The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail) (23 page)

My
long-awaited acquaintance with the
Project
went wrong from the start.

A
t the dump I discovered the same tricky lift as at the cemetery. It brought me down to a place which was literally falling apart under its own weight. Through a breach in the floor I could see five floors down. I wasn't afraid of the thirty-foot depth after climbing down Undegar's one-thousand-foot mine, and I brought plenty of boards and ropes.

Have you ever tried to
walk into a house of cards? I experienced the same feeling. The enchanted miner's lamp didn't provide enough light to assess the solidity of the construction to the naked eye; I moved forward, cautiously groping and tapping all around. As soon as I passed a sort of border, the floor no longer bent under my feet. The wall siding, torn in some places, exposed armored plates of the same type that I saw at King's Island.

The
catacombs lacked mysterious inscriptions, forgotten relics, or talkative skeletons. Everything down there looked boring, shabby, and pitiful. I needed to accomplish two things: to look at the ancient artifact at a depth of three hundred feet and find my father's cache. The first two trips were unproductive; on my third visit the guards of the
Project
vouchsafed to react to my presence.

I stood on the cross
road when I heard a clatter of steps - the sound was completely out of place in the abandoned catacombs. Suspecting trouble, I activated the Source. Right on time! Five golems attacked me: four from the front and rear corridors and one from the side. If my reaction had been slower, they would have sliced me into pieces. My thin weavings enveloped the golems, immobilizing them, but that was all I was capable of. Even a mighty necromancer couldn't multiply himself by five. I was barely holding them, sweating from effort. When a glittering blade hangs before your eyes, your brain starts working very fast.

With
a trembling hand I pulled out Dad's amulet from under my coat and activated it, on its last legs. And the golems immediately ceased their resistance to my weavings! I waited for a minute and dissipated their fetters. I was right: my father left me the Key to the entrance and the security system of the ancient artifact!

The golems
lined up in single file and went to the shaft of an idle elevator; I followed them. The metal walls of the shaft had semicircular recesses of palm size that one could mount up or down. I adjusted the headlamp on my mining helmet and decisively climbed down after the golems.

The shaft
doors to the floors were shut tightly; after crossing five sealed levels, I stumbled upon an obstacle below; it was the elevator's cabin, which either lay on the bottom of the shaft or was jammed over the abyss. A hatch was seen in the cabin's roof. The cabin withstood the weight of five golems; I hoped it would tolerate my weight, too. When I got inside, I found the unclenched folds of the cabin's door, leading to a tunnel. The golems left them open for me. I took advantage of their kindness to get to the floor.

There it was
, the heart of the catacombs! Time seemed to turn back. It was crystal clear glass, clean, untouched by rust. Without a single speck of dust, the corridors stretched before me - quite a contrast to what I saw above. The air was pleasant to breathe. Signs and seals like in the Undegar mine - metal inlays and pictures made of multi-colored glass - faintly winked on the walls in the light of my enchanted lamp, as if someone recently fed them with power.

A
ccording to my chronometer, four hours had already passed by, but I just couldn't turn back! I went ahead, looking for an unlocked door. The first one led to a toilet. I imagined myself bringing a bottle of petrified soap to Clara as a trophy and laughed.
Rustle
joined the fun. I asked if he knew where my dad's cache was hidden, and the monster suggested that I find the biggest door.

I walked
along a gradually turning corridor; all the doors were about the same to me; the golems were gone. I suspected that after a victory lap I would come back around to my own tracks.

A
n opening suddenly appeared on the right. It was a tunnel with a staircase leading to one level below. I cautiously descended (reminding myself that it was built thousands of years ago). For the artifact, the floor was too close to the surface - I passed only halfway to the three-hundred-foot depth, at best. To my luck, on this level I finally found the door
Rustle
hinted at! Its only gigantic metallic fold was curved, suggesting that it was part of a more complex mechanism. Colorful confetti started dancing in my eyes from an effort to grasp its design and function. Of course, I tried to get behind the door. No way! It seemed to be a few feet thick and closed tightly.

O
pposite the grand door the tunnel terminated trivially - in a spacious room with broken chairs and lamps. There were neither luxury finishes, nor piles of gold or artifacts, except for a corpse, whom I was going to ask questions of!

I touched the
bones, catching the very last moment of this man's life: a soft chair, the quiet rustling of fans, dim light, black fog approaching from behind, and a short attack of fear. Memory of the deceased unfolded before me, like pages of an ancient book. The monster recalled the man - he proved to be the first victim of
Rustle
, and the circumstances of his death began to rise in my mind.

He was a member of
a small group of guards, watching hundreds of people, who found a shelter in the catacombs. When these people, led by Salem, had left the shelter,
Rustle
realized himself for the first time. The guards knew of his existence, but they weren't aware of his needs, and the monster was hungry. I held my breath, trying not to interrupt by chance the stream of his memories, which
Rustle
hadn't shared with me for so long.

The
room in which I stood was their work place. The black wall in front of me was a sophisticated version of a watchman's desk. Through the memory of the deceased, I saw the desk thousands of years ago, showing the shelter and movements of people in live mode.

The
operating part of the artifact was situated somewhere below and to the right of the room. I was going to visit it next time.

N
ow I knew what I would take as a trophy - the bones! Charak and Axel would kiss my feet for such a gift! I tried to twist off the skull without sprinkling myself from head to toe with grave dust. But my attempts yielded nothing; a strange alchemic device was mounted on the corpse's spine, which made dismantling impossible without pliers. I need a set of tools, a drill…

While I day-dreamed about
the recognition of my achievements by the old bastards, the look of the watchman's desk subtly changed, and an unpleasant, jarring sound made me jump. What the hell?! The desk was still working! I noticed a dimly flashing button on the wall, apparently signifying that the protective perimeter was broken again and golems started combing the complex for violators from top to bottom.

My first thought was
about NZAMIPS. Larkes kept my Key for some time and could copy it. I knew they wouldn't be able to fight on par with the guards. I had to do something to stop the golems! A pile of NZAMIPS corpses wouldn't be good for me if Larkes recalled my ability to control golems.

"Hey,
Rustle
, call off the golems! What do you mean 'you don't know how to do this'? You were peering over my shoulder all the time! I won't reach these freaks in time - the golems are already on the upper levels. Do not flatter me with my talent. Stop the golems!"

I
had to run there to make sure that tragedy was avoided.

There was no time
for taking off the skull, and I merely unscrewed one finger for myself and one for Larkes (without his permission I wouldn't gather the Circle, anyway). No problem, I could always come back later and get a decent addition to my necromantic library. I rushed to the elevator shaft, climbed up to the top, and barely managed to catch up to the people, when
Rustle
panicked: they started fighting back. The monster recalled that their rebuff was a harbinger of something much more terrible.

So
on top of everything else I had to deal with
Rustle
's infernal hysteria. "Take away the guards, you fool! I will take care of the people myself! Or the entire construction will collapse!"

The
golems forced out the visitors from the core of the complex to the later, added expansion, which was purposely built in haste. The people held up against the monsters, but the one-hundred-pound bodies of the golems, jumping over walls, could upset the stability of an already shaky construction, and its rusty iron and rocks would bury me alive underground again!

Rustle
desperately tried to control the monsters, and I appreciated his efforts - just a year ago the monster was scared to death even thinking of them.

I was
about to blame NZAMIPS officers for illegally shadowing me, when the floor visibly shuddered. Not enough time! I threw forward a necromantic weaving, blindly, at random; it would not hurt the dark, but could slow down the golems a bit. Oddly enough, it worked out well;
Rustle
seized control of the guards and reported that the visitors were fleeing.

"
Let them go! I'll explain the situation to them on the surface."

S
omething rattled again, and it became quiet. I slowed down to a walk. The stupid people nearly destroyed the greatest archaeological treasure of all time! I wondered how they got inside: not through the dump, that's for sure. Nobody except Fiberti knew about the cemetery's entrance. They probably came through the Academy of Empaths. Was it Axel who attempted to steal the
World Axis
from under my nose?

One of the
golems controlled by the monster waited for me at the intersection;
Rustle
wanted to show me something funny.
Rustle
deftly steered the golem, as if he spent all his life on two legs. I asked myself in hindsight if encouraging him to learn how to handle the guards was a good idea. I couldn't control him anymore; the invincible force was at his disposal now. On the other hand, if anyone deserved such power, it would be him - the immortal being with principles of morality and a sense of humor (I wasn't so sure about Larkes, in comparison). No longer did I have to worry about the safekeeping of the
Project
, or my father's cache - controlled by
Rustle,
the guards would be twice as efficient. For a decent necromancer like me they weren't dangerous, anyway. If I had to, I would shove them all into the containers.

* * *

It was a stalemate: Sam was neither falling, nor able to climb up. Lavender shed tears of resentment - she couldn't unclench her fingers holding the young artisan's wrist. Minutes or hours dragged on; she lost her sense of time. Her mind drew terrible pictures of her and Sam's last minutes of life. As usual, reality refused to follow her imagination.

The
floor started vibrating again. Dim green light glided down the hall; a new monster was approaching them. She thought that was probably a local boss; even the catacombs' creatures ought to have someone in charge! The new monster heavily panted and bristled its tentacles; a pale violet halo glowed around its head. As Lavender expected, the master of the catacombs smelled sickeningly of decay.

"
Why the hell did I come here?" the offspring of the darkness asked himself. "They are not from NZAMIPS!"

The
monster beside the master shrugged quite humanly.

As if
a veil fell from Lavender's eyes, a young man under twenty-five, by all indications a dark mage, in slightly soiled overalls, stood near her. A backpack and a coil of rope hung behind his back; his firefly-spell emanated a violet-blue light.

"
Help!" Lavender gasped, realizing that this word sounded silly and unexpressive for the dark mage.

H
owever, the young guy neither bargained, nor mocked, nor strained himself personally. Instead, he turned to the monster that accompanied him. "What are you waiting for? Pull them out!"

And the monster obeyed.
Very soon they were dragged to a safe distance from the pit. Sam lay unconscious. The mage kicked him a few times, "Get up, you bastard! Haven't I told you not to cross my path again?"

Realizing
that the poor artisan showed no signs of life, he slipped his shoe under Sam's nose.

"
Phew," the stench brought Sam to his senses. Seeing his savior, the artisan screamed like an animal and almost jumped back into the pit. Lavender managed to grab him at the very last second.

"
It can't be you! No!"

"
Your life hangs by a thread," the dark became angry. "Tell me straight, what did you do here?"

Lavender was a
seasoned scout; she knew when risk was becoming unreasonable. She decided not to lie to the young magician. Perhaps she was motivated by the monsters looming behind him. And there was no point in her clinging to the old legend, anyway.