Dusty and old, it had probably not been examined in many years. The top of the tier of shelves on the level below was over waist-high and formed a convenient desk for opening the books. With extreme care he undid the knots that held the pages together, then lifted off the thin slab of wood that was its top. Unfolding the crackling paper, he spread out the plan.
Remember, he warned himself, you are dealing with an alien mind. Yet the plan before him had been carefully drawn, possibly by the very architect, if such there had been, who designed the building. There was a maze, and, a little back of center, a rectangle that indicated what was probably the focal point, the dwelling and executive mansion of The Hand. Nearby was another area of six rooms of equal size which might be cells for prisoners, and beside them a larger space that might be a guardroom.
The Hand’s area, if such it was, was not diagrammed. No rooms were indicated. Deliberately, no doubt, his area remained a mystery. Accustomed to study, Raglan had given the map a quick onceover, and now he began to check details. In the left-hand lower corner was an area that had to be the Hall of Archives; in the right-hand corner opposite, an area not quite so large that seemed to be the quarters of the Varanel. Between the two the great gates opened into a court and, beyond it was the entrance to the maze.
The maze was not simply a winding passage but halls, between long lines of rooms. Some of these would be the death traps, but which ones? Was there any indication on the plans? Here and there were minute notations, but in characters he did not comprehend. Surely, the trapped rooms would be indicated on this plan, and even though he did not know the language, each trap must be indicated by a similar character. Within a few minutes he had noted twenty-six rooms marked by the same figure. Two were even side by side.
A quick scanning on the design showed no other figure that marked more than two rooms, and that only in one case. Yet how to remember which rooms were the ones marked? He ran his eyes along the hallways, noting the number of rooms. He glanced again at the map, then looked more carefully. This was a plan, not necessarily the one from which the structure had been built, but a plan as it must have been on completion. Of course, it would have been altered since, in which case all bets were off.
But … Puzzled, he studied the map again. In those rooms marked by the figure he suspected to indicate the traps, there was something else. Something just inside the door …
Time was passing, and he had no time. Worried, he studied the plans anew. It seemed that the floor inside the trap rooms fell steeply away in a sort of ramp. Anyone stepping in would step down… ?
No steps, just a short, steep ramp by the looks of it. A slippery ramp, perhaps? And the heavy door closing behind him? No chance to turn quickly and get out, nothing against which to brace himself to push against the door.
Simple, but effective. If one glimpsed the fact that he was entering a trap, there was no effective way to escape it. Raglan felt a chill. What was he getting into, anyway?
Getting into? He was already in. Now to get Erik and get out. And who was it he must avoid?
Zipacna, a man he had not seen, a tall man, a strong man, a man to be avoided at all costs.
Folding the map. he returned it and retied the strings, replacing the book upon its shelf.
But what was that?
A smaller map had fallen to the floor. He stooped to pick it up, then heard someone coming. Those footsteps were not Tazzoc’s. He dropped to his knees and, still gripping the map, flattened himself out on an almost empty lower shelf.
Someone was coming. Somebody who paused, maybe looking around, then came on. Coming his way. His hand went to his waistband, and he stayed, listening. The footsteps came on, paused. Sandaled feet, a robe of fine material. Then the feet moved on. There was a rustling. After a moment there was a voice, a commanding voice.
“Tazzoc!” Words followed, but he could understand nothing. From a distance Tazzoc was replying, quietly, submissively. There were moments of conversation and then, after a few minutes, a door opened and closed.
Raglan lay perfectly still. Who had gone? Was it Tazzoc or the other?
Minutes passed until he heard footsteps again. This time he recognized the step. It was Tazzoc. Raglan slid out of his hiding place.
“You are here! I was afraid, terribly afraid!”
“Who was it?”
“It was Zipacna. He never comes here, so why did he come today?” Tazzoc was frightened. His hands shook, and he kept looking around. “You must go! Now! I cannot risk it! If you should be found here I would be ruined! Destroyed! Please, please, go now! At once!”
“I am going, but you know nothing, have seen nothing.” Turning, Raglan walked swiftly away, then ran up the stairs to another level, then still another. Light fell from a narrow window behind a balcony. Pausing, he looked at the map that had fallen from the book.
It was very old. Undoubtedly it had some connection with the map of the Forbidden or it would not have been tucked away in that book. Staring at it, he recognized nothing. Then realization came to him.
It was this room! It was the Hall of the Archives when it had been a temple, before the great structure of the Forbidden had been added. It was this room that had been the Holy of Holies. No archives then, but rows of seats looking down on the flat rectangle below, which must have been a ceremonial center or an arena.
He must get out of here. Suppose Zipacna had seen him, and simply gone to call the Varanel? If he was to find Erik he must be moving. Yet the map in his hands gripped his attention. There was the table with the three chairs overlooking the arena, and that latticed screen, all of stone, that stood behind it.
At a corner of the stone screen there was a part of the screen that could open, allowing passage into the area behind it, but at the back there appeared to be a passage opening into the maze, and a way through the maze to the apartments of The Hand!
Below him, in the wall, there was another opening. He went swiftly down, working his way through the shelves. Here and there were piled stacks of books, and some flat stones covered with writing. He found a door and stepped in front of it to feel for a handle or latch. Instead, the door began to swing away from him, and beyond lay a lighted passage.
Behind him, among the shelves, he heard a scurrying movement, then a sharp command. Tucking the map into his shirt front, he ducked through the door, turning left into the maze. Quickly, he ducked into the first opening and waited, flattened against the wall, listening. His hand went to his gun, but even as it did so, he withdrew it. This was no place for a gun. The report of a heavy-caliber pistol would reverberate through all these corridors, alerting everyone. What he needed here was a knife, or simply his bare hands.
The light was vague, but there was light, although he could not determine the source. This had been true in the Hall of Archives as well, he now remembered, but he had given no thought to it.
He waited, listening.
Yet as he listened his mind was searching out the maze about him. He had turned left and suddenly. From here on, every turn must be carefully chosen. In such a labyrinth as this a man could lose himself forever. Even at Hampton Court in England, a much smaller maze, people often had to be escorted out.
He glanced at his watch and his stomach went sick and empty.
So much to do, and so little time!
He started forward, then shrank back. Someone was coming! Along the hall before him, someone was walking, drawing nearer with each step. He backed into the shadows of the alcove. He had no friends here, and death lay all about him.
Yet if death was to come now, it must be a silent death, quick, with no warning. By now the Varanel would be searching. By now they would expect an interloper.
He waited, poised and ready.
XXXVII
A faint perfume, an essence he could not identify, a light step, and a rustle of garments.
She was slender, graceful, rather taller than he expected. In the vague light her features could not be clearly seen, but she stopped suddenly, turning her face toward the dark alcove in which he stood.