Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray Page B
Tags: action and adventure
Ads: Link
was much colder within. The reason was the interior walls of the cave were rippled with ancient ice. The stuff had a dark greenish quality, as if it were not natural ice.
Monk and Renny rubbed at the ice with their sleeves, removing the grime of centuries. Beneath, ordinary-looking ice was revealed. The stuff was striated and not very transparent.
Doc Savage spoke up, “Natural ice caves such as this one have been found in other parts of the world. They are rare, but not terribly unusual.”
The bronze giant pointed his flashlight at the ceiling. Suspended overhead were great icicle-like stalactites that resembled icy fangs. Some of these were quite large. A few had been broken by the explosion that had revealed the cave, and were lying in great conical sections on the dirt floor.
As they worked their way deeper into the cavern, Doc Savage found a pick axe that had been carelessly tossed aside. It was a special tool machined with fangs and a pike extension at the top.
“Johnny’s, no doubt,” he said. Then the bronze man’s ever-active golden eyes went to the wall of ice by the pick axe.
It was clear that the bony archaeologist had been attempting to excavate something from the ice. He had done a great deal of chipping in one spot, then in another section several feet away.
In the center, framed by these vertical excavations, something shadowy loomed within the deep greenish ice.
Doc Savage directed the beam of his flashlight toward this shadowy shape.
The others crowded around.
Renny boomed, “Looks like a man stuck in there.”
“Jove!” added Ham. “He appears to have been entombed in ice.”
Monk asked, “Did the old Mongols bury their dead this way?”
Doc Savage shook his head. “Not according to history.”
Then the bronze man’s golden eyes saw the script.
It was excusable that he did not notice this at first glance. The ice was wonderfully rippled, and cloudy within, having veins and occlusions. This was not pellucid ice, such as covers a frozen pond in winter.
The script writing on the wall stood high up, above the shadowy form entombed within.
In the eerie silence of the place, with their breaths showing cold, the sound of Doc Savage’s trilling came as a sudden shock.
They were used to this, for Doc Savage had displayed this habit for as long as they had known him. Perhaps it was the dank atmosphere of the place. Possibly the flavor of the sound this time was different.
Whatever the truth, Doc Savage’s trilling manifested as a low melody, which impinged upon their ears and carried throughout the ice cave, as it mounted the musical scale in its characteristically tuneless yet melodic fashion. Its ventriloquial quality was also very marked in the cave confines. It seemed to be coming from nowhere yet everywhere, saturating the cold confines of the cavern.
Often, Doc’s trilling swelled from a subtle sound to a more awesome cadence. But in this instance, the sound climbed only so high and lingered at that pitch, wandering about like an insect lost in a barn.
It took a long time to trail off. This meant that Doc was so struck by what he saw that the bronze giant failed to notice that he was issuing the trilling. It was a habit he picked up in the Orient, and it always embarrassed him. So naturally, Doc stifled it whenever he realized he was emitting the strange susurration.
Ham demanded, “What is it, Doc?”
Doc Savage was slow in replying. “The writing is in the old Mongol script of long-ago,” he said quietly.
“Is that so?” squeaked Monk. “What does it say?”
“ ‘If I still lived, mankind would tremble.’ ”
“Holy cow!” thumped Renny. “What’s trapped in that ice? A blamed monster?”
“Yes,” said Doc Savage steadily. “One of the worst monsters in recorded history.”
Doc Savage’s straightforward response stunned them for a moment. The bronze man was not given to exaggeration, or hyperbole. Nor did he joke about serious matters.
It was
Monk and Renny rubbed at the ice with their sleeves, removing the grime of centuries. Beneath, ordinary-looking ice was revealed. The stuff was striated and not very transparent.
Doc Savage spoke up, “Natural ice caves such as this one have been found in other parts of the world. They are rare, but not terribly unusual.”
The bronze giant pointed his flashlight at the ceiling. Suspended overhead were great icicle-like stalactites that resembled icy fangs. Some of these were quite large. A few had been broken by the explosion that had revealed the cave, and were lying in great conical sections on the dirt floor.
As they worked their way deeper into the cavern, Doc Savage found a pick axe that had been carelessly tossed aside. It was a special tool machined with fangs and a pike extension at the top.
“Johnny’s, no doubt,” he said. Then the bronze man’s ever-active golden eyes went to the wall of ice by the pick axe.
It was clear that the bony archaeologist had been attempting to excavate something from the ice. He had done a great deal of chipping in one spot, then in another section several feet away.
In the center, framed by these vertical excavations, something shadowy loomed within the deep greenish ice.
Doc Savage directed the beam of his flashlight toward this shadowy shape.
The others crowded around.
Renny boomed, “Looks like a man stuck in there.”
“Jove!” added Ham. “He appears to have been entombed in ice.”
Monk asked, “Did the old Mongols bury their dead this way?”
Doc Savage shook his head. “Not according to history.”
Then the bronze man’s golden eyes saw the script.
It was excusable that he did not notice this at first glance. The ice was wonderfully rippled, and cloudy within, having veins and occlusions. This was not pellucid ice, such as covers a frozen pond in winter.
The script writing on the wall stood high up, above the shadowy form entombed within.
In the eerie silence of the place, with their breaths showing cold, the sound of Doc Savage’s trilling came as a sudden shock.
They were used to this, for Doc Savage had displayed this habit for as long as they had known him. Perhaps it was the dank atmosphere of the place. Possibly the flavor of the sound this time was different.
Whatever the truth, Doc Savage’s trilling manifested as a low melody, which impinged upon their ears and carried throughout the ice cave, as it mounted the musical scale in its characteristically tuneless yet melodic fashion. Its ventriloquial quality was also very marked in the cave confines. It seemed to be coming from nowhere yet everywhere, saturating the cold confines of the cavern.
Often, Doc’s trilling swelled from a subtle sound to a more awesome cadence. But in this instance, the sound climbed only so high and lingered at that pitch, wandering about like an insect lost in a barn.
It took a long time to trail off. This meant that Doc was so struck by what he saw that the bronze giant failed to notice that he was issuing the trilling. It was a habit he picked up in the Orient, and it always embarrassed him. So naturally, Doc stifled it whenever he realized he was emitting the strange susurration.
Ham demanded, “What is it, Doc?”
Doc Savage was slow in replying. “The writing is in the old Mongol script of long-ago,” he said quietly.
“Is that so?” squeaked Monk. “What does it say?”
“ ‘If I still lived, mankind would tremble.’ ”
“Holy cow!” thumped Renny. “What’s trapped in that ice? A blamed monster?”
“Yes,” said Doc Savage steadily. “One of the worst monsters in recorded history.”
Doc Savage’s straightforward response stunned them for a moment. The bronze man was not given to exaggeration, or hyperbole. Nor did he joke about serious matters.
It was
Similar Books
