“But that just means someone else will be hired.” A deep sickness entered her stomach, twisting.
Robert shrugged. “Perhaps. But I doubt there is anyone out there who is quite as good as me.”
“So good you couldn’t catch us?”
“My dear woman. The only reason I could not catch you was that I was not allowed to kill you. Had the rules been different …” He held out his hands, the corner of his mouth curling up. Miri swallowed hard. This time, she looked away first.
Dean opened his eyes. Miri did not know if he had heard anything of their conversation, but he gave Robert the hardest, meanest look that she had ever seen on his face, and said, “We need to take the right tunnel.”
“Well, then,” Robert said, and away he went, hopping from side to side of the water like a skipping monkey. Dean curled his hand around Miri’s wrist as she passed him. His gaze was solemn.
“You heard,” she said.
“Don’t get too comfortable with him. He can’t be trusted.”
“But if it’s true?”
“Then that’s something to worry about later. Right now, I just want you to focus on here and now. Staying alive. That’s all I care about, Miri. I want you safe.”
“Right back at you,” she said softly, and kissed him.
They followed the tunnel, which eventually began showing cracks in the walls, tiny fractures that drained off the water until they once again walked on dry land. The path curved up. Miri wondered which part of the city they were under now.
And then the tunnel ended.
“It is just a wall,” Robert said, and took a running jump, propelling himself with surprising grace up the almost sheer face. His hands reached the top edge and he hauled himself over. He straddled it and held out a hand. Dean gave Miri a boost and Robert pulled her up. Miri did not go over to the other side. She braced herself, held down her hand alongside Robert, and the two of them together pulled up Dean.
The ground level was higher on the other side; it was barely a jump to get down from the wall. Miri gazed up and up. She stood in a cavern with a ceiling so high and dark she could not see the top. The light from her headgear did not touch it.
But hanging from the murky darkness, trailing like the long hairs of a giant, was a forest of rope. Thick rope that smelled musty, of mold and decay. She edged close and picked out many different kinds of fibers: hemp, silk, actual hair.
“Dean,” she said. “Please don’t tell me we have to climb these things.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t feel any pull in an upward direction.”
“I cannot see to the other side,” Robert said, trying to peer through the tangle. He stuck his hand in and pulled aside a bundle of the hanging rope. Miri heard an odd tinkling sound, like glass or metal.
And then Dean yanked her back. He grabbed Robert, too, hauling the man off his feet just as a group of glittering objects hit the ground where he had been standing. The three of them scrambled away, Miri half expecting the objects on the ground to leap up and start attacking.
Robert edged close. He crouched, picked something up, and brought it back to Miri and Dean, who aimed their lights at his palm.
It was metal and shaped like a star. The edges were razor sharp and covered in a sticky brown substance.
“Poison,” he said. “At least, that is my best guess. I could be wrong.”
“Poison,” Miri echoed. “And those things come down when the ropes are moved.”
“There are a lot of ropes out there,” Dean said. “To push through, it’s going to be impossible not to move some.”
“And we do not have anything with which to protect our bodies.” Robert sighed. “Mr. Campbell, do you know the approximate direction of the jade?”
Dean pointed. It was at an angle to the right of where they stood.
“Very well,” Robert said, rolling down his sleeves. “I cannot imagine there is an unlimited amount of these things contained above. I will tear down as many as I can along the path you pointed out. Once that is done, the two of you should be relatively safe to follow.”
“You’ve got a hard-on for pain, don’t you?” Dean said.
“What else is there to do? There are no rocks to throw, and even if there were, we could not possibly hope to release them all. Are you willing to risk Dr. Lee’s life on that? No. Some things require a personal touch.”
Robert threw himself into the tangle. The resulting sound reminded Miri of a church—all those tiny stars, tinkling like bells as they fell through the jungle to the ground. Dean pushed Miri back, away, shielding her with his body as though some random bit of metal and poison would fly out to strike her. She stood on her tiptoes and watched over his shoulder, anyway; the ropes nearest them had stopped moving, but the chimes did not fade in volume and Miri wondered just how far Robert was being forced to travel, and whether he would make it.
And then, like the end of a rainstorm, silence. Dean called out Robert’s name, but he did not respond. Miri stirred, uneasy.
“Do you think he’s alive?”
“No,” Dean said, and walked to the rope. Miri followed close behind.
“Stay here,” he said. “Let me go first.”
“No,” Miri said. “Together, or not at all.”
He almost argued with her, but Miri held his gaze, stubborn, and Dean finally nodded. He grabbed her hand, kissed it, and said, “This is a good life, Miri. Everything else may be crap, but you and me together is a good life. I had forgotten how good.”
“I know,” she said. “I forgot, too.”
He nodded, then drew her in front of him. She felt the heat of his chest press through her clothing, the heat of the glowing word against her shoulder. She felt another kind of heat settle in her own chest, and she touched herself, and wondered.
They tugged on the ropes ahead of them. Nothing fell. They pushed through and it was hard to breathe; her heart pounded loud in her ears and her focus narrowed to the spot directly in front of her, rope and more rope, and only once did she look down—and that was because her foot nudged something hard. It was a skull. So. Someone else had tried to make a go of it. She wondered why.
“You okay?” Dean breathed in her ear.
“Peachy,” Miri said. “You?”
“I’ve got a beautiful woman rubbing up against me. I’m fantastic.”
“Sex and danger. Turn-on, huh?”
“Oh, baby.” He reached past her to push aside rope. “When we get out of here—”
Miri heard a tinkling sound. Dean shoved them both into a staggering run and at the last moment he knocked her down and she felt him cover her body with his own, wrapping her so tight within himself she lost the ability to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut. Felt something hit her legs. She thought of Dean above her, and a cry rose up in her throat.
“Dean,” she gasped. “Dean!”
“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I think I’m okay.”
He slowly uncurled from her. They both stood, very carefully watching for metal near their hands and feet. Miri turned Dean around. There was not a single cut on his back. She looked at the ground around them. They were surrounded by stars. She checked her leg. There was a slight tear in her pants, but the skin was unbroken.
“I wish I knew what happened to me,” Dean murmured, almost to himself.
“Do you think someone did this to you?”
Dean shrugged, helpless. He kept close to Miri as they moved on. They did not talk. She did not feel well enough for words. One more scare and she was just going to keel over. Any longer in this jungle of rope—
They stepped free. Ahead of them, another room. On the ground, Robert. He was covered in blood. Death from a thousand cuts.
Miri’s knees gave out. She sat down, hard.
Chapter Fourteen
It took some time for Robert to resurrect himself. Miri and Dean sat on the ground against the wall and waited. They did not explore the small room. There was a way out, a
tunnel, but Miri felt no interest in going near it. Cowardly, maybe, but this was survival and Robert was more than willing to play bait. Of course, there was the good possibility that Dean was in a similar boat physically, but Miri did not want to begin testing the limits of his abilities. Robert could drop dead, for all she cared. Again and again and again.
Dean startled whistling the theme to The Twilight Zone and Robert finally stirred. They did not go to him. They sat and watched his body flop, seize, writhe like a man stabbed by electric cattle prods. It was not very pleasant.
Trapped. She remembered him saying the word, like there was a memory attached, and she wondered what it would be like to never die, if Robert’s ability made him immortal.
Miri nudged Dean with her elbow. “You said you know another man like him.”
“Hari. A shape-shifter. He married a friend of mine. Before that, he was … cursed.”
“Cursed. As in …”
“Magic. Voodoo. Bad mojo.”
“Huh,” Miri said. “Okay, and … the curse was broken.”
“Yes,” Dean said, and there was a heaviness to his voice that made her think the story was indeed more complicated than she could possibly imagine. “The curse made Hari immortal. The man who cursed Hari was also immortal. I’ve got a bad feeling that the same dude who got him got Robert.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. Because even if you put aside the … the magic, it’s still weird. Why would someone keep making immortals? Because he liked them? Because he thought he was doing them a favor?”
“Not this guy. He was a sadist.”
“Then I’m confused. Which … I’m sure is a huge surprise.”
Dean smiled, but only for a moment. Robert sat up. His eyes were open and the cuts were gone—though he was still quite bloody. He looked at Dean. “Do you have water in that bag of yours?”
Dean pulled out a bottle and tossed it to him. Robert drank fast; water trickled down the sides of his mouth. He wiped his face, and blood smeared across his cheeks.
“Do you think this is the last?” he asked. Miri wondered if he was beginning to regret this little excursion.
“No way to tell until we reach the jade,” Dean said. “You ready to move?”
Robert gave him a dirty look. It was the closest thing to a normal expression she had seen on his face thus far, and Miri found it comforting. But only a little.
Stumbling, Robert took the lead once more and they moved into the tunnel. Only, this time the walk was short. They entered yet another room, carved precisely into a square, with flat chiseled walls and a flat chiseled ceiling. Directly ahead of them, across the wall, there was a painting.
Their headlamps illuminated only bits and pieces, but Miri saw enough to make her sigh and lean close. Before her, a story: pale winsome figures dressed in flowing robes of white and red, a dance of bodies, among them bearded men in armor, on horseback, running with leopards and white tigers, dragons curling fierce with golden spheres in their claws—and inside white pavilions, yet more women, long black hair flowing like rivers, shadows, upon which butterflies fluttered.
“Lovely,” Robert said. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Miri said. “But it’s reminiscent of works I’ve seen in northern China. There’s an old wall just south of the Mongolian border. The Imperial Postal Service had a station there, and inside are temples with paintings like this. Telling stories.”
“The vibrations are strong,” Dean said.
“Mr. Campbell,” Robert said, quiet. “Is the jade inside or near this room?”
“I think it’s on the other side of that painting.”
“Ah,” Robert said, and pulled out his gun. Miri did not think guns that had been underwater were supposed to work, but she stifled a breathless scream as Dean hauled her backward, away from the painting. Robert pulled the trigger.
The bullet slammed into the wall, gouging a hole in the masterpiece. Miri felt like she was watching Michelangelo’s David being hacked to dust with a mallet; the Mona Lisa, taken to with scissors; the original text of The Dream of the Red Chamber burned to a crisp. She wanted to howl.
Robert stepped up to the wall and checked the hole. He poked his hand through. “There is a room on the other side.”
Miri wrenched herself away from Dean. “I can’t believe you just did that. You … you ape.”
Robert paused. “Now that is something I have never been called.” And then he went back to work pulling down the wall.
“Miri,” Dean said.
“Fine. Go. Help him.” It made her sick, but if the jade was on the other side, there was no good way to it but through the wall.
While the men worked, she moved to the far end of the painting, examining it. The colors were incredibly bright, the details exquisite, but as she studied the images she noticed something quite odd: in the lower corner there were words. Not Chinese. Not logographs. The same writing as on the jade.
She got down on her hands and knees. She had not studied the words enough to know for certain whether these on the painting were an exact match to any she had yet seen—except for one. She traced it with her fingers. Almost expected it to glow.
“I think I see some kind of wall on the other side,” Dean said, and Miri stood up, pacing down the length of the painting, searching for any other script, any symbols that were similar. She noticed only that some of the figures in the painting had unusual coloring, of the kind not usually found in traditional Chinese works of art. Green eyes. Golden eyes. Red eyes. White eyes. All those gazes, staring in one direction: the words in the lower corner. Miri ran back. She imagined, around those words, the faint outline of shoulders.
“Oh my God.” She sat back on her heels and looked up, saw another dragon entwined at the top corner of the painting, directly above the words. It had golden eyes. Human eyes. Also not typical. Miri scooted backward for a wide view. There were more dragons in the painting, many animals. Some of the humans had wings.
She felt herself shaking her head, and could not stop. This was not right. This did not fit.
Stone crumbled; Robert broke through. Dean gestured for Miri to come to him, but she did not move. She stared at the painting, her headlight moving from scene to scene.
“This explains everything,” Miri said to Dean. “Look, look here at their eyes. Isn’t this familiar?”
Dean, frowning, did as she asked. He made a low sound when he saw the dragon, the other creatures, and she pulled him to the corner with the writing. She pulled the jade from her purse and compared the writing on its smooth red surface to the painting. There were some differences, but it was most certainly the same language. Dean closed his eyes.
Robert shouted; they ran to the hole and peered in.
“There is nothing here,” he told them, turning around within the darkened interior. “The room is completely empty.”
“That’s impossible,” Dean said.
But they scoured the room and it was true. No clues, either. Just bare walls that were rough-hewn, carved without art or purpose. They curved downward, covering a good portion of the partition they had entered through. She stared at the section of the room that ran directly opposite to where the painting’s inscription should be. It was just solid stone; the wall jutted farther than the painting on the other side.
Miri grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him into the outer chamber. Pointing at the inscription, she said, “Knock it out.”
Dean did not hesitate. He began hammering on the wall with the butt of his gun. Three strikes and the stone crumbled, more easily than Miri had anticipated. Robert emerged—watched for a moment—and then bent down to help. The three of them scrabbled at the edges of the painting, and though Miri felt guilty for what she was destroying, a new excitement burned through her, a feeling of being close to something great.
This is what you live for, she told herself. This is in your blood.
&
nbsp; Bones and dust and history—the inviolable truth, sustained by facts and evidence. And if the truth was larger than she thought, if the truth included the fantastic, creatures out of legend, then so be it. The world—her world—was big enough to handle anything.
There was a hole behind that section of painting. A hole leading into a separate chamber running parallel to the other. Robert entered first. The room was larger than it appeared at first glance, spreading far to the right. Miri smelled water. The air was cool, and there was a draft, almost a breeze.
And in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by moving water, was a stone platform rising above the gentle current. On the stone lay a shriveled body, and in that body …
“Those remains should be dust,” Miri said. She glanced at Dean, found his face full of sorrow. Memory, perhaps.
They stopped at the water’s edge. Robert said, “Should I fetch it?”
Miri shook her head and stepped over the water to the platform. Her headlight illuminated a shriveled face that nonetheless had a masculine quality to it. He was better preserved than the Yushan mummy. His condition was miraculous. Four thousand years. Buried with a secret below his heart.
She straddled the body and crouched, examining the chest cavity. It did not take long to realize there was something very wrong.
“The jade isn’t here,” she said.
“What?” Dean leaped onto the platform beside her. “I feel it, Miri. It has to be here.”
“It’s not,” she protested, but the two of them kept poking and prodding until the body fell in on itself. And for a moment, the world disappeared, and Miri heard a voice say, When the time is right, you must, he will kill you otherwise. And then the disturbing whisper faded and images took its place, along with a great pressure above her heart as she saw—she saw—
White peaks capping mountains of purple rock, frothing clouds spilling low over ancient trees set high against deep valley walls, a turquoise lake—waters still and quiet over a dragon’s back. And past that, farther, weeping—a woman weeping, endless tears—and deeper still, darkness, the scent of death, the hiss of water striking hot stone, and eyes that glowed golden, shedding light on bones …
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