Dragons on the Sea of Night (12 page)

He heard the eerie sibilance in his mind again: ‘
Fe'edjinn! Fe'edjinn!
'

A cold chill swept through him. Could it be that he was in the belly of the beast? Swallowed but not ingested. And where was Aufeya?

He began to move again, but it wasn't long before he felt the hard steel edge of a weapon at his throat.

‘Don't move!' a voice hissed.

A light appeared, a small brass lamp with a tiny flame rising from its wick. By its mean light Moichi saw a moon face the color of suet. It seemed to be stuck directly onto a body of gross weight with no intervening neck.

‘You're not dead,' the moon face said with some surprise.

‘Should I be?'

The blade of the weapon – one of Moichi's own dirks, he saw – softly caressed the skin on his throat. ‘Everyone else is who comes here,' the moon face said. Black round button eyes blinked below a beetling brow, and the cherry bow of feminine lips made a moue.

‘You're not.'

The button eyes blinked again. ‘Turn over.'

‘What?'

The point of the dirk drew blood. ‘You heard me. Turn over, I'm hungry.'

Moichi was obliged to move. As he turned on his side, he said, ‘Where are we?' And then, on his back, ‘What are you going to do?'

A tiny pink tongue worked its way around the bow of his lips. ‘Hungry. I'm going to open you up and feast on–'

Perhaps it was the hunger or the anticipation of satiation, but his concentration wavered for an instant. Moichi slammed his fist into the side of the hand that held the dirk. At the same time he used the edge of his other hand on the nerve plexus in moon face's shoulder. There was so much flesh he had to lift himself off the floor in order to find it.

Moon face cried out and the dirk fell to the floor. Moichi scooped it up and, placing it at the fat man's throat, felt around for its twin. When he had both dirks in his possession he said, ‘Who are you?'

‘Dujuk'kan's my name,' the moon face wailed. ‘And for the love of God have pity on me. I've been incarcerated here for …' His head swung around in disbelief. ‘Assan, I don't know how long I've been here!'

‘Assan!' Moichi repeated. ‘You're Adenese!'

‘What of it?' Dujuk'kan said. ‘Are you an Iskaman?'

‘As it happens, I am.'

The fat man stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Assan, you can't be Fe'edjinn.'

Now we're getting somewhere, Moichi thought. ‘Why can't I?'

‘Because … because …' Dujuk'kan looked away. He yelped, jumped as Moichi pricked him with the dirk, and his head turned back. His eyes, squinting, made him look sad like a child's forgotten toy, thrown in a corner to gather dust instead of love. ‘You're hurting me,' he said mournfully.

Moichi laughed mirthlessly. ‘That isn't the half of what I'll do unless you cooperate. You were going to eat me for dinner!'

‘That was necessity. I am hungry. What choice did I have? But you're just being cruel.'

Moichi pricked him again and he squealed like an animal. ‘The … thing here … eats Fe'edjinn. Like everything else in the Mu'ad its survival instincts are honed to a sharp edge.'

‘But why only Fe'edjinn. Why didn't it eat you?'

Dujuk'kan shrugged. ‘I don't know I – oww!' He stared at the rivulet of his own blood and Moichi felt sure he was on the verge of tears. ‘Now look what you've done!' he wailed like a woman.

‘If you tell me the truth no more blood will be spilled.'

Those black button eyes stared at Moichi. ‘Promise?' And when Moichi nodded, he sighed. His expression was very sad. ‘I'm a trader, you see. I've lived in the Mu'ad all my life. Don't ask me why except it is my home and I find it impossible to leave. Like this … thing's, my survival instincts are formidable. When it sucked me in I knew I had to make a deal fast.'

‘So you bartered your knowledge of the Mu'ad for your life.'

The fat man nodded. ‘It's true. I'm guilty. I led it to Fe'edjinn settlements in return for my life. But the bargain backfired. I became too useful; it refused to let me go, so I've been imprisoned down here for Assan only knows how long.'

‘But
where
are we? In the belly of the thing?'

‘Oh, no! We're in one of the underground tunnels it digs out for itself wherever it goes. It's somewhere – ' he looked to either side – 'around here.'

‘But it didn't eat me.'

‘No.'

‘And the woman I was with?'

‘What woman?' Dujuk'kan said. ‘I saw no one else.'

Then where is Aufeya?
Moichi asked himself frantically.
Could the thing have …?
But he stopped himself. That way led madness. ‘We have to find her,' he said to the fat man. ‘How extensive are the tunnels?'

‘We've been here quite some time while it … feasted. If she's still alive, she could be anywhere. We'd never find her in time.'

‘In time? What do you mean?'

‘The thing has just gorged itself on … the three Fe'edjinn. It's in a period of stasis now while it digests. It–'

Stasis! That was it!
‘Quick!' Moichi said, pulling the fat man to his feet with a grunt. ‘Take me to the thing.'

Those button eyes nearly popped out of Dujuk'kan's head. ‘Are you mad? What this thing is …' He shuddered. ‘You don't want to go near it. Trust me, you don't even want to see it.'

‘Take me there! Now!' Moichi pushed the lamp into the fat man's trembling hands, then shoved him along the tunnel. ‘If it is still in stasis we have a chance to kill it before it awakes.'

‘Kill it?' The fat man's tongue licked his lips as if he needed to taste the concept.

‘It's the only way you will get out of here,' Moichi said.

Dujuk'kan's eyes lit up. ‘Kill it! Yes!' He ducked his massive head as he began to lead Moichi down a twisting tunnel. The lamp illuminated the curving walls, carved with corkscrew markings, as if they had been routed out with a gigantic drill.

‘Just what is this thing?' Moichi asked as Dujuk'kan led him down a left-hand branching.

‘Assan knows,' the fat man said. ‘A misshapen monster bred in this desert of wonders. Perhaps it is the last of its kind.' He shuddered again, his shoulders and sides wobbling like Daluzan custard. ‘I pray to Assan it is so.'

Moichi was aware that Dujuk'kan was leading him along a series of tunnels that led deeper into the desert floor. There seemed to be no rock here, but sand compressed into the density of stone. Still, it was sand, moist and almost springy to the touch as he had discovered.

Ever downward they went until they were enveloped by a wet coolness that seemed as stifling as that of an ocean's floor. The air seemed as thick as honey and Moichi's lungs began to labor with each breath. When he felt a wave of dizziness, he pulled the fat man around. ‘How much farther?'

‘Not far.' The button eyes squinted. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Fine,' Moichi said, indicating that they should push on.

They hardly needed the lamp now, for the walls of the drilled out tunnels spiralled with crawling things, insects of some sort, which emitted a pulsing greenish-yellow light. The moving lights served to further disorient him so that he staggered and, at one point, fell against the wall. Huge insects began to crawl all over him, turning him phosphorescent.

Seeing this, Dujuk'kan turned and brushed the creatures off him. ‘The light will waken the thing prematurely.' His voice was now a whisper, a sign that they were close to the stasis lair. But so close to the wall Moichi saw thick, dark veins running through the hard-packed sand. He touched them with his fingertips. They seemed metallic and Dujuk'kan confirmed this.

‘There is no real rock bed until you get much further down,' he said. ‘But there are veins of metal ore – tin, lead and antimony – hard as diamond.'

The route now turned so steep they were obliged to slide part of the way down. Moichi wondered how they would ever get back up for there were no handholds and the floor of the tunnels, smooth and giving, would be impossible to climb.

At the bottom of what was almost a chimney of sand the tunnel narrowed down. Moichi could see immediately that the Adenese would never fit through. There were no insects here and it was dark and dank, save for the pitifully small circle of light from the lamp's flame.

‘There,' Dujuk'kan whispered, pointing directly through the narrow defile. ‘That is the neck of the lair.' He crouched down, lifting the lamp as he did so. ‘It is still curled in stasis.' He looked at Moichi. ‘You will have to go in there.'

Moichi drew one dirk, put it crosswise between his teeth. He held the other in his left hand and, pushing the Adenese aside, took the lamp from him and began to crawl through the narrow neck. He was immediately aware of the walls closing in on him until he could feel them on all sides. Still, he pushed on, though he could feel the compressed sand dragging at his clothes. How much narrower could the neck become?

He squirmed his way onward. Now he was obliged to curl his shoulders toward one another in order to keep going. The narrow tunnel seemed to stretch onward. He had supposed, going by Dujuk'kan's description of a ‘neck,' that he would have to pass through only a short distance.

Still, the tunnel narrowed. There was no space to turn around. Moichi could hear the thunder of his heartbeat, the wheezing of his breathing. He could not even lift his head anymore. He was like a worm, heading downward into darkness, into an unknown fate, to confront … what? Some monstrous beast that ate human beings as naturally as he drank water.

He pressed on, knowing instinctively that to stop would be a mistake, for that respite would allow doubts, fears and even panic to assail him, crushing courage underfoot. But it was now so narrow that it was all he could do to inch painfully along. His skin beneath his clothes felt rubbed raw by the constant contact with the compressed sand.

Abruptly a fetid whiff came to him. The neck had ceased to narrow and, with a great effort, he wriggled forward. The air, though somewhat foul, ceased to be moist, and his grateful lungs sucked it in. Then, all at once, his head and shoulders were through and, squirming, he used his elbows against the wall of the lair to lever himself all the way out.

He found himself in a small chamber. It was empty. He went back to the neck he had climbed through, shouted, ‘Dujuk'kan, the thing is no longer here. What–'

His voice was drowned out by a deep rumble, and he leaped back from the opening a moment before a torrent of sand came rushing through. It spewed into the chamber, filling it by a third. His heart sinking, he lifted the lamp, kicked at the sand. It was solid enough. He pushed it away from the opening and more gushed through. There was no doubt that sand filled the neck completely. He was cut off. Which, he saw now, was precisely the Adenese's plan.

Chill take him! Moichi thought. He has buried me alive here. Too late, it occurred to him that Dujuk'kan must have lied about almost everything, that he knew where Aufeya was, that he wanted her for himself or, just as likely, to sell in the infamous and illicit Mu'ad flesh markets. With her red hair and copper eyes she was an exotic type in this part of the world; she'd no doubt fetch a fortune for the fat Adenese.

Holding the lamp high, he walked around the chamber. It was devoid of anything except sand, and it was small enough so that with the one opening blocked it could not be long before he ran out of air. In fact, the lamp's flame was using precious oxygen. He could douse it, of course, but he lacked a means to relight it.

He stood in the middle of the chamber, overly conscious of his breath going in and out. He knew he shouldn't concentrate on it, he should think of other … Wait! Maybe he
should
concentrate on his breathing – or at least the air he was taking in. Because it wasn't musty and, this far down, in a chamber with one egress that was now blocked, it should have been. But, except for that faint fetid scent, the air was clear and, as he had noted earlier, drier than that of the tunnels above. This could mean only one thing.

He looked upward, searching for the place where fresh air was filtering into the chamber. He went around the room four times, slowly examining the high walls and ceiling of the chamber. It had to be there, he just knew it.

And, at last, he found what appeared to be a crease in the near featureless wall. It was appallingly high up, almost at the ceiling but … He stood beneath it, sniffing lightly and then more deeply. Yes, the air was marginally drier and fresher here. His spirits lifted. Then there was at least a chance of another way out. But how to reach it? The walls of the chamber, though grooved lightly like all the other tunnels, rose straight up without so much as a hint of hand- or footholds. And what good was a way out if he couldn't reach it? The irony of it threatened to overwhelm him.

Then he went over to the wall, put the flat of his hand against it. It was harder, drier than those in the moist, heavy atmosphere above. He took one dirk, drove it horizontally hilt deep into the wall three feet up. He put his weight on it, straining. It did not give.

His heart beating fast, he climbed on it then, reaching up, drove the second dirk into the wall, three feet above that. He stepped up, carefully putting his weight onto the higher dirk. It held. He took his weight off the lower dirk and, leaning down, pulled it free. It was tough work, and he resolved to make the subsequent steps up shallower. It would slow his progress but he would be assured of pulling the lower dirk out of the wall.

Thus he made his painful way up the chamber toward the breath of air seeping in. He was sweating heavily from the exertion and the delicate balancing act he was obliged to perform simultaneously. Once, he was sure the lower dirk would not shift, and he spent an agonizing ten minutes working on it, using patience as well as muscle to inch it out of the wall. When it finally came free, he paused, crouching on one bent leg like some exotic avian, letting his heartbeat return to a semblance of normalcy.