"Stop!" shouted Ramey, leaping from behind the idol.
"Stop!" shouted Ramey, leaping from behind the idol.
"Stop!" shouted Ramey, leaping from behind the idol.
Dr. Aiken had completely forgotten, now, why the Jap was here. This was another precious piece fitting the jigsaw puzzle he was striving to put together. He cried to Lake and Ramey, "Hear that? In theKojiki, too! The ancient Japanese Book of Records! That makes four places I've found reference to blue ones.[3]The Hindu folklore tells of them; the Druidic ritual worships blue warriors. I tell you, lads, Angkor is a vital link in the chain of Man's past! Wemustfind a way to read the writing. When we do—"
Then his words died abruptly. A call had risen from across the moat. Soldiers, standing at the edge of the cane-grove, were gesturing, shouting. As he listened, the smiling captain ceased to smile; Dr. Aiken, who apparently understood at least part of the message, glanced suddenly, worriedly, at Ramey. In an undertone he breathed, "Your airplane! They've found it! And—and somehow they know you're one of—Hurry! We've got to get out of here!"
He tugged at Ramey's sleeve. But even as they edged away, the little captain turned, his eyes hard and angry, his friendliness vanished.
"A moment, please! You have lied to me. Halt! or it is necessary to—"
His revolver was already halfway out of its holster. But swiftly as he moved, Lake O'Brien was even quicker. With a sudden twist, Lake wrenched the gun from his hand, shoved a leg behind his knees and shoved violently. The small captain went sprawling and—
"Come on!" cried Lake, "up to the temple."
He cried a needless warning. For even as he shouted the Jap leader's voice screamed a shrill command. Soldiers came running from every section of the court, and the brooding silence of Angkor was shattered with the sharp, explosive crack of a modern rifle.
In that moment, when it seemed impossible the racing four could cover four hundred vulnerable yards, relief came from an unexpected source. From around the corner of the temple charged two uniformed warriors of Nippon. Beyond them lay temporary safety but—how to pass them? Already one was raising rifle to shoulder, his finger tense on the trigger. Then from the building itself snarled the bark of an automatic. The Jap jerked as though sledged with the blow of an invisible ramrod. His jaw dropped suddenly and the gun flew clattering from his hands as he doubled and pitched forward. Then another shot from the same source; another, and yet another. The familiar voice of Red Barrett boomed from the portico.
"Keep coming, keed! We're covering you!"
Four hundred yards is a meager distance, but it seemed like miles. Ramey Winters gasped to his comrades, "Duck! Zigzag! Bad target!" and set the example, hunching, shifting his course like a frightened crab, as he scuttled for the gateway.
His own pistol was in his hands. He used it once to take a flying potshot at a brown-clad figure emerging on an upper terrace, and had the satisfaction of seeing the figure duck hastily out of sight, howling with pain and dismay as the riflestock splintered in his hands.
Lake, too, was emptying his commandeered pistol at such targets as presented themselves. With what success Ramey had no time to judge, for a bedlam of gunfire howled about them now; hot lead glanced screaming off ancient stone.
How they won through that maelstrom of seething death, Ramey could not afterward say. He was only conscious of his own plunging motion, dimly aware that all three of his companions were still on their feet and racing forward with him. Once a puff of glittering powder leaped from the causeway inches before him, and coarse, stony granules lashed his face stingingly. Once a voice beside him grunted, and glancing up he saw that Lake O'Brien's shirt was redly plastered to his shoulder.
Then suddenly the heat of the day, the dancing sunlight, were gone. Grateful murkiness engulfed them, and friendly hands tugged them to shelter. Red Barrett's voice bellowed in his ear, "Nice, going, pal! I thought for a minute you wouldn't make it. Them damn yellow devils!"
Then a cooler, grimmer voice crisped orders. "No place to stop. This spot's too vulnerable. They'll shoot us down like trapped rats. Below, everybody!"
And again they were running, this time down a shadowy ramp to the entrails of the temple, to the bulwarked suite of chambers wherein Dr. Aiken had established his headquarters. Behind them thespang!of rifle fire died away, but there followed them down the corridor the shrill cry of the Japanese captain rallying his men.
Dr. Aiken seized a moment of respite to offer thanks.
"You saved our lives, boys," he panted. "But—but how did you happen to be up there? I ordered you to stay below—"
"It washisidea," claimed Red.
Syd O'Brien grunted gloomily, "Knew there'd be trouble. Got out the guns. Left Johnny with Sheila. Figured Red and I better go topside to make sure everything was all right."
His brother chuckled appreciatively. "Well, this was once your dismal hunches paid off, Cassandra.[4]Now wait a minute, Sheila—don't get excited!"
They had reached their refuge. From it Sheila Aiken rushed forward to greet them, exclaiming at the twin's wound. "You're shot, Lake! What happened? Did they—?"
"I'm all right," Lake assured her. "Just barely grazed me. Everybody in? Watch that door, Ramey. What happened? Why, those damned, stinking little Japs spotted Ramsey's plane, that's what."
"But we knew there was a possibility they might do that," said the girl. "That's why we dressed Red and Ramey as members of our party. Why should that cause them to—?"
Dr. Aiken said gravely, "I can't understand it myself, Sheila. But somehow the soldiers learned Ramey was one of the aviators. That's what they called to their captain. Wait a minute! What's that? I hear footsteps!"
"It's all right," called Syd. "It's just Johnny. He's got Sheng-ti with him. This way, Johnny. You all right? Where've you been?"
Grinnell entered, his face serious. "I ducked down to the digs when the shooting started, told the workmen to head for Pnompenh, get a message to the consul there. Lake! Your shoulder!"
"Only a flesh wound. Where didhecome from?"
"Sheng-ti? Oh, I bumped into him in the causeway. I told him to beat it but he insisted on shuffling along. Look, Sheng-ti, you'd better get out of here. This is bad. Trouble. Danger. Savvy?"
Thebonzewas paying no attention to him. His eyes had lighted upon Ramey Winters. Now he raised both arms high above his head in a jeremiac gesture. His voice rolled stridently through the vaulted chambers. "Aiee!Doom! Doom! When the bird man drops from the skies—"
"Very well, Sheng-ti. That will do," Dr. Aiken silenced him curtly. He turned to the others, frowning. "Well, there's your answer."
"Answer?"
"How the Japs found out about Ramey. Sheng-ti must have shouted his mad prophecies in their hearing, pointed Ramey out. Well, what's done is done. We might as well make the best of it."
Ramey's brows were knotted anxiously. "This has gone far enough, Dr. Aiken. Red and I can't stay here a minute longer. We've gotten you into trouble as it is. We're pulling out,now!"
The archeologist shook his head. "Thanks, boy, but it's no use. We're all in the same boat now. Have been ever since we defied their orders, returned their fire. They're resentful little beasts, the Japs. And don't condemn yourself. It's not altogether your fault. Our work here was finished the day they marched into Indo-China. If it hadn't been this they would have found other excuses to close in on us.
"No, the only thing we can do now is hold the fort. Try to defend ourselves until one of the coolies gets word to the American consul about what's going on up here. And I'm afraid our future actions will be determined entirely by our little yellow friends. Whether it is to be truce or war is a decision they must make—"
"A decision," interrupted Syd O'Brien from the vantage-point over which he stood guard, "they've already made. It's war, Doctor! Because here they come now!"
Flight
It was not strange that in this moment of peril, when the chips were down, Ramey Winters should be the one to seize the reins of command. He was a soldier, a trained fighting man. It was sheer instinct that spurred him into action. Once, several hours before, he had studied this room with the wondering eyes of one baffled by mystery. Now he studied it again, this time with the sharp, critical gaze of a fighter appraising a salient.
The hall in which they stood was a closed square, roughly, fifty by fifty, on the lowest level of the temple. Its walls were two feet thick, and it had no windows, but it was still precariously vulnerable because at the center of each of three walls gaped wide, arched doorways, and the fourth wall was fed by a smaller entrance.
Ramey asked swiftly, "These doorways—where do they lead?"
Syd O'Brien pointed to each in turn. "North wall—outer staircases from the moat. West wall—terrace. The south entrance is the way we came in. The little door leads to the inner court. They'll come from the west and south."
"Okay. That's where we'll concentrate our defense. Red—you and Lake and Dr. Aiken guard the west entrance. Syd and Grinnell and I will hold the south."
"How about me?" demanded Sheila Aiken angrily. "I'm as good a shot as—"
"You have the most important job of all," Ramey told her grimly. "Keeping the guns loaded for us. Put all the guns and ammunition on the table between us. Here—" With a heave he cleared the surface of a massive laboratory desk. Dr. Aiken winced as piles of carefully sorted ceramics, heaps of precious notes, spilled helter-skelter to the floor. "Sirabhar will help you. I suppose we can't count on Sheng-ti. No? Then you and Sirabhar will have to keep an eye on the north and east entrances. Not much chance of their getting in that way, but—"
Red said, "Lot of furniture in this room, Ramey. Chairs and tables and stuff. Make good barricades."
"Good idea! All right, everybody, hop to it! Time's getting short."
Time was getting short. So treacherously short, in fact, that working feverishly they had barely succeeded in setting the rude beginning of their barricades before the vulnerable doorways when the attackers hove in view. Johnny Grinnell gave the alarm.
"Here they come, Ramey! Around the edge of the terrace wall. Six ... a dozen of them. I don't see the captain, though."
"You won't," bellowed Red. "'Cause he's over here. They done what you figured, Ramey; split up. They're coming at us from both sides. Well—"
"Wait!" snapped Ramey. "Don't shoot unless they do!"
Red lowered his rifle reluctantly. "Damn if you ain't the—thepacificestguy I ever saw! Always letting the other guy get the drop on you. It gives me a pain in the—Wow!There it comes! Well, I can shoot,now!"
For his sentence had been punctuated by a simultaneous opening fire from both attack parties. His own gun barked answer. And this time, more ruthlessly, more determinedly than it had waged before the battle begun on the upper causeway continued.
There was no time for the details of that fight to register coherently upon Ramey Winters' brain. But later he found etched in his memory sharp, indelible highlights of those frenzied moments.
His own gun, spluttering and coughing against his cheek as he crouched at the edge of the doorway, firing at figures that slipped, wraithlike, through the murky corridor. The incessant, crashing echo of what seemed like a thousand guns; here in these vaulted depths sound smashed back upon itself thunderously, seemed to merge with the thickening, acrid smoke and roll about the room in reverberant waves. Red Barrett, holding his heavy rifle pistol-wise in one hamlike paw, dripping curses in a loud, prolific stream as with his free hand he tucked into place the edge of a raveling bandage. Syd O'Brien, scowling at his side, methodically pumping his shots where they would do the most good. Lake O'Brien, across the room, achieving the same result with roars of boisterous glee.
Other details. Dr. Aiken's plaintive moan rising above the crash of gunfire. "Those carvings! Those priceless carvings! Ruined!" A glimpse of Sheila Aiken, an angel yet, but an avenging angel now; face smudged and sweating, white hands flying like shuttles as she reloaded the hot, empty rifles and lined them again within reach of the fighters. The whining sing-song of Sheng-ti, stalking up and down the room, invoking something of his placid, contemplative god; whether a blessing or a curse Ramey could not tell.
Then Sheila's voice rose, shrill, alarmed. "Johnny! Ramey! At the court gate!"
Ramey spun to the small east doorway, rifle leveled. But even as his sights centered on a yellow face, Syd O'Brien's arm knocked up his gun. The bullet gouged flecks from a priceless mosaic. "Don't! It's Tomasaki! Call him, Sirabhar! Get him to help!"
Sirabhar slipped from table to doorway, called to his companion in their native tongue. An answer quavered back, highpitched with terror. Sirabhar turned.
"He say he no dare, Master sahib. He say he do not wish to fight the Little Ones. They too many and too strong."
There was anger and contempt in the loyal aide's voice. He called again to his fellow-countryman, his words a liquid blur in the tumult. An answer piped back. Sirabhar's small frame stiffened, his soft brown eyes were suddenly dark bits of flinty shale. His face contorted; he spat into the gloom and whirled to Dr. Aiken, his voice shrill, accusing.
"Tomasaki no good friend, Master Doctor. Him coward. Him—"
His words ended suddenly. Too suddenly. Ramey, who had turned again to the defense of his post, risked a backward glance—and was in time to see the staunch little Cambodian reel and topple forward, clutching, with fingers that seemed to spurt blood, at a gaping hole in his chest. Sheila screamed, and beside Ramey, Syd O'Brien growled a thick curse. They were the brown man's obsequies. He was dead before he hit the floor.
But there was no time to mourn him now. For Barrett, who had swung from doorway to table for a recharged weapon, roared suddenly, "The ammunition! Is that all we have left?"
The girl nodded. "That's all here. There's more in storage, but—"
Ramey, sweeping the table with a glance, saw that their supply had dwindled to a lone container of cartridges. Enough to account for every one of their attackers, yes—if every shot could be trusted to take its toll. But with six people firing steadily, indiscriminately, against a diverse attack—
"We can't defend this place any longer," he roared. "They'll take us in five minutes. Too many entrances. Doc, is there any other—?"
It was Lake who answered. "Yes! That underground chamber I found. It has only one entrance. One armed man could defend that for a week."
"But—can we get there?"
"Through the court exit."
"That's the ticket, then," shouted Ramey. "Lake, you lead the way. Then Sheila and Dr. Aiken. Somebody grab Sheng-ti and take him along. They'll murder him if we leave him behind. Ready, everybody? Go, now. Orderly. We'll all make it."
There came one contradictory voice. Out of a sudden, ominous hush that descended as briefly no rifle anywhere was barking, came the faint, dissenting voice of Johnny Grinnell.
"Not ... all of us, Winters."
Ramey, swiveling, saw with horror that the youngster was no longer on his feet. He lay asprawl on the hard stone floor behind the barricade. His rifle was still clenched in one white-knuckled hand, but his other hand gripped his belt as if to stifle a gnawing fire there. And the fingers of that hand were dark with a slowly spreading stain.
In a flash Ramey was on his knees beside the younger man. Dr. Aiken, too, and Sheila.
"Johnny, what's the matter? You're not—"
Grinnell tried to grin. An unfortunate attempt, for with the effort suddenly he coughed and the corners of his lips leaked blood. He spat and shook his head angrily.
"Lucky ... shot! But I guess ... it did ... the trick."
"You'll be okay," Ramey told him gruffly. "Barrett! Syd! Give me a hand here—"
But even as he gave the order his eyes found Dr. Aiken's, and the old man's head shook slowly from side to side. His lips formed soundless words.
"No use, Ramey."
The voice of Grinnell echoed. "It's no ... use, Ramey. I was a ... med student once." His eyes hardened to a granite doggedness. "You others ... beat it! Get out of here while ... you can!" Again a paroxysm of coughing seized him. When it ended his shirtfront was not pretty. He wiped at his lips with a grimy forearm, cried feverishly, "Get out ... damn it! Get out ... I say!"
Then a sudden thought struck him. He turned to Ramey. "No, wait! Lift me ... to the doorway there—"
Red spoke warningly from the west entrance. "They're closing in, Ramey. I think they're going to rush the joint."
Ramey bent, raised, and cradling the mortally wounded Grinnell in his arms like a gangling child, carried him to the spot he had begged to be taken. Grinnell's lips twitched in a feeble smile. "This is ... swell. Now give me a ... rifle, Winters ... and get the hell ... out of here. All of you."
Ramey looked at Aiken—the doctor nodded. One by one they abandoned their posts, slipped into the narrow corridor beyond the prostrate figure. Sheila was sobbing softly. Syd O'Brien's face was a mask of pain and rage; even Lake was grim as he stopped to wring Grinnell's hand in last farewell.
Only over Grinnell's white lips hovered the ghost of a smile. Ramey and Dr. Aiken were the last to pass him. He searched their faces with eyes already uncertain. "Don't worry about ... me ... Doc," he whispered. "Just get even." A shudder trembled through him; he drew a faltering breath. "Wish I could go with you ... though. It's ... a strange journey ... you're going on. A strange journey...."
Dr. Aiken tapped his forehead significantly. "Delirium," he whispered.
Then Red's voice boomed from the background. "Ramey! Doc! Come on! They'll be busting through in a minute."
And he was right. Already figures were closing in on the abandoned barricade. Ramey gripped the old man's arm, propelled him by sheer force down the corridor. They had covered perhaps a hundred yards when they heard the lone, explosive crack of a rifle, Johnny's rifle. Then another shot ... then a volley. Then silence....
Their way led them from wide corridors to smaller ones, then down a slow ramp to a passageway narrower still and almost completely lightless. The only illumination came through squares of stone fretwork high on the walls.
Ramey judged they were below ground level now. Sheila Aiken, behind whom he stumbled, verified his guess.
"We're beneath the main altar room. Ventilation ducts at bases of statues there. That's how Lake discovered this place."
Then abruptly they turned a corner and the subterranean chamber lay before them. It, unlike any of the other chambers Ramey had seen at Angkor Vat, was doored with a great barrier of bronze. They tumbled into the room, Syd O'Brien and Tomasaki, Red Barrett and the still bleatingbonze, Sheng-ti, Lake and Sheila, Ramey and Dr. Aiken bringing up the rear. Ramey shut the huge door after them, clanged into place a ponderous lock-bar, and with a sigh of relief, turned to view his new surroundings.
This was a small room, barely more than twenty feet on a side and of equal height. A pallid light filtered down from a grilled mosaic at roof level. Lake O'Brien augmented this illumination by igniting a flambeau ensconced on the wall. The torch crackled and flamed high, casting a fitful, tawny gleam over carven walls, and—something else. The object Dr. Aiken had mentioned. The inexplicable cube of wrought metal standing in the middle of the room.
Ramey stared at the thing incredulously.
"Why, that—that thing'smodern!"
Dr. Aiken nodded somberly. "By all laws of reason and logic," he assented, "it should be. But its location and the inscriptions argue differently, Winters."
Ramey tapped the thing with his pistol. It echoed metallically, hollowly. "But the ancients didn't know how to work with metals like this. This isn't silver or brass or even iron. It's—it's steel!"
"Guess again," grunted Syd. "It's not even steel. We haven't been able to figurewhatit is. Some unknown alloy."
He was, Ramey thought suddenly, getting almost as bad as Dr. Aiken. Fretting over archeological problems at a time like this. He abandoned the question for the time being.
"Well, no time to worry about it now. We've given the Japs the skip for the time being, but we're still not out of the woods. Now that we're down here, what do we do next?"
Lake grinned at him. "We sit," he said, "tight. And wait for them to get tired looking for us. We hightailed it down here so fast, Ramey, you probably didn't notice the passageway we came through was a veritable labyrinth. It took me months to locate this place, andthenI only stumbled across it by accident. The Japs are nervous, impatient little devils. They'll never find us here. In a few hours, a day at the most, they'll decide we must have somehow escaped from the temple grounds, beat it back to ask their base commandant what they should do next. When we're sure they're gone, we'll lam out of here."
"Sounds good. Meanwhile, what do we do about food and drinking water?"
"We do without, I guess," admitted Lake.
For the first time since their flight from the room above, the little native spoke up.
"Excuse, please, Master sahib, sir.Iwill go topside. Bring back food and water."
Ramey stared at him in astonishment. A little while ago Tomasaki had been limp with terror. Now he was offering to take a foolhardy risk on their behalf. It didn't make sense. The little man had undergone a complete change of heart or—
Suddenly Ramey thought he understood. For his keen gaze detected jittering nerves in the native's hopeful offer. The rising intonation of Sheng-ti supplied the missing clue.
"Aiee!Doom!" the shavenbonzewas crying. "Woe to all men when the chamber of change be violated; when the gods of the past shall walk!"
Lake, too, understood, and stopped the little man as he edged toward the doorway. "No, come back here, Tomasaki! It's too risky. They might see you." He grinned at his friends. "I don't know how the rest of you feel, but me, I'd rather have an empty belly than a full carcass."
Red Barrett had been staring in awed wonderment at the mysterious metal cube ever since Ramey had tapped it. Red was a great guy, but he was not the world's fastest thinker. Now comprehension seemed to dawn on him with an almost audible sound of gears meshing. He said to Ramey, "Hey, Ramey! That thing'shollow!"
Dr. Aiken said, "Yes, Barrett, we know that. But so far we have been unable to find any way to open it."
Red started to scratch his brick pate automatically, winced as his hand touched bandages. "You know what? I bet I know what that thing is. I seen a picture once, back in the States. Bela Lugosi inThe Wife of the Werewolf. He was one of them whacky scientists—'scuse me, Doc—and he had a cabinet something like this. Only it really wasn't no cabinet at all. It was a secret entrance to an underground tunnel.
"I betcha that's what this is, too. A passageway which goes down under the moat, maybe, and out beyond the temple. Them old priests used to be keen on things like that. Course they didn't mess around with keys or nothing. They had trick doors you had to work out on like an osteopath. Like you'd punch on this little knob here, and maybe wriggle this hunk of carving—Holy cow!Lookit, Ramey!"
He leaped back, startled. Nor was he the only one whose jaw dropped in sudden wonder. Call it coincidence, call it Fate, call it an incredible permutation of chance—but while explaining, Red's fingers had fumbled upon the combination required to unlock the gate of this ancient mystery. With a groan of protest, one outer face of the strange cube was swinging open!
Across Time
Red Barrett was the first to break the silence that blanketed the little group.
"See, Ramey?" he cried. "Look at that! What did I tell you! Now, I bet there's steps in that thing. A trapdoor or something."
But womanlike, it was Sheila Aiken who, obeying the Pandora impulse, stepped forward into the open cubicle. Darkness swallowed her like an engulfing maw. Dr. Aiken cried out in swift alarm, "Sheila! Be careful!"
Her voice came back, excited but unfearful, "I'm all right, Daddy. And—Barrett was right! Thereisa ladder in here. But it goes up instead of down! Come and bring the torch! This is thestrangest room!"
Syd had already torn the flambeau from its bracket. Now he and the others crowded forward eagerly into the metal chamber. But if they had hoped a view of its interior would solve their questions, they were doomed to disillusionment. For the mystery of the cube was heightened, rather than decreased, by that which the flickering torch revealed.
An interior fashioned and equipped like a small room; for all the world, Ramey thought confusedly, like one of those efficiently compact cabins on ocean liners. A metal bench or working table. Two wooden chair frames, now seatless. In one corner a stiff pallet. Everywhere mouldering dust that fumed upward as their feet scuffed the floor; dust that must be, Ramey realized suddenly, the detritus of ages. The wheezy puff they had heard as the door swung open was proof that the cubicle was nearly airtight. That which eddied about them now, tickling their nostrils, must be the dust of less permanent materials than metal and wood, disintegrated by slow years. Those whorls beneath the seatless chairs might once have been rush or tapestry; the thick, powdery fluff on the pallet be the residue of vanished bedsilks.
But it was foolish to conjecture on things vanished when so many tangible wonders greeted the eye. For as Sheila had said, a ladder climbed the near wall to the ceiling; on the wall before one of the chairs was a panel, and on this panel—
Ramey's eyes bulged.
"Doctor!" he cried. "Those dials! Those levers!"
Dr. Aiken was staring at the panel like one who sees a lifetime of reason and learning collapse before him. "I—I can't understand it!" he stammered weakly. "Machinery? But the ancients had no knowledge—"
Ramey, moving forward, kicked something. He bent and picked it up. It was as incomprehensible as the panel. It was a metal arch about three feet long, supported by a cross-brace upon which was mounted a sealed cylinder, also of metal. The instrument was equipped with a rest carven to fit the shoulder. Its semi-circular portion was pierced on the outer rim at one-eighth inch intervals with tiny holes, and where the hoop joined the cylinder there were what seemed to be two handgrips equipped with finger-studs.
Instinctively Ramey raised it to his shoulder. It balanced like an archer's crossbow, except that it had neither stock nor projectile grooves. That it was a weapon of some sort he had no doubt. An impulse stirred him to press the stud beneath his trigger finger, but he subdued it. It would be folly to test a weapon of unguessed nature in such confined quarters.
In this weird moment he had forgotten everything save his own excitement. Now a cry dragged him back from the world of wonder to the world of actuality.
"The door!" roared Lake O'Brien. "It's closing!"
Whirling, Ramey saw the unguarded metal shield swinging shut. With a hoarse cry he leaped toward it. His shoulder and that of Lake smashed it at the same time. But the bruising impact was in vain. Even as they struck it there came thesnick!of clasping locks. They were sealed in the metal cube. And Syd O'Brien's voice told why.
"It didn't close!" roared Syd. "It was closedonus—intentionally! Tomasaki!"
Ramey, glancing about him, realized that of their number all were present but the little brown man. Suspicion, latent until now, flared into sudden understanding.
"Thenhe'sthe one! The one who showed the Japs the 'plane, told them who I was! He's been with them since the beginning. Sneaked around to betray us at the east gate, and probably shot Sirabhar himself when Sirabhar tried to warn us."
Lake boomed, "By God! That's why he offered to go after supplies! So he could reveal our hiding place. He's probably gone to fetch the Japs now, the traitorous little—"
As ever, Dr. Aiken's head was levelest in a crisis.
"There are Quislings in all races," he said sadly. "It's too bad we discovered the enemy in our midst so late. But we have no time to waste in recriminations. We must get out of here before the soldiers come. The ladder—where does it go?"
Red had mounted the rungs, was fumbling above him. Now he called down, "It's a trapdoor of some kind, Doc. Just a minute and—Ouch! This damn catch is stuck. There it comes—oh-oh!"
Hastily he let drop back into place the yard-square sheet of metal he had pried open. Ramey looked at him anxiously. "What's the matter, Redhead?"
"This thing opens right smack into the main altar room," whispered Barrett. "There's a bunch of Japs up there snooping around. They almost seen me."
"Then we—we're trapped?" asked Sheila faintly.
Ramey's eyes narrowed. "Not yet! That trap door gives us a chance. When Tomasaki leads the Japs down here, emptying the courts above, we'll beat it out that way!"
He glanced at Dr. Aiken commiseratingly. "Tough luck, Doc! Just when you make the greatest find of your career, we have to duck out. But maybe someday we can come back and figure out this mystery. Meanwhile we ought to try to find some way to lock this door from the inside. Tomasaki's just clever and treacherous enough to have seen how Red opened it. We've got to try to stall the Japs for an hour or so to give us a head start. One of these levers might be the answer."
He stared at the wall panel dubiously. Dr. Ian Aiken said, "I don't know, Ramey. It's foolhardy to experiment with things we don't understand. I'd be careful if I were you."
"It's now or never," Ramey reminded him. "In a few minutes it'll be too late to experiment."
He stepped toward the largest of several levers. As he did so a shrill cry sounded behind him. A mournful cry of terror.
"Aiee!Out of the chamber of the past comes doom! Doom to the men of the earth and of not-earth!"
"Will somebody please gag that perambulating wailing-wall?" demanded Ramey irately. "All right, everybody—look sharp! I'm going to try it easy. If you see anything happening, holler! And be careful no trap doors open beneath you. Okay! Here we go!"
He laid his hand on the upright strip of metal and pulled it slowly toward him. But nothing happened. So long had it rested unused that it seemed welded to the plate on which it stood. Ramey tried again, more forcibly. Still no result. He hunched his shoulders, took a good grip. This time he wrenched at the lever with every ounce of power in his six-foot frame. And—
The rod gave suddenly, jolting back in its groove, burying its handle in the pit of Ramey's stomach, jarring the wind out of him. Ramey sat down, abruptly. A startled "Ooph!" burst from his lips. Then as he caught his wind, a grin overspread his features. "Did it!" he claimed triumphantly. Then as he stared about him, seeing no change in either the room or his companions' expressions, his eyebrows raised. "But now that I did it," he demanded plaintively, "what did I do?"
"You pulled a little stick," said Red genially. "Only nothing happened. I'll give you a recommend if you ever need one. Chief stick-puller and nothing-happened."
But one at least did not share his mirth. "Wait!" Sheila Aiken cried suddenly. "Somethingdidhappen! Listen—a humming noise—"
It was so. Singing so faintly through the cubicle as to be almost inaudible was the thin, far moan as of a diminutive motor heard from a vast distance. And where Ramey's hand touched the floor, he thought he could detect just the faintest, the barest, tingle of vibration coursing through the metal. Nor was this just an hallucination. Because—
"Itisa motor!" cried Dr. Aiken. "We must be moving! For, see? The panel!"
Ramey's eyes followed the archeologist's finger. On the curious instrument panel before them was a circular dial. And the pointer of this dial was slowly revolving!
Red Barrett, who had clambered down the ladder, took one startled look at the spinning needle and started up again. "Excuse me, folks," he gulped, "I just remembered I got to see a guy about nine million miles away from here!" His hands fumbled for the latch of the ceiling trap door.
Dr. Aiken stayed him with a sharp command. "No, Red! Don't!"
"H-huh? Why not?"
"Because something is happening to us. Obviously, we are moving in some direction or other. It might be perfectly safe to open that trap door, but on the other hand—well, I think it would be better to wait until the needle reaches the end of its circuit."
"If you ask me," vouchsafed Syd O'Brien gloomily, "we've probably marched ourselves right into some sort of ancient torture chamber. An Iron Maiden, or something like that. We'll probably end up under the moat or being cooked in boiling mud—" He stared about him suspiciously. "Do these walls look like they're closing in on us?"
His brother chuckled. "Cheerful little cherub, isn't he? I agree with the doctor; you shouldn't open that trap door just yet, Barrett. But I don't think we're in any danger. Evidently this chamber was a secret of the ancient priesthood. They wouldn't build anything to hurt themselves. Wherever it's taking us—"
"Taking us?" interrupted Ramey. "What's all this talk about movement? We don't seem to be going anywhere."
Dr. Aiken permitted himself a thin smile. "Spoken like a true airman, Ramey. I'm afraid your profession has accustomed you to judge motion by external appearances. Within this closed chamber we have no object relative to which we can judge speed or direction. But by the hum of the motors, movement of these several dials, it is perfectly obvious we are doingsomething. Just what, I cannot say." Here a frown flickered across the forehead of the older man. "It is quite true that if we move either up or down there should be a visceral sensation similar to that experienced in elevators. Similarly, were we moving in a lateral direction we should have felt the shock of over-balanced inertia when we started in one or another direction. Since we did not feel these things there is only one other possibility, but it is so fantastic—"
"It ain't fantastic," broke in Red Barrett. "It's whacky. We ain't going up or down; we ain't going sideways. That's all the directions there is."
"All thecommondirections known to man," corrected Dr. Aiken slowly. "There is one other about which we know absolutely nothing. A direction of flight which is, at best, but a mathematical concept—"
This time Sheila Aiken stared at her father. "Daddy, it's unbelievable. You can't mean—?"
"I venture no opinion," said the old man mildly. "I am simply trying to apply to a most unusual situation the rules of logic."
Ramey gave up. He looked at the girl helplessly.
"What does he mean, Sheila?"
There was equal helplessness, and for the first time, an expression of uncertainty, in the girl's eyes as she answered. "He means—we may be moving across Time, Ramey!"
"Time!" For a moment Ramey was jarred completely out of his self-possession. Then his sense of humor came to his rescue. "Oh, come now! Weareletting ourselves go hogwild! It's been a hell of a day, I know. And we've had some unnerving experiences, but—Time!"
Syd O'Brien did not share his scorn. The more sober twin nodded moodily. "Nevertheless, it's a possibility, Winters. Time is a dimension just as truly as height, breadth, depth. Some have called it the Fourth Dimension and evolved the concept of a Space-Time continuum wherein all things past and present exist side by side. Even the man-in-the-street acknowledges the dimension of Time in his everyday life. When he says he will meet a friend at Broad and Main Streets, his directions are inadequate unless he specifies thefloor, for if he is on the tenth floor and his friend waits at ground level they will not meet. The third dimension, height, must be taken into consideration.
"Similarly, if he tells his friend he will meet him on the tenth floor of a building at Broad and Main, and he is there at ten o'clock but his friend does not arrive until two, they will still not meet—for they did not take into consideration the Fourth extension, Time."
"I understand that," acknowledged Ramey impatiently. "But to speak ofcrossingTime or 'traveling through' Time—that's absurd. Sheer nonsense for imaginative fictioneers to toy with."
The old scientist stared at him quizzically. "I wish I could be as sure of that as you, Ramey. Unfortunately, science is forced to admit too many contradictory points of evidence to make such bold statements. I might mention the strange case of the two Twentieth Century American lady-tourists who, strolling in the gardens at Versailles, found themselves suddenly translated, incomprehensibly face to face with members of the Eighteenth Century royal French Court. This record is, unhappily, too well authenticated to ignore. I might also point to the accuracy of the prophecies of Michel de Nostradamus who claimed that by means of his magic he was able to move forward into the future and see those things which were to be.[5]
"Many other instances. An Italian record of a stranger who appeared mysteriously in Sicily some two hundred years ago in a machine, the description of which shows a marked resemblance to a rocket-propelled airship. Legend relates that this wise man, who spoke a curiously distorted English, made his home with the natives for several months, taught them new and better methods of husbandry, instructed them in the construction of mechanical devices, and stayed an incipient plague by medical means unknown to that era."
"Still," expostulated Ramey, "to travel across Time—"
"As a hazard," pursued the old man, "let us suppose the continuum of Space-Time may be likened to a huge volume in which is inscribed all the history of past, present, and future. All things are written there—all. From man's darkest beginnings till the last feeble flutter of a dying sun stills in cold death a forlorn earth. Man, reading this volume, must perforce turn the pages one by one. He has memory of that which he has read, comprehension of that upon which his eyes presently rest—but no knowledge whatsoever of what lies before.
"But there is another pathway through this volume. The creeping pathway of the bookworm. This is the shortest route between era and era. Through this infinitesimal tunnel the bookworm—or let us say a 'time machine' constructed by one who knows the manner of its making—can skip from epoch to epoch in the twinkling of an eye."
Ramey stared at him incredulously. "And you—you think this thing we're in may be a sort of mechanical bookworm piercing the pages of Time?"
"I do not know," Dr. Aiken told him again. "I simply point out that at least hypothetically these things could be. I do not know; no. But we will learn in a minute. For, see? The needle has stopped. And if I am not mistaken, the humming, too, has ended."
He pointed. The moving needle had indeed completed its circuit and come to rest; the vibration was gone. Whatever had been the nature of the metal chamber's movements, it was motionless now. Red fidgeted impatiently above them.
"All right now, Doc? Okay for me to lift the trap now?"
"Yes. By all means, Barrett."
Red raised the trapdoor gingerly. But no sunlight filtered into the inch-wide slit. He lifted it still farther, glanced anxiously down at his companions. "Hey, lookit! This is funny! It's dark! No, wait a minute—there's a little spot of light. And there'sanotherwall here andanotherladder."
"Give him the torch, Syd," cried Dr. Aiken. "There.... Got it, Barrett? Go on up. Climb the ladder. See if you can find out where we are, and what—"
The flaming brand bobbed upward ten, twenty feet, for a few seconds weaved in uncertain circles, its light reflecting to those below only a gray formlessness and the foreshortened outlines of the climbing Barrett. Then:
"Ramey! Doc!" cried Red.
"What is it?"
"Come on up here, everybody, quick! Look! There's a platform up here and a couple of peepholes, and—and it's the damnedest thing you ever seen. We ain't moved an inch. We're still in the temple. But—but it ain't empty now. There's about three billion people gathered in it!"
Gods of the Jungle
Red's hyperbole achieved at least one result. That of creating an immediate scramble for the ladder. Within a very few minutes all the party, including even the muttering Sheng-ti, had joined him on the platform before the circular openings he had mentioned. Of these there were approximately a dozen, spaced at irregular intervals around the chamber in which they now found themselves. Ramey, standing beside the girl Sheila, stared down upon a sight to stagger the wildest imagination.
He looked from an elevated vantage post out across a tremendous hall of Angkor Vat. But there was a subtle difference between this room and those which Dr. Aiken had shown him hours—or was it centuries—ago? At first Ramey could not name that change. Then, with a start, he realized what it was.
Everything looked newer, cleaner, brighter. The pillars supporting the high, vaulted roof were more sharply incised, the carving more clearly cut, undulled by the leveling file of age. Furthermore, not just a few, butallthe murals, the carvings, the multifold bits of statuary were painted, not in dull, faded hues, but in gaudy color, freshly radiant!
These things were evidence enough that a change had been wrought in their lives. But if anyone needed more, the court below stirred withlivingproof. "Three billion" was a typical Barrett estimate, but there were, Ramey saw swiftly, easily three, perhaps four hundred people gathered in the altar room.
Andwhatpeople! From every lurking corner of earth they must have sprung. Ramey gasped to identify representatives of every race, creed and color known to man. For the most part they were Asiatics, saffron of skin, oblique-eyed. But here stood a little group of gigantic Nubians, ebony-hued and strong, draped in jewel-encrusted girdles of samite; over there gathered a band two-score strong of golden-haired, pale-fleshed warriors, fur-garbed and armed with gleaming halberds; elsewhere, anxiously whispering amongst themselves, huddled a knot of dark-haired, hawk-nosed captains with rich beards that curled to their breasts!
Dr. Aiken whispered hoarsely, "Then—then it is true! Wehavetraversed Time! Come back to the period of Angkor's glory. For, see? Syd, those bearded men—"
"Assyrians," acknowledged Syd O'Brien, "or I'm stark, staring mad. But—but that means, Doctor, Angkor is centuries older than we thought. Their era was around 2500 B.C."
Red Barrett gulped, "You mean that there bellywash you was talking a little while ago istrue? We actually have come back through Time? I don't believe it!"
"I know just how you feel," assented Lake O'Brien. "I hate to admit it myself. It makes me feel like a candidate for the padded-cell brigade. But you've got eyes, Barrett. There's the proof before you. How else can you explain it?"
"I can't," snorted Barrett stubbornly, "and I ain't going to try to. This is a dream, that's what. A dream or a hally-soosynation. For all I know, maybe I got conked in the fight, and I'm delirial. Yeah—that's what it is! I'm off my button and seeing things. I don't believe none of this. You hear me—?" He swung suddenly to the peephole, raised his voice in a roar. "I don't believe in you! Get it? You guys are spooks, dreams, nightmares! Go 'way! And—Oh, my golly!Ramey!"
HIS words ended in an agonized howl. For his shout had brought an unexpected result. Real or unreal, the "hallucinations" thronging the hall below had an auditory sense. At Red's bellow, all murmurs, all motion, suddenly stopped—and every eye turned upward toward the source of those cries. Now something like a shudder coursed through the assemblage. Voices rose shrilly, a dozen figures raced bleating from the room ... and to the last man, those left behind fell to their knees in attitudes of abject worship!
Ramey turned in confusion to the girl beside him.
"Nowwhat?" he demanded helplessly.
"I think I know!" said Sheila. "This chamber we're in is the interior of one of their idols. These peepholes must be the eyes in the image. Or perhaps they are just concealed in the carving. Look underneath this opening. See that funnel-shaped pipe? That's a speaking-tube, magnifying the voice. No wonder they're excited. When Red shouted, it must have seemed their god was bellowing orders to them."
"That's it!" agreed Lake. "That was a fairly common trick of ancient priesthoods. Hollow gods from which they could spy on their followers, deliver oracular utterances. Hand me that torch, Syd. I'm going down again and look for a doorway out of this image. There must be one."
He ducked below. As he did so, there came a second concerted moan from the throng. This time Ramey guessed the reason. The flickering of the torch across the viewholes must have seemed to the watchers like the glint of life winking in their idol's eyes.
Then there rose a commotion from the far end of the hall, the babble of excited voices, and Ramey understood where had gone those who had fled the temple. To fetch someone in authority. For now there sounded the dry scrape of marching feet, the clank of metal upon metal, and into the altar room tramped a company of—
"Holy potatoes!" exclaimed Red awefully. "Giants!"
For giants indeed the newcomers were. An armed band of men, the shortest of whom towered a full head and shoulders above any other man in the hall. Ramey was six foot two. Red and the O'Brien brothers each also topped the six foot mark. But Ramey knew that all of them would appear as striplings if ranged beside this file of yeomanry. Six nine seemed a fair guess as to their average height, and he who marched at their head, a raven-haired, amber-skinned mountain of a man in the rich trappings of rank, assuredly topped the seven foot mark!
A mutter passed through the crowd as he entered, and Ramey, whose eye was trained to note the psychological reactions of men, thought he could detect in the attitude of those gathered a poorly veiled hostility, a resentment and will to rebellion held in check only by fear.
Then the newcomer spoke, his voice harsh, imperious, demanding. The natives answered, pointing fearfully at the idol housing Ramey and his companions. The giant captain's brow darkened, his eyes flashed scornful fire, and once more he raised his voice. Ramey turned to Dr. Aiken eagerly.
"What's he saying, Doc? Can you—?"
"No. It's no language I know. It sounds slightly like Sanskrit, but the syllablation and intonation are oddly different."
And then, surprisingly, Sheng-ti spoke beside them.
"Aie, doom!" he moaned softly. "Lo, the day of our judgment is at hand. For the gods walk again and speak their ancient tongues!"
Sheila gripped the old priest's arm tightly.
"Sheng-ti—you understand? Translate for us!"
"They speak of mysteries too holy for humble ears," groaned the priest. "They tell the Mighty One the idol has spoken. He laughs and says it is untrue. But they insist. Now he mocks them, calls them fearful fools."
Red Barrett snorted.
"Oh! A wise guy, huh? A know-it-all? Well, watch me take him down a peg!" And again his lips found the tube. His voice rolled in a hollow roar. "Tally-ho, smart-aleck! Brooklyn-dodgers ... officeofproductionmanagement ... gadzooks.... How do you like them apples?" He fell away from the opening, chuckling, as the giant's blanched face whirled toward the idol. "Guess that'll hold His Nibs for a while! What's he saying now, Sheng-ti?"
The bonze listened intently as again the saffron-hued commander spoke. But Red's gag had backfired. For—
"The Great One admits," relayed Sheng-ti, "that the idol did speak. Now he is affrighted lest the god may have been offended. He would make atonement. Lo, he bids his warriors seize a virgin, and bear her to the altar."
At their leader's command, two of the giant yoemen had thrust forward into the throng, striking with the flat of their swords any who would hinder them. Now they tore from the arms of an aged man a young, white-skinned girl, and bore her, struggling and screaming, to the dais beneath Ramey.
And:
"Ramey!" cried Sheila in sudden horror. "We've got to stop them! They're going to sacrifice her—to us!"
Red Barrett gasped, "Omi-gawd!" in a stricken voice, and spun to Ramey. "Why can't I learn to keep my big feeder shut? What—what'll we do, Ramey?"
The solution came from below, where Lake O'Brien's voice suddenly raised in a shout. "Found it, gang! Iknewthere'd be a door somewhere. Well, you Jonahs—any of you want out of this whale's belly?"
Ramey cried, "Come on, Red!" and flung himself down the ladder. Then, as the trio stood before the portal Lake had discovered, a sudden idea struck him. "Wait a minute! This is our chance to make an imprint on the natives!" He craned his neck, shouted to those still above. "Sheila, tell Sheng-ti to forbid the sacrifice! Tell him to say that the children of the god come forth to claim their victim."
The priest's words boomed above them, prefacing their entrance into this strange world. And—it was a great success. As the door swung open, and Ramey and his fellows burst forward onto a raised dais, it was to find all action abruptly frozen. The slave girl, her simple toga-like garment torn and disarranged, her wealth of red-chestnut hair, loosed by the violence of her efforts to escape, cascading to her waist, stood motionless in the grasp of two stricken fighting-men. Elsewhere a silence born of terror gripped the room. An awed paralysis which was shattered by the terrified screams of a hundred throats as the adventurers appeared.
It was, Ramey could not help thinking with a sort of detached amusement, a most dramatic entrance. A super-extra, whipper-dipper of an entrance. Like all men with a sense of humor, he had an instinct for showmanship. Striding forward he realized with a little shock that throughout the excitement of the past half hour he had continued to clench in his left hand the object over which he had stumbled in the time-traveling cabinet. What it was, he did not know. But it might mean something to his audience. So as he stepped forward he lifted it proudly, melodramatically, above his head.
The reaction was swifter and more astonishing than he had hoped for. A concerted gasp swept through the crowd. The two giant guards released their captive and tumbled to their knees, and a great cry shook the temple. Ramey's eyebrows lifted; he tossed a swift query over his shoulder. "I struck pay dirt that time! What are they saying, Sheila?"
And apparently from the lips of the idol—for Ramey saw now that it was a gigantic, hideously leering statue in which they had hidden—came the answer.
"They're hailing you as a god, Ramey! And they are crying out in fear because that thing you're carrying is the Bow of—of Rudra!"
Now the slave girl, whimpering prayerful entreaties, slipped from the two who held her and threw herself at Ramey Winters' feet. It was swell stuff. Very godlike, flattering stuff. But also very embarrassing. Ramey touched the girl's shoulder, disturbed to find that she was trembling violently, gently lifted her and turned to Barrett.
"Take care of her, Red. Maybe these overstuffed guys will try to make another pass at her."
Red grinned from ear to ear. "Who, me? Oh, boy—did I say no? Come here, sugar!" He took the girl into the shelter of his arm. She didn't seem to mind it a bit.
Then from the back of the hall moved the majestically dark-visaged one who had commanded the sacrifice. He walked erect and proud, as befitted a noble, but his eyes were cautiously humble. Though he towered a full head above Winters, his attitude was respectful. To the edge of the dais he approached, stopped there and addressed the quartet. This time Sheila forwarded Sheng-ti's translation without prompting.
"He is Ravana, Ramey. Lord of Lanka, and appointed Overseer of—of something. Sheng-ti doesn't understand all he says. He bows before you and begs acceptance of the sacrifice he offered."
Ramey said grimly, "Tell him that for two cents I'd yank off his leg and stuff it down his throat. I don't like this sacrifice stuff." He motioned to Lake and Red. "Let's get back into the idol. We've saved the redhead, here. Now we'd better save ourselves. Hop back into the time-machine and go back where we came from—"
From above came the voice of Dr. Aiken, alarmed and piteously eager.
"Oh, no, Winters! Not yet! Not quite yet! We can return to our own time later. But this is the opportunity of a lifetime! We can't leave until we've learned more about this magnificent culture ... this period! Besides—in our own era, the Japs are still hunting for us. We must allow several hours to pass before we return."
Ramey sought his companions' eyes. Lake grinned and nodded. Red tightened his arm about the shoulders of his new and welcome responsibility. "Okay with me, chum. I'm just beginning to enjoy this Cooks' Tour." Ramey surrendered reluctantly.
"All right, then. Come on down. But before you do, better tell this guy to take us to the Kingfish around here."
Words rolled from the idol's motionless lips, and the giant chieftain nodded obeisance. And a few minutes later, the remainder of the time-traveling group spilled from their refuge within the statue.
It Was all strange terrain to Ramey, the way through which the amber-skinned Ravana led them, but their course was apparently familiar enough to Dr. Aiken and his assistants.
Across an open court, up a long staircase, and into the most central of the ziggurats which comprised Angkor Vat. Lake O'Brien said excitedly, "By golly, Sheila, your guess was right! You said this building was the Big Shot's council hall—remember? And Syd and I thought—Well, I'll be jiggered!" His voice choked to a hollow whisper. "Golly, look! The—the carvings come to life! Apes! Warrior apes!"
For standing before the door of the chamber they approached, garbed in the trappings of men, casqued and helmed sandaled and bucklered, gripping their bronze-tipped spears in altogether humanoid fashion, stood two huge apes who snapped their arms to attention as the group neared!
But even this marvel paled into insignificance in a moment. For now the great, carven doors of the council chamber swung open, exposing a throne-room of inconceivable grandeur. Ramey's first staggered gaze described trappings of fabulous wealth. Gold and ivory, teak and silver, ebony and the sparking luster of priceless gems. These things he saw and noted subconsciously. But at the moment they roused no wonder in him for there was—something else! A presence in the room that utterly robbed him of his breath.
A man, seated on the golden throne. A man of Ramey's own height. An older man, gray of hair and lined of visage, now leaning forward curiously to greet them. A grave, quiet, kindly man, in all respects like the millions of humans living on the earth of Ramey's era. But for one thing. The flesh of this ruler was—hyacinthine blue!
Rakshasi
With a sort of detached wonder, Ramey noticed that the blue man did not rise from his throne to greet them.
Even a ruler of men, the young airman thought dimly, should humble himself before gods. Then the conviction came to him that the ruler of Angkor did not consider them gods! Of their origin he had, could have, no knowledge. But it was obvious that he recognized them, somehow, for exactly what they were: human beings caught in a web of circumstances inexplicable even to themselves.
So the blue lord's preoccupation was with the giant Ravana. To the amber-skinned one he addressed his questions. The spate of their conversation sped back and forth between them so swiftly that there was not even time for the attentive Sheng-ti to translate for his companions.
But though the words of a conversation may be unintelligible, its tenor is ofttimes obvious to the careful witness. It became clear to Ramey that Ravana, at first polite in his salutation to the blue lord of Angkor, was becoming more presumptious and argumentative every minute.
His shoulders became stiffer, straighter, more bold. Once he glanced back as if to assure himself that behind him ranged the solid phalanx of his warriors. His voice assumed a belligerent stridency, and an arrogant light emboldened his eyes.
Nor was Ramey the only one to notice this gathering insolence. The blue ruler frowned, and his tone developed an edge of asperity.
Now, however, the amber giant exhibited startling rudeness. Boldly he interrupted the azure-tinted emperor in midsentence, and cried what sounded like a loud demand. A brief, startled silence fell upon the court room. In that silence, Dr. Aiken prodded thebonzefor information.
Scanty as it was, it verified Ramey's suspicions.
"The Tall One says the gods appeared tohim; he therefore claims the right to house their mortal avatars whilst they visit. The Blue One reminds him he is but a guest at the palace, and that he, Sugriva, is emperor of Angkor."
Lake chuckled. "Huh! Talk about your southern hospitality! It's peanuts compared to this! Scrapping over who's going to put us up for the night!"
"Scrapping" was a bit of an exaggeration. It did not quite reach that stage. But in the moment following the silence it looked very much as though it might. The tall lord, Ravana, concluding his defiant demands, turned and snapped an order to his followers. Their hands leaped to their swords, they moved as though to surround the little party of time-exiles.
But now the Emperor Sugriva had reached the end of his patience, and with a swift decision exposed the hand of steel beneath the velvet glove. He cried a word. It might have been a title or a name.
"Kohrisan!"
The cry brought an instant response. From one of the arched doorways of the council room, as if he had been waiting on hair-trigger for the call to catapult him forward, sprang a strange figure. A short, gnarled figure so elaborately adorned,cap-a-pied, in the glittering habiliments of a warrior that Ramey had to look twice to see it was no man at all, but another of the weirdly humanoid apes.
The monkey-captain sized up the situation at a glance, lifted his voice in a cry that bore little resemblance to the shrill chattering of ordinary banderlogs. The apparently tenantless court sprang to life. Through every portal flooded troops of the armed monkey-men to arraign themselves grimly behind their leader. The furry captain spoke, this time directly to Ravana, who scowled at him.
For a moment it seemed Ravana trembled on the brink of a decision. His right hand yearned toward his sword. Then he shrugged and forced a smile to his lips. He made a perfunctory, almost insulting, bow to the blue-skinned lord of the jungle, then crisped a word to his followers. They turned and marched from the room. As Ravana passed the squat ape-man, he sneered a mocking taunt; the gaudily garbed little creature flinched as if struck with a blow. Then Ravana and his bullies were gone, and Sugriva beckoned Ramey's party to advance toward him.
Ramey's first impression of the emperor had been that Sugriva was a wishy-washy sort. Now he was forced to alter that opinion. There was no nervousness, no uncertainty in the blue lord's manner. He seemed to have weighed carefully the problem and arrived at a conclusion. He was a gentle man but he could act when action was required. And he was a man of penetrating intellect. He had already recognized that Sheng-ti was the only one to whom his words held meaning. He addressed himself to thebonze. Sheng-ti answered with a new note of humility in his voice, then relayed the message.
"The Blue One says to follow him. He would understand and be understood."
Wonderingly the little group followed Sugriva to a small privy chamber beyond the throne-room. As they entered this Ramey's eyes widened to behold another metal cabinet somewhat similar to that in which they had been borne here, but of hemispherical shape. Into this the ruler motioned them. Red Barrett looked dubious.
"Hey, what's he going to do, Ramey? Send us back where we come from? So soon? Aw, gee! Me and Toots here ain't hardly got acquainted yet."
Syd offered warningly, "Look out. It's a trick of some sort. I don't trust—"
"I think it's all right," Ramey reassured them. "Yes, I know it is. See, he's going in it himself. Come on. We'll never find out what this is all about if we don't take a chance."
He stepped into the chamber behind Sugriva. The others followed. The blue lord closed the door.
This chamber, too, had a control panel on one wall. To this the emperor went, adjusted small dials and pressed a plunger. Sheila screamed. Cries of alarm ripped the throats of Lake and Dr. Aiken. Ramey Winters was conscious that he, too, had cried aloud under the impact of a lance of fiery pain piercing his brain. From the ceiling of the chamber a radiation terrible to look upon blazed down upon them, its intangible beam of light seemed to smash them with tangible force. Ramey staggered a step forward, clutching for Sugriva. But even as he did so, he was aware that the ruler pressed another button, that the radiation had died, and the pain was suddenly gone.
His head throbbed and burned. He cried, "Damn you! What's the big idea? What are you trying to do to us?" But there was disarming candor in the blue man's smile. "Peace, my friend," he soothed. "There will be no more pain. It is over now."
"Over?" repeated Ramey. "It had damned wellbetterbe over. You can't—" Then he halted, his mouth foolishly agape, as realization of what had happened dawned upon him.
He had spoken to the Lord of Angkor. And the blue lord had answered. And each of them had understood the other!
Sheila Aiken stared at their new acquaintance wildly.
"You—you're speaking English!"
He shook his head, a quiet smile on his lips. "No, on the contrary, it is you who speak my tongue. Not that it matters. We can converse in either. Now that we have undergone the ministration of thevilyishna, each of us possesses the other's language." He turned to the yellow-skinnedbonzewho, heretofore, had been his sole interpreter. There was a curious comprehension and sympathy in his eyes. "And you, my friend—your brain has cleared?"[6]
The surly Sheng-ti was surly no longer. An amazing change had come over him; his eyes, which had ever been dark and cloudy with half-mad suspicion, were now gleaming. Ramey knew, even before the old priest spoke, what this meant. The mysteriousvilyishnahad performed for Sheng-ti the greatest of all possible services. It had lifted from his brain the cloud of insanity which had veiled it for years!
Sheng-ti cried out, a choking little cry of joy, and dropped to his knees. "It is, O my Lord! Thou knowest it is indeed clear and strong again!"
Sugriva laid a hand on his shoulder, raising him.
"I am sorry it was necessary to subject you to even a moment's pain. But there was no other way. The patterns of the brain are not rearranged without a modicum of discomfort." As he spoke he opened the door again, they returned to the room whence they had come. "You are all recovered now?"
Dr. Aiken's eyes were those of a new Balboa staring out across uncharted seas of knowledge.
"Thevilyishna! Transference of knowledge by machine! Learning by superimposition of brain patterns!" he whispered. "Lord, what an achievement! Where did it come from?"
"It is an invention of my people," Sugriva told him.
"Your people?" repeated Ramey. "Who are your people, my Lord? In the world from which we came there are no men of your pigmentation. Who on earthareyour people?"
It was then the blue lord Sugriva smiled. There was a touch of sadness in his voice. "My people are not of Earth, my young friend. They are of—another world altogether!"
"Venus!" cried Dr. Aiken suddenly. "Venus—that is your homeland! I knew it! Ramey, do you remember just as the Japanese attacked I was about to tell you of one of the oddest carvings we had discovered? That mural was a representation of the solar system, showing at the center the mother Sun, then, circling about her in their orbits, the planets of Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, and the other spheres.
"Two things about this mural perplexed us. One, that there was a definite line scored between the planets Venus and Earth, such a line as experience in deciphering Angkor's symbolism had taught us always represented 'contact' of some sort.
"The second point was that immediately beneath this diagram were a series of smaller carvings. One showing a forest of lush vegetation unlike anything known to Man, another showing a cylindrical, shiplike object surrounded by heavenly bodies, a third showing a troup of earthmen kneeling before a man like Sugriva. A man with blue skin. My Lord—you know the carving whereof I speak?"[7]
Sugriva nodded. "Indeed, I know it well. Did I not cause it to be made? In the long years that have elapsed since I assumed the protectorate of this Earth colony I have had my subjects carve much of the history of our people into the walls of this citadel. But more of that later. I would hear now of yourselves. You came hither in the cabinet of Rudra?"