robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  When he emerged into the central room, Wilson was already there, apparently dozing. He perked up as John reached the table.

  "Ready?" Wilson asked.

  "Almost," Spillway Sue answered from her room. John caught a glimpse of her bouncing across the room to snatch something from the bathroom, and had to catch his breath as well. She'd found herself an impressive selection of clothes; she looked ready to hit the clubs and set some trends. Her look didn't match well with his concept of her at all.

  She headed for the door, still toweling her dark curls. As the panel started to slide shut in her face, she yelped and darted forward. She wasn't fast enough to make it through, but got a hand on the door's edge. The panel insisted on closing whether or not she had any extremities in the way. She managed to save her fingers. Sue's howl of protest was cut off as the pane! sealed.

  "Hey," John objected. "What's the idea?"

  "She was not invited," said Wilson.

  Divide and conquer was an old tactic. "I don't think I like flic idea of leaving her here alone."

  "She will not be harmed so long as she behaves herself."

  "Like she can cause trouble locked in her bedroom?"

  "It should minimize her opportunities."

  Wilson pointed at the door, indicating that John should precede him out. The corridor was still dark, but not quite so bad as before. Had the dimness been a function of the drug? This lime John noted that the walls were the same as in the waiting room, and so were the floors. Unfortunately, several of the archways they passed through were not as tall as the waiting room door; John bumped his head on the first, but the experience did teach him to duck for the rest. An experiment in using his greater stride to outdistance Wilson brought John to a halt in front of a sealed archway. Wilson, unhurried, rejoined him, and the panel opened. They continued on.

  "Mind if I ask you something?"

  "I'll answer if I can," Wilson replied.

  "You're not holding Sue as hostage for my good behavior, are you?"

  "Would it do any good?"

  "No," John answered, trying to sound firm. He really wasn't so confident. His glimpse of Sue after she was cleaned up had made him rethink things. She didn't look at all like the streeter who had confronted him at his slump. What did he know about her anyway? One thing he knew for sure was that he was the reason Sue was here. He felt sort of responsible. He hoped Wilson wouldn't figure that out because he really didn't want to have to worry about being coerced by threats against someone who, when last left to her own devices, was threatening his life.

  They came to a small chamber that looked remarkably like an elevator car. Wilson stepped in and turned around to face the doorway. John did the same and saw there were no controls.

  "Wilson. Escorting Reddy."

  The door closed and the car began to descend. The ride was smooth. Without a floor number telltale, John had no idea how far down they went. The car stopped with the slightest of jars and the door opened onto another dark corridor. Wilson led him out.

  They came upon a short woman in a lab coat. She glanced back over her shoulder and immediately increased her speed. She stopped by a closed archway, laid her hand on the wall beside it, and disappeared through the doorway when the panel opened. It was closed again by the time John and Wilson reached it. John looked for the controls the woman had used, but didn't sec any sign of them. Since Wilson kept walking, he didn't think it prudent to stop and make an examination.

  They took a lot of turns, and walked through a lot more open arches and past many more closed ones. How many people had disappeared behind those doors just before John and Wilson rounded the corner? What sort of place was this? The anonymous walls and doors offered no clues, leaving John with plenty of room for wild speculation.

  At last they came to a set of doors unlike the others he'd seen in their ramblings. They were great valves of dark wood, bound and garnished with golden metal wrought into exquisite relief. Rows of strange faces glared down at him like disapproving gargoyles. Wilson walked up to the doors, stamped his foot twice, and said something that John didn't quite catch. It must have been a code word because when he'd said it, the doors began to swing inward, revealing a larger space than John had yet encountered in the complex. John couldn't tell how huge it was, since it was wreathed in shadows and Stygian darkness, but he sensed that it was vast.

  Shoving John to get him moving, Wilson walked with him beneath the arch into the chamber.

  Looming like the giant trees of a redwood forest, massive three-yard-thick columns of polished stone marched in parallel rows down either side of the chamber. The pillars reached up and out of sight into the deep gloom. Metallic flecks and veins made the material look exotic; the columns sparkled like cylinders of a night sky. The light reflecting from those mineral stars came from two beams spearing out of the overhead darkness to make ten-foot circles of brightness on the floor. One of the shafts fell on an empty expanse of the mosaic tiled floor, while the other, more distant one illuminated a raised area crammed with machines and consoles. In the midst of the hi-tech equipment sat a great chair of black stone, which faced the doors. A pair of carved dragons made the chair's arched back and writhed sinuously down its sides to meet nose to nose and form a footrest. Ivory teeth jutted up gleaming from the sculpted jaws, and red gemstones glittered beneath the hewn brow ridges. John found it difficult to tear his eyes from those of the dragons.

  The shadows of the magnificent chamber were occupied. John estimated nearly two dozen people were moving about, coming and going in the darkness. Most wore gray or tan coveralls. A few wore long aprons or robes; it was hard to tell in the dim light. It seemed that every face he saw was bearded, many luxuriously so. But the most striking thing about the people gathered there was that the tallest came no higher than John's chest. Had they been at a hotel or conference center, John might have thought he'd wandered into a convention of little people. But that couldn't be the case here.

  And Wilson—John looked at his escort—Wilson fitted right in. He was a little taller, and where John had thought him squat, he now looked slender compared to the denizens of this place. Who were these people?

  John remembered the last time he had seen so many short, stocky people in one place: the Mitsutomo raid on the palace of the Lady of the Lakes. He hadn't thought it odd at the time; he supposed now that he should have, but so much had been odd in the otherworld. Were these people part of some kind of special Mitsutomo operation? Had Mitsutomo bred a genetic subspecies? If so, why? And what business did they have with him?

  "Who are you people?"

  Several of them whispered to their fellows, and someone John couldn't see laughed. Only Wilson responded directly to

  him.

  "You're supposed to be bright, Reddy. Haven't you figured it out?"

  "Are you Mitsutomo chimeras?"

  More whispers. The laughter guffawed. Wilson chuckled. "Mitsutomo only wishes it had that kind of biotech capability."

  Not Mitsutomo? John caught sight of one bushy-bearded male, almost as wide as he was tall. No, those people were neither ordinary little people nor genetic constructs. There was another answer. "Some of you look like dwarves. I mean, real dwarves, like in stories. Are we in the otherworld?"

  Wilson looked up at him. "Can't you tell?"

  "You are dwarves, aren't you? You're not human at all."

  "No more than you, changeling," Wilson responded.

  John's amazement shifted gears. "You know?"

  "We're a pretty inquisitive people. We learn a lot of things we're not supposed to know." There was a stirring among the dwarves. Wilson noted it as well, lifting his head and staring avidly. He recovered himself and gave John an order. "Step forward into the light."

  John balked. They had stopped short of the first empty circle of light. Now Wilson wanted him to step into it, apparently alone. There was something going on here. "Where's Bear?"

  "You will see him shortly. First you have an audience."<
br />
  "An audience? You mean like with a king?"

  "Very like. Now, be quiet and step into the light."

  He gave John a shove, forcing him forward. Stumbling into the illuminated area, John found that the light from above made it hard for him to see anything other than the small space around him and the other illuminated area with the dais. He might have been stranded on an island of light in a sea of darkness, staring out at another, unreachable, island. He felt the eyes of the assembled dwarves on him. Uncomfortable with the attention, he moved to the center of the circle; he'd have more time to react if anything came at him out of the dark.

  Silence descended. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something.

  Somewhere a drum sounded a deep and throbbing note, (hen another. In the darkness he heard the dwarves shuffling restlessly. Or maybe they jostled for better angles to view what was coming. Wilson emerged from the deep darkness to stand just inside the edge of John's circle. The dwarf was staring at the circle with the dragon chair, so John looked in that direction.

  The drum rumbled a pair of notes as a rotund dwarf, with a snowy beard that fell nearly to the floor, stepped into the light and mounted the platform. Wilson bowed to the newcomer as though he was a king. Maybe he was. Although he didn't wear a crown, the dwarf did seem to be wearing some sort of formal robe and there was something regal in his slow, steady gait.

  The king—if king he was—seated himself on the throne— if throne it was. He carefully set one foot on each of the dragon heads and fussed with the drapery of his robe until it veiled the glittering eyes. Seemingly satisfied, he placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and clasped his hands together, leaning forward until his hands masked his mouth. His great beak of a nose jutted out over his folded fingers. Under their shadowing brows, his eyes glittered as brightly as the dragons' gemstone orbs, black instead of red.

  Under that glare John got a good idea of what a mouse must feel like when cornered by a cat. He started to take a step back.

  "Stand where you are," Wilson whispered.

  He stood. For five minutes he stood. No one said anything. No one moved. Was he supposed to do something? Wilson hadn't told him, and John had no idea what was appropriate. They'd brought him here. Shouldn't they start things?

  The silence stretched on.

  They'd said Bear wanted to see him, but John hadn't seen the first sign of Bear's presence. Was it all a scam?

  "I want to see Bear," he said impulsively.

  "You will make no demands here, changeling," the seated dwarf said in a thunderous, gravelly voice. "Were you to as/c, such a request might be granted. Your kind is ever giving orders, demanding where they should make a polite request. I was wise to bring you here for judgment before you were taken to the sleeper."

  Judgment? John didn't like the sound of that. In fact, he thought it downright presumptuous. "Judge me? Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "You may call me Kranekin."

  "I may call you a kidnapper. I mean, you have your flunky haul me off at gunpoint, drug me, and whisk me off God knows where, but wherever this is, I'll bet we went across state lines to get here, which makes it a federal crime. I'll just bet the feds would be interested in this place you've got here. And I'll be happy to—"

  "Enough!" Kranekin thundered, pounding both fists on the arms of his chair. "Your protest is pointless. The humans have no succor for you. To their databases, you are dead. You are beyond the protection of that system of laws. Here you are under my law."

  "Is that a threat?"

  "As may be." Kranekin leaned back against the dragons. "You have your father's arrogance. Do you follow in his footsteps?"

  "What do you know about my father?"

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "And you didn't answer mine."

  "As I said, arrogant." Kranekin's tone shifted. "You wish to trade knowledge?"

  The sudden change made John suspicious. "Maybe."

  "We know many secrets."

  "I'll just bet."

  "More than you do, it seems."

  "Maybe you'd like to share some of your secret knowledge with me."

  "With nothing offered?" Kranekin shook his head. "Unlikely."

  "I'm getting tired of this mystery trip routine."

  "An odd attitude for one of your blood. Either you play your part better than I think you are capable, or you are truly lacking in your elven upbringing. What guarantee can you give me that you are not your father's tool?" "Are you asking me if I work for Bennett?"

  "Is Bennett the name he gave you?"

  "You're the one supposed to know all the secrets."

  "I would have your word. Are you his tool?"

  "As far as I'm concerned, Bennett can dry up and blow away."

  "He speaks from the heart," said a deep voice from the darkness.

  "My own conclusion," Kranekin said. His mustache twitched as if somewhere beneath it lips were smiling. "I find your lack of filial devotion comforting."

  Swell.

  Kranekin continued. "Certain ones have suggested that you may be of help with the sleeper."

  "If you're thinking of using me to coerce Bear, forget it. He won't bend that way."

  "You obviously do not know his history very well."

  "He knows the reborn man." It was that voice again.

  John wished he could see past the blinding light; he wanted to see who was on his side. He'd have to be content with an invisible supporter. He'd grown up with an invisible friend; he should have been used to it.

  "Perhaps he does know the man," Kranekin conceded. "Let us see if the reborn man knows him."

  CHAPTER

  9

  Quetzal had experience dealing with strange, seemingly random environments and struggling with them until he could put them into order. Nakaguchi's computer environment was no more daunting than some of the astral dimensions with which he was familiar. As he had mastered moving in those dimensions, so he mastered finding his way through this dimension of data.

  The thinkers of this current era knew astonishing things, the craftsmen were capable of awesome feats; but for all of their accumulated knowledge, for all of their wondrous artifacts, there was much that he knew that they did not. There was much more to reality than their philosophies admitted.

  They denied many things which he knew as unalterable facts; yet much of what they professed, he didn't understand at all. He would not make their mistake; he would learn from them. A greater knowledge of the physical world could only improve his mastery of the spiritual.

  And he would have mastery.

  But he was not so foolish as to rush blindly forward when so much had changed. He would spy out the world around him and come to know it before venturing forth.

  It was a more formidable task than he'd anticipated when he had laid his plans for his slumber. So much had changed! There were so many things to learn! Fortunately the computer enabled him to do so quickly. The speed with which information could be acquired and understood was dazzling; even more wondrous was the amount of information to be had. There was so much, so much.

  He had so many questions. Many more than he felt comfortable in indulging at the moment. If all went well, there would be time for those intriguing questions. If his plans did not come to fruition, all questions would be irrelevant. Some of his questions demanded immediate answers, and to those he must turn his attention.

  What had happened to the others? Was it truly the time? Perhaps most important of all, who stood ready to oppose him?

  If Nakaguchi were a true follower, many of the answers lay within the archives he had prepared. But no matter how well prepared those files were, there would be some answers that Quetzal would have to seek elsewhere. For now, he would take what was to hand, wandering the landscape of the computer's world. He would find the mines of datafiles and delve into their records for the hidden diamonds of clues.

  But his search was intruded on by sensations from the physical
world: Joel Lee prodding his body, seeking his attention. Being under his thrall, Joel Lee had little in the way of independent thought; his action would be in response to Quetzal's orders. Reluctantly, Quetzal abandoned the hunt for answers. The return to the world outside the computer was accomplished swiftly and without the disorientation he had experienced at the end of his earliest excursions.

  Through the glass partition to the next room, Quetzal saw the reason for his recall: Nakaguchi's security chief had come. Joel Lee had acted correctly. Still, Kurita's interruption was unwelcome.

  "Let him in," Quetzal ordered.

  Kurita was an Asian like his master Nakaguchi, though of a more precise and punctilious manner. The man walked briskly up to Quetzal and bowed.

  "Ojama shimasu, Kendall-sama."

  Quetzal stared at him while Joel Lee translated. "Kendall" would excuse the interruption only if it had more significance than the false name the security chief insisted he use.

  "Speak English," Quetzal ordered. He had yet to absorb the Japanese language program. So much to do.

  "As you wish, Kendall-sama. Nakaguchi-sama wishes to know if you find your new quarters satisfactory."

  Quetzal didn't need to look around the suite to know that this location was better than the cold, barren place they called the medlab. He could feel it in the fiber of his being. Despite the machine-controlled environment, it was more alive. His time in cold barrenness was over.

  "Nakaguchi chooses a strange messenger to inquire after my comforts."

  "The kansayaku orders, I obey."

  "Admirable," Quetzal observed honestly. "There are other matters, of course."

  Kurita nodded. "I have the personal honor of reporting that security has been established on the Peruvian simulation chamber. The artifacts from Peru have been installed and all is as you requested. The chamber is ready for your inspection."