Junior sat on the rock, swigging from his flask.
Squeaky glared pantomime evil at him and he offered the flask to Charlie.
“That’s your poison, man,” he said.
“You should drop acid,” said Squeaky. “So you can learn from the wisdom of the mountain.”
Junior laughed, big belly-shaking chuckles.
“You’re funnin’ me, girl. Ain’t nothing dumber than a mountain.”
Leech didn’t add to the debate.
Constant came to end of the rope. Ouisch dangled fifty feet inside the rock.
“It’s dark,” she shouted up. “And wet. There’s water all around. Water with things in it. Icky.”
“Have you ever considered the etymology of the term ‘icky’?” asked Leech. “Do you suppose this primal, playroom expression of disgust could be related to the Latin prefix ‘ichthy’, which translates literally as ‘fishy’?”
“I was in a picture once, called Manfish,” said Junior. “I got to be out on boats. I like boats.”
“Manfish? Interesting name.”
“It was the name of the boat in the movie. Not a monster, like that Black Lagoon thing. Universal wouldn’t have me in that. I did The Alligator People, though. Swamp stuff. Big stiff suitcase-skinned gator-man.”
“Man-fish,” said Charlie, trying to hop on the conversation train. “I get it. I see where you’re coming from, where you’re going. The Old Lady. What’s she, a mermaid? An old mermaid?”
“You mean she really looks like that?” yelped Squeaky. “The one time I saw her I was tripping. Man, that’s messed up! Charlie, I think I’m scared.”
Charlie cuffed Squeaky around the head.
“Ow, that hurt.”
“Learn from the pain, child. It’s the only way.”
“You shouldn’t ought to hit ladies, Mr. Man,” said Junior. “It’s not like with guys. Brawlin’ is part of being a guy. But with ladies, it’s, you know, not polite. Wrong. Even when you’ve got a snoutful, you don’t whop on a woman.”
“It’s for my own good,” said Squeaky, defending her master.
“Gosh, little lady, are you sure?”
“It’s the only way I’ll learn.” Squeaky picked up a rock and hit herself in the head with it, raising a bruise. “I love you, Charlie,” she said, handing him the bloody rock.
He kissed the stain, and Squeaky smiled as if she’d won a gold star for her homework and been made head cheerleader on the same morning.
Ouisch popped her head up out of the hole like a pantomime chimneysweep. She had adorable dirt on her cheeks.
“There’s a way down,” she said. “It’s narrow here, but opens out. I think it’s a, whatchumacallit, passage. The rocks feel smooth. We’ll have to enbiggen the hole if you’re all to get through.”
Constant looked at the problem. “This stone, that stone, that stone,” he said, pointing out loose outcrops around the lip of the hole. “They will come away.”
Charlie was about to make fun of the German boy, but held back. Like Leech, he sensed that the kid knew what he was talking about.
“I study engineering,” Constant said. “I thought I might build houses.”
“Have to tear down before you can build up,” said Charlie.
Constant and Squeaky wrestled with rocks, wrenching them loose, working faults into cracks. Ouisch slipped into the hole, to be out of the way.
Charlie didn’t turn a hand to the work. He was here in a supervisory capacity.
Eventually the stones were rolled away.
“Strange, that is,” said Constant as sun shone into the hole. “Those could be steps.”
There were indeed stairs in the hole.
Constant, of course, had brought a battery flashlight. He shone it into the hole. Ouisch sat on a wet step.
The stairs were old, pre-human.
Charlie tapped Squeaky, pushed her a little. She eased herself into the hole, plopping down next to Ouisch.
“You light the way,” he told Constant. “The girls will scout ahead. Reconnaissance.”
“Nothing down there but water,” said Junior. “Been there a long time.”
“Maybe no people. But big blind fish.”
The Family crowd descended the stairs, their light swallowed by the hole.
Leech and Junior lingered topside.
Charlie looked up. “You comin’ along, Mr. Fish?”
Leech nodded. “It’s all right,” he told Junior. “We’ll be safe in the dark.”
* * *
Inside the mountain, everything was cold and wet. Natural tunnels had been shaped by intelligent (if webbed) hands at some point. The roofs were too low even for the girls to walk comfortably, but scarred patches of rock showed where paths had been cut, and the floor was smoothed by use. Sewer-like runnel-gutters trickled with fresh water. Somehow, no one liked to drink the stuff—though the others must all have a desert thirst.
They started to find carved designs on the rocks. At first, childish wavy lines with stylised fish swimming.
Charlie was excited by the nearness of the sea.
They could hear it, roaring below. Junior felt the pull of the water.
Leech heard the voices in the roar.
Like a bloodhound, Junior led them through triune junctions, down forking stairways, past stalactite-speared cave-dwellings, deeper into the three-dimensional maze inside the mountain.
“We’re going to free the waters,” said Charlie. “Let the deluge wash down onto the city. This mountain is like a big dam. It can be blown.”
The mountain was more like a stopper jammed onto a bottle. Charlie was right about pressure building up. Leech felt it in his inner ears, his eyes, his teeth. Squeaky had a nosebleed. The air was thick, wet with vapour. Marble-like balls of water gathered on the rock roof and fell on them, splattering on clothes like liquid bullets. In a sense, they were already underwater.
It would take more than dynamite to loose the flood; indeed, it would take more than physics. However, Charlie was not too far off the mark in imagining what could be done by loosening a few key rocks. There was the San Andreas fault to play with. Constant would know which rocks to take out of the puzzle. A little directed spiritual energy, some sacrifices, and the Coast of California could shear away like a slice of pie. Then the stopper would be off, and the seas would rise, waking up the gill-people, the mer-folk, the squidface fellows. A decisive turn and a world war would be lost, by the straights, the over-thirties, the cops and docs and pols, the Man. Charlie and Chocko could stage their last war games, and the sea-birds would cheer tekeli-li tekeli-li...
Leech saw it all, like a coming attraction. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to pay to see that movie.
Maybe on a re-run triple feature with drastically reduced admission, slipped in between Night of the Living Dead and Planet of the Apes.
Seriously, Hello Dolly! spoke to him more on his level.
“The Earth is hollow,” said Charlie. “The Nazis knew that.”
Constant winced at mention of Nazis. Too many Gestapo jokes had made him sensitive.
“Inside, there are the big primal forces, water and fire. They’re here for us, space kiddettes. For the Family. This is where the Helter Skelter comes down.”
The tunnel opened up into a cathedral.
They were on an upper level of a tiered array of galleries and balconies. Natural rock and blocky construction all seemed to have melted like wax, encrusted with salty matter. Stalactites hung in spiky curtains, stalagmites raised like obscene columns.
Below, black waters glistened.
Constant played feeble torchlight over the interior of the vast space.
“Far out, man,” said Ouisch.
“Beautiful,” said Junior.
There was an echo, like the wind in a pipe organ.
Greens and browns mingled in curtains of icy rock, colours unseen for centuries.
“Here’s your story,” said Constant.
He pointed the torch at a wall covered in an intricate carving. A sequence of images—an underground comic!—showed the mountain opening up, the desert fractured by a jagged crack, a populated flood gushing forth, a city swept into the sea. There was a face on the mountain, grinning in triumph—Charlie, with a swastika on his forehead, his beard and hair tangled like seaweed.