Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (64 page)

 
          
"I
wish I knew what had happened," Colin said. "All of it, and not just
what Grey was willing to tell me
—
or knew himself."

 
          
"That
would make a nice change," Claire agreed darkly. "But
—
please hurry, Colin."

 
          
"I've
just got to
—
ah, here's the turn."

 
          
The
road that had been easily passable in a Range Rover in February was a much
dicier prospect in an automobile in April's treacherous mud, and several times
Colin feared that the Volvo would simply stick. But he finally gained the
comparatively firm ground of the lakeside, and the car's headlights shone full
on the front of the laboratory . . . and on Grey's motorbike, parked outside.

 
          
Colin
sighed, although he'd expected nothing else. He stopped the car and Claire
darted out, running for the back of the building
—
she'd been more upset than
she'd let on. Colin swore under his breath and followed her, leaving the car
running with the brake on so that they would at least have the headlights to
mark their way.

 
          
The
back door to the building was propped open with a brick, and when Colin reached
it he realized why Claire had been so upset. He could already smell the smoke.

 
          
"Claire!"
he shouted, dragging out his flashlight.

           
When Colin reached the top of the
stairs, he could see flames, and the air was hazy with smoke.

 
          
"Grey
—
don't!" Claire's voice.

 
          
When
Colin reached the bottom of the stairs, he could smell the reek of acetone
mixing with the smell of burning. The acetylene lantern with its pressurized
chamber of fuel was hissing away brightly in the corner, and Colin winced;
acetone was flammable. He looked around. Claire was standing in the corner,
unhurt. But this entire basement could go up like a torch at any moment, and
take Grey
—
and both of them
—
with it.

 
          
"I’ll
break my staff
—
bury it certain fathoms in the earth
—
and deeper than did ever
plummet sound
—
I'll drown
—
burn
—
my book!'" Grey shouted. He had a five-gallon can of
acetone in his hands, and was slopping it about the painted sigil that made up
the Floor of the
Temple
. The caustic liquid pooled
on the cement floor, and where it did the outlines of the brightly painted
figure began to soften and blur.

 
          
Colin
wasn't sure that Grey knew he had an audience at all; he tossed the can aside
and went back to the smoldering pile of books. The bookcase had been smashed,
and the books on it ripped to shreds, piled atop the splintered boards in one
of the footlockers. There was broken glass on the floor from the smashed
jar-candles; the card table and its chairs had been knocked over, and one of
the footlockers stood open.

 
          
"Grey!"
Colin shouted.

 
          
Grey
turned to Colin. "Hi, Colin," he said, as mildly though they were
meeting on any city street, though his eyes were red with tears and his voice
was hoarse with shouting. "I didn't see you guys come in."

 
          
"Grey,
I know you're upset," Claire began.

 
          
"Of
course
I'm upset," Grey told her in a voice of faintly exasperated
patience. "Everything I've ever believed in has gone to hell." He
reached into his pocket and came out with a lighter in his hand. When he
flicked it the flame erupted in a long jet.

 
          
"Don't
do this," Colin said.

 
          
"So
I figured I'd just bag it," Grey said, as if Colin hadn't spoken.

 
          
He
tossed the lighter over his shoulder; it hit the inside of the footlockers lid
and slid down it, still burning. There was a faint huff as whatever he'd poured
into the footlocker ignited and began to burn with a sickly bluish flame,
consuming Grey's books, his magickal journals, all of his ritual paraphernalia.

 
          
"That's
it. I'm done," Grey said, walking toward them.

 
          
"Come
on," Claire said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him quickly toward
the staircase.

 
          
The
acetone might ignite at any moment, or the three of them might be lucky.
Neither Colin nor Claire had been moved to bring a fire extinguisher, and Colin
wasn't sure he'd have used it if he had
—
there were already enough
volatile chemicals down here.

           
They were lucky. Claire got Grey
into the clearer air of the ground floor without incident, and Colin followed
them outside. He left the back door propped open, in the faint hope that the
vapors from the solvent Grey had slopped around would dissipate instead of
igniting.

 
          
Standing
at the back of the building, they could see the light shining out through the
row of low windows; the leaping orange of the burning books, and the steady
white of the acetylene lamp. The room was filling with black smoke; Colin could
see it streaming up through the flames.

 
          
"What
were you doing?" Claire scolded, all but shaking him.

 
          
"It's
all over," Grey said again. "Everything's finished."

 
          
"Come
on," Colin said, putting a hand on Claire's shoulder. "It could still
blow up."

 
          
"My
bike," Grey said, when Claire began leading him toward the car.

 
          
"Get
it later," Colin told him curtly. He was in no mood for the lengthy
process of wrestling Grey's bike into the back of the Volvo just now.

 
          
"I'll
ride it back."

 
          
"No
you won't," Claire told him fiercely. "Grey, you could have been
killed
in there tonight
—
and we won't even mention the fact that arson's a
crime.   ' What if there's an explosion? What if the fire
spreads?" she scolded.

 
          
"Frankly,
Scarlett
—
" Grey began.

 
          
"Oh,
get in the car!" Claire said, yanking open the door and shoving him toward
it.

 
          
Colin
knew that much of her ruthlessness was sheer relief that nothing   i
worse had happened, and at least it seemed to be having a practical effect on
Grey, since he did what she told him.

 
          
By
the time they reached Greyangels, Grey's teeth were chattering, and he was
hugging himself through the fringed leather jacket.

 
         
"Build
up the fire," Colin told Claire as he shut off the ignition. "I'll
get something hot into him."

 
          
They
went about their business with the ease of long practice. Claire led Grey
inside and wrapped him in the afghan from the couch, and settled him in the
chair in front of the fire.

 
          
As
she worked with matches and tinder
—
Colin always left a fire
laid in the grate, for just such occasions as these
—
he went on into the kitchen
and lit the range. Finding a small saucepan, he half-filled it with cider from
the local mill, then added a generous dollop of unpasteurized honey. As it was
heating, he rummaged about the pantry just off the kitchen until he found a
bottle of brandy. It wasn't Colin's preferred drink, but someone had given him
a bottle and
—
pack rat that he was
—
he'd tucked it away in a
corner for future use. Now he poured several ounces of it into a cup and added
the steaming cider. No matter what had happened out at
Nuclear
Lake
tonight, it had been a
serious ordeal for Grey, and appropriate measures must be taken.

 
          
When
he came back into the living room, Claire had the fire going and was sitting on
the hassock, holding Grey's hand and talking to him.

           
"Here. Drink this," Colin
said, handing him the cup.

 
          
Grey
took it without comment.

 
          
"I'd
better go back out there and make sure the fire hasn't spread," Colin
said. "Will you two be all right here?"

 
          
I
think I can hold my own," Claire said. Grey shook his head slightly, a
gesture that might mean anything, and pulled the afghan tighter around himself.

 
          
Colin
picked up the fire extinguisher from beside the front door and drove back to
Nuclear
Lake
.

 
          
He
could smell the tang of smoke in the air when he got out of the car, but there
was no sign of a blaze. When he reached the back of the building, the basement
windows were dark, and cool to the touch.

 
          
Odd.
. . and interesting. The footlocker was right under this one, and I've only
been gone half an hour, if that. The stuff should still be burning.

 
          
But
when he shone his flashlight in through the window, the panes were clear, not
smoke-darkened, and there was no sign of a fire.

 
          
Curiouser
and curiouser, said
Alice
,
Colin thought to himself. He
retraced his steps to the back door
—
still propped open
—
hesitated, and went inside.

 
          
The
basement was full of acrid smoke
—
but not as much smoke as there ought to have been. Colin
descended the stairs warily, ready for anything.

 
          
The
basement floor was covered with a gritty ash that hadn't been there before, but
the glyph was still visible, blurred from the acetone; apparently it had not
ignited. The lantern in the corner had shattered, leaving a scorch mark on the
wall, and pieces of blackened glass were scattered around it in a fan pattern.
Colin swept his flashlight back and forth; this might be an investigation
better done in daylight, but he was here now.

 
          
The
candles were spread pools of melted wax that had pooled around the broken
blackened jars. Colin bent over and touched the blobby white mass of wax. It
was still faintly soft, as though it had only cooled recently. That was strange
enough, but what Colin saw when he reached the footlocker convinced him that
the Uncanny had been here in this place.

 
          
The
footlocker was almost unrecognizable, its metal walls warped and twisted,
half-charred by a fantastic heat. What it had held had been reduced to greasy
ash and a few small blobs of metal
—
including the pine planks,
which should have taken hours to burn.

 
          
Grey
had left the other footlocker closed, and had done nothing to it that Colin had
seen, but there were scorch marks all over the outside, and when Colin
cautiously flipped it open, all that it held was a thick grey-black ash.

 
          
But
the insides of the second trunk weren't even scorched.

 
          
Colin
let the lid fall back down. It hit with a hollow sound, and a dust of ash as
fine as talc puffed out around the edges of its lock.