The Seventh Scroll (79 page)

"Have to get out of its way," he thought desperately, as he imagined being caught up in the terrible flood which would certainly come down at any moment. "If I can reach the side somewhere, perhaps find a ledge, climb above the flood." But he knew it was a forlorn hope. He had swum the length of the canyon once before without finding a handhold on the slick walls.

"Swim ahead of it?" he thought. "A slim chance, but the only one I have." He kicked off his boots, and gathered himself. He was about to push off from his temporary refuge, when he heard the rest of the dam wall high above him give way.

There was a rumbling roar, the crackle of logs snapping and breaking, the grating and grinding of heavy gabions being -thrown around like empty rubbish cans, and then suddenly and terrifyingly a solid wave of grey water burst over the top of the falls, carrying with it a wall of trash and debris.

"Oh mother! Too late. Here comes the big one!'

He shoved off from his rock, turning downstream, and swam with all his strength, kicking and flailing his arms in a wild crawl stroke. He heard the roar of the approaching wave and glanced back over his shoulder. It was overhauling him swiftly, filling the chasm from wall to wall, fifteen feet high and curling at the top. He had a fleeting mental II image from his youth, waiting to surf that notorious wave at Cape St. Vincent, hanging on the line'up and seeing it humping up behind him, this great wall of water, so mountainous and so overwhelming.

"Ride id' he told himself, judging the moment. "Catch it like a slider." He clawed through the water, trying to get up speed to ride up the wall. He felt it seize him and lift him so violently that his guts swooped, and then he was on the crest of it. He arched his back and tucked his am-is behind him in the classic body-surfer's position, hanging in the face of the wave, slightly head down, the front half of his body thrust clear of the water, steering with his legs. After the first few terrifying seconds he realized that he was ic abated and riding her high and had some control; his pan he was overcome by a sense of wild exhilaration.

"Twenty knots!" He estimated his speed by the giddy i blur of the canyon walls passing him on either side. He steered away from the nearest wall, sliding across the face, taking up station in the centre of the wave, He was caff ied along by the wave and by the thrilling sensation of speed and danger.

The increased depth of water in the chasm covered the dangerous, knifesharp rocks, enabling him to ride clear of them. It smoothed out the waterfalls and the chutes, so that instead of dropping down them and plummeting below the surface of the pool beneath he slid down them with a smooth rush, holding his position in the face of the wave with a few quick overarm strokes or a kick of the legs.

"Hell! This is fun!" He laughed aloud. "People would pay money to do this. Beats the hell out of bungee jumping." A

Within the first mile the wave began to lose its shape and impetus as it spread out. down the canyon. Soon it would no longer have the power to hold him up in the surfing position, and he glanced around him swiftly. Floating near by, keeping pace with him in the flotsam of debris from the dam, was one of the treetrunks that had formed part of the raft with which Sapper had plugged the gap in the wall.

He steered across to this ponderous piece of timber. It was thirty feet long and floated low in the flood, its back showing like that of a whale. Its branches had been roughly hacked away by the axemen, and the spikes that remained provided secure handholds. Nicholas pulled himself up on he treetrunk, lying on his belly, facing downstream, to with his legs still dangling in the water. Swiftly he recovered his breath and felt his full strength returning.

Although it had smoothed out and lost its wave formation, the flood was still tearing down the chasm at a tremendous pace. "Still not much under ten knots," he estimated. "When this lot hits Taita's pool, I pity von Schiller and any of his uglies who are in the tomb. They are going to stay in there for the next four thousand years." He threw back his head and laughed triumphantly.. "It worked! Damn me to hell, if it didn't work just the way I planned it."

He stopped laughing abruptly as he felt the treetrunk veer across the river towards one of the canyon walls.

"Oh, oh! More trouble."

He rolled to one side of the treetrunk and kicked out strongly. His ungainly vessel responded, swinging heavily across the current. It was sluggish steering, not enough to avoid contact with the rock wall entirely, but instead of striking full'on it was merely a glancing collision that pushed him back again into the main flow of the current.

He was gaining confidence and expertise every moment, "I can ride her all the way down to the monastery!'

The AL

he exclaimed delightedly. "At this rate of knots I might even get to the boats before Sapper and Royan."

Looking ahead, he recognized this stretch of the chasm that he was hurtling through. -i@

"This is the bend above Taita's pool. Be there in another minute or two. I expect the scaffolding has been washed away by now." He pulled himself as high on the log as he could without upsetting its balance, and peered ahead, blinking the water out of his eyes. He saw the head of the falls above Taita's pool racing towards him, and he braced himself for the drop. The long, smooth chute of racing water opened ahead of him, and the moment before he flew down it he had a glimpse into the basin of rock below it. He saw at once that his expectations had been premature. The bamboo scaffolding had not been entirely washed away, although it was badly damaged. The lowest section was gone, but the Upper part hung drunkenly down the rock cliff, just touching the surface of the racing waters. It was swaying and swinging loosely as the current snatched at it, and incredulously he realized that there were at least two men trapped

on the flimsy structure, clinging desperately to the ladderway of lurching, clattering poles. Both of them were trying to claw their way up it to the top of the cliff.

In that fraction of a second Nicholas saw a flash of steel'rimmed spectacles under a maroon beret, and realized that the man nearest the top of the cliff was Tuma Nogo.

Then Nogo succeeded in reaching the top of the scaffolding and disappeared over the top of the cliff. That one glance was all Nicholas had time for before his log was plunged into the water-chute, gathering speed until it was tearing downwards at a steeply canted angle. The point dug in as it hit the surface of the pool at the bottom, and the log almost polevaulted end over end, but Nicholas clung on to his handholds, and gradually it righted itself.

For a few moments the log was stalled in the vortex below the falls, but almost at once, the current grabbed it again and it gathered speed, bearing away down the length of Taita's pool as ponderously as a wooden man-'-war.

Nicholas had a second of respite in which to look around the basin of Taita's pool. He saw at once that the entrance tunnel to the tomb was entirely submerged and, judging by the water level up the cliff wall, it was already fifty feet or more beneath the surface. He felt a leap of triumph. The tomb was once more protected from the depredations of any other grave-robber.

Then he looked up the battered remnants of the bamboo scaffolding skewed down the cliff, torn half away from the ancient niches in the rock, and he saw the other man still clinging to the wreckage. He was twenty feet above the water level, and seemed frozen there like a cat in the high branches of a windswept tree.

At that moment Nicholas realized that his log was swinging in the grip of the river, curling in towards the dangling scaffold. He was about to try to steer it clear, when the man on the framework high above him turned his head and looked down at him. Nicholas saw that he was a white man, his face a pale blob in the gloom of the canyon, and a moment later he recognized him with a stab of hatred through the chest.

"Helm!the exclaimed."Jake Helm."

He had an image of Tamre, the epileptic boy, crushed beneath the rockfalls and of Tessay's burned and battered face. His outrage and hatred surged. Instead of steering the log away from the scaffold, he reversed his thrust and swung in towards the cliff. There was a breathless interval when Nicholas thought he might miss, but at the last moment the leading end of the log swung sharply and the point of it crashed into the trailing end of the bamboo, hooking-on to it.

The log's weight and momentum were irresistible. The bamboo poles crackled and snapped like dry kindling, and then the whole rickety structure tore loose from the wall and came crashing down over the log. Helm swung out overhead, then released his grip and dropped feet first into the water close alongside the log. He went deep below the surface. While he was under, Nicholas pulled himself up to sit astride the log and grabbed a length of bamboo pole that had broken off the scaffolding and was floating alongside.his perch.

The log was trapped in a back eddy of the swollen river, and now it began to spin slowly in the slack water outside the main current. Nicholas was still riding high on the log. He hefted the bamboo, swinging it back and forth like a baseball bat, to get the feel of it. Then he cocked it over his shoulder and waited for Helm to show himself. A second later the Texan's head broke out, streaming water. His eyes were screwed closed, and he let out a gasp Of water and air and tried to suck in a breath. Nicholas aimed the pole at his head and swung with all his strength, but just at that moment Helm opened his eyes and saw the blow coming.

He was as quick as a water snake, rolling his head under the swinging club so that it merely touched the side of his cropped blond head and then glanced away. Nicholas was thrown off balance by his own swing, and before he could recover Helm had drawn a quick breath and ducked below the surface again.

Nicholas poised the club, ready to strike a second time, peering down into the murky water, muttering angrily at himself for having missed the first blow while he still had the advantage of surprise. He had no illusions about what he was in for, now that Helm had been warned.

The seconds drew out with no sign of his adversary reappearing, and Nicholas looked behind him anxiously, trying to anticipate where he would come up again. For a long minute nothing happened. He lowered the club nervously, and changed his grip so as to be ready to stab in any direction with the sharp broken tip.

Suddenly his left ankle was seized in a crushing grip below the water and, before he could grab a handhold to resist, Nicholas was jerked from his seat on the log and went over backwards into the river. As he plunged beneath the water he felt Helm's fingers clawing at his face. He grabbed one of the fingers and wrenched it back, feeling it snap in his grasp as he forced it back towards its own wrist.

But Helm was galvanized by the agony of the dislocated joint, and one of his long muscular arms whipped around Nicholas's neck like the tentacles of an octopus.

The two of them came to the surface for a moment, both of them drew one quick, harsh breath, then Helm forced Nicholas's head backwards and water flooded into his open mouth. The lock on his neck tightened, and he felt the tension on his vertebrae. It was a killer grip. If Helm had only had a solid purchase he could have exerted the last ounce of pressure which would have snapped his spine. But Nicholas kept rolling back in the direction of the thrust, giving with it, and preventing Helm from bringing all his strength to bear. As he went over he saw Helm's face in front of his, magnified and distorted through the tainted grey water. He looked monstrous and evil.

As Helm rolled over the top of him Nicholas locked both hands around his waist to hold him firmly, then brought up his right knee between Helm's legs, hard into his crotch, and felt the bone of his kneecap make contact. The bunch of genitals was full and rubbery; Helm contorted and his lock on Nicholas's neck eased. Nicholas used the slack to reach down and grab a handful of Helm's damaged testicles and twist them savagely. He saw the man's face inches in front of his own twist into a rictus of pain and Helm pulled away from him, releasing his lock on Nicholas's throat and reaching down to grab his wrist with both hands.

Again they came to the surface close alongside the floating log, and Nicholas realized that the current had taken hold of them again and was carrying them away through the outlet of Taita's pool into the full stream of the river. Nicholas released his grip on Helm's balls and with his other hand aimed a punch at his face, but they were too close to each other and the blow lacked power. It glanced off Helm's cheek, and Nicholas tried to lock his extended arm around his neck, going for a headlock himself Helm hunched his head down on his shoulders slipping under the hold. Then suddenly he reached for-ward fast as a striking adder and sank his teeth into Nicholas's chin.

The surprise was complete, and the pain was excruciating as his teeth locked into the flesh. Nicholas shouted and clawed at Helm's face, going for his eyes, trying to drive his fingernails through the lids. But Helm squeezed his eyes tight closed and his teeth cut in ever deeper, so that Nicholas's blood welled up and oozed from the corners of Helm's mouth. The log was still floating beside them, inches from the back of Helm's head. Nicholas seized his ears, one in each hand, and twisted him around in the water. He could see over the top of Helm's head, while Helm's vision was blocked. There was a nub of raw wood sticking out of the tree trunk where an axe had hacked away a, ride branch.

The cut was at an angle, leaving a sharp spike. Through tears of agony Nicholas lined up the spike with the back of Helm's head. He could feel Helm's teeth almost meeting in the flesh of his face. They had cut through the lower lip so that blood was starting to fill Nicholas's mouth. Helm was worrying him like a pit'bull in the arena, wrenching his head from side to side. Soon he would come away with a bloody mouthful of Nicholas's flesh. With all the strength of pain and desperation, Nicholas hurled himself forward, and, using his upper body and his grip on the sides of Helm's head, drove him on to the sharp wooden spike. The point found the joint between the vertebrae of the spine and the base of Helm's skull, going in like a nail and partially severing the spinal cord.