Glen Cook - Water Sleeps

Goblin grunted. “Pudgeman, you want to back down here so I can get past you? This tunnel gets pretty tight, don’t it? Watch out you don’t let your chubby butt plug it up. For how come do you want to go slithering around back here, anyway, Sleepy?”

“Because if I keep going this way far enough I’ll get to the place where the Deceivers concealed the original Books of the Dead.”

Goblin gave me a funny look but took my word for it. I talked to ghosts in mist machines. Birds talked to me. A talking bird was following me right now, at a distance. At the moment it did not have much to say because its throat was sore but it did manage to rip out a curse or two whenever it had to dodge somebody’s flailing feet. “That’s interesting.”

“I thought so.”

“Ah. Yeah. It’s not sorcery, though. It’s your basic mechanical booby trap. Spring-loaded. Stabs you with a poisoned pin. There’re probably twenty more between here and where you want to go. What do you think Mather was trying to do?”

“If he woke up and found himself down here and didn’t know where he was or what had happened to him, he might have panicked and taken off and just went in the wrong direction. I bet it’s his fault all those guys back there are dead. He probably tried to wake them up.”

Goblin grunted again. “There. That’s disarmed. I’d better go ahead and see what else is waiting. But first we need to get Mather pulled back so you all can get past him.”

“If you can weasel past him so can I.”

“Yeah, you can. But what about your boyfriend and your sugar daddy? They’ve got a little more pork on them.” He grunted and cursed softly as he fought Mather’s remains back over the hump in the floor. I noticed, for the first time, that the echoes were different in this more confined space, jammed with bodies. They were almost nonexistent.

I do not believe it was miles to where the Deceivers of antiquity concealed their treasures and relics but my body believed that before we got there. Goblin disarmed another dozen traps and found several more that had fallen victim to time. The underground wind whimpered and whined as it rushed past us in the tight places. It sucked the warmth right out of me. But it did not dissuade me. I went where I wanted to go. And was hungry enough to eat a camel when I got there.

It had been a long, long time since breakfast. I had a dread feeling it could be longer still before supper.

“It feels like a temple, doesn’t it?” Suvrin asked. He was less troubled than the rest of us. Though raised nearer this place than anyone else, he was less intimate with the legends of the Dark Mother. He stopped staring at the three lecterns and the huge books they bore long enough to turn to me and whisper, “Here.” He offered me a bit of crumbling flax cake from the pouch he wore at the small of his back.

“You must have read my mind.”

“You talk to yourself a lot. I don’t think you realize you’re doing it.” I did not. It was a bad habit that needed breaking right now. “I heard you when we were crawling through the tunnel.”

That had been a private discourse with my God. An internal dialog, I had thought. The subject of food had come up. And here was food. So maybe the All-Merciful was on the job after all.

“Thanks. Goblin. You feel any tricks or traps in here?” There were echoes again, though with a different timbre. We were inside a large chamber. The floor and walls were all ice that had been cut and polished by the flow of frigid water. I presumed the invisible ceiling was the same. The place did have a feel of the holy to it even though that was the holiness of darkness.

“No traps that I can sense. I’d think they’d leave that sort of stuff outside, don’t you?” He sounded like he wanted to convince himself.

“You’re asking me to define the psychology of those who worship devils and rakshasas? Vehdna priests would guarantee you that there’s nothing so foul or evil as to be beyond the capacity of those most accursed of unbelievers.” I thought they would guarantee it. If they had heard of the Stranglers. I had not heard of them before I became attached to the Company.

Suvrin said, “Sir, I don’t think you should-”

Master Santaraksita had recognized the ancient books as something remarkable and just could not resist going up for an up-close look. I agreed with Suvrin. “Master! Don’t go charging-”

The noise sounded something like someone ripping tent canvas for half a second, then popped like the crack of a whip. Master Santaraksita left the floor of the unholy chapel, folded around his middle, and flew at the rest of us in an arc that admitted only slight acquaintance with gravity. Suvrin tried to catch him. Goblin tried to duck. Santaraksita bounced Suvrin sideways and ricocheted into me. The lot of us ended up in a breathless tangle of arms and legs.

The white crow had something uncomplimentary to say about that.

“You and me and a stew pot, critter,” I gasped when I got my breath back. I snagged Goblin’s leg. “No more traps, eh? They’d leave that sort of thing out in the caverns, eh? What the devil was that , then?”

“That was a magical booby trap, woman. And a damned fine example of its kind, too. It remained undetectable until Santaraksita tripped it.”

“Sir? Are you injured?” I asked.

“Only my pride, Dorabee,” he puffed. “Only my pride. It’ll take me a week to get my wind back, though.” He rolled off Suvrin, got onto his hands and knees. He had a definite green look to him.

“You’ve enjoyed a cheap lesson, then,” I told him. “Don’t rush into something when you don’t know what you’re rushing into.”

“You’d think I’d know that after this last year, wouldn’t you?”

“You might think, yes.”

“Don’t anybody ask how Junior is doing,” Suvrin grumbled. “He couldn’t possibly get hurt.”

“We knew you’d be fine,” Goblin told him. “As long as he landed on your head.” The little wizard limped forward. As he neared the point where Santaraksita had gone airborne, he became very cautious. He extended a single finger forward one slow inch at a time.

A smaller piece of cloth ripped. Goblin spun around, his arm flung backward. He staggered a couple of steps before he fell to his knees not far from me.

“After all this time he finally recognizes the natural order of things.”

Goblin shook his hand the way you do when you burn your fingers. “Damn, that smarts. That’s a good spell. It’s got real pop. Don’t do that!”

Suvrin had decided to throw a chunk of ice.

On its way back, the missile parted Suvrin’s hair. It then hit the cavern wall and showered the white crow with fragments of ice. The bird had a word to say about that. It followed up with a few more. I began to wonder if Lady had lost track of the fact that she was not, herself, the white crow, and in fact, was just a passenger making use of the albino’s eyes.

Goblin stuck his injured finger in his mouth, squatted down and considered the chamber for a while. I squatted, too, after taking time out to keep Suvrin and Master Santaraksita from making even greater nuisances of themselves.

Swan slithered into the chamber, disturbing the,crow. The bird said nothing, though. It just sidled away and looked put out about all existence. Swan settled beside me. “Wow. Kind of impressive even though it’s simple.”

“Those are the original Books of the Dead. Supposedly almost as old as Kina herself.”

“So why is everybody just sitting here?”

“Goblin’s trying to figure how to get to them.” I told him what had happened.

“Damn. I always miss the best stuff. Hey, Junior! Run up there and show us your flying trick again.”