The Secret City

by Brian K. Lowe

  Finally, the lizard-man tilted his head in a quaintly human fashion and said: “What are you?”

  There being a number of responses to his question, I chose the most pragmatic.

  “The man who just saved your life.”

  He made a noise like a steam value venting. Then he crouched down, wiped his sword blades clean on the body of our last opponent, and sheathed them through his clothes, which I learned later had hidden sleeves for that use.

  “I can’t argue with that. My name is Gaz Bronn.” He held up a palm in an unmistakable greeting.

  “Keryl Clee,” I responded, collapsing my staff and setting it at my side. “I believe you were looking for me.”

  “Unless there more humans have been brought down by the air force than I’d heard about, I was. But how did you know?”

  I indicated the bodies. “They were hiding from you. They didn’t know I was hiding from them.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Gaz Bronn said. “I’ve never met a klurath who could hide his thoughts so completely as you, let alone a human.” When he said “klurath,” he projected a mental image of his own form, meaning that was what his people called themselves.

  “I am better at it than most,” I admitted.

  “I would hate to meet anyone better than you,” he said, but he did not elaborate further. “Can I assume that we are in agreement that we should hide these bodies?”

  I allowed that it was probably the best course, and in short order the assassins had been consigned to the very anonymous crypt for which they had intended my new ally, the klurath Gaz Bronn.

  Chapter 22

  The Secret City

  “Let me ask you a question,” requested Gaz Bronn in response the query I had just posed. “How much do you know about my people?”

  “Well, if you are asking about where you come from, nothing. I have never been in this region before. In fact, as near as I can tell, nobody has. I certainly had no idea anyone lived here, lizard-men, Thoran, or anyone else.

  “And if you are asking about your kind, I don’t really know much more. I have only seen a few of you in my life.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Gaz Bronn swiveled his head from side to side while we walked, his tongue occasionally slipping from his mouth to taste the air. “We don’t come out much, except to hunt. We live underground—and we have been for almost three thousand years.”

  I blinked. “Your civilization is three thousand years old?” But even as I said it, I realized how naïve I was. I was still thinking in terms of the Dawn of Man, when three thousand years was the gulf between modern civilization and the pharaohs—but by now Man had trod the Earth for nearly a million years; that some societies should last millennia was only to be expected. After all, the Librarian had told me the main Library’s records stretched back nearly 600,000 years, although that span had seen the rise and fall of many nations.

  “We were driven underground after the Great War,” Gaz went on, politely ignoring my question. “We fought the humans, and we lost. We fled into the desert, and they gave us up for dead. But they forgot we were not human, and we survived. Eventually we built our own cities, but now some of us think it is time for us to come out again.” He stopped to look at me. “If we did, what do you think the humans would do?”

  Of the two billion human souls that currently inhabited the earth, I probably ranked dead last in being able to answer that question. And I certainly could not explain why. But as so often happened, my mouth had an opinion on which my brain was never consulted.

  “War.”

  “You think so?”

  By now I had had a few seconds to consider the foundation of my stated opinion, but I assessed it to need no alteration. When confronted by the new and potentially threatening, humans far too often reacted with violence, and being presented with an old enemy re-emerging from hiding after thousands of years would surely qualify as “potentially threatening.”

  “Yes,” I responded at last. “Now let me ask you a question. How familiar are you with contemporary human politics?”

  “Not at all. I rarely speak to humans. This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with one.”

  That, at least, did not surprise me; in fact, I thought it would be obvious. “The humans are governed by a class of people who call themselves the Nuum. Since you went underground, human beings have established colonies in space. About three hundred years ago, one of those colonies sent an invasion force back to Earth, and they conquered it.”

  “Really?” Gaz’s attention seemed to sharpen. “And now? Are they still in charge? What sort of weapons do they command?”

  Suddenly I was back in France in 1915, when I first encountered the silver door behind enemy lines and was catapulted to this time period. Initially I had believed I must have been the subject of German experimentation, and was resolved not to lose control and betray any of the paltry secrets I might know. Gaz Bronn’s question tripped those same alarms. We had fought together, but were we truly allies? How did I know he was not leading me into the same trap as Maire and the others?

  “They still rule,” I said carefully. “With an iron hand, and backed by weaponry the populace cannot match.” This much was true, if rather overstated, since until I came along the populace would have been hard-pressed to match a man with a musket.

  “Excellent!” His enthusiasm surprised me. “And tell me, the ship you came in—was it a military craft? A warship?”

  Since his people had already been on The Dark Lady, I saw no harm in giving him an honest answer.

  “No, it’s a civilian ship. A pleasure craft, actually. But they have many warships.” I felt compelled to add that last, even though I had no idea if it were true.

  “Good, good,” Gaz Bronn said, almost to himself. “Now, if I could only persuade the War Department that the surface world has weapons, they might abandon this whole idea.”

  My brain was overflowing with sudden questions. “War Department” I understood all too well, but Gaz Bronn’s reaction to my information puzzled me. Unless—he really was who he said, which would explain the assassination attempt…

  “I think perhaps I understand more about your people than I realized,” I ventured. “The klurath are getting ready to invade the surface, but you believe it to be a bad idea. And your opinion matters, so those men were sent to silence you.” And taking the next logical step, “But if they killed you outright, your supporters would protest. They had to make you disappear without taking the blame.”

  “For a stranger, Keryl Clee, you do know a lot about us.”

  “Believe me, Gaz Bronn, your people and mine are not so different as you think.”

  Instead of responding, he turned abruptly and entered a small dome, no different from thousands of others. I followed and found I had to switch my light on immediately, for Gaz Bronn proceeded without any illumination as though the dome were lit brightly as noon. He looked over his shoulder momentarily, but kept walking.

  “When we reach the tunnel, you’ll have to turn that off. Its heat signature will give you away.”

  I considered this for a moment. “Then you will have to lead me.”

  “Hmm. Maybe we can find a way to cover it up. Otherwise a sentry is going to see it, and if he’s not loyal to me, there could be trouble.”

  The more Gaz Bronn said, the less I understood him. Just who was he among the lizard-men? And what sort of trouble might there be if we were found together? For that matter, I was still not sure why the crew of the Lady had been taken away in the first place. But then, the fact that they had been kidnapped was reason enough for me to beware of discovery. Gaz Bronn seemed friendly, and I had saved his life, but how was I to know what constituted friendship and loyalty among a species who appeared to have more in common with the great thunder lizards than with human beings?

  But I was able to address his concerns about my light; I told him how I could focus it to a narrow beam which would still allow me to see my way,
and he allowed as that should work until we were closer. Closer to what, he neglected to say.

  We marched to a point on the back wall no different from any other to my senses. Gaz Bronn put a claw on the wall and waited a moment. I could feel telepathic waves in the air, like a whisper that you can hear but not understand, and then the wall opened without a sound. He stepped forward and gestured for me to follow.

  “Step down your lamp,” he advised, but as I reached to do so a shadow moved on the edge of my light.

  “Look out!” I shouted, and shouldered him out of the way. An armed lizard-man charged directly at me, heedless of the fact that he was fully framed in my light. As I twisted aside to avoid his sword, he hit me hard and I spun, but the klurath was lighter than I and got the worst of the collision; before he could collect himself, Gaz Bronn had drawn his own sword and used it.

  “Clever,” he said, rummaging through the corpse’s effects. “They left a man waiting here in case the others failed. If I had been alone, he would have finished me. The walls of the dome outside hid his thoughts until I entered, and he would have taken me by surprise.”

  “Do you think there are any others?”

  “One would be enough for what they had planned. Any more would get in the way.”

  Taking the chance to survey my surroundings, I saw that we were indeed in a narrow tunnel with smooth walls. There was no place to hide; the klurath had to charge the moment we entered, or be discovered. On the other hand, once you walked through the doorway, there was no way to avoid an attack. The tunnel quickly took a downward path, and I thought that it opened up, but I was afraid to use the light to explore any further, and I quickly turned down the beam.

  I felt more than I saw Gaz Bronn join me. “The path descends quickly here and joins a natural cavern. Keep your light as dim as possible, but arm yourself. Cave spiders and blood bats are rare these days, but if there are any left, this is where you’ll find them.”

  And with that reassurance, he walked away, leaving me in almost total darkness.

  How far below ground we were when Gaz Bronn finally stopped I could not say, but I made a mental note to ask the Librarian later if we managed to find a spot where it was safe to do so. Oddly enough, it was getting warmer as we descended. Gaz Bronn placed a claw on my arm.

  “Turn off the light. We’re getting close.”

  I started to remind him that I could not see in the dark; I had already reached the conclusion that the klurath relied on other senses than sight. But I trusted him—I had to trust him, being far deep in his people’s lair. Even had I changed my mind, his warnings about cave spiders echoed. I had no wish to know how accurate they were. So I turned off my light—and I could still see.

  Illumination was reflecting from the ceiling of the cavern, which was now far above us. It was not bright, but I could see where I was going already, and it would only improve as we approached.

  Around a last collection of gigantic stalagmites Gaz Bronn lead me, and then I saw the city of the klurath. I didn’t know what I had expected, but this was not it. I was used to the towering achievements of the Nuum: Dure, called the Invisible City, and the beautiful Crystallen. The city of the klurath was vast, but squat. I could see the dim lights of thousands of buildings stretched across a great subterranean plain, but few reached more than three stories in height, although the vast ceiling would have accommodated much more.

  “Welcome to Jhal, Keryl Clee. My home.” Then he drew his sword. “Now give me your weapons.”

  Chapter 23

  Slaves of the Lizard-Men

  This time there was no chance of my striking an unintended target, and my pistol was in my hand almost as I thought it.

  “Give me that!” Gaz Bronn hissed. “There could be a sentry party through here any moment, and if they find a human with metal on him they will have us both in irons.” I confess I must have gaped like a hooked fish. “Hurry! You have to get rid of anything metal. They’ll smell it on you.”

  There was still a chance that Gaz Bronn was trying to play me for a fool, but it was hard to believe. I quickly handed over to him my pistol, baton—and my hand froze as it brushed the Library, deep inside a sealed pocket.

  “Is that everything?”

  “There is one more item,” I confessed hesitantly, “but I cannot give it up.”

  He stared at me. “Do you want them to capture you—or worse?”

  I am usually a man of quick decisions—for good or ill—but now I waffled. The Library was irreplaceable to me, and the Librarian, the face it had presented to me for the past twenty years, was my friend. I knew that the Library was monitoring this conversation—that was its function, gathering information for the great Library of which it was a tiny part—and I knew that the only reason the Librarian did not counsel me to give it up was his standing instructions to reveal himself only to those whom I had approved. On the other hand, two decades of studying his unyielding logic had taught me to think dispassionately. Under the circumstances, how could I not surrender it?

  “Wait. You asked if I had given you everything. Does that mean you can’t smell the metal on me?”

  Gaz Bronn’s tongue flickered several times, tasting the air. Finally, he said: “No. It must be very small.”

  “Then I will keep it. If no one can smell it, no one will know I have it.” And he must have recognized that I was not open to further debate, for he suddenly divested himself of his clothes. He now wore nothing but a set of leather straps and hooks, one of which he used to sheathe his sword, another his knife. For a moment I was startled, but it occurred to me that he was a lizard, and lizards are cold-blooded. And the cavern was quite warm; no wonder the klurath had settled here.

  “Ah, that’s better,” he said, using his robes to wrap up my belongings. “Let’s be off.”

  Truth to tell, without my weapons I felt more naked than he, but I soon understood his actions. Our path abruptly debouched upon a wide plain on which lay Jhal, his city. As soon as we left the rocks behind, the temperature began to rise as though we were walking through a desert instead of a cave. That Gaz Bronn was more comfortable was obvious even to me through his body language, where I began to sweat at once. Had the fabric of my suit not been constructed of some wondrous contemporary material which insulated my body equally from heat or cold, I should have stripped as well. As it was, a healthy sheen of perspiration quickly coated my unprotected face.

  Gaz Bronn strode unconcernedly through a subterranean hothouse while I perspired as though my skin had sprung leaks. Already I could feel the lassitude of the temperature leaching away my energy.

  As if my mission to rescue Maire and the others was not already difficult enough…

  And then, as the first weak lights of Jhal glowed half-heartedly in the distance, I felt a whisper of air move past me. The merest caress of a breeze, but it felt like the zephyrs of Heaven.

  “I know it’s tough for humans out here,” my guide said in a low voice, “but you should feel some relief soon. When we first arrived here, it was too cold and too wet. We adjusted the temperature and lowered the humidity so it wouldn’t be raining all the time, but when we started to grow, we needed to build air recirculators. It turns out that without them, it’s too hot for humans to do any work, so it pays off in many ways.”

  “Wait—there are humans down here? How many?”

  Gaz was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I took it for granted that you knew. I’ve never actually had to explain anything to a human before.” He paused again, and I sensed that his hesitance stemmed from reluctance and not uncertainty.

  Truthfully, I found his emotions easier to read than most humans’. I filed that fact carefully away; I had few weapons.

  “Humans are used as slaves in Jhal.”

  That perhaps shocked me more than it should. After my experience with the Nuum, and given Gaz’s insistence that I surrender my arms, it came as no real surprise. I should have figured it out for myself, and I said as muc
h.

  “You’re lucky, though. Our eyesight is very poor; we use mainly our ears, and our noses, and our tongues to sense heat patterns. With your mental shields, everyone is going to underestimate you. As long as you’re my personal attendant, no one is going to pay much attention.”

  “You realize I have come to try to find my friends. Am I going to be able to do that if everyone expects me to follow you around all the time?”

  He started walking again, and I fell in behind him, already unconsciously assuming my role as though I were playing a butler in a stage production.

  “You may find that following me around is more useful than you’d think. As you’ve already figured out, I’m rather an important person: I’m actually the kinlama of Jhal.” Without telepathy, I would have been at a loss to understand him, but the title came across roughly as “deputy mayor,” albeit more elevated, given that Jhal was as much a nation as a city. In effect, he was the Vice President!

  In disrupting the plot to assassinate him, I had played a greater role in Jhal’s politics than I had dreamed. I had also, should they ever learn who I was, earned the enmity of some very powerful klurath.

  The streets of Jhal were narrow and poorly lit, which the klurath found no impediment, but between the lack of space and the lack of light, there were few humans on the streets, or at least the main avenues where Gaz Bronn walked. He made no effort to hide his presence from potential assassins; in fact, he went out of his way to greet his fellows and make himself known. I had to admire his strategy: not only was it his best protection from further harm, but it proclaimed his enemies’ failure. They would be the only ones to understand this, but then again, they were the only ones who mattered.

  Apparently, there were no vehicles in Jhal, either—probably due to the narrowness of the streets, and it was a long walk to Gaz Bronn’s house. Fortunately, it was also quite flat. Under other circumstances, the time would have passed quickly enough while I absorbed the local sights and sounds, but even with the cavern’s natural illumination, Jhal was so poorly lit I thought it must be a burglars’ paradise. Between that and its undisputed standing as the squattest, ugliest city it had ever been my experience to see, the walk in Gaz Bronn’s shadow seemed last hours, if not days.