The Basingstoke Chronicles (13 page)

Pacal Votan's astronomical devices distracted me as I waited in his home for Puma to
arrive. The duo's mysterious expedition was to be under cover of darkness, and no one else was
invited, not even Rodrigo. But where were they headed? For what purpose? Was this official
business on behalf of the Kamachej, or was it somehow seditious? Neither would have surprised
me after our conversation the previous day. For my part, I couldn't help thinking this had
something to do with the time machine. Paranoia perhaps--after all, I
was
hiding that
incredible secret--but Rodrigo and I had deduced that someone from Apterona would find and
use the machine, fatally. Who would it be? How could they possibly find an invisible object
underwater? And intriguingly, who had brought the time machine to Apterona
in the first
place
? Too many questions were still unanswered. Instead of fretting, I decided to wait and
see what transpired.

No matter how well he explained, his mathematics of the stars was beyond me, mainly
due to the fact that his calculations involved advanced astrophysics, and were not annotated at all.
Many of the metal instruments he used were for drawing diagrams. These, it seemed to me, more
closely resembled the tools of a cartographer than a scientist. I recalled using a set of compasses
to draw circles at school, but Pacal had devised ways to map elliptical orbits, intersecting orbits
and even concyclic anomalies. I understood nothing of the rest. Just before we left, he retrieved a
miniature telescope from a bundle of cloths.

"Many of these were my father's," he said. "This eye to the sky was his most prized
possession. He left it with me the night before he disappeared, and I had it with me the night you
appeared. I am more and more certain our fates have been intertwined for a reason."

"I am sure of it, Pacal," I replied, "but I think there is a great deal more to Apterona than
meets the eye. Perhaps your eye to the sky would do better to gaze upon the mysterious
Kamachej, with whom, I fear, my business is not yet finished."

"Perhaps."

The night air was refreshingly cool as we sneaked along the arterial lane to the river. By
this time, the floodwater had trickled away into the channel, leaving only a slippery lane of earth
for us to walk. When we reached the river, Pacal's left side was caked with mud; he was not the
most agile of creatures.

"Here he comes," he whispered, pointing upstream to a shadow upon the slow-moving
river. The prow of a slender vessel eased toward us. It drifted on the current, guided by Puma
Pawq'ar's single paddle. He maneuvered the boat parallel to our bank so we could to jump aboard.
As soon as my feet hit the deck, it started to wobble. Pacal damn near capsized the thing, but
knew to stay low until the rocking ceased.

It was a wooden longboat, fifteen feet from bow to stern, expertly crafted to cut through
counter-currents. This made it an ideal vessel for negotiating the varied course of a river. I knelt
alone in the centre, flanked by my companions, who each stroked the glistening water with his
paddle. The reflected great palisade of Yaku blurred in rapid jabs of moonlight as we passed.

At the southwest corner of the village was a gridiron gate, buttressed on either side by
two thick layers of fencing. It barred our exit. Puma had to leap ashore and wind a crank in order
to lift the barrier. With there being no way to operate this from outside the palisade, Puma locked
the crank into place for our return, granting every man and beast access to Yaku for the duration
of our trip.

"Be watchful," whispered Puma. "The river and the night are a deadly combination. We
are the prey tonight. I suggest you ready yourself with a spear, Lord, and your sharpest wits.
Nocturnal creatures are the fiercest of all."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Through the forest, to the sea," he replied.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

I suddenly realized how Rodrigo must have felt as he stood beside me in the time
machine. Trusting one's fate to a fool on a fool's errand takes a special kind foolishness. A surge
of adrenaline forced me to sit up, hyper-alert.

The night spewed darting shapes and fell noises. Strange, slithering creatures slipped
into the river here and there. Their eyes merged with moonlight shards strewn across the dark
water. I alerted Puma and Pacal at least a dozen times to no account; whatever protagonist
Apterona had for
The Boy Who Cried Wolf
fable, I was it that night.

We traversed eight or nine miles of the river before the tree-line rose before us. The
channel's flow grew more rapid. We were buffeted from bank to bank as the watercourse adopted
a series of chicane-like twists, while Pacal and Puma paddled like crazy to steer us mid-stream,
back into the flow. The sprawling canopy ahead seemed alive. A thousand draping snares
twitched and waited in the gloom.

"Let us light a torch," I insisted. "We'll be blind under the forest roof."

"Would you rather us light a beacon for all the night hunters?" said Pacal. "Sit still and
remain silent until we reach the far side."

Enormous branches reached out over the water from either side. I had no way of telling
how near or large they actually were. The forest ceiling, as I had remembered, was pretty much
impenetrable. The only light sources were a few scattered moonbeams. We drifted into a vast
tunnel of shadow.

The water flow eased until it barely moved, and I determined that the channel's breadth
was considerably wider at this section of the forest. That relaxed me slightly, as I figured we
would no longer be within biting range of creatures on the shore. But this was the first rainfall of
the year. How many monsters might now be awakened from their hibernation? What hideous
creatures might gather to taste that first sip, and find a floating meal instead?

I swore the undergrowth shook. A heavy rustling rose from the left bank. Pacal and
Puma quickened their strokes but still kept to a smooth rhythm, so as not to attract attention by
splashing. I readied my spear. The rustling grew louder still. Branches snapped, and I imagined
more and more creatures gathering inside the knots of vegetation.

My eyes ached from trying to penetrate the night. I glimpsed a thousand sharp edges
scything through the tall grass. Muscular tails jabbed into the air. What hideous predators stalked
us from the shore? The sound of displaced foliage grew a hundredfold. It was as though the entire
jungle forced itself inward upon us. At any moment, I expected the water to erupt with scrabbling
terror. My hand shook. The spear chattered against the side of the boat. What a pitiful deterrent
the weapon was, when the beasts trampled a forest of far firmer wood in their wake. I should
have used the weapon to help my companions procure our escape. Instead, I froze.

We were the focus of a full-on stampede. The creatures kept their distance from the
river's edge, always a few meters beyond our sight. My two friends bobbed at a fierce rate,
surging our boat ahead with muscular drive. They steered us by the right hand bank, which was
silent.

Suddenly, we drifted toward the left. The distance between boat and shore began to
diminish. I was about to alert them when I realized it was not of their doing. The channel itself
was narrowing at a rapid rate. Their paddles scraped uselessly against the shallows on either side.
I gasped as first Pacal, and then Puma, stopped for a rest.

How dare they!
I thought, ready to leap ashore and make a run for it.

I needn't have worried. A few moments later, they flipped their paddles and used the
handles' leverage to push us along the shore. Though we hadn't slowed much during this pause, I
noted the fact that there was less current at this point of the river--the channel must have been
much deeper here--and that we would be able to traverse this bottleneck by the same means on
our return journey.

Return journey? That's insane!

The narrow section soon ended. Strangely, the stampede also dissipated. The foliage
was at its most dense, and the jabbing tails quickly disappeared. As the watercourse widened, the
thunder behind fell to a whisper. For what seemed the first time since entering the forest, I let out
a breath.

We drifted for the next few miles. A silent ripple across a hidden pond. Our paddle
strokes were whispers in a tunnel of no echoes, where not even the coursing water disrupted the
night. The odd distant chirp or nearby cicada kept me alert, but I did not say a word. My mind
adopted a kind of schizophrenia, whereby one half fretted over the unseen dangers to come, and
the other half grew more relieved, excited to learn what secret Pacal and Puma thought was worth
this terrifying ordeal.

Could it be another settlement? Or perhaps a stash of treasure to rival King Solomon's?
One thing's for sure, it had better be something extraordinary.

A gentle rumble ahead warned Puma to steer right, where we drifted in preparation to
dock. Our course had been more or less flat since Yaku, and I deduced that in order to reach sea
level, the river would have to fall significantly, and soon. My guess was either steep rapids or a
waterfall.

Puma jumped onto the bank and dragged the bow firmly to shore by its mooring rope.
He secured the line to a dead stump, and Pacal and I got out. While we jogged, I dared not look
anywhere but at Puma's feet in front of me.

The river ended a short distance ahead. Its rumble soon grew to a roar. We'd reached a
waterfall. I wondered why the fellows were leading me to a sheer drop when Puma suddenly
broke right along a faint trail in the grass. We stepped into the open on a carpet of slick moss. I
stopped for a moment, but Pacal pushed me on.

A gust of salty air hit us side-on, and I knew we were atop the great sea cliff, the pedestal
on which all Apterona sits in safety from the ocean. Indeed, the void a dozen strides ahead sang
with scaling breakers and the fizz of falling spray.

"We are almost there, Lord. You can rest shortly," said Pacal.

"I will rest when I am safely in my bed, and not before."

"So be it, but we still have the return voyage to contend with tonight."

He had a way with words, a frankness that again reminded me of Rodrigo. Not an ounce
of sympathy permeated his logic. I wanted to throttle the swine then and there, to the strains of
some tragic sonata. That would have at least fitted the way I perceived this doomed
expedition!

Puma halted when we reached a gap in the rock and said, "Take the spears, Lord. Pacal,
grab the flints. We'll light our way from here."

They fumbled through a clump of dark weeds, each retrieving a wooden torch wrapped
in what must have been a waterproof cloth. They lit them by striking a flint. Puma wasted no time
in leading us on. I suddenly recalled how Rodrigo and I had gained access to Apterona all those
months before--a stairway inside the rock. An identical tunnel had been hewn here, also. The
steps wound down in much the same fashion as the ones we had climbed, spiraling, diagonal,
ill-carved.

"Who is to blame for these steps?" I asked.

"The ancients," replied Puma, "in the days before the first Kamachej. Some say the gods
themselves oversaw their construction."

"Then the people in that time harbored a desire to reach the ocean?"

"Evidently. And not all of their legacy is in as poor a shape as what lies beneath your
feet, Lord, as you shall see."

This spurred my curiosity. Both Puma and Pacal were adept at hinting, rather than
telling--a sly attribute to go with their devious machinations. I trusted them, yet not wholly. After
all, they had delivered me, without explanation, straight to the Kamachej and his cruel
interrogation.

Perhaps this was the turning point, the ultimate revelation of their trust.

A blast of wind staggered us backward. Another followed. The effect was not surprising
to me, though; the stairway acted like a wind tunnel on the sea front, and the potent taste of salt
told me we were almost at the ocean. The claustrophobic passage spilled us onto a wet beach.
Bounding waves broke no more than thirty feet ahead. A cliff wall on each hand stretched out a
short distance into the sea, spreading apart as an open-armed invitation.

On a temperate day, our cove might have made an ideal spot for sunbathing or
swimming. That night the elements were fierce. Screeching winds tore above us and swooped to
whip up the crests of breakers, soaking us with that fine sea spray. Puma led us across bare sand
to the right, where we reached another entrance into the rock. This was around twenty feet high
and ten feet across. It was not visible from the cove at all, concealed by a jutting curvature of the
cliff wall, parallel to the shoreline.

My companions shielded their torches until we stepped inside. My damp jeans clung to
my legs. I looked up, astonished. The cave was an enormous natural hollow in the rock. Nowhere
near as high as the one Rodrigo and I had found, it was far deeper. Its ceiling rose from twenty to
fifty feet high. A chandelier of stalactites hung low, almost reaching their stalagmites. The
enclosure resembled the fossilized jaws of a shark, whose haphazard teeth had continued to grow,
rather than decompose, after its death.

All this was decorative, though, next to what Pacal and Puma had brought me here to
see: a vast water channel along the far wall of the cave. It stretched back under the island for at
least a mile. Froth from a torrential cascade nodded across the surface a few meters inside, and I
guessed that the waterfall partitioned this channel from the sea. A little further in, ripples lapped
the bow of a small wooden ship. About the size of a schooner, it was fully rigged with rope and a
single furled sail. When I looked closer, I saw that such vessels populated the entire length of the
channel--over a mile of ships, moored there, waiting.