of sight again.
Von Schiller craned forward, "GuddabW he called
"I -. "What are you playing at?" angrily There was another swirl below
the water, and something flashed like a mirror in the depths.
"Guddabi !'von Schiller's voice rose petulantly.
Almost as if in response to the summons, Nahoot's head broke out through
the surface. His skin was.waxen yellow, drained of all blood, and his
mouth gaped open in a dreadful, silent scream. The water around him
boiled as though a shoal of great fish were feeding below. As von
Schiller stared in incomprehension, a dark tide rose up around Nahoot's
head and stained the surface a rose-petal red. For a moment von Schiller
did not realize that it was Nahoot's blood.
T
Then he saw the long, sinuous shapes darting and twisting beneath the
surface, surrounding Nahoot, feeding upon his flesh. Nahoot lifted his
hand again and extended it towards von Schiller, pleadingly. The arm was
halfdevoured, mutilated by deep half-moon wounds where the flesh had
been bitten away in chunks.
Von Schiller screamed in horror, backing away from the pool. Nahoot's
eyes were huge and dark and accusing.
He stared at von Schiller and a wild cawing sound that was not human
issued from his straining throat.
Even as von Schiller watched, one of the giant tropical ee Is thrust its
head through the surface and its teeth gleamed like broken glass as it
gaped wide, and then locked its jaws on to Nahoot's throat. Nahoot made
no effort to tear the creature away. He was too far gone. He stated at
von Schiller all the while that the eel, twisting and rolling into a
gleaming ball of slimy coils, still hung from his throat.
Slowly Nahoot's head sank below the surface again.
For long minutes the pool was agitated by the movements in its depth and
the occasional gleam of one of the serpentine fish. Then gradually the
surface settled as still and serene as a sheet of black glass.
Von Schiller turned and ran, back up the incline shaft, past the landing
on which the generator still puttered quietly, blindly trying to get as
far away as he could from that dreadful pool. He did not know where he
was going, but followed any passageway that opened in front of him.
At the foot of the central stairway he ran into the corner Of the wall
and stunned himself, falling to the agate tiles and lying there
blubbering as a large purple lump rose on his forehead.
After a while he dragged himself to his feet and lurched up the stairs.
He was confused and disorientated, his mind starting to break up -in
delirium, driven over the edge of
652 it's sanity by horror and fear. He fell again, and crawled along the
tunnel on his hands and knees to the next corner of . Only the was he
able to regain his feet to the maz stagger onwards.
The steep shaft leading down into Taita's gas trap opened under his feet
without him seeing it. He fell down the steps, jarring and bruising his
legs and chest. Then he was on his feet again, reeling across the store
room past the ranks of amphorae, up the far staircase and into the
painted arcade that led to the torrib of Pharaoh Mamose.
He had tottered dowh half the length of it, dishevelled and wild'eyed
and demented, when suddenly the lights dimmed for a moment, fading to a
yellow glow. Then they brightened again as the generator sucked the last
drops of fuel from the bottom of the tank. Von Schiller stopped in the
centre of the arcade and looked up at the lights with despair. He knew
what was coming. For another few minutes the bulbs burned on, bright and
cheerfully, and then again they dimmed and faded.
The darkness settled over him like the heavy velvet folds of a funeral
pall. It was so intense and complete that it seemed to have a physical
weight and texture. He could taste the darkness in his mouth as it
seemed to force its way into his body and suffocate him.
He ran again, wildly and blindly, losing all sense of direction in the
blackness. He crashed headlong into stone and fell again, stunned. He
could feel the warm tickle of blood running down his face, and he could
not breathe. He whimpered and gasped and slowly, lying on his side, he
curled himself into a ball like a foetus in the womb.
He wondered how long it would take him to die, and his soul quailed as
he knew that it might take days and even weeks. He moved slightly,
cuddling in closer to the stone object with which he had collided. In
the darkness he had no way of telling that it was the great sarcophagus
of Mamose that sheltered him. Thus he lay in the darkness of the tomb,
surrounded by the funeral treasures of an emperor, and waited for his
own slow but inexorable death.
he monastery of St. Frumentius was deserted.
The monks had heard the gunfire and the sounds of battle echoing down
the gorge, and had gathered up their treasures and fled.
Nicholas ran down the long, empty cloister, pausing to catch his breath
at the head of the staircase that led down to the level of the Nile and
the Epiphany shrine where he had stored the boats. Panting, he searched
the gloom of the deep basin below him into which the sunlight se! Clom
reached, but the moving clouds of silver spray from the twin waterfalls
screened the depths. He had no way of telling if Sapper and Royan were
down there waiting for him, or if they had run into trouble on the
trail.
He adjusted the tattered and bloodstained bandage around his chin, and
then started down. Then he heard her voice in the silver mist below him,
calling his name, and she came pelting up the slippery, slime-covered
stairs towards him.
"Nicholas! Oh, thank God! I thought you weren't coming." She would have
rushed into his embrace, but then she saw his bandaged and blood-smeared
face, and she stopped and stared at him, appalled.
Sweet Mary!" she whispered. "What happened to you, Nickyr
"A little tiff with Jake Helm. Just a scratch, but I am 4, not much good
at kissing right now," he mumbled, trying to grin around the bandage,
"You will have to wait for later."
He put one arm around her shoulders, almost swinging her off her feet,
as he turned her to face down the stairs again.
"Where are the others?" He hurried her down.
"They are all here," she told him. "Sapper and Mek are pumping the boats
and loading."
"Tessay?"
"She's safe."
They scrambled down the last flight of steps on to the jetty below the
Epiphany shrine. The Nile had risen ten feet since Nicholas had last
stood there. The river was full and angry, muddy and swift. He could
barely make out the cliffs on the far bank through the drifting clouds
of spray.
The five Avon boats were drawn up at the edge. Four of them were already
fully inflated, and the last one was billowing and swelling as the air
was released into it from the compressed air cylinder. Mek and Sapper
were packing the ammunition crates into the ready boats and strapping
them down under green nylon cargo nets.
Sapper looked up at Nicholas and a comical expression of astonishment
spread over his bluff features, "What the blue bleeding blazes happened
to your face?"
"Tell you about it one day," Nicholas promised, and turned to embrace
Mek.
"Thank you, old friend," he said sincerely, "Your men fought well, and
you waited for me." Nicholas glanced at the row of wounded guerrillas
that lay against the foot of the cliff. "How many casualties?"
"Three dead, and these six wounded. It could have been much worse if
Nogo's men had pushed us harder."
"Still, it's too many," said Nicholas.