Above all, what did they know? What science did they have? What were the weapons the Varanel carried? What was their range?
His life depended on the answers to his questions. His life, and who knew how many others’? What were they thinking of, beyond that veil? What evil awaited him?
XXV
Mike Raglan decided that if he were Erik, and a prisoner of those who had no reason to keep him alive, his first thought would be escape. If immediate escape seemed out of the question, he would try to convince his captors he was worth more alive than dead. The authority to whom he must appeal would be The Hand, but if he could not be reached, then the Varanel.
From what Kawasi and Tazzoc had said, a watch was kept on everyone. How this was done he did not know, but Erik’s knowledge was electronics, so if he could convince them he could build equipment useful to them, he might be kept alive. He might also gain access to equipment useful in an attempt to escape or communicate. But what if they already possessed methods superior to any he knew?
After all, our world had progressed along certain well-trodden paths of inquiry, but were they the only ones? Our thinking had been channeled into courses assumed to be the only avenues of communication, but what if there were others of which we knew nothing?
Suppose their methodology was entirely different? The Newtonian conception of physics, for example, has been completely upset by Einstein, first, and then by the quantum theory. Nor will this be the end. Of one thing only can we be sure: What is today accepted as truth will tomorrow prove to be only amusing.
The Anasazi had returned to a world they had previously fled, but no doubt many had remained behind, and the two had combined to produce what now lay just beyond the window in the kiva. Some, probably those who had returned, had abandoned the world they found and gone to the mountains, where they had carried on much as they might have in our world.
What was the evil they had fled? It would be simple to suggest something tangible such as a monster of some sort, a plague, or encroaching enemies, yet was that actually the fact? Had the evil been religious practices such as those known to the Aztec and the Maya, where human sacrifices ran into the thousands and the stench of their bloodstained altars, like those of the Carthaginians, had to be overcome by incense?
Or was the evil something more subtle, such as religious bigotry and ignorance? For those who sacrificed the hearts of thousands to keep the sun in the sky no doubt believed themselves right and correct in what they were doing.
What he seemed to be facing was an autocratic government ruled by The Hand, and supported by the Varanel, a small military clique of superbly trained fighting men. These had succeeded in keeping control by restricting exploration, ideas, and the world in which they all lived, but such rulers were apt to be highly suspicious, paranoid, and fearful of strangers and the ideas they might import.
Erik was an intelligent, perceptive man. He would undoubtedly grasp the situation immediately and begin planning their escape. He had used the plural, had spoken of “us,” which implied he was not alone. Although that did not necessarily mean a woman, it was a fairly safe bet it was. Was she a prisoner also? Did they know about her? Or was she an outside ally upon whom he might count for assistance?
Erik would be a prisoner somewhere in the Forbidden area. This large block of structures was restricted, it seemed, to the use of The Hand, the Lords of Shibalba, and the Varanel. Judging by the comments of Tazzoc, only a part of this block of structures was in use and many areas had been abandoned, such as the Hall of the Archives. Tazzoc was no doubt accepted as one of the servants who occupied themselves in maintaining the area.
So then, Mike must gain entry to the Forbidden area, examine one of the plans, locate the place where Erik was held, break him out, and escape.
Simple enough to frame in words—quite something else to accomplish.
First, Tazzoc must bring him the costume. Then he must study and rehearse walking like Tazzoc, with Tazzoc’s stoop-shouldered carriage. Once inside the Hall of Archives he must go to the shelves of maps, find those needed, and study them. Once he knew where to go he must move quickly, careful to arouse no suspicion, and free Erik. Then they had to get away, and an escape route must be planned before that time.
No matter how much they might try to avoid being seen, they must expect pursuit. That was where Volkmeer would be useful. He could stand by the window and stop any pursuit. If only Mike could communicate with Erik, get word to him somehow to let him know what was planned, or to discover what he himself was doing, if anything.
He tried to consider every possibility, yet even as he considered the situation, coolly, he was frightened, appalled at what he was about to do. He was going into an enemy area without adequate intelligence, no knowledge of their capabilities or weapons, and in a place where he would be quickly identified as a stranger. He would be one man against thousands, one man alone.
Of course, if possible, Erik would try to communicate with him. Suddenly he remembered the sunflower on the dog’s collar, the sunflower on the sweater he wore.
Had that not been communication? But with whom? With Kawasi or someone else? Someone who was not only friendly but who had been able to pass through from the Other Side. Someone who had needed a pencil but had not known how to sharpen it.
Often before this, Mike had gone into dangerous country. There had been bandits in western China when he had been traveling there, and in other areas his motives had been suspected. He was investigating ancient mysteries but was often suspected of being a government agent or a spy for one faction or another. More than once he had been in trouble, and in the process of knocking around he had picked up a variety of skills for protecting himself. He had a feeling he would need them all.
He checked his pistol, then his boot-knife. Another knife he slung down the back of his neck under his shirt. The idea of the sunflower returned. These sunflowers were unlike those he had known in the Middle West, which were often as large as dinner plates. These were wild sunflowers and much smaller, but they grew everywhere. Obviously, they had some significance to the person who took the pencils and who had provided Erik with a sweater.
Raglan built a fire from the wood he had gathered, a small fire for coffee and comfort.
Where was Volkmeer? The old rancher no doubt had business to arrange before he could be gone for several days, but he should be along soon. The possibility that the old cowboy and miner he had known could have become well-off had never occurred to him. Yet why not? Volkmeer was a shrewd, patient man, who must have had ambitions, although he had never voiced them that Raglan could recall. Like many a western man, he had dabbled in mining, prospecting occasionally, and sometimes working a lease in some mine. Gold in the San Juan River Canyon had never appeared in paying quantities. Several mining ventures had been tried, only to fail because of the extremely small size of the flakes. Occasional pockets had been found, he supposed.
Chief was lying just inside the door of the ruin. Mike Raglan stepped around him and went into the night. It was very dark and very still. The air was fresh and cool. The time was soon. If Tazzoc got back with the extra cloak, it would be time to move, yet he would see Eden Foster one more time. After all, he had given her forty-eight hours and she might accomplish something.
He looked off toward No Man’s Mesa. It lay dark and ominous, a little south and west of where he stood. The Hole would be almost due west, and perhaps a shade north. Suddenly there was a light pressure against his knee.
It was Chief. He dropped a hand to the big dog’s head and scratched the back of his ear. “I’m going to leave you here when I go,” he said. “If I don’t show up, you go find Gallagher. He’s a good man and he would treat you right.”
Come to think of it, Chief was probably the only one who would miss him—Chief and perhaps his agent. Somehow in traveling about the world, writing, thinking, he had not made friends. Acquaintances, yes. Temporary friends whom he probably would not see again, but no friends as such. He had no family, and had never had, for that matter. He was a man alone.