He was awake again. He must have fallen asleep. He was still in terrible pain, though it seemed dulled now. He could not move! He tried to sit upright, tried to move a limb, twitch a finger, just open his eyes… but nothing.
Sounds came to him as though from under water. He lay on something soft now, not hard. It was no more comfortable. What had he been thinking? Something important.
He swam back up through the watery sounds around him, helplessly aware of the noises he was making: wheezing, whining, gurgling.
What had he thought of?
The waters parted, like a hazy curtain drawn aside. He thought he saw his friend Droffo. He needed to tell him something. He wanted to grasp Droffo’s clothing, drag himself upright, scream into his face, issue a terrible warning!
Then there was Neguste. He had tears on his face. There were many other faces, concerned, businesslike, neutral, dreading, dreadful.
He was awake once again. He was clutching at Droffo’s neck, only it was not really Droffo. Don’t let it! Destroy! Mine the chamber, bring it down! Don’t let…
He was asleep in his seat, an old man perhaps, lost in the end of his days, such days shuffled in this slow fading of the light from him. Genteel confusion; he relied on others to tend to him. Somebody was behind him, searching for something. They always stole. Was this what he’d ever wanted? He was not his father’s son, then. He tried to turn round to confront whoever was trying to steal his memories, but could not move. Unless this sensation was a memory too. He felt he might be about to start crying. The voice went on whispering into his ear, into his head. He could not make out what it was it was saying. Old age came with great pain, which seemed unfair. All other senses were dulled but pain was still bright. No, that was not true, the pain was dulled too. Here it was being dulled again.
“What is he trying to say?”
“We don’t know. We can’t make it out.”
Awake again. He blinked, looked up at a ceiling he had seen before. He tried to remember who he was. He decided he must be Droffo, lying here, in the hospital train. No, look; here was Droffo. He must be somebody else, then. He needed to say something to Droffo. Who were all these other people? He wanted them gone. They had to understand! But go. Understand, then go. Things needed to be done. Urgent work. He knew and he had to tell them that he knew. They had to do what he could not. Now!
“Stroy,” he heard himself say through the ruins. “Ring it all down. It…” Then his voice faded away and the light went again. This darkness, enveloping. How quickly the Rollstars moved, how little they illuminated. He needed to tell Droffo, needed to get him to understand and through him everybody else…
He blinked back. Same room. Medical compartment. Something was different, though. He could hear what sounded like shooting. Was that the smell of smoke, burning?
He looked up. Droffo. But not Droffo. It looked like Mertis tyl Loesp. What was he doing here?
“Help…” he heard himself say.
“No,” tyl Loesp said, with a thin smile. “There’s no helping you, prince,” then a mailed fist came crashing down into his face, obliterating light.
Tyl Loesp strode down the ramp into the chamber housing the Sarcophagus, heavily armed men at his heel. The grey cube was surrounded by concentric circles of Oct. They seemed hardly to have noticed that dead and dying men lay scattered about the chamber. The dying were being helped on their way by those charged with dispatching the wounded. Tyl Loesp had been told that a few of the defenders might still be able to put up a fight; the wounded might not all have been accounted for and the chamber was still dangerous; however, he had been impatient to see this thing for himself and had flown straight here on his already tired lyge after they’d taken the Settlement’s centre and discovered the broken Prince Regent lying dying on his hospital bed.
“Poatas, Savide,” he said as they approached him through the mass of Oct. He looked back at the chamber entrance, where a great black cube ten metres to a side was being manoeuvred to the top of the ramp from the tunnel beyond. A couple of distant shots rang out, echoing round the chamber. Tyl Loesp smiled to see Poatas jerk as though he’d been shot himself. “You have been busy,” he said to the old man. “Our prince didn’t delay matters, did he?”
“No, sir,” Poatas said, looking down. “Progress has been all we might have wished. It is good to see you once more, sir, and know that you are victorious—”
“Yes yes, Poatas. All very loyal. Savide; you approve of all that’s happening here?”
“All is approval. We would help further. Let us assist.”
“Do so, by all means.”
Awake again. Yet more pain. He heard his own breathing. It made a strange gurgling sound. Somebody was dabbing at his face, hurting him. He tried to cry out, could not.
“Sir?”
No sounds would come. He could see his servant with one eye now, again as though through a hazy curtain. Where was Droffo? He had to tell him something.
“Oh, sir!” Neguste said, sniffing.
“Still alive, prince?”
He got the single good eye to open. Even this action was not without pain. It was Mertis tyl Loesp. Neguste stood somewhere behind, head down, sobbing.
He tried to look at tyl Loesp. He tried to talk. He heard a bubbling sound.
“Oh, now now now. Hush yourself,” tyl Loesp said, as though talking to an infant, and pursed his lips and put one finger to his lips. “Don’t delay, dear prince. Don’t let us detain you. Depart; feel free. Sake, sir, your father died easier than this. Hurry up. You.”
“Sir?” Neguste said.
“Can he talk?”
“No, sir. He says nothing. He tries, I think… Earl Droffo; he asks for Earl Droffo. I’m not sure.”
“Droffo?”
“Dead, sir. Your men killed him. He was trying to—”
“Oh, yes. Well, ask away all you like, prince. Droffo cannot come to you, though you will soon go to him.”
“Oh, please don’t hurt him, sir, please!”
“Shut up or I’ll hurt you. Captain; two guards. You; you will — now what?”
“Sir! Sir!” Another new voice, young and urgent.
“What?”
“The thing, sir, the object, Sarcophagus! It, it’s doing — it’s — I can’t — it’s…!”
It is not what you believe, Oramen had time to think, then things went flowing away from him again and he felt himself slip back beneath the waters.
“Sir!”
“What?” tyl Loesp said, not stopping. They were in the newly broadened tunnel a minute from the entrance to the great semi-spherical chamber containing the Sarcophagus.
“Sir, this man insists he is a knight in your employ.”
“Tyl Loesp!” an anguished voice rang out over the pack of advisers, guards and soldiers around tyl Loesp. “It’s me, Vollird, sir!”
“Vollird?” tyl Loesp said, halting and turning. “Let me see him.”
The guards parted and two of them brought a man forward, each holding one of his arms. Vollird it was indeed, though he was dressed in what looked like rags, his hair was wild and the expression on his face wilder still, his eyes staring.
“It is, sir! It’s me! Your good and faithful servant, sir!” Vollird cried. “We did all we could, sir! We nearly got him! I swear! There were just too many!”
Tyl Loesp stared at the fellow. He shook his head. “I have no time for you—”