Enchanted Pilgrimage (21 page)

“They're lying to us,” Oliver said. “They're scared striped of the Hounds. Just like they are scared of the Chaos Beast.”

“What difference does it make?” asked Mary. “You all have made up your minds to pull this thing from the vault. You wonder what it is, and you won't rest easy until you find out what it is.…”

“Still,” said Cornwall to Foxy, “you do promise us escort?”

“That we do,” said Foxy.

“And it better be good,” said Hal, “or we'll come back and clean out this nest of you.”

28

The stench was green. It struck the pit of the stomach, it clogged the nostrils, burned the throat, watered the eyes; it made the mind reel. It was an alien foulness that seemed to come from somewhere other than the Earth, a violent corruption deep from the guts of Hell.

They had labored in it for hours, setting up the poles to form the tripod above the opening of the vault (although Cornwall realized he could no longer think of it as a vault, but rather as a pit), rigging the pulley, threading the rope to run in the pulley.

And, now that all was ready, Cornwall leaned over the edge of the opening to glance down into the mass of putrescence that filled the area, a gelatinous matter not quite liquid, not quite solid—a sight he had avoided until now. For the mass itself seemed to have some of the same obscene, stomach-wrenching quality that characterized the stench that came boiling out of it. The stench was bad enough; the stench combined with the sight of the vault's contents was almost unbearable. He doubled over, wracked by the dry retching that brought up nothing, for the contents of his stomach had been emptied long ago.

“Why don't you let me, Mark?” said Gib, standing at his elbow. “I don't seem to mind it as much—”

“You don't mind it so much,” said Cornwall harshly, “that you vomited up your goddamned guts.”

“But I am lighter,” argued Gib. “I don't weigh more than a third of what you do; I'll be easier to handle on the rope.”

“Stop it, Gib,” Sniveley said angrily. “We talked this out hours ago. Sure, you weigh a third less than Mark, you also have only a third the strength.”

“Maybe we won't need any strength.”

“That thing down there,” said Hal, “could be hard to yank out. If it grew out of the body of the Beast, it still could be rooted there.”

“The body is a mass of soup,” said Gib. “It is nothing but a puddle.”

“If it were,” said Cornwall, “the cage or globe or whatever it is would have sunk. It wouldn't still be there.”

“We can't be sure of that,” said Gib. “It could be floating.”

“Let's stop this talk,” said Cornwall. “As Sniveley said, we decided it. We talked it over and decided it on logic. I have more strength than any of you, and strength may be needed. I grab hold of it, and you guys pull me out along with it; it might take even more strength than I have to hang onto it. The rest of you together can handle the rope—that is, if Mary's here to help. Where the hell is Mary?”

“She went down to start the fire under the kettle,” said Sniveley. “We'll need hot water to take baths once we get out of here.…”

“If hot water will take it off,” said Oliver.

“Big Belly gave us some soap,” said Sniveley.

“What would they need of soap?” asked Oliver. “From the smell of them, they never use it.”

Cornwall yelled at them. “Cut out the goddamn jabber! What's soap got to do with it? What's hot water got to do with it? If a fire had to be started, any one of you could have started it. We need Mary here to help handle the rope, and what is more …”

He let his voice run down, ashamed of himself. What was he doing, shouting at them? It was the stench, he knew—it nibbled the mind, it frazzled the nerves, it squeezed the guts; in time it could turn a man into a shrieking maniac.

“Let's get on with it,” he said.

“I'll get Mary,” said Oliver. “I'll stay and watch the fire.”

“Forget the fire,” said Hal. “Come back with her. We could need your help.”

“If we had a hook,” said Hal, “we might be able to hook it out.”

“But we haven't got a hook,” said Hal, “and no metal to make one. They have a forge down there and no metal.…”

“They hid the metal,” said Sniveley, “just like they're hiding themselves. There's no hide nor hair of them.”

“We could get metal from one of our pots,” said Gib.

“It's easier this way,” said Cornwall. “Simple and direct. Tie that rope around me and let's get started.”

“You'll suffocate,” said Sniveley.

“Not if I tie a scarf around my mouth and nose.”

“Make sure that knot is tied securely,” Sniveley said to Hal. “We can't take a chance. If Mark falls into the mess, we'll never get him out.”

“I know about knots,” said Hal. “A good slip noose. It will tighten up.” He said to Cornwall, “How does it feel?”

“It feels fine. Now give me that scarf.”

He wrapped the scarf around his face, covering nose and mouth.

“Hold still,” said Gib. “I'll tie it.”

Oliver came scampering up the stairs, followed by Mary.

“Everyone's here,” said Hal. “Grab hold of that rope, all of you. Hang on for your life. Let him down easy.”

Cornwall leaned over the opening and gagged. It was not the smell so much, for the scarf did offer some protection, but the sight—the sea of crawling corruption, a creature dead and rotting, with nowhere for the rot to go, a puddle of putrescence, held within the vault. It was green and yellow, with streaks of red and black, and there seemed to be within it some kind of feeble current that kept it swirling slowly, so slowly that no real motion could be detected, although there was a sense of motion, almost of aliveness.

He gagged, gritting his teeth. His eyes began to smart and water.

He couldn't live down there for long, he knew. It had to be down quickly and out again as fast as possible. He flexed his right hand, as if he wanted to be sure it was in working order when he reached out to grab the cage or whatever it might be that was down there in the pit.

The rope tightened around his chest. “All ready, Mark,” said Hal.

He swung over the edge. The rope tightened and held him, lifting him a little. He let loose of the edge of the vault and felt his body swinging to the center of the opening. His body dropped jerkily and was brought swiftly to a halt.

Up above him Hal was yelling. “Watch it! Take it slow! Let him down easy! Not too fast!”

The stench rose up and hit him, engulfing him, smothering him. The scarf was not enough. The stench seeped through the fabric, and he was drowning in it. His belly slammed up and hit him in the face, then dropped into a place that had no bottom. His mouth filled with a vomit he would have sworn he didn't have and was held there by the scarf wrapped about his face. He was blinded and disoriented. He clawed feebly with his hands. He tried to cry out, but no words came in his throat.

Below him he could make out the noisome surface of corruption, and it seemed to be in violent motion. A wave of it rose and reached for him, fell short and dropped back again. It had an oily and repulsive look, and the stench poured out of it. Another wave ran across its surface, struck the opposite wall of the vault and curled on itself, not as water would curl, but slowly, deliberately, ponderously, with a terrible look of power. Then it was flowing back and reaching up again, and this time it hit him. It climbed over his body, covering him, drenching him in its substance. He lifted his hands and clawed in terror to free his eyes of the clinging putridness. His stomach heaved and churned. He vomited weakly, but it was dry vomiting; there was nothing left to vomit.

He could see only blearily, and he had the horrible feeling that he was lost in an otherness that was beyond the ken of all living things. He did not sense the pressure of the rope as the others hauled him up. It was not until he felt hands upon him, hauling him free of the opening of the vault, that he realized he had been lifted free.

His feet hit hardness and his knees buckled under him. He sprawled weakly, still retching. Someone was wiping off his face. Someone was saying, “You're all right now, Mark. We have you out of it.”

And someone else, off a ways, was saying, “It's not dead, I tell you. It is still alive. No wonder those slimy little bastards were afraid to go down in there. We been took, I tell you. We been took.”

He struggled to his knees. Someone threw a pail of water over him. He tried to speak, but the vomit-soaked, stench-drenched scarf still covered his mouth. Hands ripped it off him and his face was free.

He saw Gib's face in front of him. Gib's mouth worked. “What a mess,” he said. “Off with those clothes. Down the stairs and in the tub. The water's hot and we have soap.”

29

Coon and Oliver perched on the edge of the tub. “I say give it up,” said Oliver. “The castle people knew what would happen if they went into the vault. They know the thing's not dead.…”

“It's dead, all right,” said Sniveley. “It's rotting there before your eyes. It's magic. That is what it is. The vault's bewitched.…”

“You can't bewitch the vault,” protested Oliver. “You can't bewitch a thing. A person, sure, a living thing, but not a thing of stone.”

“We have to figure out another way,” said Gib. “I've been looking at that iron frying pan we have. We could use the handle of it, heat it, bend it in a hook …”

“Go probing down with a hook,” said Hal, “and the same thing will happen. The Beast, dead or not, is not about to let us hook that object out of there.”

“Any sign of Big Belly or Foxy or any of the rest of them?” asked Cornwall.

“Not a sign,” said Hal. “We searched the castle. They're in some hidey-hole.”

“If we have to,” said Cornwall, “we'll take the place down stone by stone to find them. No one can pull a trick like this on us.”

“But we have to get that thing out of there,” said Mary. “We made a deal with the castle folk. The plain out there is swarming with Hellhounds. We'll never get out by ourselves.”

“What makes you think,” asked Sniveley, “they ever meant to keep the deal? They tried to use us. For some reason they want that thing out of the vault, and they'd have done anything …”

“We could tear down the vault,” said Gib. “It would take a little time.…”

“I think I'm fairly clean,” said Cornwall. “I'd better be getting out of here. Hand me my trousers, will you?”

Mary gestured at the makeshift clothesline that had been strung up. “They aren't dry,” she said.

“I'll wear them wet,” said Cornwall. “We'll have to start doing something. Maybe Gib is right. Tear down the vault.”

“Why bother with it anymore?” asked Hal. “We can fight our way through the Hellhounds. With the giant dead, the heart's gone out of them. They won't be all that tough.”

“You have only a couple of dozen arrows,” said Gib. “Once they're gone, there aren't any more. Then there'll be only Mark's sword and my ax.”

“Both the sword and ax are good,” said Sniveley. “You'll never find better.”

Coon fell in the tub. Cornwall picked him out by the scruff of his neck, reached over the edge of the tub, and dropped him on the ground. Coon shook himself, spattering everyone with soapy, smelly water.

“Here are your pants,” said Mary, handing them to Cornwall. “I told you they aren't dry. You'll catch your death of cold.”

“Thanks,” said Cornwall. “They'll be dry in a little while.”

“Good honest wool,” said Hal. “No one ever suffers from wearing wet wool.”

Cornwall got out of the tub, tugged on his trousers.

“I think we should talk this over,” he said. “There's something in that vault the castle folk want out. If it's all that important to them, it might be as important to us. Anyhow, I think we should get it out, find out what it is. And once we get it out, we'll dig out Big Belly and the rest of them from wherever they may be and talk to them by hand. But until we get out whatever's in the vault we can't talk to them too well. All of it may do us no good, and it'll be a messy job, of course …”

“There might be another way,” said Oliver. “The unicorn horn. The one that Mary has. Magic against magic.”

Sniveley shook his head. “I'm not sure it would work. Magic comes in specific packages.…”

“I hesitated to mention it,” Oliver apologized. “It's no place to send a lovely lady and …”

“Lady, hell,” Cornwall snorted. “If you think it has a chance, give me the horn and I'll go in again.”

“But it wouldn't work with you,” said Oliver. “It would only work with Mary. She has to be the one.”

“Then we tear down the vault,” said Cornwall. “Unless someone can think of something else. Mary, I tell you, is not going down into that vault.”

“Now, you listen here,” said Mary. “You have no right to say that. You can't tell me what to do. I'm a part of this band, and I claim the right to do whatever I can do. I've packed that horn for miles and it's an awkward thing to carry. If any good can come of it—”

“How do you know it will do any good at all?” yelled Cornwall. “What if it didn't work? What if you went down in there and …”

“I'll take the chance,” said Mary. “If Oliver thinks it will work, I'll go along with it.”

“Let me try it first,” said Cornwall.

“Mark,” said Hal, “you're being unreasonable. Mary could try at least. We could let her down, and if there were any motion there, if there were anything at all, we could pull her out immediately.”

“It's pretty bad down there,” said Cornwall. “It is downright awful. The smell is overpowering.”