“Whenever you wish to sell”-Burleigh started down the steps- “you will send to Catchmole. He will do the rest.”
“Why are you doing this?” Charles called after his visitor’s disappearing form.
“I already told you,” answered Burleigh, receding down the steps. “It is my business.”
“Just business? Nothing more?”
Burleigh gave a laugh as he disappeared into the shadows. “You have no idea how far my business interests take me.”
CHAPTER 18
Cupping his hands to his eyes, Kit blinked at the black stretch of highway as it shimmered gently in the full sun of a blistering summer day. The shock of seeing that road rocked him backwards a step. An image so drearily commonplace in his home world… in this world the sight jolted through him like lightning. It was a moment before he could properly frame his thoughts, and then the best he could manage was a feeble and ineffectual How…?
The narrow passage in the cave contained a ley line-that was the only explanation. He had unwittingly crossed over and was now… where? Judging solely by the highway, it was somewhere reasonably modern. In other words, a world about as far away from the Stone Age as Marylebone from Mars. Kit gazed at the asphalt artery as it curved through the valley, hugging the sinuous curve of the river, and the sight filled him with dread bordering on despair. Why? he wondered. Why now?
There was a time when his first instinct would have been to run to that dusty band of tarmac, fall on his knees, and kiss it for everything it signified. But he was past that. Now he wanted nothing more than to dive back into the cave and take the leap back to rejoin his clansmen in the cave. His clansmen! Being part of River City Clan, learning their ways, discovering all the little mysteries of their existence, of another form of human life… this was his life, and he was not done with it yet, and he was in no way prepared to leave them without so much as a “So long, see ya later.”
“No,” he muttered with a determined shake of his head. “Not now. Not like this.”
He glimpsed a burst of motion far down on the slope below as the cave lion disappeared into the thick brush of the riverbank. “Byebye, Baby,” he murmured. “You go your way, and I’ll go mine.” With that, he turned right around and scrambled back into the cave.
Kit fumbled his way along the interior of the cavern, leaving the world of air and light behind. It was a slow and nerve-wracking process, but stubborn resolve kept his feet moving. When it grew too dark to see anymore, he steadied himself with one hand on the near left wall and worked his way along until he felt the passage straighten out and reckoned that might be the end of the ley.
Bracing himself for a blind leap, he started off. Trying to walk normally and with purpose in total darkness-one hand on the rough rock wall beside him and the other waving out in front-was more difficult than he expected. After a bit of practise he was able to achieve a respectable gait, but to no discernible effect.
He stumbled over the uneven floor, willing the transition to happen. When he reached the end of the straight section, he turned around and hobbled back to start again. After two failed attempts to make the leap, he remembered Wilhelmina’s ley lamp in the inner pouch sewn into this shirt. He fished it out and waved it around. The little blue lights flashed, gave off a dying flicker, and winked out. Turning this way and that in the passage, he held the lamp before him, but could not raise another signal and was forced to conclude that any ley activity present in the cave was now dormant.
With a grumble and grinding of his teeth, Kit turned on his heel and headed back to the cave entrance to wait until the ley grew active once more. The day outside was hot and bright; it took him awhile to get used to sunlight again, and heat. He was soon sweating in his furs and wishing he had something else to wear. He shed the long, heavy tunic shirt, rolling it up and stashing it carefully under a rock just inside the mouth of the cave; he would need it later.
Returning to the hillside, he took the opportunity to more properly spy out the land. It was fairly arid hill country with a ridge of jagged grey mountains rising to the northwest, a river winding through a green valley below, and what appeared to be olive trees dotting the hillsides within view. The mountains looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place them. Aside from the olive trees, he might be almost anywhere-not that it mattered, because he did not plan on hanging around long enough to find out more. It irked him that he had been transferred to this place. Just his luck, he moaned; when he wanted to leave, the ley line he knew refused to open. Now that he had a reason to stay a little longer, he had been ejected by a ley he had not known was there.
Consoling himself with the thought that knowing a way back to his clan was the main thing and he could return later, Kit sat down in the shadow of an overhanging rock to wait for the sun to go down. Even sitting in the shade, the heat began to wear on him- the abrupt change from winter to high summer was a shock to the system. He closed his eyes and was soon dozing. Sometime later, a distant sound roused him from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes and looked around; everything was as before, but now he was aware of a burning thirst.
Looking down towards the river, he saw the gleam of shining water and decided that nothing would be gained by allowing himself to get dehydrated, so he rose and started down the hillside. He reached the riverbank and, keeping an eye out for the young cave lion, began searching for a place where he might be able to access the water, scrambling through the brush growing thick on the bank. He came to a flat stretch of pebbled shingle on the bank and, kneeling, scooped up handfuls of fresh water, still cool from the mountain springs.
He drank his fill and was just about to rise when he heard a tremendous commotion in the brush behind him. Fearing that Baby had found him, Kit grabbed a good-sized stone from the strand and crouched, ready to fight. Out from the brush bounded two big hounds-lean, long-legged beasts; one grey, one brown-and both of them extremely surprised to see him.
They halted in midchase and froze, heads low, ears flattened, hackles raised.
“Easy, fellas,” said Kit, raising his free hand to show it empty. “Good boys. Stay.” At the sound of his voice, the brown dog raised his snout and gave a single long yowl. The other remained fixed on him, snarling gently.
As if in answer to the first hound’s yelp, Kit heard a thrashing in the wood, and into the clearing stepped a man in a red shirt and leather hunting vest. He was wearing a black beret and carrying a double-barrelled shotgun. He took one look at Kit and breathed, “ Madre de Dios!”
Kit, still clutching the stone, said, “Okay, let’s not get excited. Let’s stay cool.”
At this, the man in the black beret raised the shotgun and pointed it at Kit’s chest. “Que?”
“English?” countered Kit. “Anglais?”
Neither word had any effect. The man, still goggle-eyed at the apparition before him, remained unmoved, the gun unwaveringly aimed at Kit’s chest. This standoff seemed to last an age, and then the man gestured with the gun barrel for Kit to throw down the rock. Kit complied without hesitation.
“Don’t shoot, okay?” he said, raising his hands slowly. “I’m just a traveller. You can put the gun down. I won’t cause any trouble. See?”
The man gestured for Kit to move away from the riverbank, which he did, and Kit was then led at gunpoint out of the brush and into the field beyond. Once in the open, the man gave out a long, rising whistle. It was answered by another in kind. A moment later, a second man appeared from out of the bushy scrub along the river. Like the first, he was dressed in a red shirt and black beret; he also had leather leggings on his trousers and wore a pouch for birds or rabbits or other small game slung over one shoulder.