The Nightmare Game (22 page)

He nodded. “You're giving the orders.”

“Good,” she said. “Just as long as you remember that.”

 

SHE SEEMED TO KNOW THE SHAPE AND POSITION OF EVERY stone. Kneeling in front of the wall, she described each one he had to move. He worked them loose in turn, pulling them away from the base of the wall and placing them carefully to one side. Gradually, they were opening up a narrow passageway.

Once she stopped speaking for a moment and began to hum faintly instead.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Ssh.” She tapped his arm to keep him quiet. “I'm listening to the shapes ahead. Let me concentrate.”

He had no idea what she meant, but he waited obediently, rubbing his bruised knuckles. Now that he had worked his way deep into the wall, the stones were hard to move. And, all the time, he was nervously aware of the great weight of the wall above him. If she was mistaken about any of the stones, he would be crushed to death.

“OK,” she murmured at last. “There's just one more stone. If you push that out of the way, we can go through.”

Carefully, he crawled toward it. It was a huge stone, wider than the space he was in. When he gave it a nudge, the other stones ground together above his head. The noise sent him wriggling backward at top speed, out of the passage.

“It's too dangerous,” he said. “The whole wall's resting on top of that stone.”

“No it's not.” Her voice was calm. “It's just blocking the front of the passage. Go back and push it away.”

“It's mad to be tunneling
underneath
the wall. We ought to be breaking down the top. I could lift you up—”

“Go back,” she said. “Trust me. I know this wall.”

It was ridiculous for a young girl—clearly she
was
young—to be giving orders to a mature, experienced man. She hadn't even had the courtesy to listen to his idea. Why
should
he trust her?

His mind kept complaining, even while he went down on his knees and crawled back into the passage. But she was right. When he put his shoulder to the stone and heaved, it rocked gently for a second and then rolled away from him, into the open space beyond.

As soon as it moved, he felt a draft of warmer air. He squeezed through the gap that had opened and stood up unsteadily. The space around him was invisible in the dark, like the space he'd left behind, but it felt like a cave. And on the far side, twenty or thirty paces away, he could see a dim red glow coming down from above.

Light.

It shone through an opening in the roof, illuminating the top part of a steep ramp that ran down the far wall. That ramp was the way out of the terrible underground darkness. He took a step toward it.

“No,” her voice said softly. Close to his ear. She had crawled through the tunnel behind him and, before he could take another step, she caught at his hand and held him back. “You
must
be quiet.”

He was so desperate for light that he almost shook her off. Her hand felt very small, and he could probably have sent her flying with one flick of his arm. But as she spoke, he caught the sound of other voices filtering down from whatever place it was above their heads.

If we're caught, they'll drive us outside, into the cold. And we'll die.
Was that true? Should he trust her again?

Who were those people talking overhead? He could hear the rise and fall of their voices, but it was impossible to make sense of any words. He pictured a hoard of uncontrollable savages, daubed with crude body paint and covered in ritual scars.

Her hand was flat across his mouth now, keeping him silent. “We have to be quick,” she murmured. “I'll fetch what we need.”

She began to move quickly around the space where they stood. Once or twice he glimpsed her shape against the red glow beyond. He was startled to see how narrow her body was, how small and slight her darting hands. She seemed to be flitting from one place to another, collecting things.

She went backward and forward, bringing armfuls of food. First it was a rough, bulging net, smelling of the sticky paste she'd given him to eat before. Then fur blankets, wrapped tightly around hard, heavy lumps that he couldn't identify.

“We need water, too,” she muttered. “I'll fill a shell—”

She broke off short, putting a hand on his arm. It was another second before he realized what she'd heard. There were new noises coming from overhead. Feet walking over the earth.

Then he saw shadows moving against the red light at the other end of the cave. They flickered across the back wall, and then loomed suddenly downward, sharpening into long, distorted silhouettes.

There were people coming down the ramp.

THERE WERE TWO OF THEM. THEY WALKED ONTO THE RAMP side by side, talking as they came down. Even though they were at the other end of the cave, he could hear their voices plainly.

And he could understand the words.

That took a second to register. The image of a crowd of alien savages had rooted so firmly in his mind, all he was expecting was some kind of primitive mumbo jumbo. Instead, he heard a girl's voice that could have come straight from his ordinary—his
real
—life.

“Two shells, Bando,” she said. “And no spilling.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but that didn't matter, compared with the relief of knowing that he could
talk
to these people. He wouldn't be dragged off and butchered without a chance to explain himself.

“I never spill them.” The second voice was male. Sounding slightly injured. “I can carry them both at once, without losing a drop.”

The girl came further down the ramp, holding a light above her head. It was a piece of wood, burning away very fast. (No electricity, then. So this wasn't civilization, in spite of the way they spoke.) “Bando” moved ahead of her, and his bulky shadow leaped across the wall, very black and sharp.

He was massive and terrifying, a brutal thug, with heavy shoulders and feet that thudded as they hit the ground. Suddenly, the darkness wasn't a good enough hiding place. It would only take one treacherous shaft of light for Bando to spot them. (But how can you find a hiding place in the dark? When you don't know where your enemy is heading?)

Watching Bando, he felt his throat tighten as he began to panic. But then a hand closed around his wrist. He was pulled gently sideways and down, into a small, close space, shielded by a heap that smelled of flour and dust.

She was there beside him, tapping her fingers on his hand. Warning him to keep still as Bando blundered closer. They heard the scrape of one hard surface against another and then—water, running into a hollow vessel.

Water.

He hadn't realized until then how desperately, agonizingly thirsty he was. He bent his head, bringing his hands up to cover his ears, so that he could shut out the tormenting liquid sound.

But he hadn't remembered how close he was to the heap in front of him. He caught it with one hand, knocking against a hard, shiny globe, as big as a football. The globe slid out of place—and the heap began to disintegrate. His attempts to grab at it only made things worse. The shiny football shapes rolled down and away from him, spreading across the floor.

“Annet!” Bando shouted. “Annet—the
grains
!”

The girl—Annet—came rushing down the ramp with the glowing torch held high above her head. It lit up her fierce, dirty face, and her bright eyes that peered ahead, into the shadows.

There was no hope of escaping back through the wall. She was near enough to see them while they were still crawling into the passageway. And it would be lunacy to push past her and run up the ramp. It sounded as though there were dozens more of them up there. There was only one sensible way to proceed.

He rose to his feet, pressing down lightly on the small, neat head next to him, to show her that she should stay hidden. There was no point in both of them getting captured. He was the one who'd given their hiding place away. He had to take responsibility.

He walked quickly forward, into the light, stumbling against the heavy globes that littered the ground. “I'm the one you're looking for,” he said.

Bando took a step back. In a way that didn't match his appearance. “Who is it, Annet?” he said nervously.

It seemed wise to answer quickly, making the words as reassuring as possible. “My name is Daniel Armstrong. I apologize for causing a disturbance.”

“Bando—get him!” Annet said fiercely. “I don't know who he is. We have to take him up into the cavern, for Cam and Zak to see.”

Tentatively, Bando moved forward. She followed him, holding her light high so that the whole cave was illuminated. Everything was visible now—and none of it made any sense. There were heaps of the globes that Bando had called
grains
, arranged in neat rows across the floor. Thick furs were stacked in piles along one wall, and huge nets hung from the ceiling, holding dark, wizened shapes, like monstrous raisins. It was all strange and unfamiliar, as though it came from an alien world.

He stared straight ahead, resisting the temptation to look down at the small, slight figure crouched by his feet. To do that would be to give her away. Instead, he watched Bando coming across the cave toward him. In a moment, he would have to go forward, to meet that terrifying figure. He had to make himself do it. He
had
to.

But he wasn't quick enough. Bando looked past him suddenly, into the shadows, drawing in his breath with a faint hiss. It was obvious that he'd seen the girl on the floor. For an instant he hesitated, as if he didn't know what to do.

“Hurry up!” Annet called from behind him. “I can't hold this torch much longer. The flames are almost down to my fingers. Get him!”

It was like breaking a spell. Bando's great arms came out like a crab, latching onto him so tightly that he could feel the bruises forming. He was pulled away from the crouching figure, with no sign that anyone else was there. If it hadn't been for that hiss of breath, that slight hesitation, it would have been impossible to believe that she'd been seen at all.

As they moved away, he felt a quick, light touch on his ankle.
Thank you
. He had no way of responding without making Annet suspicious. All he could do was let Bando lead him away, toward the ramp.

Annet was there ahead of them. The glowing branch in her hand had burned down to a stump. As the three of them stepped up onto the ramp, the fire touched her fingers and she winced.
(Surely it was unnatural for a log as thick as that to burn away so fast?)
He saw her toss the stump into a corner, leaving it to burn out harmlessly.

Then she led the way up the ramp, and with every step they took the air grew warmer. They came out into a small, hot space with a huge furnace at one end. The furnace was so tall that he had to tilt his head back to see the top of it. The air was dense with wood smoke and the heat was almost unbearable.

Walking around one side of the furnace, they emerged into a vast, high cave, much bigger than the cellar they had come from. The walls ran off into shadow and, way above them, huge ribs of wood zigzagged randomly over the ceiling. The whole space was red with firelight and crowded with wild, grimy people dressed in crude tunics.

“We found someone hiding!” Annet shouted. “He was in the storeroom.”

The savages turned to gape at him. They shuffled to the sides of the cave, leaving a clear route down the center, and he saw two people rise to their feet at the far end.

One was male and one seemed to be female. They were dressed as roughly as everyone else, but, in view of the way the others looked toward them, he assumed that they were the king and queen of the tribe. It was obviously a waste of time to attempt to discuss his situation with any of the others. Striding ahead of Annet and Bando, he headed down the cave toward the leaders.

Knowing nothing of the culture of these people, he had no idea whether he was supposed to approach the king and queen with some particular form of ceremony. Maybe it was prudent to wait for them to speak first. He stopped in front of them and stood silently, watching them and trying to work out who wielded the real power.

The king smiled questioningly, raising an eyebrow. But it was the queen who spoke.
(A matriarchy, then?)

“Who are you?” she said abruptly. “How did you get into our storeroom?”

He couldn't tell the exact truth without betraying his rescuer. He settled for the nearest safe approximation and answered quickly, looking her straight in the eye.

“I have no idea how I arrived. I just—found myself there, ma'am.”

“Cam,” she said.

Was that her name or some kind of title? He repeated the word, trying to match her accent precisely. “Cam.”

She gave him an odd look. “You say you just—appeared in the storeroom?”

He nodded. It was almost the truth (he had, after all, found himself in that peculiar forest with no idea of how he'd got there) but he couldn't help thinking that it sounded thin and unconvincing. He would hardly have been surprised if Cam had rejected it out of hand.

But she didn't. She glanced sideways at the king, uncertainly. “Has it ever happened like that before, Zak?”

The king smiled his irritating, quizzical smile. “Each time is different,” he said.

Maybe he wasn't the king after all. Maybe he was some kind of witch doctor or shaman, given to spouting senseless mumbo jumbo.
Each time is different.
What was that supposed to mean? It was a pointless answer.