The Grave Robbers of Genghis Khan (26 page)

“And chocolate.” John held up the wrapper from a bar of chocolate. “It’s the wrapper from a chocolate bar. I found it on the floor here in the treasury.”

“I’m not sure that tells us very much more than we already know,” said Philippa.

“Except that one of the grave robbers has a sweet tooth,” said John. “It tells us that, at least.”

“Someone with a taste for expensive chocolate,” said Axel, examining the wrapper. “It tells us that, too.”

“It’s still not much to have found out,” objected Philippa. “After all this effort.”

“We’re not finished looking yet,” insisted Axel, glancing around the mausoleum for another clue. “Surely.”

But after another thirty minutes they still hadn’t found anything that might have provided an answer as to the identity of the grave robbers.

But there was a last discovery in the mausoleum, and it was the professor who made it after patrolling the walls of the mausoleum.

“Only the roof and the ladder system are man-made,” he said. “The walls and the ground underneath the floor are natural.”

“Natural?” Axel laughed. “How ironic.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” asked Philippa, shivering.

“Yes,” said the professor. “All this time we thought we were in a man-made pit, and we’re not. Fantastic. And, as you say, Axel, kind of ironic, yes.”

“Will someone please tell me what this is?” demanded John.

“Certainly,” said the professor. “We appear to be inside a volcano.” He laughed. “Well, how marvelous. We’re in a volcano. And given the size of that plateau, we’re in what may be the largest volcano in all of Mongolia.”

T
hat’s a comforting thought,” said Philippa.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” said the professor. “This one is from ten thousand years ago. And like the animals that used to populate the earth at that time — the dodo, the giant lemurs, the moa, the elephant bird, Haast’s eagle, the Mongolian death worm, and two species of Malagasy hippopotamus — this particular volcano is extinct. Like those other Mongolian volcanoes I was telling you about earlier. Bus-Obo and Khanuy Gol. I doubt this one has erupted for at least ten or twelve thousand years.”

“Haast’s eagle,” said Axel. “That was a true raptor, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” said the professor. “The largest eagle ever to have existed. At least twice the size of any eagle that exists today.”

“I think I might have met one of those before,” said John.

“Really?” said Axel.

“Remind me to tell you about it,” said John.

“Only not now, eh?” said Philippa. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m freezing to death in this dreadful place.”

They climbed back up the ladders to the top platform where they had found the skeleton of Dunbelchin’s baby camel.

“I almost feel that one should offer the poor creature a decent burial,” said John.

“That’s just the camel in you,” said Philippa. “And in case it slipped your mind, it
was
buried. Here. For almost eight hundred years.”

“You know what I mean,” said John.

“Not really,” admitted Philippa. “But if it makes you feel better, then take it with you.” She picked up Moby and put him under her arm.

John looked at the camel bones, of which there were a great many and decided to take only a thigh bone. He did not take the bone as a souvenir but as a keepsake of a memory that was now precious to him. Strictly speaking, this was Dunbelchin’s memory but in John’s mind it was difficult to know where his memory ended and the camel’s began.

Axel climbed to the hole that led up to the surface. “Did you really see a Haast’s eagle?” he asked.

“Actually, no,” said John.

“I thought not,” said Axel.

“It was a Rukhkh,” said John. “But it might easily have been related to the bird you were describing.”

“It must have been a pretty big rook,” said Axel as he climbed out of the hole.

“Not that kind of rook,” said John. “Actually, it was a prehistoric Quetzalcoatlus. A large pterodactyloid that could
have picked up an elephant as easily as an owl takes a field mouse.”

Axel started to ask where John had seen this bird, but his words were immediately swallowed up by a very loud scream of pain that was accompanied by a flash of blue light. This was followed by a profound silence.

“What was that?” said the professor.

“Axel?” called John. “You okay?”

There was no answer.

John was about to poke his head out of the hole to see what had happened when Philippa restrained him.

“Remember what Nimrod said,” she whispered. “About booby traps.”

Remaining in the hole, they called Axel’s name again, and hearing no reply they called Groanin and then Nimrod, from whom no answer came.

The professor fumbled in his pocket and took out his Brunton compass. “The mirror,” he explained. “I can hold it up to the edge of the hole and take a look outside without the risk of injury.”

Sweeping the compass around the circumference of the excavation’s lip, he stopped and then closed his eyes for a moment.

“What is it?” asked John. “What can you see?”

“Axel,” he said quietly. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Philippa gulped loudly. “No, he can’t be. How do you know he’s dead? Here, let me have a look.”

“He’s dead,” insisted the professor as Philippa took the
Brunton from his numb hand and held it up to take a look out of the hole herself.

What she saw left her feeling both horrified and then astounded.

Axel’s incinerated body lay smoking and wholly unrecognizable on the ground a few feet from the excavation. And there was no doubt in her mind that the professor was right. Axel was quite dead. But the cause of his death still eluded them all. Steeling herself against the tears she wanted to shed, for she was more immediately concerned for Nimrod and Groanin than for her own grief, she continued to use the Brunton mirror to survey the scene on the surface of the plateau for some explanation of what had happened.

And then she saw the culprit. It was a thing easily seen under the lights of the barn ceiling. Bright red and about ten feet long, it appeared to be a very large and disgusting-looking worm with spiked projections at both ends.

“This Mongolian death worm you mentioned earlier,” she said to the professor. “Sadly, I don’t think it’s as dead as the dodo.”

She handed the professor the Brunton compass and when he had taken a look for himself, he handed the compass to John.

“I think you’re right,” said the professor. “It was supposed to live in the Gobi desert, but frankly, I always thought it was little more than a harmless legend.”

“Not anymore,” said John.

“Poor Axel,” whispered Philippa.

“Yes, indeed,” said the professor. “Poor Axel. He was like a son to me. A very dear son. How am I going to tell his poor wife?”

“I don’t want to sound insensitive, Professor,” said John, “but that won’t be a problem unless we can figure a way of getting out of this hole without being killed by that thing.” He took another look at the mirror on the Brunton. “It seems to be guarding the entrance to this excavation. But let’s make sure of that, eh?”

He took the baby camel’s bone, hurled it out of the excavation and up into the air, and then watched the reflection of how the red worm reacted to this in the little mirror.

The reaction was instant. The worm reared up on its end, whereupon its intestine-like body rippled like a wave and directed a bright blue pulse of electricity at the bone, which, being very old, was affected only slightly. But the worm’s behavior was clear enough; anything that came out of the hole was likely to be attacked by the worm.

“It seems to behave exactly like an
Electrophorus electricus
,” said the professor. “An electric eel, which is of course not a true eel at all, but a fish. Instead of generating a current of electricity that conducts through water, this worm generates a current that travels through air, like a bolt of lightning. An electric eel can generate up to five hundred volts, which could be fatal to a human being. Given what happened to Axel, this looks much more powerful than that. Perhaps ten times as powerful.”

“Fascinating,” said John. “But what are we going to do
about it? Anyone who lifts his head through that gopher hole is liable to find himself with a permanent haircut.”

“Can’t you use your powers to get us out of here?” said the professor. “To kill it?”

“I’m afraid that when we get cold our powers desert us for a while,” explained John.

The professor nodded. “I remember you telling me.”

“Which,” added Philippa, “could be some time given how cold it’s getting. I’m freezing.”

“Me, too,” said John.

“Where’s Nimrod?” said the professor. “Why doesn’t he fix that horrible thing?”

“I wish I knew the answer to that,” said John. “I really do. After what happened to Axel, I’m really worried about him, and Groanin, too.”

“These eels,” said Philippa. “You seem to know a lot about them. Is electric eel a delicacy in Iceland, too? Like rotting shark?”

“No. The electric eel lives mostly in the fresh waters of the Amazon and Orinoco Rivers. I was down there a few years ago to observe Ubinas, which is the most active strato-volcano in Peru. And I spent some time on the river with local Indians.
They
eat them. For
them
, they’re a delicacy. But
I
didn’t have any.”

“You surprise me,” said Philippa.

“Wait a minute,” said John. “If the Indians killed an electric eel, they must have worked out a way of not getting hit with five hundred volts.”

“Oh, they did,” said the professor. “But it takes time. I believe that what they do is to make the eels keep discharging electric current until they tire. The organs generating the eel’s electric power simply runs out at which point they can be safely handled — for a while, anyway. But as you can imagine, that’s a difficult judgment to have to make.”

“So maybe we have to tire this one out in the same way,” said John. “Until it’s no longer generating so much power.”

Philippa who was already reading John’s mind saw the beginnings of his plan.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said. “We could use some of those bones from the dead camel and, if necessary, the ossuary, and keep throwing them out of the excavation until the death worm tires itself out.”

“And then what?” asked the professor. “Even a smaller amount of electricity from that thing could leave you lying stunned on the floor.”

“Good point,” admitted John.

“Well, we certainly can’t stay here,” said Philippa.

“I think we’ll have to until we can think of a way of protecting ourselves against the death worm’s power,” said the professor.

They sat down on the platform and tried to think of a way forward. The professor rubbed his growing beard, which helped him think; John tapped on his own head with a knuckle, which helped him think, sometimes; and Philippa pulled her feet toward her and stretched the muscles on the backs of her legs, which served to concentrate her mind
wonderfully because almost immediately she nodded and said that maybe she had half the answer.

“Axel was wearing leather boots, right?” she said.

“Oh, yes,” said the professor. “He bought them in England. Axel was very proud of his English boots.”

“Maybe so.” Philippa lifted her foot and showed off her own boot. “But rubber soles are better when it comes to insulating us from direct contact with the earth’s magnetic field, right?”

“A bit, yes,” said the professor. “But not enough to stop you from getting hurt, I’d have thought. No, you need something else. Some way of insulating your whole body.”

Again they thought for a moment.

Suddenly, John punched the flat of his hand. “I’ve got it,” he said. “The tarpaulin covering this hole is rubberized. If we can wrap the thing in the rubber tarpaulin, then, perhaps, we can safely handle it.”

“Brilliant,” said Philippa. “Of course. That’s the only solution.”

“I’ll have to go,” said John.

“Why you?” asked Philippa, hauling the tarpaulin down into the hole.

“Because I’m also wearing rubber-soled boots,” said John. “In fact, if anything, my rubber soles are thicker than yours.”

“There’s a hole in it,” said the professor. “There’s a hole in the tarpaulin.”

“Do you have a better idea?” asked John.

“No,” admitted the professor. “But I’m not wearing rubber-soled boots. And I can’t allow you to go. It wouldn’t be right. You’re —
children
.”

“Maybe so, but there’s another reason it makes sense for one of us to go,” said Philippa. “Djinn like us are made of fire. Not earth, like mundanes. I mean, humans. So, it has to be assumed that we stand a much better chance than you of surviving a bolt of electricity from the Mongolian death worm.”

“She’s right,” said John. “She’s always right.” He shrugged. “But it should be me who goes. I’m a much faster runner than you.”

Philippa nodded. “I’ll buy that.”

The twins started to throw bones out of the hole, one after the other in quick succession, and each time a bone appeared the death worm sent a bolt of electricity in the same direction. This continued for almost an hour, with the professor keeping the creature under observation in the mirror of his Brunton.

“Is it tiring yet?” asked Philippa. “Because I am.”

“No, not yet,” said the professor. “Not obviously.”

“Keep throwing,” said John.

“When I bought this thing,” said the professor, “I hardly suspected that this is what I’d use it for.”

“If it saves our lives, it will have been worth every penny,” said Philippa.

“You know, we should really use something else before one of us goes out there,” said John. “It’s hard to tell how much current it’s using against old bones.” He was looking
at Moby while he said this and it was quite clear to Philippa what her brother was driving at.

“Oh, no,” she said, stroking Moby’s green head. “You’ve never liked him. I let him fly out of here and we end up with roast duck.”

“You’d prefer I get roasted, is that it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well then.” John hurled another bone into the air with frustration. “You ask me, it’s about time that duck earned its passage.”

“He’s right, Philippa,” said the professor. “We need something living with which to test the worm’s power.” He shrugged. “And look, it’s quite possible that the worm won’t be expecting something that flies out of the hole and keeps on flying.”

Philippa said nothing.

“You know,” continued the professor, “I used to go duck shooting when I was a boy. And I never ever managed to hit one. Not ever. Ducks are pretty quick in the air. Much quicker than you think. I seem to remember that ducks can fly at up to sixty miles per hour.”

“And what will we learn if the worm misses him?” said Philippa. “Only that ducks can fly fast.”

“We’ll know that the worm is getting tired, perhaps,” John said lamely. “But you’re right. We’ll find out a lot more if Moby does get hit.” He threw another bone out of the excavation. “What can I say? I’m all out of good ideas. And unless you want me to go down that ladder and risk obliteration under that ossuary thing, we’re all out of bones, too.”

Philippa nodded. Without a doubt, John and the professor were both right but that didn’t make it any easier to risk the life of her pet. She stood up and collected Moby off the platform. She kissed him on the head and spoke gently into his all but invisible ears. Then she lifted him to the hole above their heads and threw the bird into the air as if he were a homing pigeon she was sending on an important mission.

There was a loud flapping and quacking as Moby quickly ascended through the air.