The Osiris Curse (16 page)

Tweed slid out from under the bed and crept out into the hallway. He paused and listened. He could hear distant shouting, and the sound of running feet.

How was he going to get out of here? He slung the satchel with the box over his shoulder and moved quickly along the corridor. He reached the end and leaned up against the wall. He peered around the corner. All clear.

He was about to step out from cover when something made him pause, a little tingle of instinct. He crouched down behind a large plant pot and waited.

A second later he heard a scrabbling sound. Then a lizard-man appeared, crawling slowly along the roof.

Tweed pushed himself back against the wall as the lizard crawled past. It paused and looked down the corridor Tweed was hiding in, sniffed the air, then carried on along its course.

Tweed waited for about a minute, then emerged from hiding. He hurried along the corridor, but then had to duck into a room as another Hyperborean came scrabbling along the wall.

This was hopeless. He was never going to get past them.

He peered both ways along the passage.

And his eyes fell on the dumbwaiter at the far end. It was used to ferry food up from the kitchens.

Perfect.

He ran along the carpet and yanked open the doors. A tight fit, but he'd manage it. He pulled himself up, then turned his shoulder and wedged himself into the enclosed space. A rope attached to a pulley disappeared up into the darkness. Tweed leaned out and pushed the button for the top deck. The dumbwaiter shuddered, then reluctantly moved upward, straining with his weight.

The ride felt endless. And it wasn't silent either. He thought the whole airship must hear the sounds of the motor that was winching him up to safety.

He finally juddered to a stop. Tweed slowly slid the doors open. Darkness greeted him. He stared out, hoping his eyes would adjust, but there was no light anywhere. Was it a trap? Were they waiting for him to step out, then they'd all leap on him?

Only one way to find out.

He clumsily extricated himself from the space and straightened up.

Nobody attacked him, which was always nice.

He tried to orient himself, but still didn't know which corridor he was in. He put his hand against the wall, using it to guide him in what he hoped was the right direction.

After a couple of minutes he saw a dim orange glow up ahead. He quickened his pace and arrived at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the greeting room.

Tweed broke into a grin. Nearly there.

He climbed the steps. Nothing had changed in the greeting room. He crossed the floor and hovered anxiously at the foot of the stairs leading to the outside deck.

The sound of approaching feet came from behind him. Tweed took a gulp of air, and scurried up the final set of stairs, emerging into the humid night air. Tweed moved quickly to the railing. He put his hand on the rope and leaned over. He felt his stomach lurch. God, it looked really high from up here.

“Don't move,” said a voice behind him.

Tweed glanced over his shoulder to see Nehi pointing a gun at him. He decided he had a split second to do something unexpected, something to catch her off guard.

So he threw himself over the railing.

The wind pummeled his face. The satchel with the plans slapped painfully against the back of his head. He reached out and grabbed the rope. Pain flared as it slid across his palms. He tightened his grip and pulled it toward him, clamping it beneath his armpit. He lurched, slid some more, then slowed down. Problem was, he didn't
want
to slow down too much. He loosened his grip again, trying to descend as fast as he could, hand over hand. He looked up. Nehi was on the next rope along, descending gracefully and quickly. She was about twenty feet above him, but she was catching up fast. He looked down. The ground was still about twenty feet below him. He tried to go faster, wincing every time the rope burned the skin off his palms.

He couldn't see anyone waiting below. Where was Temple? He didn't want to land only to be confronted by a gun against his head.

No time to worry about that. When he was about ten feet from
the ground he let go. A brief fall, then a sudden impact. He bent his knees and rolled in the dust, pushing himself to his feet and sprinting for the cave where Octavia and Molock were waiting. It was the only place he could go, somewhere they could defend.

He looked over his shoulder just before he ducked into the crevice. Nehi was sprinting toward him. Not only that, but some of the Hyperboreans were swarming from the airship, heading back down to back her up.

Tweed swore and put his head down, sprinting along the passage and into the huge room beyond. He skidded up short and almost collided with Octavia and Molock. They were moving toward him, Molock holding an old bronze sword against Temple's back.

“Where have you been?” snapped Octavia. “Never mind. I don't want to know. Back up. Quick.”

“No can do. I've got Nehi and some lizard-men on my tail.”

“Why? What did you do?”

Tweed patted the satchel. “I only got Tesla's plans back.”

Octavia's eyes widened.

“Can we talk about this later?” said Molock. “That explosion weakened the structure of the cave. The roof's going to collapse any moment now.”

As if to underline his point, a huge section of rock dropped down and smashed into one of the sarcophagi. Tweed flinched, waving away the dust.

“We can't go out that way. They'll kill us.”

“Then where?”

Tweed could hear Nehi and the Hyperboreans approaching from behind. He grabbed Temple and shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back toward the entrance. Hopefully he would confuse Nehi for a few extra seconds. The dust would make it hard for her to see who it really was.

He turned the others around, pushing them back into the room. The Hyperboreans had to come from somewhere, hadn't they?

They stumbled through the choking dust, tripping over pottery and rocks. There was a huge rumbling sound, then a terrific grinding and crashing behind them. The whole place was coming down!

“
Run!
” he shouted.

They ran faster. Rocks and boulders tumbled down the walls and rolled across their path. Thick, choking dust billowed everywhere. It was hard to see anything. He could hardly breathe. He reached out and grabbed hold of Octavia's shirt, unwilling to let her out of his sight. She reached back and grabbed hold of his wrist, digging her fingers in deep.

They kept going, deeper into the darkness while the room caved in behind them. Stones fell on Tweed's head, earth trickled into his eyes. He had no idea where they were going. All he knew was the feel of Octavia's hand around his wrist, the sense that she was still close to him. They ran because they had to. Because stopping would mean instant death.

He felt a cool breeze against his cheek. It gave them renewed energy, drawing them closer. They were ahead of the dust now, in a tunnel filled with broken rocks and shards of stone. This must be the point of the explosion.

The tunnel opened out, the walls curving away to either side. Their footsteps echoed, the sounds coming back to them from distant walls.

And then there was a final, horrendous roar behind them as the roof finally collapsed. A cloud of dust exploded past them, engulfing them in a choking miasma. They pushed ahead, trying to get beyond the suffocating blanket.

They followed Molock off the path and onto a lip that ran around some sort of colossal interior cavern. It receded into the distance and
dropped away into darkness. The dust cloud drifted up toward an invisible roof.

Tweed had only the briefest glimpses of all this before he felt a sharp prick in his neck. He whirled around to find Molock stepping away from Octavia, who rubbed her neck and frowned at the Hyperborean.

“What was that?” she said.

Tweed blinked. He suddenly felt very, very tired. He lifted his hands to his face and saw them blur in and out of focus. He locked eyes with Octavia and fell to his knees.

“I'm so sorry,” said Molock, but his voice sounded slow and drawn out. His words came out as, “I'm-m s-o-o s-o-o-o-r-r-r-y.”

Tweed's eyelids were too heavy. He thought it would probably be nice to sleep, to have a bit of a rest. Yes, that would be the best thing for everyone.

He fell forward and closed his eyes.

Octavia slipped in and out of consciousness, hovering in that in-between state of waking and non-waking that she usually found so pleasant. But this time there was something sinister about it, something unsettling. She opened her eyes, blinking at the hazy, odd-colored sunlight. She told herself to get up, to pull herself back into the waking world, but then her eyes drifted closed again and she gave up the fight, sinking back into oblivion.

But that feeling of gentle sleepiness soon faded, replaced by a throbbing headache that pulsed and prodded her brain. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. She tried to lick her lips but there was no moisture there.

A gloriously cool trickle of water flowed into her mouth. It wet her tongue, but was then sucked away like a single drop of rain in the desert. More water came. This time she grabbed the wrist of whoever was holding the flask, not letting them go. She greedily swallowed as much as she could.

“Slowly,” said a voice. “You'll get sick. Can you sit up?”

Octavia cracked open her eyes. Shards of bright light stabbed between her lids. She squinted, waiting, and after some moments tried again.

A dark green face appeared before her. She jerked back before realizing it was just Molock in his natural, Hyperborean state.

“Apologies,” he said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

Octavia waved this away. She tried to sit up, but felt weak and dizzy. “What…what happened?”

“Ah,” said Molock. “Um…yes. About that.”

His tone was embarrassed and contrite. Octavia forced her eyes open wider and looked directly at him. “What?”

“Well, you see, it's a law in our world. No outlander has ever been allowed to see any entrance into Hyperborea. It is forbidden. So…I may have drugged you a bit.”

“You
what
?”

“Just a little bit. At least, that's what it was supposed to be. But…the thing is, our physiologies are a bit different. A tiny dose for us turned out to be quite a large one for you and Mr. Tweed.”

Tweed! Octavia quickly looked around and saw him sleeping on a wooden floor. She felt his pulse. It was beating strongly.

Octavia sat back with relief, for the first time looking around. They appeared to be in some sort of boat. Actually, it was more a long skiff, constructed from what appeared to be brown clay, or perhaps even stone. Angular pictures had been carved into the surface.

She stood up and braced herself against the side of the skiff. She looked over the edge, expecting, as one would, to see water.

Instead she saw empty air, and far, far below them, dark green jungles.

The skiff was skimming through the sky just like a Tesla-powered airship. She looked in amazement at Molock.

“How are we flying? Do you have Tesla technology?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, no. I'm not sure of the exact science, but I think it has something to do with mercury suspended in some sort of closed system and spinning rather fast.” Molock frowned. “I
think
that's what my scientists told me.”

The heat against Octavia's skin was heavy and humid. She was sweating already, beads of perspiration forming on her arms, her back.

She looked up at the sun. At least, she
thought
it was the sun. It certainly looked like the sun. Except it was a lot smaller, and shone with a whiter light.

“Is that…?”

“That is
Tak'al
. Our source of life.”

“What
is
it?”

“I've no idea. No one does. Anytime we try to get close to it, we're pushed away. It's as if it has some sort of magnetic properties that oppose us. The harder we try, the more power we use, the more violently it repels us.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Octavia. She frowned.

“How long have we been out?”

“Ah…About two days. Yes. I think that's about right. Two days.”

“Two days!” Octavia shouted. “You've had us drugged for two days? How
dare
you!”

“I know! I'm so sorry. I had no idea it would affect you that way. Believe me, if I'd known I'd have simply knocked you on the head instead.”

“You…” Octavia didn't know what to say to that. She just shook her head in amazement.

“But how remiss of me.” He gestured proudly over her shoulder. “Miss Nightingale, allow me to welcome you to Hyperborea.”

Octavia turned around and let out a gasp of astonishment.

Away in the distance a series of pyramids thrust up from the jungle. They were huge, easily ten times the size of the ones at Giza. And they were stepped, looking more like the South American pyramids than the Egyptian ones. Even from this distance she could just make out vehicles flitting through the air around the huge structures.

“That is Thrace, our capital city. Where I once ruled.” He smiled painfully. “We won't be getting any closer, so if you want Mr. Tweed to get a look you should probably wake him.”

Without taking her eyes from the sight before her, Octavia reached down and felt her way up Tweed's chest, moving across his face and onto his ear. She tweaked it painfully.

Tweed sat up suddenly. “The gun's on the mantelpiece!” he
shouted. He blinked and looked around sleepily. “My tongue feels like a furry hedgehog is living on it.” Octavia turned his head so that he was looking at Thrace. “Ah. I'm still asleep. Jolly good.”

He tried to lie down again, but Octavia kicked him.

“Get up, Tweed. We're in Hyperborea!”

Octavia heard herself say it, but she still didn't quite believe it. She stared at the massive city, and she thought,
I'm not here. This isn't real.

“We're actually not far below London, you know. Thrace lies just to the north of your city.”

Tweed stared in amazement at their surroundings, then turned back the city. “How many people live there?” he asked.

“Tens of thousands. It used to be a lot more, but…well…the sickness.”

As if in response to his words, the light suddenly dimmed. It was like a thick curtain had been pulled across the sun. Octavia looked up and saw that
Tak'al
had faded to a dull grey. Small dark spots roiled across its surface.

“Why is it doing that?”

“That is what happens now. It seems to coincide with your busy periods, but it is staying like that for longer and longer periods.”

The skiff moved on. Octavia and Tweed watched Thrace recede into the distance like a city swallowed by the dusk. Molock dropped the skiff lower and steered them north over the jungle canopy. Now that Octavia looked closer she could see that a lot of the plants and trees below her looked diseased. The leaves were black, and whole section of the jungle had vanished, the outer edges of these spaces rotting, like gangrenous wounds eating up everything around them.

“You see?” said Tweed. “Kind of makes you sympathize with Sekhem and Nehi.”

Octavia rounded on him angrily. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't like it. It's like you're siding with them, with people who tried to murder me—murder
us
,” she added, waving at Molock.

“But…I can't help it,” protested Tweed.

“Oh really? And would you feel so sympathetic if they had succeeded in killing me?”

“No. I—”

“And will you still be sympathetic when they unleash their weapon? When they've killed untold thousands?”

Tweed didn't answer this time.

“You can understand them,” said Octavia, “but that's not the same as sympathizing with them. And if you
do
still sympathize with them keep it to yourself because I don't want to hear it.” She turned to face Molock. “And I would like to see my mother. Now please.”

He nodded. They flew north for the next hour or so. The dim light seemed to be affecting the skiff. Every now and then it would slow down, dipping alarmingly in the air. Molock would then fiddle with an odd control panel made up of colored stones and the vehicle would reluctantly lift higher and pick up speed once again.

“Did Tesla do this on purpose?” asked Tweed. “Did he know what he was doing when he created the Tesla Towers?”

“No,” said Molock, “I do not think he knew. I think he accidentally stumbled upon a means of drawing power from
Tak'al
. He did not question where it came from.”

“We have to tell the Queen,” Tweed insisted. “It's the only way this will get sorted out. She can send scientists down here. They can work with your own people to find a solution to—”

“No!” Molock turned and glared at them. Octavia was rather nonplussed by this. It was the first time the Hyperborean had shown any real anger.

“This will not happen. My people stay hidden. Do you understand? I will stop Sekhem and Nehi. Somehow. They will be tried for their crimes, and that will be the end of it. The Covenant commands it.”

“The Covenant will see you dead,” said Tweed.

“The Covenant protects us,” said Molock. “We must trust in
Tak'al
. It will see us through these times of trouble.”

Tweed didn't say anything more, but Octavia could see the disgust in his face. He hated blind faith. Hated it with an absolute passion.

The shadows over the sun passed a few hours later as they left land behind and flew out over a vast ocean.

Octavia leaned over the edge. She could see silver-pink fish scudding along just beneath the surface. They leaped into the air, soaring over the skiff and showering them with water. At the top of their arc the fish unfurled wing-like fins and banked to the right, flying a good fifty feet before diving into the water again.

She turned her head to find Tweed grinning at the sight. That made her happy. He'd been too serious these last months.

One of the first things she'd noticed about him was how childlike he was. Not childish—although he could be that—but rather, that he looked at certain things with the naivety of a child.

She missed that about him. Truth to tell, it was the first thing she found attractive about him. It was shortly after noticing it that she found herself looking at him and wondering if there could be more.

She was thinking about it again, even after she'd promised herself she wouldn't. But…she had a feeling that things had changed. That look in his eyes back in the desert. There was no mistaking that look.
There was something there. They just had to figure out what to do with it.

After another hour or so of travel, Molock glanced over his shoulder. “Come see.”

Octavia and Tweed crowded forward. There were a series of bumps on the horizon. As they drew closer Octavia realized that the bumps were actually a whole load of ships. Rafts and boats lashed together with ropes and cables. There were about a hundred of them, maybe more, all of them linked by wooden planks and rope bridges, forming a man-made island miles across.

Octavia could see Hyperborean people going about their everyday lives, fishing, pulling buckets of water out of the ocean, washing clothes. She could even see children running between boats, laughing and screaming as they played catch.

“What is this place?” asked Octavia.

“This,” said Molock proudly, “is Hope Springs. The home of many of those rebelling against Sekhem and Nehi.”

“Why doesn't the government shut it down?” asked Tweed. “Come and arrest you?”

“They don't know we're here. Nothing around for miles and miles. They don't tend to leave Thrace much. Too busy trying to catch the rebels who stay in the city.” He winked and tapped his nose. “Misdirection, you see. They think we're in Thrace causing trouble, but our main body is elsewhere.”

There was a narrow lane of water that led into the island, the waterway flanked by two lines of small rafts. Molock set the skiff down in the ocean and coasted into this lane, bumping to a slow stop against one of the boats. He climbed out and helped Octavia up. Tweed followed close behind.

Octavia looked around nervously. Everywhere she turned she saw reptilian faces, their yellow eyes studying them with intense curiosity.
The children, especially, seemed delighted to see them, running and leaping over the decks of the boats to land on all fours before them. They seemed more taken with Tweed, taking his hands and prodding his knees and fiddling with his clothes. One of them poked him in the ribs and he burst out laughing.