The Chamber in the Sky (20 page)

L
ord Dainsplint hooked his finger through the pull ring of the grenade. He eyed the jeeps that were swerving up the slope toward the plateau of heads. “I need the Thusser to witness your detonation. I shall want them to recognize my excellent qualities as a friend and ally, hm? So hold that pose, blunderkinder.”

Gregory looked over the edge of the cliff that was about to be blown apart. It was three or four thousand feet down. Then he looked at the two Norumbegans who stood staring at him a couple bus-lengths away. Suddenly Gregory felt the difference of their species. Their ears seemed more pointed. Their faces seemed even more clever and more uncaring.

“Gwynyfer?” he mewled. “Are you …?”

She just smiled at him.

“She's one of us,” said Dainsplint. “Not one of you. She does not have enthusiasms like you people have.” He smiled. “Sorry, old thing.”

Though Gwynyfer sagged and was wounded — though
Lord Dainsplint was grubby and covered in sweat — they stood side by side as confident as if they were in some mirrored hall in a fairy palace.

Then Gwynyfer slammed the Honorable Lord Rafe “Chigger” Dainsplint on the back of the head with her signpost. He didn't even have time to cry out. He fell face forward. He hit the ground and lay there. The grenade was still clutched lightly in his hand.

Gwynyfer said, “He isn't wrong. But a girl can still enjoy the thrilling novelty of knocking someone senseless with a length of metal.” She hobbled toward them. “Next time I might —”

Whatever joke she was going to make was cut short by jeeps. There were two of them buzzing between the giant heads, kicking up dust and soot.

The door to the capsule was open. Brian jumped in and Tars flew in after him. Gregory ran out to support Gwynyfer — “Chivalry!” she cheered — and he helped her make the final few steps to the little arched doorway before the bullets began to fly past them.

They slammed the door shut behind them. They heard the blasts of Thusser rifles.

They were squeezed in close. There was hardly room for all of them to stand. The little booth was lit by stained-glass windows. The control panels were made of stone. Norumbegan runes scrolled across every surface.

“There aren't any buttons or switches or anything!” said Gregory in panic.

Brian burbled the Cantrip of Activation loudly. Nothing happened. He tried it again. Nothing.

An amplified Thusser voice from outside demanded, “Leave the capsule. Leave the capsule and you will not be harmed immediately.”

Gregory muttered, “I don't suppose they mean, ‘Leave the capsule immediately and you will not be harmed.'”

Brian glared at the runes. He was dazzled by the jewel-like light of the windows cast across the crammed little letters. The words were unfamiliar to him, scientific, magical. He saw nothing that could be clicked or flicked or turned on.

They could hear Thusser soldiers running toward them across the gravel.

“How do we turn it on?” said Gwynyfer. “How?”

“I don't know,” Brian muttered. “I don't know ….”

Outside, two Thusser soldiers hurried over the gravel terrain to the fallen Lord Dainsplint. “You! Hands up!”

His lordship groaned and writhed. “What?” he said. “Is this a dance routine?”

“Hands up!”

They pulled on his hands — “No, not my!” — and the pin flew out of the grenade.

Lord Dainsplint whined in horror, “Now look what you blinking idiots have —!”

And then there was an explosion.

The ledge was blown to bits.

The capsule flew into the air.

The giants fell; the capsule fell; boulders large as houses slid down the face of the precipice.

And inside the capsule, Gwynyfer slammed her hand down on the stone panel.

The capsule stopped falling. There was no motion whatsoever. The light through one white, clear window cut sharply at an angle, as if they'd paused in midtopple.

There was no noise outside. Nothing.

Everything was still.

“What'd you do?” Gregory asked.

Gwynyfer said, “The light from the stained-glass window … it's the buttons. I hit the spot of red above the rune for the Cantrip of Activation.”

His voice filled with wonder, Brian whispered, “Timeout. A real time-out.”

“Huh?” said Gregory.

“Time outside the capsule has stopped or something. Until the Game can be judged by the Umpire.”

Light slid across the stone. The design on one stained-glass window was shifting. The window now showed two coats of arms.

A voice said, “You have initiated a time-out. The Capsule of Interruption is a joint venture of the Norumbegan Imperial Synod of Wizards and the Enclave Sorcerous of the Thusser Horde, designed to adjudicate violations of the rules detailed in the Treaty of Pellerine, twelve ninety-seven A.E. You have initiated judgment. The capsule is prepared to call the Rules Keepers, as mutually agreed. False or exaggerated claims will result in forfeiture of one round. Do you wish to continue?”

The kids looked at each other. Then Gregory called out, “Sure.”

“Please enter your initiation code for verification.”

Gregory and Brian looked at Gwynyfer. She shrugged. Tars Tarkas licked his claws, curled up in the vaulting of the ceiling.

“We don't have any code,” said Brian. “But the Rules are being broken. Right now. In a big way.”

The machine said, “We will require verification from one of the two parties involved in the treaty. Do you wish us to contact —”

“The Honorable Gwynyfer Gwarnmore, daughter of the Duke of the Globular Colon, greets the Umpire Capsule, and demands that —”

“We will require verification from one of the two parties involved in the treaty. Do you wish us to contact the communications terminals at either the Imperial Court at New Norumbega or the Magister of the Thusser Horde?”

The kids exchanged glances.

“Imperial Court,” said Brian. “But I don't think they pay any attention to their computers. I'm not even sure they know where they are.”

The machine warned them, “To communicate, we will have to re-enter time.”

“See,” said Gwynyfer, “right at present, we're rather falling off something of a cliff. So we wonder whether we could avoid hitting bottom. And the dying.”

Suddenly, there was sound outside the capsule. Things falling, crashing, wind blowing.

But the capsule was suspended in midair — a chamber in the sky.

Gregory peered out a clear pane of glass. He saw the ground hundreds of feet below.

While Brian and Gwynyfer inspected the control panel, two small wooden panels, painted with the ancient gods of the Thusser and the Norumbegans, swung open. Behind them was a screen.

On it, runic letters in an old, glowing green font said:

Then the screen flashed and the following words appeared:

“There's someone on the other end!” Brian exclaimed.

“What do you want me to type?” asked Gwynyfer. She prepared to touch the runes.

The conversation went like this:

“Spiffing,” said Gwynyfer sarcastically.

Brian said, “Tell him to get someone else! Someone from the Court!”

“And who's that?”

And the guard wrote back:

Kalgrash sat down in front of the computer terminal. He could hear beeping and static from the modem that communicated to the capsule. He wriggled his fingers in the air above the keys. “First time typing,” he said.

Kalgrash ducked out of the tent that contained the transplanted computers. He looked around.

Total chaos. Screaming, people throwing bricks, crowds surging through the streets.

He ran up the fire escape of a nearby building. The whole city rocked yet again. The whole heart. The whole Great Body. It flinched.

Far out over the shrugging walls, over the broken roofs, out in the desert, there was a plume of green. It grew like a stalk of grass.

Kalgrash swore.

It was a geyser. It was getting bigger.

The Thusser had broken through.

And now a second one appeared, off toward the Autumn Ventricles. A huge jet of alien blood.

The first fountain still spewed. At its foot was a growing lake of flux.

The end was here.

Kalgrash looked down. Now he saw the Empress and the Earl of Munderplast trying to make their way through the streets toward him.

The troll clambered down the fire escape, his armor clanking on the metal. He ran toward them, hustling people out of the way. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” he cried.

Angry noblemen were screaming at the Empress, “Shame! Shame!” — “What can you say, Your Highness?” — “You let this happen!”

As she tromped forward, she yelled back at them, “Oh, dry up! You're the ones who wanted nothing but tea dances! I am protector of my people, and I —”

“Shame!” citizens screamed at her. “Shame!” — “We're trapped now! What do you say to that?” — “Yes, what's your plan, ma'am?” — “Shame! Shame!” — “My kids!” someone sobbed. — “We're all going to die!” — “Curse on you, ma'am! A curse!” — “Shame on the mother of the Emperor bomb!” — and they began hurling pebbles at her.

“You know, my people,” said the Empress, shielding her head with an imperious hand, “you're becoming somewhat of a thorn in the side.”

Kalgrash jumped in front of her, swinging around his battle-ax. “Back!” he shouted. “Or I smite!” He didn't like her, but everyone needed her to get to that computer console.