Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (18 page)

Yes! Just like the slab hiding the secret
cavity in the tower above, a stone door could be pulled directly
out into this underground corridor, coming out more easily all the
time, until an entire, jigsaw section of the corridor wall had
cleared the building blocks to either side, John then able to drag
the stone door to one side.

To reveal a narrow tunnel hacked out of
living rock, slanting up to end in a hole of light fifty yards
further on!

The wily Melcor's escape route.

In the dark, John grinned. goodbye, Hero
Castle!

At least for now!

The old man was still trapped, there in the
cavern, there in the dark, his anger building that such a thing
could happen to one so elevated! Down-light almost here, he could
see past the people he had been trailing, all the way to the cave
mouth.

Even if he could get by them, what then? With
hostile Malachites in command of Hero Castle, who knew what else
the Azare-Malachites might control in Stil-de-grain?

Still, it galled him that he was still a
captive.

Who were these rustics clogging the one-torch
darkness of the cave mouth? Except for the Malachite Army Head, he
did not know. (That the Head was now a prisoner, gave the elder
cold satisfaction!)

Drawing back against the wall, the old man
closed his eyes.

As clever a graybeard as he had been, first
to think himself into a heart stopping trance as the means to
effect his own escape, then to disguise himself in "borrowed"
slavey clothing, the young leader and the women had almost
discovered him. (That was the second mischance since escaping from
the trap, the first, when he had blundered into the soldiers.
Quickly extricating himself from the soldiers' clutches, he had
avoided this party by withdrawing into a black alcove as they
passed by.)

Pressed against the rough cave wall, hidden
behind a bulge of stone at the end of the steeply slanted, man-made
Mage-hole, he cursed silently to himself. If only he possessed his
crystal, he could blast these others who were in his way!

He had been following these slaveys for some
time; had seen the surprisingly strong youth kill the soldier; had
seen the strange old woman -- definitely a Weird -- capture the
mind of the Army Head. After that, trailing them from shadow pool
to shadow pool, he had watched them discover the soldiers'
bodies.

Thinking these others would raise an alarm,
he was surprised when they continued, taking the route that had
eventually led them to the place that was the object of his search:
the opening to the escape hole!

The four of them recently passing through the
disguised portal, the leader had turned to draw back the door to
seal the secret entrance. (After his passage, the old man had also
taken the prudent course of closing the hidden doorway.)

Thinking further back, while he might be
momentarily denied his rightful freedom, he could take satisfaction
in being well again. Though violating his person by confining him,
the Azare-Malachites had fed him, his body gaining strength quickly
in this lighter band. As for the diseases that had infected him in
that other, pestilential land, the magic of this world's light had
long since banished them.

There was one puzzlement. How had the
Malachite soldiers known he was the Mage ....?

"Come out of there."

The nearness of that echoing command stunning
the old man, he opened his eyes to see the young leader, torch in
hand!

Nothing else to be done, the patriarch
emerged from the recess, careful to hobble pitifully over the
irregular floor as he came to stand before the youth.

"I mean no harm, sir," the elder said,
hanging his head, at the same time exaggerating the high timber of
his old-man's voice.

"I won't hurt you. I just want to know who
you are and why you're following us."

"I am ...." The old man stopped short;
coughed to cover what had almost been the blunder of saying he was
the Mage, Pfnaravin.

In the other, non-magic, world, he had been
unable to pronounce his own name as the native speakers would. In
this world, however, day-magic translated every tongue, saying his
name in Malachite would translate to perfect Stil-de-grain.

Though trying to look downcast, the elder's
mind was whirring.

Now that he had been discovered, it might be
best to use his otherworldly name. "My name is Robin. A harmless
old man, sir."

"And you're following us because ...?"

"Because I have nowhere else to go. Nowhere
at all. I was lost in the castle, you see. Lost and alone. And when
I saw your party, I followed, hoping you would drop but a morsel of
food along the way."

"I think we can do better than that, Mr.
Robin."

"I would work, sir. I would work in order to
be fed," Van-Robin said, humbling himself as the best way to
achieve his final goal.

He glanced up to see that the tall youth
looked skeptical. No ... sympathetic. Good.

Standing in the quavering light of the
youth's raised torch, Van-Robin made so bold as to stare at the
fledgling's unlined face, seeing something that shocked him!

Green eyes?

Yes.

In the other world, he had seen men with
colored eyes, though less piercing than these green ones.

Green eyes: an indication the leader was from
the other world! Though how the youth could have found a way
between the worlds when he, himself, had tried for untold decades
to do so, was a mystery. Could this puppy have a power that belied
his pubescence?

The younger of the women had now approached,
slipping back from the cave mouth on silent feet.

Did "Van-Robin's" senses tell him this small
girl was also a source of power?

Without his crystal, he could be sure of
nothing.

At the thought of the lost crystal of
Malachite, the old man -- affecting to be more painfully back-bent
than he was -- suffered genuine torment. He must have his crystal
back! He must!

Controlling himself immediately, it occurred
to "Mr. Robin" that he might use this party to help him find his
gem.

Unlikely, but possible.

The leader -- tall, green-eyed, young -- had
known about the Mage-hole, after all. A suggestion, if not of
hidden power, at least of impressive knowledge.

All in all, "Mr. Robin" (as he must think of
himself again) could have fallen into worse hands. Had already done
so! Had been caged! His soldier-captors knowing him to be Pfnaravin
-- though he had strenuously denied it.

"Come with us," the youth was saying. "We're
having something to eat. We're going to stay here during
down-light."

Interrupted from his reverie, the old man
nodded with what he hoped looked like gratitude.

"By the way, my name's John Lyon."

The man then turned to indicate the girl.
"This is Platinia," the girl giving no sign as the elder bowed. ...
Could she be deaf? "And the woman up there ...," the youth pointed
to the cave mouth, "... is Zwicia. That man," another point, "is a
Malachite soldier, Leet. We've ... got him under ... restraint ...
for the moment."

"Quite wise. Quite wise, young sir," whined
Robin, bobbing his head in eager agreement. "Malachites cannot be
trusted. I, myself, have just escaped their clutches."

"For now, at least, you're safe with us."

With that pronouncement, the leader pivoted
to stride off for the cave mouth, Robin shuffling close behind, the
silent girl trailing.

Arriving at the cave opening, Robin brushed
wispy strands of hair from his eyes, the better to observe the
scene.

Inside the narrow jaws of the rock-toothed
cave were the others, dimly visible in the fading light of day. The
cavern was additionally half-lit by the torch, the leader now
sticking the pointed torch handle into a crack in the center of the
stone floor near the grotto's entrance. At cave center, was a bulky
carry pouch, the mute girl passing by to squat before the bundle
and unfasten the pack's straps.

Beyond the cave, fog wisps rose from the
clouded valley, the cavern exiting high upon a cliff, only the
denuded tops of other, stony mountains visible in the down-light
distance.

John-Lyon motioned him to seat himself by the
left wall, the leader then waving to the girl ... Platinia ... the
short girl rummaging through the carry bag, extracting wood bowls
and food, eventually bringing a food plate to Van Robin.

Cold meat.

Cold biscuits.

She brought, as well, water in a metal cup,
then returned to prepare other plates.

"Zwicia, this is Mr. Robin," the leader said,
interrupting Robin's concentration as Robin, after sniffing at the
food, was about to eat. How dare he ...!

Calm. Calm was what was needed until Robin
regained his crystal. At times, even men of magic must debase
themselves to gain advantage.

As for the Weird, she only grunted as she
received her bowl and cup, her eyes clear but ... wild.

Had Robin heard of this Weird, Zwicia? Could
she be the Weird of Bice?

Though it had been a long time since he'd
inhabited his own world, Robin still remembered much.

All served, sitting, they leaned back against
the cave's walls to eat, Robin eating, at the same time glancing
furtively about. Memorizing. First, names. Then details about the
other four.

The old woman, seated against the left wall,
her bird legs sticking out, was mumbling to herself. Even with her
Weird-crystal hidden behind her ample, purple robe, Robin knew her
for what she was. She must be a Weird for only one of magic could
trap the mind of another as she had snared the memory of the Army
Head.

The Army Head. Listening from the dark, Robin
had heard the Head tell the young leader about the dead
soldiers.

A strange collection. The leader ...
John-Lyon ... clearly from the incomprehensible, other world. The
girl, Platinia, possibly of power. The old Weird. The Malachite
Army Head.

And now, Robin -- though these others did not
know it, the most exotic of them all!

When finished eating, the girl taking away
their empty bowls, John-Lyon spoke. "So ... fill me in."

Suddenly, Robin was aware that the leader had
begun to speak in English, the women turning their heads to
stare.

Ah!

Down-light had come.

At the moment, Robin (as he must continue to
remember to call himself,) the Weird, and the mind-drained Head
were seated along the left wall, John-Lyon sitting on the other
side of the narrow cave mouth, the girl placing herself beside the
leader. At the grotto entrance, the badly flaming torch kept the
dread, down-light animals away.

"You said you were recently a prisoner of the
Malachites?" continued the young, John-Lyon.

Hearing English from this other-worlder,
Van-Robin mirrored the man's speech by answering in that barbarous
tongue. "Even so."

John-Lyon paused as if knowing something
strange had happened ... though failing to understand what.

He frowned.

Turning his head to look out the cavern
mouth, the leader smiled, understanding that, even in the absence
of day-magic, he had understood Robin. "English! You speak
English!"

"Even so, sir."

"You can't know how I've longed to have
somebody I can talk to at night ...!" The dark-haired leader
stopped abruptly.

Smiled broadly, knowingly.

"Of course! You're the man in the cage."

How did John-Lyon know that!? What was
Robin's response to be!? ......

"Yes."

"But I thought you died."

"It is my ..." What was it that the people of
the other world called that internal organ? "It is my ... heart. It
does not ... beat ... sometimes. But then, it does again."

"So they thought you were dead. Carried you
out. Then, you woke up and wandered off."

"Yes, revered sir."

"John Lyon will do."

"Yes, John-Lyon, sir."

"Tell me about it. How you got to be in the
cage."

What did this leader want? What should Robin
say?

"There ... is ... another world."

"I know. And you're from there, right?"

"That is correct. Somehow ... I was ... here
...."

The young leader nodded, understanding. "When
I came awake, all around me was a cage."

"That figures. They thought you were
Pfnaravin -- an enemy of the current regime in Malachite. Set a
trap for you."

How could this man know of the soldiers and
of Pfnaravin?"

Could Robin chance a clarifying question?
..... "You are also from the other world?"

"That's right."

"May I ask how you know of this Pfnaravin,
then?"

John-Lyon paused, placing his hand to mouth,
thought lines creasing the man's smooth forehead, John-Lyon also
hiding secrets. "Let's just say I've had some experience with the
people here. Know that they sometimes make mistakes."

It was plain that John-Lyon knew more than
most. Was this because he was a man of power in the other world?
And, more importantly, could he, even without the other world's
machines, exercise that power? Caution in dealing with the youth
was increasingly advisable.

"The cage was in the tower room?" Robin bowed
assent.

Suddenly, John-Lyon laughed, the noise
echoing down the stony grotto. "You're from Kansas City. You got
here by going under the stairs."

Again, Robin was shocked! Never would he have
suspected that this man would know so much! "Also the man in the
woods. Looking out at me when I drove in or out in the Mazda. Were
you in the house that night to get out of the storm or to get
something else to eat?"

Ha! Now it was clear! This John-Lyon was the
man in Robin's house, the man coming and going, the man appearing
on the stairs.