"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, well 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 rilled 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."