The Grave Robbers of Genghis Khan

by P. B. Kerr

  “That is a relief,” said Groanin as a jet of hot smoke and gas hissed out of a large hole in the ground next to him as if from the wheels of a waiting locomotive train. “I’m sure I’ll feel a lot more relaxed when we reach the top.” He opened the picnic hamper, took out a bottle of water, and poured the contents down his throat.

  John reached the top first and, as before, the crater rim offered a sight worthy of Dante’s Inferno, at least that was what Nimrod — who arrived close behind him — said. John didn’t have much of an idea who Dante was, but he knew an inferno was a place of fiery heat or destruction where sinners were supposed to suffer eternal punishment, and that looked like a pretty good description of the volcano, which was even more daunting to the eye and mind than the last time he had been there. Whereas before, the crater had been mostly filled with hot dust and gravel, now it was full of dull molten rock that, at any moment, might be blasted high into the air. John knew that he could no more have rappelled safely into the crater than he could have skied down a lava flow.

  The professor, arriving a few minutes after Nimrod, let out a breath and a loud gasp at the horrid spectacle that met his expert eyes.

  “Incredible,” he said. “I think we must be in the final volcanic phase before there is a violent eruption. Which makes me suppose that many other volcanoes in many other countries are about to blow, as well.”

  “In which case, we have arrived in the nick of time,” said Nimrod. “Possibly these would already have erupted but for the fact that we were able to prevent Rashleigh Khan from adding yet more Hotaniya crystals to that borehole.”

  Philippa and Groanin, still carrying the picnic hamper, brought up the rear.

  Groanin sat down heavily on a rock and then stood up abruptly as the heat from the rock scorched his trousers.

  “Flipping heck,” he yelled, rubbing his painful backside. “Fetch the sauce. I say, fetch the sauce. It’s like sitting on a barbecue up here.”

  “Yes, do be careful, Groanin,” said Nimrod.

  In response, Groanin muttered something about locking a stable door after the horse had bolted.

  “So what do we do now?” Philippa asked her uncle. “Hold hands and wait for you to shove us into the crater like those Inca kids? Hey, Apu? Here we come. Look out, Catequil, you’ve got a couple of visitors.”

  “Very amusing,” said Nimrod.

  “Who are they?” asked Groanin. “Apu and thing-ummybob?”

  “Inca gods,” said Philippa. “Apu was their god of mountains and volcanoes. And Catequil was the god of thunder and lightning. The Incas used to throw twins into an active crater, as a sacrifice.”

  “As you do,” remarked John drily. “Now and then.”

  Groanin’s jaw dropped and he looked at Nimrod and then at Philippa. There was a look of alarm on his face. “You’re not thinking of doing that, are you? Nimrod?”

  “No, of course not,” said Nimrod. “What do you take me for?”

  “I thought for a moment I must have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick,” admitted the butler. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “So what do we do now that we’re here?” John asked Nimrod.

  “We already talked about this, John,” said Philippa.

  “Yes, we did,” agreed John. “But what we haven’t yet talked about is if this can work or not. Maybe it’s a waste of time. Maybe what we’re doing will be done in vain.”

  “Maybe,” said Philippa.

  “But that’s what I want to know,” insisted John. “I mean, I really don’t mind making this sacrifice if it’s going to work, but I can’t see the point if it’s done more in hope than expectation.”

  “I don’t think anybody can tell that until you try,” said Nimrod. “We’re on uncertain ground here.”

  Groanin glanced at his boots. A strong smell of burning rubber was coming off his soles. “You can say that again, sir.”

  “At least we are as far as I’m concerned,” continued Nimrod.

  “That makes three of us,” said John.

  “Groanin? I shall require you to keep quiet from now on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You too, Professor.”

  “Anything to help,” said the professor.

  “Being ‘children of the lamp’ is one thing,” said Nimrod. “But ‘children of the sky’ is something else. It was often believed that the children of the sky could summon any wind by motions of their hands or by their breath, and that they could make fair or foul weather and could cause rain. But remember what makes you unique: You are both children of the sky and children of the lamp. So then. I suggest you stand on the rim of the crater and hold hands.”

  John pulled a face and took his sister’s hand.

  “This will, of course, help you to concentrate your djinn power,” said Nimrod. “And you should let the sound of my voice help you to shape your will. At least, in the beginning.”

  Philippa looked at John and nodded.

  “Ready?” she said.

  “Let’s do it,” said John.

  “I want you to concentrate every iota of your power and for as long as you can endure,” said Nimrod. “I want you to start to drag and drop the biggest rain clouds over this volcano. As many as you can until the sky is dark with them. You may have to keep uttering your focus words in order to do this. But as you bring rain clouds here, I want you to imagine doing the very same over every volcano in the world. Here, in Italy. In Iceland. And all along the Pacific Ring of Fire. And then I want you to make it rain like it never rained before. Right into every one of these craters.”

  John and Philippa closed their eyes and began to think very, very hard of the many volcanoes the professor had told them about: the fifty most active, and the six or seven hundred volcanoes that had been active since the beginning of recorded time. They thought about the volcanoes of Hawaii. The volcanoes of Sumatra. The volcanoes on the Canary Islands. The volcanoes in Japan and Alaska. The volcanoes in Ecuador, Chile, and Peru.

  They thought of thick rain clouds gathering immediately above the craters of these volcanoes. The biggest rain clouds anyone could have imagined. And all the time that they concentrated on drawing weather systems and small anticyclones directly onto these craters, they uttered their focus words and gathered their djinn power.

  And as their concentration of mind and power increased, gradually they forgot about Nimrod, and Groanin, and the professor; they forgot about Axel, and Charlie, and Moby; they forgot about Rashleigh Khan; they forgot about Mr. Bilharzia and Genghis Khan; they forgot about their mother and father; they almost forgot about each other. The only thing they did not forget was why they had come there.

  It was, perhaps, the greatest concentration of power John and Philippa had ever felt. Certainly, it was the most power that either of them had ever used.

  Or would ever use again.

  Gradually, each twin lost all sense of time and place. There was just their awesome power, and the four elements: earth, water, air, and fire. Indeed, the longer they persevered with their collective thought process, the more their will came to resemble an elemental force itself so that there were four elements that were required to submit to the fifth element that was their two minds.

  And after a while, it began to rain.

  John and Philippa hardly seemed to notice. They just stood on the edge of the crater, hands locked together like two mythological twins’, staring at the sky, and making the rain fall.

  And what rain it was.

  For a while Groanin, Nimrod, and the professor gathered under the umbrellas they had brought with them from the supermarket in Sorrento, but as the day wore on they were forced to take shelter in the gift shop that occupied the beginning of the path around the crater rim.

  “Do you think they’ll be all right, standing on the edge of the crater like that?” Groanin asked Nimrod.

  “I don’t really know,” admitted Nimrod. “But I daren’t touch them now that they’re doing th
is. It might be dangerous for them, and it would certainly be dangerous for me.”

  Seeing Groanin raise an eyebrow at that, he added, “Oh, yes. Together, they’re much more powerful than me. That’s rather the point, you see. There’s no djinn alive who could make rain like this. That is, apart from them.”

  Groanin glanced out of the window of the gift shop. He had to admit there was something in what Nimrod had said. Coming from Manchester, on the western side of England, Groanin thought he knew a bit about rain. Manchester is surrounded by the Pennine Hills to the north and the east. When a southwesterly wind blows over England, it brings damp Atlantic air. The Atlantic air reaches Manchester, is forced up over the Pennines and, as it rises, it cools and turns into water droplets. This is what is known to climatologists and geographers as a rain shadow. Which is why Manchester has more than twenty-seven inches of rain a year, and rains, on average, for between fifteen and twenty days a month. Groanin knew rain like a Spanish orange grower knows sun. There was probably quite a bit of rain in Groanin’s soul. But he had never seen rain like the rain that fell on Vesuvius. It was almost a solid sheet of water.

  “Look,” he said, pointing through the rain and down the slope at the Bay of Naples. “There’s blue sky down there. It seems to be clear in Naples and Sorrento. It’s only raining up here, directly into the crater.”

  “That’s the whole idea,” said the professor.

  “What we need is a television set,” said Nimrod. “Then we could check the international news bulletins and see if it’s raining on any of the other volcanoes.”

  “There’s one down at the old observatory,” said the professor.

  “Yes, of course,” said Nimrod. “Well, let’s go there.”

  “If you don’t mind, sir,” said Groanin, “I’ll stay up here with them. Just in case they need me.”

  “This could take a while, Groanin,” said Nimrod. “You’d probably be more comfortable down at the observatory.”

  “Thank you, no, sir. I think it’s best that someone remains up here with them. They’re only children, after all. Besides, I think they’ll need to see a friendly face when this is all over, don’t you? Not to mention some refreshment.” He nodded down at the picnic hamper.

  “If you say so, Groanin.” Nimrod nodded. “We’ll come and find you when the rain stops, shall we?”

  Groanin watched Nimrod and the professor walk carefully along the already treacherous path down the mountain in the direction of the old observatory. Finding the driest spot in the gift shop, he opened the picnic hamper and poured himself a cup of tea from one of several thermos flasks he had filled in the kitchens of the Excelsior Vittoria hotel. Then, he took out his silver-framed photograph of the queen (recently repaired), placed it carefully on the gift shop’s empty ice-cream chest, and, with a cup of tea in one hand, found his newspaper and started to read.

  CHAPTER 43

  A MUNDANE WAY OF THINKING

  John opened his eyes and looked up at a beautiful, cloudless blue sky. High in the troposphere, a jet was moving as slowly as a silver snail, leaving behind a thin white contrail. The sun was shining and warmed his face pleasantly while the early morning air was filled with birdsong and a strong smell of flowers. His clothes were a little damp, but surely that was to be expected after so much rain. And remembering where he was, he sat up and looked around.

  He was sitting on the edge of the path on the crater rim of Vesuvius. The skyscraper-high plume of ash and smoke that had existed there the day before was now gone. And in the crater below his feet, where once there had been molten rock and fire, and prior to that an enormous dust bowl, now there was just a large expanse of water.

  Philippa was lying next to him, in a similar state of bedraggled wakefulness. Her red hair was matted onto her skull like it was a head scarf. Her face was already pink from the sun, which, he thought, was something he’d never seen before.

  She sat up and picked her damp shirt from her shoulders. Then she took off her glasses, cleaned them on the end of her shirt, and put them back on her face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I guess so. A bit tired. You?”

  “Okay, I think.” He nodded. “It must have worked. At least it has worked here on Vesuvius. Look.” He pointed at the lake below them. “The rain has filled the crater.”

  “It looks kind of peaceful, doesn’t it? Like one of those Swiss lakes, but smaller. Hard to believe it’s the same crater, don’t you think?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I wonder if it worked anywhere else,” said Philippa. “On any other volcanoes.”

  “I can’t imagine it didn’t, given the way I’m feeling now.” John shrugged. “But time will tell, I’m thinking.”

  Philippa yawned — a big, stretching, loud yawn that echoed across the crater like a yodel.

  “It feels like it’s really early in the morning,” she said, and glanced at her watch. “I guess it must have rained all day and all night.”

  “How do you feel?” he asked. “Really.”

  “Wet,” she said. “My clothes are stuck on like postage stamps.”

  “Mine, too. No, I meant, you know. Inside.”

  “Inside?” She thought for a moment. “Different. Very different. Like I’m seeing things with different eyes. Or that I’ve forgotten something. Except that I know what it is that I’ve forgotten.” She shrugged. “If you see what I mean. You? How do you feel?”

  “Really, not as bad as I thought I’d feel,” said John. “Considering everything that’s happened.” He shrugged. “I ache a bit, all over. And I have this feeling of loss.” He shook his head. “Maybe that’s too strong a word for it. But I sort of feel like a car that just ran out of gas.”

  Philippa stood up, stretched, and looked around. “I wonder where the others are.”

  “Let’s go and find them.”

  They walked down the crater path to the gift shop and found Groanin asleep on the concrete floor. Seeing the hotel picnic basket reminded John that he was hungry and he helped himself to some of the delicious things that Groanin had thoughtfully brought along: pastries, fruit, orange juice, sandwiches, cakes, coffee, and tea. There was even some chocolate, which, under the circumstances, seemed a little ironic.

  John poured himself some coffee but found there was no sugar.

  “I wish I had some sugar,” said John. “I don’t like coffee without sugar.”

  But he drank a cup, anyway.

  Groanin woke up and sat up. “Forgive me,” he said. “I must have fallen asleep.” He rubbed his eyes and straightened his tie. “What must you think of me, sleeping while you went through that terrible ordeal.” He glanced at the children. “Was it terrible?” “It was hard work,” said John. “I don’t mind admitting it. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I guess it wasn’t so very terrible.” He shrugged. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

  Philippa was hungry, too. She helped herself to a slice of cake, and then another.

  “I wish this cake wasn’t so delicious,” she said happily. “But it is. I can’t help myself.” She pushed some John’s way. “Here. Try some.”

  “Thanks. I will.” John stuffed a whole slice into his mouth and nodded his agreement.

  “How long have we been up here?” asked Philippa, embracing Groanin fondly.

  “We came here three days ago,” said Groanin. “And it’s been raining ever since. All day and all night. It rained so much that I half expected to see Noah floating up here in an ark.” He glanced up at the sky. “Looks as if it’s worked, then.”

  “Looks like,” said John. “Here, anyway.”

  “Where’s Nimrod and the professor?” asked Philippa.

  “They went down to the old observatory,” said Groanin. “To watch the television news. See what was happening in volcanic countries around the world.” He felt in his pocket. “I wonder. Now that the ash cloud is gone, it might just be that my cell phone is worki
ng again.”

  He switched it on. “There’s a signal, all right,” he said excitedly, and keyed in Nimrod’s number. “I wonder if that means some things are getting back to normal.”

  “Yes, they are,” said John. “They must be. I saw a jet in the sky a few minutes ago. So the airspace must have reopened already.”

  “I can hear a phone ringing,” said Philippa, and stepping out of the gift shop, she saw Nimrod and the professor coming slowly up the path. Both of them were grinning broadly and it was plain from their faces that they were the bearers of good news.

  Philippa ran to greet her uncle and embraced him, too.

  “Did it work?” she asked keenly. “Did it?”

  “Did it?” yelled the professor. “And how!”

  “Yes,” said Nimrod. “It worked.”

  “Everywhere?” shouted John.

  “Everywhere there was a volcano threatening to erupt, there is now an attractive mountain lake or reservoir, like this one,” said Nimrod.

  “Everywhere?” Even John sounded surprised, in spite of the fact he knew that he and Philippa were responsible.

  “Everywhere,” said the professor. “From Iceland to Hawaii. From Sumatra to Chile. In Africa and in Japan. It’s incredible. The world’s media are talking about a mountain miracle.”

  “Aye, well, they would,” said Groanin. “It’s been a while since we had one of those.”

  “Already the skies are clearing of smoke and ash and the world’s weather seems to be returning to normal,” added Nimrod. “And the threat of a global catastrophe has passed.”

  John punched the sky. “That’s great news,” he said. “The best.”

  “How do you feel?” asked Nimrod.

  “A bit tired and wet,” admitted Philippa. “And —” She shrugged. “A bit ordinary, I guess. I suppose I’ll get used to that. Eventually.” She thought for a moment and then added, “A bit like when you lose an arm or a leg and yet you have the sensation that it’s still there.”

  “A phantom limb,” said Groanin. “Aye, well I remember that, all right.”

  “That’s the way I feel, too,” said John. “I don’t know. Like something went out inside of me.”