Janus (21 page)

Grebbel prowled, examining the site.

“Does this suit Madame? Let’s see if I have this right. Note the scenic view from the front bedroom, and the fashionably elegant decor in grey, brown, and leaf blue. The lighting is entirely natural, and it comes with its own built-in timing mechanism specially adapted to this planet. And, here, the back bedroom leads to a bathroom with shower and constant cold running water. Over there is the eastern bedroom. And in the western bedroom we have—someone half buried under a collapsed tent.”

“That’s okay, there’s no real hurry. Finish your guided tour, sit down and have a good laugh before you come and help.”

“We obviously learned this in different schools. The way I was taught, you look around for the best spot
before
you pitch the tent; it saves the effort of keeping it on the poles when you move it. But I suppose your way’s more interesting.
That
goes in
there.
”

“It’s out of the wind here; the nearest glacier’s five kilometres away; I know for a fact that the chances of being hit by avalanches, lava flows, meteorites and—giant squid are no more than twenty percent in this particular spot. And we can look across the valley without getting up. Or do you want to do a geological survey first?”

“That’s a thought,” he said. “But I don’t think we’ve got time.”

She stuck out her tongue, and he grinned and backed to the entrance. “Hand me the pegs, and I’ll fix the guy ropes.”

When it was done, they lay in the tent, looking across the valley. Far to the south a trail of smoke grew from a pale blue peak. Orange light flickered at its crest. They watched it and heard only the wind and a trickle of water. “Well,” she asked finally, “how’s the western bedroom now?”

“I admit I’ve seen worse. There’s no snow on the ground, for one thing.” He frowned. “It can be rough, camping in the mountains, in the snow. . . . What are you doing?”

“A survey—what does it feel as though I’m doing? A geological survey.” She put her tongue out again.

“Come on,” she said a little later. “Wise guy, tent erector.
That
goes in
there
.”

“So it does,” he whispered. “My god.”

“You may be wondering,” she said, frowning in concentration, breathing rapidly, “why else I asked you here today.”

“No . . . actually, I . . . No.”

“I was—hoping—to remind you. Of certain things. Now that you’ve decided to look for your past . . . by yourself. In case . . . in case you had any ideas of—giving up . . .”

“Who said—?” he began, and lost the thread of his thought. After a while he tried again. “Who said . . . I was giving up . . . anything? I didn’t say that.”

But now she was beyond replying. Her eyes had closed and her face was soft, though she gasped like a woman drowning. At each movement he made, she moaned and writhed as though her nerve endings had been stripped bare. He watched her with a remote intensity, in fresh astonishment at what a simple motion could trigger in her. Then she screamed. And her convulsions tore him from his detachment and flung him across an echoing, void.

She came back slowly, like a great chord booming and shimmering into silence. The sunlight dappled the tent roof, flirted with her eyelids when she let them close to feel herself closer to him.

They lay together until hunger roused them and they dressed to find the food in their packs and collect wood for a fire. There were piles of dry leaves for kindling. The fallen branches that they piled onto the fire burned aromatically with yellow flames and a thin blue smoke that eddied above the trees and was lost along the upper slopes of the mountain.

The next morning, they packed the tent and set out again. The path was muddier now as she led the way through the watery afternoon sunlight. They came round a stone outcrop, and stopped. A creature like a maroon, six-legged bear stood in the middle of the trail, half-heartedly nibbling at wiry scrub. It raised its eyeless head towards them, and patterns of light and shade rippled over the hair on its flank, then froze into place as though it was sensing them with its coat.

“What is it?” Grebbel whispered. “I’m not sure. I’ve heard of sightings, a few tracks. ”

He took a step forward.

She grabbed at his arm. “Wait. What are you doing?” He was bending to pick up a long rib of frond, like a spear, and going forward again. Suddenly there was a thin shriek above them and a small black creature fluttered down. It landed near the bear and scuttled to it, pulled itself up by the long fur. In a moment the outline of the bear’s head changed and two small black eyes stared forward.

The bear shook itself as though waking up, then swung its head from side to side and hissed at Grebbel. Its mouth was a black and cruel-looking beak.

Grebbel stopped and took a step to one side. The compound creature hissed again, then quietly trotted past them along the trail and vanished behind the outcropping they had just passed.

Elinda and Grebbel looked at each other wide-eyed, then suddenly burst out laughing. But the sound seemed so out of place, they fell quiet again. “And what were you planning to do with that pointed stick?” she asked.

He shrugged and dropped it. “I wasn’t sure it would get out of our way. Probably wouldn’t have, the way we found it. What do they say—two minds are better than one?”

“Even if they’re in the same head?” she asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t. “We’re almost there. Around this bend.”

Ahead of them a cliff gleamed like a brow ridge. Beyond a screen of vegetation the dim sun showed a dark opening. “Palace Cave,” she said, and then was reluctant to say more.

They made their way into the entrance. There were marks in the earth that might have been bootprints, but she could not guess how recent they might be. “Flashlights now,” she said, but Grebbel was already unpacking his.

The cave seemed to be empty. Their lights glimmered on grey limestone, the roof receding in narrowing crevices up into the cliff. “Barbara left something here?” Grebbel asked. “Any idea what we’re looking for? I don’t see any tracks.”

She went forward cautiously, crouching under the low roof. “Anything at first.” She realised she was whispering. The air was damp and musty and filled with the murmur of trickling water. “Careful. It goes down here; it’s like a couple of steps.” After ten paces, the ceiling was high enough for them to stand, and the cave opened to the right to form a small chamber hidden from the outside.

Uncomfortably, she recalled the last time she had been in this cave. Barbara had prowled restlessly, climbing ledges and testing out the echoes of her voice.

She glanced back Grebbel was standing stiffly just under the higher ceiling. His face was drawn, his eyes closed. The flashlight in his hand twitched, and sent a fan of light along the pleated wall.

“Jon, what’s wrong?”

“The air in here . . . at the bottom step, I thought I smelled . . .” His voice shook. “No. Forget it.” He cocked his head. “Listen to the water dripping, further in. These caves must go right into the mountain.”

“You want to go that way? There’s a place we had through here. . . . I’d like to look there myself.”

“Okay. I’ll call if I find anything.”

Elinda had been unpacking their lunch, that last occasion, listening to her call back as she explored. When she went to fetch her, Barbara had vanished, her voice throbbing out of the empty air in the main cave. The sounds had seemed to come from everywhere, and Barbara had decided to play hide and seek. It was ten minutes before Elinda, following the calls of “warmer” or “colder,” had found the way up to the hidden cleft in the wall.

This time it took longer and she found the layer of soil and rock fragments on the floor thicker than she had remembered, a pile of dead leaves that looked like an abandoned nest, a litter of what must be bones and broken eggshells, and two or three angular fist-sized lumps that must have broken from the ceiling.

If Barbara had been here she’d hidden her tracks pretty thoroughly.

Before she could do more than start sifting through the debris, Grebbel called and then reappeared, “I think there is something in there.” he said somberly. “If I’m right we probably ought to find it together.”

“Just a moment. It’s so quiet, it used to be beautiful in here with just the torchlight.” She reached up on tiptoe to where a stalactite grew above their heads, and touched it, finger to finger. She felt a bead of moisture transfer itself, and when she brought her hand down into the light, a bright transparent gem quivered on her fingertip.

His arms slid around her. The light clicked off and for the duration of a few more breaths they held each other in the dark, in the stone dream.

They switched on their lights and edged into the mountain. Grey walls enclosed them, with the steady trickle of water sounding somewhere out of sight. Was there a flicker of motion just at the edge of the lights, a quick rustling, almost too soft to hear? The beams flickered over columns and spears of stone, impending swords, the walls of tunnels and chimneys. To Elinda it suddenly felt like entering a stark and sombre dream.

Together they worked their way downward. Every minute or so, Grebbel pulled out a chisel and scraped a cross in the wall as a marker. Often they were only centimetres apart; their breathing and the scrape of their footsteps seemed the only sounds in the world, and a word spoken would resound between them from the cold rock walls.

Grebbel’s breathing was becoming ragged, though he had shown no sign of exertion on the climb up. On a bulge of rock his boot slipped. He cursed and flung himself against the wall. A piece of rock the size of his fist fell and shattered with a sound like a hand grenade.

He said nothing. With their lights lowered she could barely see his face. After a while his breathing became quieter and they went on. Their hands brushed together and he linked his fingers in hers.

Finally they entered a cavern where the sound of water seemed to come from all sides. They switched off their lights. The limestone spines and columns were dimly illuminated. “Daylight,” he whispered. “We’re near another entrance.”

“I think I can hear the river,” she said.

“We’re still high,” he said. “But not all that far from the buildings.”

“You’re right,” she whispered. “I can smell it now. Something rotting.”

“The air must circulate freely through all these caves, or it would have been obvious earlier.”

“It could just be an animal that crawled away to die. Or one that was hibernating and didn’t make it.”

“Of course it could,” he said, switching on his light, “for all we know. Let’s go on.”

A few minutes later he flashed the light onto something in a crack in the ground. She looked. A piece of brown and green ceramic in the shape of an oak leaf—a large and clumsy earring.

I’ve been through this before,
she thought.
Once was enough.

Their search ended soon afterwards, in a gallery that narrowed to a chink between stone pedestals. A shape like a sack of potatoes lay in the dark. Elinda’s flashlight beam touched it briefly and flicked away.

“The missing woman, I imagine,” Grebbel muttered. “What was her name?”

“Erika Frank,” Elinda said, staring. She shook her head, unable to look away. “Look. She was crawling. She was trying to get further into the mountain. There isn’t even any water.”

“Thirst isn’t the most painful way to die in this situation. Hunger is worse. And the cold would hurry things along.” He was bending over the remains. “I wonder if there’s any clue to what sent her here.”

“Don’t touch her.”

“What’s wrong?” When he faced Elinda, Grebbel’s eyes glistened deep in their sockets and his forehead was oily with sweat.

“You look like a predator, crouching over her like that,” she whispered. “Let’s get out. We’ll have to leave her; we can’t carry her without a stretcher or something. We’ll have to come back, or I’ll tell Security, and they’ll fetch her. And I’ll tell Barbara, I’ll have to find a way to tell Barbara.”

“Do you still want to look for whatever Barbara was planning to do here?”

“No. I don’t think she got here. I think she wanted or was supposed to come here, but she fell near where I found her, and didn’t get any farther.”

In her bedroom the following evening, Elinda returned to the recorder that held all that was left to her of Barbara’s last day of sanity. She scraped the battery contacts with her nail file, experimented with the device’s little set of filters. But even after she recharged the battery and turned the volume up all the way, nothing came from the tiny speaker but hisses and dull rushing sounds, faint bursts of crackling and the banality of the last words Barbara uttered as herself.

“Testing, testing . . .”

And then only wind and echoes again.