Luana Page 17

  There was no point in mentioning as he kicked away from the wall that he’d also like to bring the rifle. But he saw no way of packing it under without the chance of ruining it. And he didn’t want to take a chance with their last gun. Not that there’d likely be anything to use it on—cave crickets, maybe?

  Still, old habits . . .

  He left a bearer named Entebbe in charge of the camp.

  The little group continued to tread water outside the cave mouth until Barrett and Murin returned.

  “I’ll go first,” he instructed, watching them. When I’m through I’ll give the line a jerk. One person at a time. Izzy, you follow me, and Luana, you next. Mur, you and Kobenene bring the rest of the supplies.”

  With a definite destination at the end of a finite distance, the swim through the darkness seemed much shorter this time. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if, despite his denials of side passages, he hadn’t somehow wandered into a different cave. Then he broke water and switched on the second flash; A quick survey of the sandy shore revealed the first flashlight and the end of the line still securely wrapped around its pygmy pillar.

  Climbing out of the water, he turned on the second flash, pointing it upwards to illuminate more of the cave. His own light he aimed down into the pool. It would tell the others they were approaching the end. A sharp jerk on the cord and a minute later Isabel had joined him. She climbed out onto the rocky floor and shook herself. Outside her shorts and clinging blouse her skin was seal-slick.

  He enjoyed that vision while Luana and the others came through. While Murin took his light and Isabel hefted the other, the newcomers enjoyed their first glimpse of the cave as Barrett carefully recoiled the precious line and clipped it onto his belt. Then he turned and did some surveying himself.

  The stream ran towards them, falling in gentle drops before vanishing into the wall leading to the outside. The cave ceiling rose proportionately. In higher water the swim from outside would have been much more difficult, perhaps even impossible. No telling how far the water in the cave backed up in the rainy season.

  The floor of the cave was dangerously uneven, layered with sharp calcite crystals and brown spars of crumbly selenite. But near the stream the water level dropped to reveal a slight, narrow beach. Barely centimeters wide, it ran out under the water, pure soft gypsum sand.

  Walking alternately in and out of the water, but always staying off the cavern floor proper, they moved upstream. Barrett’s hoped-for widening didn’t materialize, nor did his imaginary jewel-box. The cave remained resolutely the same size.

  Ten, fifteen minutes of trudging through the dark, and he finally called a halt.

  Murin voiced the prevailing opinion. “Very pretty, George, as you said. But that’s all.”

  Barrett had spent the last quarter hour searching for a sign, a hint that Murin was wrong. Instead, he only found he agreed with him.

  “Kill your light, Mur.” Barrett clicked his own off. “And don’t drop it. I don’t know how long the batteries will last . . . might as well conserve ’em while we can. We can go back in the dark—just follow the stream, then the cord—but we can’t go forward.” Murin’s light went out.

  Isabel moved closer to Barrett in the ensuing blackness. He put his arm around her.

  “Please don’t sneer at me, George,” she whispered. “But I’ve always been afraid of the dark.”

  “Imagination’s always worse than actual fact,” he agreed. “It’d be worse still if you were, say, a writer.” He turned towards her. “I can hardly see you at all.” She giggled and the cuttingly sharp sound echoed down the corridor. A hand reached out, touched his nose.

  “Like a country drive-in movie.” There was a pause. “George?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I shouldn’t be able to see you at all.”

  He would have hit himself, only he was too excited. When he jumped up she was able to see the motion clearly enough to draw her hand back.

  “And I shouldn’t be able to see you at all!” He looked around, saw nothing closer than Isabel. But even that— “There’s light coming in here from somewhere.”

  Five minutes, walking. They turned a sharp corner where a pile of debris had fallen from the ceiling. Gradually the mysterious light had grown stronger, until they could actually see each other in the dimness.

  Suddenly, the light was so strong they could do without the flashlights all together.

  The stream ended at the base of a tiny cascade pouring over a rock abutment. A cascade of a different kind also plunged from the rock wall’s upper edge. A Niagra of hazy light. The wall, praise Vishnu, was only three or four meters high. Enough to obstruct their passage, but by no means impassable. The soft limestone was broken and chipped in many places. It was no stairway, but even Izzy ought to be able to make it.

  Barrett went first, carefully, hand over hand. Once a thin ledge crumbled under his weight and he had to scramble for a foothold. Otherwise it was an easy climb. On top the light was nearly as bright as day. Securing the nylon cord to an outcropping, he dumped the rest of the coil over the side.

  Isabel and the others watched as he disappeared from view. Minutes passed. He finally ventured a call.

  “George!” She caught her breath. The shout echoed back down the tunnel, clarion call to thousands of discorporeal Georges who could never reply.

  From above the voice of the one real George drifted down to them.

  “Well—I’ll be an Arabian sandman.”

  His face appeared, looking down at them. He was flushed and excited.

  “Come on up, Izzy, the rest of you.” His voice was hushed, reverent. “It makes Zimbabwe look like a comfort station!”

  Minutes later they all stood atop the midget cliff near the small cascade, gazing in dumbfoundment at the scene spread before them.

  The stream continued to flow towards them on their right, unchanged, but the cave widened immediately. Ahead, it opened into a titanic circular cavern, well over a kilometer long and wide. The roof of the cavern was a near-perfect dome, soaring a good three hundred meters above the floor.

  At an unknown age past, the center of the domed ceiling had collapsed, forming a great circular gap in the roof. The resultant effect was something like a round skylight. A rising sun poured in through the cavity and illuminated the entire interior.

  A fringe of green from vines and trees growing over the edge softed the opening. On its right side was a deep crack, from which a spectacular narrow waterfall fell clear and pure into a wide pool.

  All of which was incidental. They barely noticed it. Colossal structures of gray stone lined the walls of the cavern, each set atop another, crawling up the sloping walls. In a few places the multistoried buildings nearly reached the roof. At the far end of the cave, dark holes showed between the constructs, indicating the presence of yet other, more distant caverns.

  They followed the stream into the dead city. Stumbling occasionally, not because the ground was especially rugged, but because their eyes and minds were concentrated elsewhere.

  A low wall ran towards and joined the nearest building. They sat on it and rested.

  “Look how neat the joining is,” Isabel commented, lifting up one of the wall stones. “Everything’s been fitted together without cement or plaster or anything.”

  “Can’t be more than two or three hundred years old,” mused Barrett, staring. “Can’t be. There’s plenty of light, in the center at least, yet nothing’s overgrown. Can’t be.”

  Isabel tried to put the heavy stone back. At the last instant it slipped out of her hands and fell with a crunch to the rocky floor. Barrett spared it an idle glance. His brow wrinkled suddenly and his expression changed to one of puzzlement.

  Kneeling, he lifted the stone and put it on the wall next to him. The others watched him curiously.

  The stone had cracked on the bottom. A chip of gray about the size of a quarter and a centimeter or so thick was missing from its base. Where the chip had bro
ken off, the stone showed dull yellow.

  Trying to stay calm and failing miserably, Barrett pulled his skinning knife from its sheath. At least he didn’t cut himself. He pried under the cracks that radiated from the missing section. Another, much larger piece of gray lifted up and peeled off like chocolate coating. More yellow showed.

  Rising, he heaved the stone high overhead with both hands and slammed it into the rocks nearby. When the limestone dust had settled, only half the stone showed gray. The other half of the cracked surface gleamed a dull, reddish, unmistakably metallic yellow.

  Barrett regripped the knife, pried and dug at a second stone on top of the wall. Gray flakes peeled off reluctantly at first, then more readily after the first penetration was made. He held it up for everyone to see. Behind him, Isabel whispered, “My God!” Kobenene muttered low Swahili.

  Murin was already working on another stone.

  A half hour later there was a small gap in the wall. Nine building stones, ranging in size and shape from a human fist to one huge chunk as big as a briefcase, lay in the dust, stripped of much of their gray coating.

  “About a hundred fifty kilos,” estimated Barrett, in the kind of idle reverential tone generals use when talking about defense appropriations. “On the current market, today’s prices, anywhere from four to six hundred thousand American dollars.”

  He turned to re-examine the wall. It continued on for many meters before meeting the first building. Slanting slightly back towards the receding cavern wall, that structure rose four or five stories. Another, smaller building set on top of it rose another three stories ceilingward.

  Dozens of similar structures, of varying size and shape, lined the insides of the cavern.

  All were made of the same dull, unspectacular, slate-gray stone.

  Barrett was laughing. Isabel gave him a worried look.

  “Don’t worry, luv, I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Hell!” He threw his arms around her and began dancing in a circle. “I am spec-tac-u-lar! What do you want for a wedding present? Paris? Rome?”

  “I’ve been there,” she replied, a little dazed. “Still, they wouldn’t be bad places to go on a—George Barrett, is that a proposal?”

  He grinned. “Good Lord, and a decent one, at that.” He laughed again. “Go there?” A sweeping gesture with his free hand encompassed the whole cavern. “I didn’t mean go there. I’ll buy ’em for you!”

  She hesitated, then shook her head slowly. A careful glance around the cavern produced a sly, uncertain smile.

  “Oh . . . no, George . . . it couldn’t be! It’s just the wall, George.”

  “Want to bet? Kobe, Mur, Luana . . . let’s start scratching!”

  They chipped away at stones near the entrances to buildings, at broad flat stones marking window lintels, at thick doorway stones and thin chink-hole stones and stones used to form open stoves and chimnies and washing boards.

  And every stone they chipped, cut, cracked or bruised sloughed off its plain gray exterior to reveal hidden glory beneath.

  The city . . . its walls, its chimnies, its cooking places and meeting rooms . . . was solid gold.

  “Pure accident,” said Barrett quietly, later. “Pure accident. If you hadn’t dropped that one rock, Izzy . . . What a last-ditch defense! Even if a scavanging or raiding party managed to find the little cave entrance, or looked down through the roof, all they’d see would be a bunch of old gray stone houses.”

  The strangest things, as they say, occur to people at the oddest moments. Barrett stood and said with sure knowledge, “There ought to be more . . . other things.”

  That started Murin laughing so hard he couldn’t stop for three full minutes.

  “No, partner, I haven’t gone mad.” He kicked at the wall, loosed a couple more stones. “There’s enough wealth in this wall alone to finance a small army. And that’s what we’re going to need, eventually, to hold this place. But this stuff is damn heavy. We can’t pack more than a couple hundred kilos, on top of the supplies we’ve got to carry.

  “Then we’ll have to file some sort of mining claim, make arrangements with the government for shares. Even so, we’ll need hired guns as well as government protection. When word gets out—and it will, somehow. It always does. Also, the Wanderi won’t stay cowed forever, and that wasn’t the only tribe of witch-men in this hunk of country. So I’d like to take out as much as we can this first time. There are better ways.”

  “You mean like the necklace?” said Isabel.

  “That’s it. It just doesn’t stand to reason there’d be only one piece of jewelry in a city of gold.”

  “They might have thought like you,” suggested Murin, “and taken the lighter things with them when they had to abandon this refuge, too.”

  “You’re a big help,” grinned Barrett. “Let’s look, anyhow.”

  They went through four, then five of the big buildings. The sun was now directly overhead and drenched the interior of the cavern with pale lemon mist.

  Barrett called a break to eat. They sat on the small stone wall that circled the pool beneath the waterfall. A spout from a never-ending spigot, that silver-crystal cascade plunged unbroken from the ceiling. Outside, such a thin fall would have been torn and broken to damp tatters by a modest breeze.

  But in here, without a breath of wind to stir it, it gave the impression of being almost a solid bar of quicksilver.

  Barrett sat on the rock, half in, half out of the moving sun. After their slightly chilly swim and feverish exploration of the first part of the city, the warm sunlight felt lovely.

  Isabel dangled her feet in the water. As the sun dipped slightly lower it struck the edge of the pool, throwing back glittering stars and rainbows. The stone wall continued down into the pool itself. No doubt the city builders had lined the pool to prevent leakage. An idle chip with a small rock revealed what had become a commonplace fact: this wall, too, was fashioned from gold.

  Big deal.

  Barrett turned away from the pool. Ricocheting off the surface, the brilliant sunbeams hurt his eyes.

  “What will you do with your share, Izzy?”

  She looked meaningfully at him. “Other things aside, I’m going to found an institute in Nairobi, dedicated to the eradication of tropical diseases. It was one of father’s great dreams. After that, well—” she smiled. “I’m sure you’ll help me think of something worthwhile.”

  “I may manage to come up with something,” he grinned back.

  Turning away and still smiling, she leaned over the low wall and dipped her head close to the water. Both hands went low to cup a double handful of pool. She had to squint. The reflected light was almost blinding.

  She paused with the water halfway to her mouth. It trickled away, escaping ’round unguarding fingers.

  The scintillating, striking reflections came not from the surface of the pool . . . but from below. She turned her hand over and the rest of the water fell in small drops to the surface.

  “George . . .” Her voice rose. “George!”

  “Izzy?” Everyone had turned to stare at her.

  She pointed. “The bottom of the pool. When you lean right up close to the surface, and squint, the sun doesn’t bounce right up at you.”

  Barrett dipped his own head close to the water, trying to screen out the constant ripples from the cascade. The lights that danced back at him were multicolored and no longer seemed to spring from a shifting, constantly changing source. When he moved slightly, the same colors remained.

  It was time to go swimming again.

  The pool was deeper than it looked. A dull drumming in his ears came from the waterfall. True, its volume was not that impressive. Even so, it could break the back of anyone who carelessly swam underneath the drop.

  He dove from the bottom, and saw what he and Isabel had seen distorted by distance and light. His right hand dug deeply into the uneven floor. It penetrated at sharp, awkward angles, but it penetrated. He scooped.

  They were crowding ar
ound anxiously when he reappeared, spitting water. A couple of short kicks brought him back to the wall. He threw his armload of bottom onto the stones That’s when Kobenene decided it was time for a dip, too.

  Geologically speaking, the bottom of the pool would be classed as a breccia of unrelated but intriguing composition. Certainly the chains of gold and silver and hammered platinum were. These were interspersed with odd variants. Safe to say they would have impressed any petrologist. Or banker. Or archaeologist.

  Or any human being over the age of five.

  There were small necklaces and bracelets, and pendants and ear loops. Each was in a class by itself.

  Barrett spotted the knife, pulled it out of the wet, clinging mass. The long blade was still sharp, its edge only slightly chipped. It was a deep, pigeon-blood red. When he held it to the light, over his face, a pink haze of translucence flushed his visage. The handle was engraved gold studded with small, fine diamonds. The blade . . .

  “Solid ruby, I think,” he finally managed to whisper.

  There were several other interesting trinkets in the armload. One was a war club made of ironwood set with precious stones, mostly beryls and aquamarines. The strong wood itself was flaking and worm-eaten, but the gold wires wrapping the top still held the striking stone firmly in place.

  This gem was twice the size of Barrett’s fist, slightly pointed at the hitting end. When he held the club in the light, the deep blue sapphire flashed a ghostly starfish pattern from its smooth surface. He made no comment. What could anyone say, in the face of such wealth?

  It wasn’t wealth. It was beyond mortal comprehension. Isabel had slipped five, no, six bracelets on her left arm. When she shook the arm they clicked hollowly against each other. They were blue also, beautifully if simply faceted. She slipped one off, handed it to Barrett.

  He inspected it curiously. Yes, nice work, all six probably of a set. He looked inside to see what kind of material the stones had been set into. But the inside of the bracelet, too, was lightly faceted blue. Then he brought it close to see where the seams had been cleverely joined. There were no seams, clever or otherwise.