"Oh no!"
"Jesus!" said Richards.
It was the end of the line in no uncertain way; a hard wooden buffer. The pump wagon smashed into it, and they were thrown into the air. Bear clasped Richards tightly to him as they flew. Fur, sand and sky turned over and over themselves. There was a thump. A drift of sand. Silence.
"Ow," said Bear. "Ow ow ow." Richards was winded. Tarquin had been spun round so his head was under his back, but he was unharmed. Richards patted Bear's ample belly.
"Thanks, sergeant," he said. "You're a very useful bear."
"Ow, get off." They got to their feet. Bent iron and splinters were strewn everywhere. "Oooh," said Bear.
"It appears that we have arrived. Somewhere," stated Tarquin.
"Eh?" said Richards. He rearranged himself and brushed off the sand. He pulled on the lionskin so that Tarquin's head was no longer hanging off his back and turned round to see a canyon mouth. A narrow opening between two natural pillars of sandstone. Above it, a large sign of weather-worn bronze bearing a legend. It read: "La Valle dei Promesse persa."
"What does it say, what does it say?" asked Bear.
"The Valley of Lost Promises," said Richards. "In Italian. Now that is interesting."
The valley started as a canyon and quickly became a crevasse. A sandy path wound between walls of rock, so narrow that Bear had to force himself through sideways. The walls rose, the sky became a stripe, and they were walking in shadow.
They paused for a rest toward noon, and when they set off once more the path widened. Thorny plants that reeked of creosote lined its margins in dense profusion.
The canyon broadened into a scrubby valley. A stream trickled though a dry riverbed many times its width. Cliffs ran on either side, their feet hidden by cubes of fallen rock. In the centre a mesa rose, flat top level with the desert. It split the river bed, only one channel carrying water past it.
Every available patch of ground was covered in the thorny bushes, smothering nascent sand-dunes and holding fast the scree. Rising up from this painful thicket were hundreds of statues, all of the same woman in many different poses. On all, her face was beatific, generous, a little sad.
The largest was so big its head and shoulders cleared the canyon to stand glowing in the desert sun above. It was in an art nouveau style. She looked down upon them, a single tear of bronze on her face, as if the artist had allowed white-hot metal to run down her cheek. Her bare feet were on point like a ballerina, the whole edifice balanced unreally on a plinth the height of Bear.
"The queen!" said Bear softly. "They're all statues of the queen! What are they all doing here?"
"Looks like they've been dumped. There are statue graveyards like this back in the Real, victims of regime changes."
"Eh?" said Bear.
"Never mind," said Richards.
The path that wended its way past the statues — verdigrised bronze, marble, steel, modern stacked carbon plastics — was broad enough for Richards and Bear to walk comfortably abreast. The thorns choked everything, swallowing the smaller statues, clutching at the hips of the greater.
"Hang on a minute," said Richards. He pushed through the bushes toward a statue, sharp breaths and expletives preceding him as thorns snagged at his legs. He stopped, pushed back his hat and leaned in closer. "There's something on this one." He peered through a lattice of thorn and twig. A plaque was upon the statue's plinth. He couldn't read it until he moved some of the vegetation aside.
"Isabella," said Tarquin, "the queen's name."
"What's all this mean?" asked Bear.
"Beats me," said Richards. "Come on."
They walked some more, rounding the mesa. Ahead there was a cave, nestling in the apex of the triangle where the valley walls drew together in a curtain of rock. The river issued from the cave, gurgling over its lower lip. Mosses and ferns grew on the knoll above it. A rich scent of damp earth came from within. It was moist.
"Is it just me, or does that look like a big fanny?" said Bear.
"It's not just you, dear boy. It does look like a big fanny."
"Do you mind?" said Richards.
"Sunshine, it is a big fanny," said Bear. "Now what?"
Richards looked up. The cliffs around them were sheer. He looked at the sun and pointed at the cave. "If this place follows the normal rules, that way is west. We go in."
They abandoned the path and took to the river, splashing up to the cave mouth. Richards paused at the lip; the cave was dark. He waited for his eyes to adjust. They didn't.
Bear took a big drink from the stream and pushed past Richards, wiping his muzzle on a long hairy arm. "Come on then. If we're going in, let's not hang about."
Richards followed. Darkness enveloped them, Bear became a dull shape bobbing uncertainly in the gloom. Water sloshed round his ankles.
"Hang on a minute," said Bear, the grey smear of his back stopping. "It goes down a bit he…"
There was a large splash, and Bear disappeared. Richards walked forward cautiously. "Bear? Bear!" he shouted. "Are you in there, big buddy?"
"He's gone!" said Tarquin. "What are we going to do?"
Richards went a little way on, willing his eyes to see more, but all he could make out were blobs that might have been rocks and a darkness that had to be deep water. "He's complete… woah!" Something took tight hold of his ankle and yanked him. He bounced off a rock, went under the water and lost his breath in an explosion of bubbles. Down he went, thrashing in the dark, lungs burning. Panic set in. Real fear as he'd never felt it before, primal and all-consuming. He battered at the pressure on his leg with his fists, hitting rubbery flesh. He dug his fingers in as hard as he could. His lungs burned. He had to fight the urge to suck in lungfuls of water as hard as he clawed at the thing at his ankle.
Light came from below. Whatever had hold of his leg let go. He fought for the surface, flailing his arms, primitive parts of his fake brain telling him to get up, up! But a current grasped him as surely as the thing had, and his attempts to swim made his lungs burn worse. Spots whirled in the dark. He swirled head over heels, toward the light.
He popped through a hole along with a torrent of water issuing from the underside of a sheet of rock. Air touched his face, his lips exploded open, and he sucked in a breath.
Nothing had ever felt so good. The feeling did not last. He was falling.
"What the hell?" Richards' face was pushed tight against his skull as he entered freefall. He clutched hard at his hat, but it was torn away from him. The fall of water turned to droplets, then a rainbow mist carried off by the wind, and he was in cold, cold sky. Below him clouds arrayed themselves with deceptive solidity. Far below that was a patchwork world in miniature, stark contrasts evident between each slab of stolen terrain.
"Ah, shit," he said, words wrenched from his mouth by the wind.
A dirty white blob preceded them. "Look!" shouted Tarquin. "Bear!"
Richards caught sight of a glint in the sun. As they fell, it grew bigger, turning into a metal-hulled ship suspended between two larger shapes, long torpedo-like things with tail flukes and multiple flippers — many-limbed whales. Figures resolved themselves on the deck, looking up and pointing. The ship rocked as Bear hit. Richards opened his arms up and steered himself toward the boat like a skydiver. It rushed up at him, crew scattering.
He hit Bear's stomach, cracking a scrim of ice on his fur.
"Oof!" said the bear. He looked up into Richards' face, sprawled on his gut. "Nice of you to drop in," he said with a grin.
"That's two I owe your tummy," said Richards. He smiled broadly as his hat fluttered down and landed next to him. "Hey! My hat!" He scooped it up and popped it on his head.
"Arrrr, this all be very touching," said a piratical voice. "But what be yer business aboard the Kylie? "