Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Bill whispered.

‘Trying to stop those bastards,’ he said and, squatting down on the ground, picked up two rocks lying by the edge of the crack. They were each the size of a man’s head. Holding one under each arm, he ran to the edge of the cliff to where he had seen the soldiers climbing. Dropping one by his feet, he sent the other hurtling down the rock-face. It clattered down, splintering with each turn, before the pieces spun off, away from the cliff.

Luca had just picked up the next one when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arm appear over the edge of the cliff, just a few feet to his right. He swivelled round as a massive Chinese soldier pulled himself over the lip and rolled on to the ground beside him. The soldier was panting hard, his face bathed in sweat.

Luca stared down, a terrible rage rising within him. He felt his cheeks flush with heat and adrenaline pump into his chest. He was not going to let them take the boy.

With an animal sound, he raised the rock above his head with both hands, ready to crash it down on the soldier’s face. Dazed by the glare of the head-torch, the soldier made no attempt to move, staring up in mute horror as Luca towered above him.

‘Luca!’

Bill screamed his name with all his strength.

Luca stopped, fists white from the tightness of his grip. He hesitated, then slowly turned towards Bill.

‘Don’t do it, Luca,’ he shouted.

From behind there was a loud metallic click. A second soldier had crawled over the edge of the cliff a few metres further to the right. He was breathing hard like the one before him but this time there was a rifle in his hands. It was pointing directly at Luca.

The soldier slowly clambered to his feet, the muzzle of his rifle dipping in the process. He stepped closer, catching his breath, before shouting an order in Mandarin. Luca didn’t understand but let the rock fall from his grasp and stepped back a pace.

The first soldier dragged himself up and swung his own rifle off his shoulder, loading a round into the chamber. His brown eyes were round with shock, and Luca could see his chest still rising and falling in double-time. A moment later both soldiers stepped forward, their rifles trained on Luca’s forehead.

A few paces further back, Bill already had his hands up. His eyes remained fixed on the ground where the coil of rope was still wrapped around the rock, feeding down into the gap below. The soldiers would see it. They would discover Shara and Babu. Using the toe of his boot, he dug his foot into the loop of the quick-release knot and pulled. Just as the rope whizzed round the boulder, he stepped forward, waving his hands to distract them.

‘What do you want with us?’ he shouted.

Both soldiers instinctively swivelled towards him, fingers curling around the triggers.

‘Stay back,’ Chen said in a thick Chinese accent. He advanced a pace while the other man remained at a distance, covering them.

‘Where boy?’ Chen asked.

Luca remained silent. Chen’s eyes darted between them.

‘Where boy?’ he repeated, jerking his rifle towards Luca’s chest.

‘There is no boy,’ Luca said angrily. ‘We’re climbers.’

Chen stared into his eyes for several seconds. Then he slowly took in their surroundings, eyes scanning every inch of the ground. He walked in a semi-circle around them, taking in the two rucksacks lying at their feet and the flat ground above the cliff. There was no other place to hide.

‘Then you tell Captain,’ he said, signalling with a nod towards the cliff edge.

He turned and barked an order in Mandarin to the second soldier who immediately threw off his rucksack and pulled out a second, longer rope. He moved forward, looping it around the same heavy boulder Bill had used on the edge of the crack.

Bill and Luca exchanged glances but the soldier continued tying off the rope, oblivious to what lay just beneath him in the shadows. He drew up next to the cliff edge, throwing the coils over.

‘If we’re going to abseil off there, we’re going to need more than one rope,’ Bill said, gesturing to the rucksack at his feet.

Chen stared at him for a moment, then nodded his consent. As Bill folded back the top of the rucksack, he saw the big soldier’s grip tighten on the rifle, taking no chances.

‘Easy,’ Bill said, moving with exaggerated slowness. ‘Easy. We’re not going to cause any trouble.’

He handed their rope over to the soldier, then moved back a few paces so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Luca.

‘Take it easy, Luca,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

Luca stared directly ahead, watching every movement the soldiers made.

‘They’re trapped in there,’ he breathed, glancing sidelong towards the crack. ‘We’ve got to think of something. And fast.’

Chapter 52

Norbu sprinted down the corridor, the clatter of his sandals echoing noisily behind him. In one hand he held a burning torch which trailed black smoke. His breath came in long choking sobs.

He had killed Drang. Killed another human being!

The full horror of the notion welled up inside him, choking him with guilt. He would be expelled from the order, left to wander in the wilderness as Geltang’s gates were slammed shut behind him.

He gasped, only managing to half-fill his lungs in panic. He could feel hysteria growing inside him with each door he passed and stairway he descended. His vision started to close in, becoming a circular tunnel of light surrounded by inky blackness. It was dizzying. His shoulder crashed into the wall beside him, sending him staggering off balance, but still his legs continued pounding over the flagstones. They felt numb and detached, as if they belonged to another person entirely.

He had to get to him, to tell him what he had done.

‘ Abbot! ’ he cried out. ‘ Please . . . Abbot! ’

The Perfect Life. That’s what Rega had said.

Just ahead he saw the chain and the trapdoor. With a frantic straining of his arms, he pulled up the heavy wooden door and scampered down the steps, letting the door slam shut behind him. The air below was still; the only sound his own panicked breathing. Norbu waved the torch ahead of him as he edged down the tunnel, directing its orange glow across the murals. Terrible images leaped out at him, with open mouths and fangs, clawing to touch him.

‘ A . . . A . . . Abbot . . . ’ Norbu stammered, eyes wide with fear. ‘ Abbot! ’

‘ My child, I am here. ’

At the sound of the Abbot’s voice, Norbu swivelled his head to face the end of the tunnel. He lunged forward, swinging the torch from side to side, hunting in the darkness. There was a statue shimmering up ahead and Norbu raced towards it, nearly toppling it from its plinth.

Behind it a figure was seated in an alcove, bound by leather straps. As the flames of the torch leaped higher, a mop of hair fell back to reveal pale, unfocused eyes. The apparition’s face remained set for a moment, then slowly creased into an expression of infinite pain. The whole face was hollow, tortured; it was as if he was staring straight into the naked soul of the man. Norbu screamed, falling back against the statue and waving the torch frantically to ward off the sight.

‘ Here, child, ’ the Abbot called, louder now. ‘ I am here. ’

Norbu twisted round and raced back along the tunnel. More statues, more recesses. As he hurried past them, the light revealed yet more figures, trussed up in the darkness. They looked up one by one, their eyes staring vacantly at the sudden disturbance to their endless days.

The Abbot was in the last but one alcove. Straps had been bound across his body with the buckles pulled unnaturally tight, forcing his back into a painful arch. His hands were tied with rope in front of him, with the remaining coils looped round his ankles to prevent him moving his legs. Despite it all, his expression was calm. He looked up at Norbu, his forehead creasing in concern.