deep, but it seemed to Merle that she saw every indentation, every projection, a little more clearly than above the fog. She could also make out the opposite side better now, although she didn’t at all have the impression that the walls were any closer together. Everything was bathed in red golden brightness, which came from the rock itself, from a hair-fine network of veins of glowing lines, in some places clumped, in others almost invisible.
“Impressive,”
said the Queen, and Merle thought that was an utterly inadequate description, a modest, empty word in the face of this marvel.
Suddenly she became aware that this place must be a facet of the real, true Hell. Something that, except for Professor Burbridge and a small number of select people, no human being had ever seen.
Then she caught sight of the tents.
“Do you see that?” Vermithrax bellowed.
“Yes,” whispered Merle, “I see them.”
A ways below them and about eighty yards sideways, there was a ledge in the rock wall, a protruding cliff, like the nose of a giant upside down. The upper side was flat and, estimating roughly, twenty by twenty yards wide. There were three tents on it. One was in tatters, although the poles still stuck up in the air like the branches of a deadtree. Something had slit the canvas. A knife perhaps. Or claws.
The two other tents looked undamaged. The flap at the entrance of one was thrown back. As Vermithrax neared the camp, Merle could see that the rock ledge was abandoned.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“You are curious, are you?”
“Aren’t you?”
“A mind can only take in a limited amount of knowledge, and to mine, those things there make no difference.”
Show-off, Merle thought. “Then aren’t you interested in what happened to the people?”
“It is of interest to you. That is enough.”
Vermithrax circled several times in front of the rock cliff. Merle noted how carefully he inspected the tents and the other remains of the camp. There was a fireplace; a row of chests, which were piled behind at the rock wall; a dish right beside the burned-out campfire; also three rifles, which were leaning against the wall as if their owners had just vanished behind the rocks for a moment. Whatever might have happened to these people, they hadn’t even had time to grab their weapons. An ice-cold tingle ran down her back.
Finally the obsidian lion had seen enough; he made an abrupt swerve and landed on the rock ledge, only a few yards away from the destroyed tent. Now Merle couldalso see that the path she’d already noticed above opened onto this plateau, and to the right of them it led on farther down into the abyss.
She leaped from Vermithrax’s back, landed on both feet—and at first fell right onto her backside. Her knees were weak, her muscles stiff. It was almost an accustomed feeling by now, but it had never been so bad before—possibly also a result of the changed air conditions, just like the weariness that she now felt more strongly than in the past few days. And the rest on the plateau where they’d spent the night wasn’t even six or seven hours ago.
Maybe, it occurred to her suddenly, they’d lost time in some way when they entered this other world by crossing the fog, or even earlier, when they’d passed the stone watchers. Had they in truth traveled not just a few seconds but several hours through the layer of mist?
Nonsense, she told herself, and
“Nonsense!”
said the Flowing Queen in her mind. But somehow it seemed to Merle not entirely convincing either time.
After she’d limbered up her legs and her knees would again bear the featherlight weight of her body, she began to search the tents. Vermithrax begged her to be careful, while he sniffed the rifles and rooted through the chests with nose and paws. Even the Queen warned her to be careful, which really was something totally new.
Ultimately they found little that would be useful tothem. In one of the undamaged tents Merle
“Impressive,”
said the Queen, and Merle thought that was an utterly inadequate description, a modest, empty word in the face of this marvel.
Suddenly she became aware that this place must be a facet of the real, true Hell. Something that, except for Professor Burbridge and a small number of select people, no human being had ever seen.
Then she caught sight of the tents.
“Do you see that?” Vermithrax bellowed.
“Yes,” whispered Merle, “I see them.”
A ways below them and about eighty yards sideways, there was a ledge in the rock wall, a protruding cliff, like the nose of a giant upside down. The upper side was flat and, estimating roughly, twenty by twenty yards wide. There were three tents on it. One was in tatters, although the poles still stuck up in the air like the branches of a deadtree. Something had slit the canvas. A knife perhaps. Or claws.
The two other tents looked undamaged. The flap at the entrance of one was thrown back. As Vermithrax neared the camp, Merle could see that the rock ledge was abandoned.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“You are curious, are you?”
“Aren’t you?”
“A mind can only take in a limited amount of knowledge, and to mine, those things there make no difference.”
Show-off, Merle thought. “Then aren’t you interested in what happened to the people?”
“It is of interest to you. That is enough.”
Vermithrax circled several times in front of the rock cliff. Merle noted how carefully he inspected the tents and the other remains of the camp. There was a fireplace; a row of chests, which were piled behind at the rock wall; a dish right beside the burned-out campfire; also three rifles, which were leaning against the wall as if their owners had just vanished behind the rocks for a moment. Whatever might have happened to these people, they hadn’t even had time to grab their weapons. An ice-cold tingle ran down her back.
Finally the obsidian lion had seen enough; he made an abrupt swerve and landed on the rock ledge, only a few yards away from the destroyed tent. Now Merle couldalso see that the path she’d already noticed above opened onto this plateau, and to the right of them it led on farther down into the abyss.
She leaped from Vermithrax’s back, landed on both feet—and at first fell right onto her backside. Her knees were weak, her muscles stiff. It was almost an accustomed feeling by now, but it had never been so bad before—possibly also a result of the changed air conditions, just like the weariness that she now felt more strongly than in the past few days. And the rest on the plateau where they’d spent the night wasn’t even six or seven hours ago.
Maybe, it occurred to her suddenly, they’d lost time in some way when they entered this other world by crossing the fog, or even earlier, when they’d passed the stone watchers. Had they in truth traveled not just a few seconds but several hours through the layer of mist?
Nonsense, she told herself, and
“Nonsense!”
said the Flowing Queen in her mind. But somehow it seemed to Merle not entirely convincing either time.
After she’d limbered up her legs and her knees would again bear the featherlight weight of her body, she began to search the tents. Vermithrax begged her to be careful, while he sniffed the rifles and rooted through the chests with nose and paws. Even the Queen warned her to be careful, which really was something totally new.
Ultimately they found little that would be useful tothem. In one of the undamaged tents Merle
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