The Brittle Limit, a Novel (20 page)

Severine drank from the cup and handed it
back empty to her captor. He had not spoken to her yet, only
grunted. But she could smell him. He had not showered for days, if
not weeks. He smelled of dried fish and urine.

A knock on a distant door caught the
attention of her captor and Severine heard his feet shuffle out of
the room.

Her captor had left her hands untied.
Severine pulled at the fabric around her head. It was a krama: She
could just barely see through the red-checked fabric. It was tied
tightly and she struggled with it for a moment before she was able
to pull it off.

She looked around. The sun was low, it was
late afternoon. The courtyard was filled with debris: Old bicycles,
a rusty metal tub, a couple car tires and a broken pushcart. She
saw no evidence of Samnang.

Severine set working on the ties around her
ankles. The knots were tied tightly and her fingers were cramped
from being tied and crushed under her own weight for several hours.
She heard voices from inside the house. She worked at the knots,
loosening them.

She figured she had a minute, two if she was
lucky. She kept at the knots, yanking. The last one gave way with a
final tug. She stood, steadied herself against the brick wall, and
raced to the gate. It was locked but the lock was old, like
everything else in the courtyard. She banged at it with the palm of
her fist, hoping it would give way. It did not. Looking around for
something sturdier, she grabbed a tire iron by the motorcycle and
smashed it against the metal lock. The lock, rusted from years of
rain, broke clear in two, the metal shearing where the tire iron
struck. The pieces clattered to the floor.

Severine knocked the lock off the gate and
pushed it open, running down the dusty street as her captor and his
guest appeared in the doorway of the house, alerted by the clatter.
Her captor, confused, looked to where Severine had been and then
over to the gate, which was open and swinging on its hinges. He
rushed out to the street and caught sight of Severine as she
rounded the corner in her bare feet. He raced after her.

She did not get far. Despite his bulk and
general dim-wittedness, her captor was quick. He bolted to the
corner, past the trash bins and tuk-tuks between him and his prey.
Severine glanced back and kept running. The open canal lay in front
of her.

He closed the distance in ten seconds and,
like a lion bored with the chase, knocked Severine to the ground
with a thick heavy sideways swipe to her head. He scooped her up,
tossing her over his shoulder, her dusty bare feet dangling by his
thick waist.

He pulled out a knife and held it against her
Achilles tendon, a suggestion to behave. He liked having a prisoner
to watch over. And he would not lose her again.

*******

After dusk, bound again in the courtyard,
leaning against a wall, Severine heard a familiar voice. She
turned.

Heang stared at her from several feet
away.

“So now, you have made things difficult for
yourself.” He glared at her, his nostrils flaring. He bent down to
her with a knife in his hands and sliced through the twine that
bound her ankles and knees.

“Get up,” he said, then called out to the
guard in Khmer. The guard opened the gates and a long black car
backed into the courtyard. As Severine struggled up, Heang yanked
her to her feet. When the car stopped, he pushed her to the back
car door, which had opened from inside. When Severine climbed in,
she saw Samnang, shivering and weeping in the far corner of the
back seat.

The car door slammed shut behind her. It was
dark and Severine heard breathing, slow and easy. A match was
struck and a familiar face smiled back at her in its wavering
light.

Chapter 24

The river had widened here, and the canoe had
slowed, giving the three men a good view of the plain. Frank
steered from the back and Stu directed upfront, their paddles
pulling the water backwards, drawing lines on the river’s surface
that spiraled out into the current.

As Andrew stared at the plain, all he could
think was that it was like a photograph. Only life-size and cast in
gold. It was a day in the life from long ago. All across the plain
were figures, humans and animals, caught in a moment in time, a
moment, Andrew could tell, of celebration. He could see tables
covered with food made of gold. Animals bedecked with jewels. The
expressions on the finely wrought human statues were ones of joy.
People smiled, danced, laughed and sang. In gold.

Frank spoke. “It was gift of sorts to a great
king from an artisan. A sign of the king’s worth, the joy he
brought to his people, and a measure of the people’s love for
him.”

“How far back?”

“None of us are experts but…”

Stu chimed in. “I would guess four thousand
years old.”

“That would predate the Terracotta Army by a
couple thousand years,” Andrew said. He had seen them in London
some years back.

Stuart was impressed. “Very good. The
artistry is finer as well. Casting these figures in gold. It
exceeds knowledge of metalworking of that time.”

“It’s astonishing,” Andrew said, looking at
the shining figures.

They had pulled the canoe to shore, stepped
out onto the beach and walked toward the plain. The soft sand gave
way underneath their feet, slowing their progress.

“You said there was a story?” Andrew
asked

“Yes, more of a fairy tale. There are
engravings over there.” Frank gestured to the far stone wall. “In
symbology none of us had seen. We copied it down and every couple
months, one of us would go to town and have it translated page by
page, careful-like, so no one could put two and two together.” He
rummaged around in his pockets.

“Here’s what we got.”

Frank pulled from his pocket several typed
pages and handed them to Andrew. “Why don’t you have a read. It’s
quite a yarn. Even for a spook like you.” He winked at Andrew and
walked away.

The Story of The Keep

There was an ancient kingdom before the lines
for countries were drawn. A great king ruled the land and the sea.
One day, bearing bad news, the king’s Magician found the king high
in a tower built on a hill shrouded by mist.

He said to his King, “Sir, I have studied the
stars, as you have entrusted me to do. Until now your rule has been
marked by greatness and peace, due to your wisdom. But also through
the grace of the stars. But now, I have foreseen a
catastrophe.”

The king turned from the window, where he
gazed out though the mist into the lives and hearts of his people,
who were content.

“I have never known you to trouble me with
small matters, so I will hear you out,” said the King.

The Magician gestured to the window to the
east.

“As you know, there are times of stasis and
times of change. We have been blessed by balance. Time must have
balance or things fall into disorder. I sense that a great
imbalance is coming, that the balance is breaking and once broken,
will not be repaired.”

“Please explain,” the king urged. Worry was
etched on his lined face that wore years of concern for his
far-reaching lands.

“The imbalance if left unheeded will lead to
a series of chaotic events. We are currently in harmony with the
other celestial bodies, but that will cease. The passage of time as
we know it will cease, the speed of time will increase. What used
to feel like a year, even a decade, will pass in a day. There will
be no order.”

“Can you restore the order?” the King asked,
looking south, at the sea that stretched far out beyond the view
from the window. The sun was setting and the evening clouds were
tinged with the yellow and orange of dusk.

“I do not know, your greatness. I have not
attempted such a spell before. There is no record of anyone trying
to restore the balance.”

The King looked at his Magician. “I have
great trust in you. I believe you can do this. I believe you must
try. How much time do we have?”

“A year, before the imbalance begins. After
that, the way forward is dangerous and unpredictable.”

“If you are successful, you will save my
kingdom. Then you will be a great and revered man. Do what you
must. I put the faith of my people with you.”

The Magician tried many spells to restore the
balance. Nothing worked. The year passed quickly and he still had
not righted the imbalance. The weather had shifted and many
terrible storms passed through the land, frightening the people and
ruining crops. The Magician knew this was only the beginning. There
was war threatened. People were restless, anxious, and angry.

One night deep in the bowels of his workshop,
he realized the source of the imbalance. At last the Magician
understood what he needed to do to restore balance to time, to hold
the coming chaos at bay.

He left the kingdom by the sea and wandered
for many nights in the wilderness until he found a great cavern,
where he sealed himself inside. Then he spun a spell unlike any
other he had cast before, binding the magic to the golden metal he
found deep in the stone. Binding the magic to the earth, where it
would take hold.

Then he began to create, in that metal, the
world in which he had once lived and to which he knew he could
never return…

Andrew flipped over the page to see if there
was anything more, but that was it.

He walked back to Frank, who was skipping
stones on the beach.

“What does it mean?” Andrew asked.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t know. But it
sounded important. This here is a magical place.”

Andrew looked around at the statues that
gleamed in the light. “It is indeed. It must be priceless.”

“Well, not quite priceless, but close, pound
for pound. We had a couple of our smarter fellows round this bend
and their guestimate was around $500 million if it was all melted
down.” He smiled. “Course, you wouldn’t want to melt this artistry
down to the base metal. Though I fear that may happen.”

Andrew stared out into the plain. “Can't we
just contact the Ministry of Mines and report it?”

Frank looked at Andrew sideways, from under
his hat. “That’s what Ben Goodnight tried to do.”

Andrew whirled around.

“You knew Ben Goodnight?”

Frank nodded, his face grim. “We hired him.
Or rather, we had someone hire him for us. We wanted him to dig
around, prospect for gold, find a few small artifacts, and file the
requisite report.”

“You paid River Metals to hire Ben?”

“Sure did. We thought if we could get this
place on the Ministry’s radar, with a few small but enticing gold
statuettes and other pieces we left top-side for Ben to find,
they’d send someone round to take a look and ring fence this place,
set it aside for safe-keeping.”

Andrew nodded. “I’ve seen Ben’s report. It
mentions finding several artifacts. You planted those?”

“Guilty.”

“But it didn’t work out that way. The land
was conceded for exploration.” Andrew said, kicking at the sand,
the grains flying low in every direction. Frank shook his head.

“Apparently, cash is king. Some durn company
paid millions of dollars for the right to mine out here. And that’s
just what’s on the books. You can bet there’s additional dollars
lining someone’s pocket to look the other way. They don’t know what
they’ve got.”

Andrew puzzled though this. “What happened to
Ben when he came back? Was it a landmine?”

Frank looked away, troubled. “Those damn men
in black set up camp out there a year ago. In a prime spot, right
by a stream. Always marching around and barking orders at each
other. Then they’d seen us out and about one day, started taking
pot shots at us. We’ve been skirmishing with them ever since.
Couldn’t find the way in here, so they started setting traps for
us.”

“And Ben walked right into a trap?”

“Yes sir, he sure did. Damn shame.” Frank
looked away, the briefest glint in his eyes.

*******

From the beach, the two men began a gradual
ascent to a distant rocky cliff, the plain of golden figures
stretching off to their left. Stu stayed with the canoe.

As they walked, the soft sand turned to
packed dirt. With no sunlight, it was a barren place. Here and
there, Andrew saw nuggets of gold scattered along the ground. The
walls of the cavern shone with dark yellow veins.

About a hundred feet up from the beach, steps
cut into the cliff led to a high plateau. The men ascended, Frank
catching his breath now and again on the way up. At the top, Andrew
turned to stare down at the plain below.

Frank spoke, breaking the reverie. “More to
see. Come.”

They walked for some ways along the plateau.
Ahead, Andrew saw a rough-hewn kiln, a stone hearth that would have
been used for a vast fire, and a cauldron. Metal-working
instruments, tongs, and clay crucibles were scattered on the
ground.

“This was the forge?”

“Yes.”

Andrew studied the ancient workshop.

“Incredible to think one man built all this,
just to remind himself of home.” Andrew said. He watched Frank poke
at the cold hearth with his toe.

“That is if you believe the story,” Frank
said.

Andrew picked up some tongs and sighed. He
finally had some answers about Ben and Flint would want to know. It
was time for him to go. But he had one message left to impart.

“You know you guys can’t stay here much
longer,” he said, staring hard at Frank.

“We know.” Frank nodded, his head still
down.

Andrew left aside all the unanswered
questions, the rightness and wrongness.

“We knew we’d need to leave at some point.
It’s just a little sooner than we thought. Times are changing,”
Frank said, still poking at the ancient stone coals. He looked up
at Andrew and squinted back at the fire.