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That left
"Zoanna!" he called gently.
There was no answer. He strained his eyes to see in the dim light c'oming through a break from above.
The entire palace must have collapsed, or at least the main section. The wings, including the one where
Zatanas had his quarters, might still be standing. The evil sorcerer had to be eliminated, too, for he was
the power behind the Queen.
"Peter. Pe-ter." Her voice, very faint.
Damn her! So he would have to kill her after all! Why couldn't she have been crushed with Flick? John
didn't have his laser now, or even a sword. He would have to kill her with his bare hands, and he
wouldn't have liked that even if his right hand hadn't been crushed.
He felt his way over broken picture frames, torn canvases, chunks of statuary, and wads of drapes. He
located her by the sound; she thought it was her consort coming.
He saw her left arm, pinned by part of a fallen column. Her mouth was wide now, as were her eyes, but
there was no blood that he could see. She appeared to be hurt mainly by shock. This was the real Queen,
the physical one; the mirrors had been broken.
"Peter," she said. "Peter, help me." It was her old voice, almost. The voice that had weakened him and
hypnotized him. It was a voice as could work enchantment even without the help of magic.
He knew he should throttle her. But he couldn't do it one-handed.
"There's a passage," she said. "Trapdoor. River. Escape."
Did she know to whom she spoke? Did she even know where she was? Her eyes seemed to suggest no,
but her words could be taken either way.
He hardly knew where he found the strength, but he worked until he pulled her arm free. She had been
lucky; the full mass of the column had not come down on her. It had fallen across statuary that
supported most of its weight. He only needed to excavate around her arm, making more room, to work it
free.
The arm hung loosely from her shoulder. Certainly it was damaged, but at least it was there. He got one
of his own arms around her and helped her to stand, bending slightly because of the sagging ceiling
here. Her body was light, and its contours sweet against him; how he wished that
"Trapdoor. There. There," she said. Her good arm pointed to the far right comer of the room, and at a
statue of a dead hero whose head was now detached and whose sword arm was broken. That seemed
appropriate!
He half dragged, half carried her as he made his way step by step to the spot she indicated. When he got
there he had to put her down and drag aside the statue. Then he had to pull back the rug with its fighting-
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dragons motif, to strain to lift the trapdoor by its iron ring.
When the trapdoor opened all the way, he gave out an involuntary groan and almost plummeted head
foremost down the crumbling wooden and mossgrown stairs. The cool, moist air of an underground
river came up to meet him. Of course the capital was beside a river, and this would be a tributary.
He shook his head, fighting off the dizziness that assailed him. Somehow he got her to her feet again.
Somehow he got started down the stairs. It seemed a .long, long way down. Longer than he had ever
climbed down before. He felt weaker and weaker by the second, as though his blood were leaving him.
But his body was intact except for his broken hand; he wasn't bleeding.
"Raft. Raft," she said. "Hurry. Hurry."
He hardly knew what to answer, and didn't try; he needed all his remaining strength to do the job.
Step by step, downward, they went. Her thigh against his, her body close against him. She was a middle-
aged woman now, and surely she had no magic enhancing her anymore, yet she was alluring in every
aspect. He couldn't hurt her!
His feet slipped, and he stopped, steadying himself with grim determination. Then he went on, step by
slow step down, and she went with him.
At the bottom of the first flight there was a landing, then a second flight of stairs. John dragged them
down. At the bottom of the second there was another landing and a third set of stairs. How deep was the
stream? But finally they were there at a crumbling and moss-covered dock. There was an old raft tied
here that appeared to have remained for an eternity.
He stopped, tottering, half collapsing on the dock. He felt the water lapping, lifting and lowering about
him, and he knew he hadn't finished, but he was too exhausted to do any more.
Now she seemed to be supporting him, bearing him up, helping him onto the raft. His feet obeyed her, as
once his whole body and mind had done. Now this foot, now that foot, and now he seemed to be on the
raft with her and she seemed to be lifting a pole attached there by a rope, and she seemed to be poling
them out into the current.
He struggled to sit up, to make sense of what was happening. He thought he heard a splash.
Pulling himself up to sitting position, he saw a string of silvery bubbles in the dark water behind the raft.
Nothing else. He was alone.
He was too weary and disoriented to think or Eonder anything. He couldn't even feel the pain in his and.
The raft drifted. It passed between rock walls covered with eerily glowing moss that gave a strange
green color to everything. The stream didn't seem to be flowing into the river that served the capital.
John Knight moved on to an unknown and perhaps unknowable destination.
Chapter 30 Recovery
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Kelvin watched the blood dripping into the golden um, feeling, thanks to Zatanas' magic, that it was his
own blood as well as his sister's. Jon, wide awake, unable to move because of the straps, whispered
softly, "Kel, Kel, save me."
"Yes, why don't you save her, Kelvin Roundears?" Zatanas inquired. It was almost as though he
expected an answer.
"He can't, Master," Queeto said, and swished the blood in its vessel, shaking all over as he croaked his
laughter. "Not ever. Not him. He can't move, Master. And he's getting weaker. Weaker and weaker and
weaker!"
Kelvin knew that the vicious dwarf was right. Queeto was having his revenge for the way they had taken
Jon from him, after the sale at the Mart. There would be no mercy there. But if he willed the gauntlets to
move, and if they did so, and brought along the rest of his body...
But there was little use. Zatanas had his laser on a shelf and he hadn't acquired a sword or even a dagger
since leaving the palace balcony. There was little even the gauntlets could do as long as Queeto and
Zatanas stayed out of reach. Only if he could reach them, he thought. Only if
A great crashing, splintering noise came from below the floor. Clouds of dust rose in the room, books [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]