“Chloe, c’mon…”
“Just a bit more, Cort…”
She heard him grunt in exasperation and she sighed quietly. She wasn’t deliberately trying to hold him up. He just needed…patience, and what she was doing, if she was going to do it well, needed patience. Actually, he was a very patient man…much more than what she had known in boyfriends past, but her insistence on deliberate attention at a time when they were expected back at the Tavern was at cross-purposes with what he had in mind.
Plus, they had been having fun roaming around and she was loathe to call the day at an end when there was still a sunbeam or two in the sky. The sun had just dipped below the level of the trees, so she felt safe in delaying. Cort, on the other hand, was antsy to get back on the path back to the main compound.
“Tina will be very upset if we’re late,” she heard him say in her ear. Her hand was flat against the stone wall, and she was leaning hard against it; he was behind her, one arm sliding around her middle. “And I have plans for you,” he added, more softly, which did the trick in making her stop and turn her head to look at him. He used the arm he had around her waist to flip her so that her back was flat against the wall she had just been investigating, and he leaned, both hands on the wall on either side of her.
“I just want to go around it once,” she said, innocently.
“We can come back tomorrow,” he argued, straightening somewhat, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. Both of his hands dropped to her blue-jeans clad hips, pulled her slightly toward him.
“We don’t even know where this place is,” she replied, grinning because that maneuver was successful in breaking her away from the wall and she didn’t mind a bit. Her arms went around his shoulders. “And I want to get a good idea of it, so I can go to the library and do research on it. Please, Cort. I just want to go around and see what this is.”
“Well, we can go and tell Tina, and I bet she knows something about it,” Cort said, pulling her tighter to him. He seemed to think employing close proximity would make her forget…and it nearly did. His was not an imposing figure, but he always made her feel surrounded by warmth and protection, not to mention sensuality.
“She would have mentioned it, don’t you think?” she managed to point out, half of her wondering if she could suggest not going to the Tavern at all and the two of them spending the rest of the evening in her suite. “I mean, you’re one of the ones that’s been at the Point the longest…wouldn’t you have known about an abandoned stone building out here, after all the exploring that you do and have done? Wouldn’t have someone?”
Cort floundered for an answer. “Someone, yeah…maybe. But I ain’t interested in that right now. I think we need to get back on the road. It’ll be dark soon, I didn’t bring a flashlight and we’re both exhausted. You had a run-in with some brambles and my feet are hurtin,’ darlin’. I’d like to at least get back and wash up before meeting everyone at the Tavern for Tina’s movie challenge.”
“Is that all?” Their mouths were inches apart.
“You’re expecting more?” He asked of her, a wicked grin tweaking the corners of his mouth.
She playfully pushed away, slightly irked by his game. “We have enough time for me to go around and see if there isn’t some inscription or something. Honestly, nothing I’ve ever heard of the Point has ever said anything about ruins of this kind. Oh, Cort, humor a frustrated out-of-work archaeologist, please?”
He thought for a moment, the tip of his tongue showing slightly, and then nodded; but as she moved to resume her examination, he grabbed her up and kissed her soundly. “There’s more if you hurry,” he promised as she looked up at him, stunned but pleased.
The wall she had been so keen to investigate was a crumbling line of boulders and plaster, and led in either direction for some yards. They figured they were already at the bottom of a valley, for the area that the wall covered was uniformly flat, and when they reached the far left corner of it, found that it went straight at a ninety-degree angle into the forest, broken by what looked to be an archway that opened into unknown territory.
Chloe paused at the lentil of the archway, looking back to make sure Cort was still with her. He prodded her forward, expression now taut with curiosity of his own. Taking his hand, they both rounded the corner and gasped slightly, standing still to take measure.
Because the integrity of the outer walls had been so degraded and broken, primitive, even; the last thing they expected to see within its enclosure were finely fitted panels of glass panels in wood frame that made up what was obviously a very large greenhouse or conservatory. Within, hints of statuary poked up through rampant vegetation that had somehow wended its way through cracks and crevices and broken panels, making the interior appear a well-groomed hot house of green and leafy plants.
It was Cort who pulled her along now down the narrow alley that led between the glass conservatory and the walls. Try as they might, they could not find a big enough spot that would allow them a comprehensive look inside. The vegetation appeared to have become a kind of wallpaper, only allowing peepholes that gave one tiny facet of what was a larger picture. They tromped their way through the alley, feet muffled by the thick layer of dead leaves and branches lining the alley, until they passed a latch. They nearly missed it because the doorway was so much like the rest of the wall. Glancing at each other, curiosity completely owned by the mystery now, Chloe reached and toggled the latch and the door swung inward with a rusty, squeaky groan.
The fragrance of green leaves and slightly rotting stems and wood hit their noses, but not entirely unpleasant as the heat of the hothouse swam over them. Cort found a broken piece of marble big enough to use to prop the door open and he followed Chloe into the center of the conservatory, both of their breath slightly heavy in the thick air.
“What do you think this is?” Chloe whispered, her blue eyes large with amazement. Old iron benches, statuary, a fountain that no longer ran, a table with items long since covered with mold and spider webs and leaves and the dregs of time were scattered throughout, but none were so eye-catching as the fairly large and detailed statue of the huntress, Diana in the center of the room, high upon a column where she stared into a far distance beyond the glassy walls, her Grecian robes flowing from her in a frozen wind and her bow nearly as tall as she. An arrow fitted into the bow in one hand pointed to some unseen viewpoint and the tall point of the gabled roof rose exactly over her head; in the other hand, she held out a single apple. A large hole in the glass and frame work was in one of the gables, as if someone had tried to crawl into the greenhouse from above.
“I dunno,” Cort replied, his awed voice a hushed whisper, as if he were back in his chapel. “But I’m thinking you were right : you need to check this out at the library. There’s bound to be some map that can tell us…”
Chloe had approached the Diana statue, taken by the fine detail and fine grain of the marble from which she had been carved. It was not like the other statues in the room: they looked made from concrete or a cruder grain of stone. This statue seemed to glow from within, and the crystalline grain of Diana caught the remaining light with a faint faery glitter. Even the bow and arrow itself looked to be made of the same stuff, but the detailing and separation of lines so fine itself, that Chloe found herself reaching up, just to touch. Was it all of one piece, or were there joints of connections, sections that would show where one piece was slipped into another? She was quite sure she was being as gentle as any good archaeologist would be handling the finest ashen remains of an artifact from the oldest site in the world, but the statue had a reaction quite unexpected. Chloe’s fingers gingerly clamped down on the fine tip of the arrow…and the entire arrow moved downward, sliding along the fine thread of marble bowline just as Cort repeated his sentiment that better work would be done in the library.
“Chloe!” he gasped and she whirled to see his figure flicker, as if he were an image in an old television in its final moments of telecasting visual, his voice fading as if falling in a long tunnel.
“Cort!” She screeched, and in the few steps it took to reach him, he had melted away.
“No!” She wailed and rushed back to the statue, fingers grabbing the arrow-tip once more, pushing in vain to move it back where it had been in the hope that she could return him by the same mechanism, if indeed it was some mysterious metaphysical mechanism that caused this. To no avail. The tip would not move now. Screaming now in panic, Chloe beat her fist against the bow, gave the statue a violent shove: it would not budge. She turned bck to the spot where Cort had disappeared, frantic. What should she do?
She heard something thud to the ground behind her and turned. The statue had dropped its apple, the hand that held it now by Diana’s side.
Horrified, Chloe felt her breath leave her lungs. She’d watched old movies when she was little, awful B-rated movies where statues came to life and laughed at their victims, hidden monsters leaving bait that gave the victim no other choice if they were to ever find their way out of the labyrinth. Like she had on the couch so long ago, she was frozen, unable to get up and move to stop the witness, unable to take control.
The statue did not move while she looked at it. The marble apple lay glowing a pure white in the middle of the blackened debris on the cracked and faded floor.
But Cort was gone now, taken by God knew what…and she had made it happen. Should she take the apple? Return it…? As if her feet belonged to someone else, she crept towards it, knelt down, certain that it would fly up at her, or disappear while she watched…she looked back up at the statue. It had moved again, and the free hand pointed down at the apple, making its intent clear, the look on Diana’s face imperious, waiting…
Trembling, Chloe took up the apple, with the intent to lay at the goddess’s feet whatever pagan prayer it required…please bring Cort back…
“No…no….no…!” she heard her own voice calling out, because as she rose from her crouch, apple in hand, she saw the rest of the conservatory begin to fade and the expression on Diana’s face turn from cold command to triumph…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
As if she had always stood there, Chloe found she was, in fact, in a library.
Only, something odd had taken place. The air was…different somehow. Instead of the musty, woodsy, slightly spicy smell of John Nash’s library at the Point, the air of the room was musty and dry and smelled faintly of fried foods and a faint whiff of trash. She stood in an oblong room that had lines of bookshelves on every side, the middle open with tables laden with more books, as if it were the dead center of a great area of study. High windows in the walls revealed a yellowish-green sky, light filtered through stirred up dust and atmosphere outside. She looked down and found herself in clothes that were quite alike what she normally wore, but she couldn’t remember ever owning: a tan A-line walking skirt and white Gibson blouse with blue pinstripe, a loosened tie hanging down, brown lace up boots. Her hand flew to her face – her features felt different and her hair was thicker somehow – she couldn’t remember having enough to wrap it back from her face and knot at the base of her neck. Her hand fell to her neck and her fingers felt for a necklace at her throat. Had she been wearing jewelry when…?
A tall man walked between the bookcases, topped with a conical hat…
“Terry! Oh God…thank God its you!” Chloe exclaimed as she stepped forward, recognizing the man instantly and grateful that someone was along to help. He was dressed oddly, though: in dark robes instead of his army surplus attire or jeans and polo-shirt and the conical hat was obviously a fez, a confusing Middle Eastern toque for someone so grounded in the Down Under.
And he did not look pleased to see her.
“Ms. Carnarvon, I haven’t time to stand here and guide you in the intricacies of library maintenance. Isn’t this something you should know? And I really must have the books returned to their shelves. Quickly, now…!” He dismissed her and the topic with a turn and disappeared into a room beyond the line of bookshelves.
Confused, Chloe stood with her fists clenched. What the hell was going on? Where was Cort? Where was she?
Her eyes fell to the large pile of books. Titles, names, some of them familiar. She heard footsteps again and found herself scrambling to gather up a large pile in her arms, located the ladder that would lead her to the shelves that held the books. Terry did not reappear, but she was convinced that he was lurking, just to make sure she wasn’t slacking.
Ideas about finding maps and a way out were ever present, but it seemed as if the only way she could get her bearings now was to go through some kind of action. If she thought about it, she realized she wouldn’t get much further just by wandering around whining about the situation, and she didn’t relish the idea of venturing outside the room to look for help (Terry was obviously in a mood), so the only thing left was to choose some action other than a wringing of the hands.
She was mostly successful, although it was wearing her out to have to climb the ladder in the stiff skirt and graceless shoes. If she had her druthers, she’d be barefoot and in shorts by now. But climb she did, until she came upon a book that chose to baffle her in its lack of provenance in the endless circle of shelves…she reached out from one side to the other, book in hand…she was not going to climb down again, just to find out she’d chosen the wrong shelf….
WHAM! Bookcase met shoulder and shoulder pushed back and down she went with the ladder and the bookshelf fell away under her, starting an avalanche that formed an alarming domino effect. Gasping, Chloe rolled away from the ladder and back to the center of the room before the wave reached her side of the room. When the last bookcase settled on top of the original, all that remained was the dust of a thousand books and even more hundreds of years in the making, rising up with Chloe as she stood.
Ooops.
“Look! Look at this!” Terry’s voice reached a tone she had never heard take before, and she turned in shock to watch and listen. “Give me frogs, flies, locusts…anything but this! Compared to you, the other plagues were a joy!
“I…I’m sorry…so sorry,” Chloe stammered, shaken and offended at the same time. “It was an accident,” she pleaded.
“Accident! No. When Rameses destroyed Syria, that was an accident. You are a catastrophe!” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Why do I put up with you?”
Oh, now that hurt, Chloe thought, thinking of all the gentle teasing she got from him and Kaz when they chatted and how she had thought that there was at least a modicum of affection for her presence at the Point. Still, it pricked her pride even more that Terry didn’t really think her competent in much, so she drew herself up and prepared to lay it down for him.
“You put up with me because I know something about archaeology, and I can read and write ancient Egyptian, decipher hieroglyphs and hieratic. Why I’m the only person you know in this…whatever place we happen to be… who can figure out how to code and catalogue this library…”
“I put up with you,” Terry interrupted, with all the patience of a man worn thin with impatience, “because your mother and father were our finest patrons, God rest their souls. Now…clean up this meshuganah!”
She watched Terry stalk out once more, having had the last word, again, fighting with the urge to simply run out of the room and into the street, hoping that someone somewhere along the way might recognize that she really didn’t belong here…
The muffled sound of a slide and bump behind her made her whirl in fear, thinking that a final bookshelf that had held up this long finally gave in to the domino effect. Seeing that nothing else in the library had moved in the aftershock, she spied a far open doorway leading to a chamber beyond, a single torch lighting a far niche, flickering shadows enticing her to new levels of intrigue. Maybe that would lead the way out of this…meshuganah, she thought and crept cautiously into the hallway.
Which led to something she would normally have fallen to her knees and wept for joy to see: a very large hallway filled to the brim with Egyptian artifacts and treasures, glass cases with odd displays of mummies and pottery, sarcophagi, open and unopened, statues (oh dear Lord, more statues…she avoided touching those for now), gold amulets and pieces of wall with hieroglyphs waiting for someone like her to translate. She heard the faintest of noise again, this time more closely. But she didn’t know anyone…well, who else would work in a Middle Eastern establishment…?
“Abdul? Mohammed…?” She called out. No answer.
Okay. Aim for the obvious. “Bob?”
Oh, the noise was closer now, practically at her heels. She spied a sarcophagus, the lid ajar, just enough to indicate that someone, or something had slid out of it. Grabbing a nearby torch – it was better than being empty handed – Chloe took the steps necessary to approach the coffin, peering, looking beyond the rim…