'No man wants to die, Lewis.' The words came back to him and he felt the truth of them.
Shannow didn't want to die; he wanted to find Jerusalem and to know peace. He looked up at the Ark and the glowing lights, listening to the music. Then he glanced back at Lewis' body, merging with the moon shadows.
He walked on to the rock doorway and there, drawing his pistol, he stepped to the side. As the door opened, Shannow's pistol came up, but the steel tunnel beyond was empty. Keeping to the wall, he stepped inside and the door closed behind him. There were no stairs leading down, no doorways that he could see and he cursed softly.
The elevator door whispered open, beckoning him. Sheathing his pistol, he stepped inside.
The doors closed and the elevator lurched slightly; when they opened again he saw what he had expected to see: armed guards with pistols pointed at his chest. They were dressed strangely in flat dark blue peaked caps and doubled-breasted serge jackets. In their midst stood the giant Sarento in a similar suit, but white, with brass buttons and blue epaulettes each bearing three gold bars.
'You really are a disappointing man, Mr Shannow,' Sarento greeted him.
The guards moved in and disarmed the Jerusalem Man, who offered them no resistance. He was led out and found himself, not in the shining hallway he remembered, but in an enormous room filled with extravagantly carved furniture, luxurious carpets and stained glass windows.
'Magnificent, is it not?' said Sarento.
Shannow said nothing. He stared in silent wonder at the stained glass depicting sailing ships and Biblical saints, surrounded by gilded panels of exquisite carpentry.
'Why did you come back, Mr Shannow?'
'To destroy you.'
'Did you really believe you could work one of your Brigand-killing miracles amongst the Guardians? Surely not?'
People started to filter into the room — all were dressed in curious fashion. The women wore long elaborate dresses; the men had black coats and white shirts.
Take him below,' said Sarento. ‘I’ll see him later.'
The four guards walked Shannow to a carpeted staircase and on to a door bearing a brass plaque: B-S9. Inside was a four-poster bed with velvet curtains and a small writing table inlaid with gold.
'Sit down,' said one of the guards, a young man with short cropped blond hair. 'Make yourself comfortable.'
They waited in uneasy silence until Sarento joined them. He removed his white cap and dropped it to the table.
'Tell me about the ship,' said Shannow and Sarento chuckled.
'You are a cool man, Mr Shannow. I like you.' The giant sat back on the bed and peeled off his white gloves. 'Are you impressed by Rebirth?" 'Of course,' admitted Shannow. 'And so you should be. This was one of the largest ships ever made. It was eight hundred and eighty-two feet long and weighed 46, 000 tons. It was a miracle of engineering, and one of the wonders of the ancient world.' Shannow suddenly laughed. 'What is amusing you, sir?'
'Do you like parables, Sarento? It seems to me that this ship mirrors your lunatic dreams — opulent and civilized, and buried by the sea.'
'Except that we have brought it back,' snapped Sarento.
'Yes, to sit on a mountain above the ruins of a civilization you did not know even existed. A ship on a mountain — huge and useless, like your ambition.'
'A ship on a mountain? Come with me, Mr Shannow. I would like to show you what real power is.'
With the guards around him, Sarento led Shannow to the upper promenade and out on to the boat deck. The sea stretched out to a distant horizon and the Ark glided majestically on a star-speckled ocean. Shannow could smell the salt in the air, while gulls wheeled and dived above the giant funnels.
'Stunning, is it not?' asked Sarento.
Shannow shivered. 'This is not possible.'
'All things are possible with the Mother Stone.'
'And we are truly at sea?'
'No. The Ark sits as always on her mountain. What you are seeing and feeling is an image projected by magic. However, were you to cut a hole in the ship's side water would pour in — salt water. For the Stone would carry on the charade. And if you were to jump over the side, you would hit the sea, ice-cold and deadly. But then you would pass through it and plummet to the ruins of Atlantis. This is power, Mr Shannow, just a fraction of the power the Stone can hold.
Had I wished it, the Ark would sail on a real sea. One day it will and then I will sail it into the harbour of New York.'
'How many souls will that cost?' asked Shannow.
'You have a small mind, Shannow.' Sarento shook his head. 'What are a few lives compared with a golden future?'
'Can we go back inside?' said Shannow. 'It's a little cold out here.'
'We can, Shannow. You, I'm afraid, are leaving the ship here.'
'Just when I was beginning to enjoy it,' said Shannow. Then as Sarento signalled the guards forward, he crouched and whipped the double-edged hunting knife from his boot. The first guard died as the blade slashed across his throat; Shannow snatched the man's pistol from his hand and leapt at Sarento. As the big man dived to the deck, Shannow followed him, dropping the knife and hauling at Sarento's collar — the pistol cocked, the barrel pushing under Sarento's chin.
'Be so kind as to tell your guards to put up their weapons,' hissed Shannow, hauling Sarento to his feet.
The three remaining guards looked to their leader.
'Do it,' he said. 'I shall end this farce in my own way.'
'Take me to the Stone,' said Shannow.
'But of course. Your infantile heroics have earned you that, at the very least.'
'I congratulate you on your calm.'
‘You may feel vou have the upper hand, Mr Shannow, but the magic that raised the Ark from the sea floor will not be undone by a madman with a Hellborn revolver.'
Sarento led the way below.
And the Titanic sailed on through the ghostly sea…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Abaddon's dreams were troubled and he awoke clutching at the air. The black silk sheets were damp with sweat and he rolled to his feet. He had felt so good three hours before when Donna Taybard had been brought to Babylon. And tonight the reign of the Hellborn would begin in earnest; all the star charts had confirmed it. Donna was the sacrifice the Devil had been waiting for, and all the powers of Hell would flow through Abaddon the moment he devoured her.
Yet now the Hellborn king sat trembling on his bed, plagued by nameless fears which had haunted his dreams. He had seen Jon Shannow deep in Hell, battling Beelzebub with sword and pistol. And then the Jerusalem Man had turned his eyes on Abaddon, and in those eyes the king saw death.
The fear would not pass and Abaddon moved to the cabinet by the window and poured a goblet of wine, sipping it until his nerves settled. He thought of summoning Achnazzar, but dismissed it.
The High Priest had become increasingly nervous in the king's presence these last few days.
'Daddy!' The child's cry jerked Abaddon from his reverie and he swung round, but the room was empty. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a long rectangular mirror and stood, drawing in his belly to present a powerful profile.
Abaddon, Lord of the Pit!
'Daddy!' This time the sound came from the sitting room beyond. Abaddon ran through the open doorway only to be confronted by an empty desk and an open window. He blinked and wiped the sweat from his face.