of her. The danger of quicksand had immediately suggested itself in these conditions, and common sense dictated that she would be the best able to cope. She kept to the scattered slabs of rock that rose above the mud And clumps of wiry gra.s.s. Those channels they had to ford proved to be no more than knee deep, with a cool evening breeze rippling their sluggish waters. Patterns of tracks and blowholes in the mud indicated the presence of small animals, and they kept their guns at the ready in case they should encounter anything larger and more dangerous.

Thorrin wanted to reach one of the lighted islands before it was fully dark. He was certain there would be somebody there ready to provide a clue to the next stage of the quest. Myra was not convinced of his reasoning, but there seemed no better course to pursue and she did not want to risk falling behind Qwaid's party if by any chance they were already ahead of them. It would also be a relief to reach some sort of shelter. She felt uncomfortably exposed out on the bleak flats.

Their course took them past one of the smaller islets, a clump of rocks topped by a few straggling trees barely a hundred metres across. As they circled its tiny beach Falstaff said suddenly, 'Hold fast! Surely I saw something move up there.'

Even as they peered into the gloom, a fist-sized rock flew out of the shadows between two large boulders, hurtled over their heads, and splashed into the mud.

'Go away!' a whining voice shouted out in interlingua. 'Leave me alone! This is my land!'

Even as they looked at each other in bewilderment, another rock was thrown, this time landing at their feet and causing them to jump quickly aside as it rebounded between them.

'We do not wish you any harm,' Rosscarrino called back. 'We are simply... seekers. Can you tell us if we're on the right path to Rovan's treasure?'

There came a terrible wailing cry from the heart of the islet, followed by a stream of abuse and a further shower of rocks and pebbles.

Dodging the missiles, they set off across the pools and mud flats at a run until they were out of range.

'Who was that?' exclaimed Brockwell.

'It didn't sound like a native.' said Arnella.

'Whosoever it was, they were sorely touched in the head,' said Falstaff, mopping his brow.

'It may simply be meant to confuse us.' Thorrin said resolutely. 'We shall continue on.'

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