Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (39 page)

Only to have John-Lyon ... survive. (It was
later that Pfnaravin remembered that, after down-light, John-Lyon
spoke no tongue but English.

One thing was certain. John-Lyon had not
survived because of counter crystal power. He had no crystal.

Pfnaravin had first learned that John-Lyon
was powerless on the night Pfnaravin (still using his otherworldly
last name, Mr. Robin) had slipped the imitation gem from around the
sleeping John-Lyon's neck. And, later, found the disk to be
worthless! (That was the same night another person had stabbed the
sham Mage, someone else refusing to be fooled by John-Lyon's
claims!)

John-Lyon had then destroyed Auro, indicating
the pretender still had the yellow gem -- though he had hidden it
since.

In addition, did John-Lyon have otherworldly
tricks?

The possible use of deceptions from the other
world was the reason Pfnaravin had ordered the army here, to use
the army's force to overwhelm John-Lyon's alien "magic."

In any case, it would be Dockw who would be
assigned to open the cage. Dockw to strap John-Lyon to the
religious priest's instruments of torture in order to force the
pretender to reveal the hiding place of the golden crystal of
Stil-de-grain.

Meanwhile, through the power of Pfnaravin's
green gem -- the same force that had drawn "Mr. Robin," at last, to
the hollowed out space in Yarro's bed frame where the former king
had hidden it -- Pfnaravin ruled again!

Enough thought!

"Stop!" ordered Pfnaravin, rising from the
high-backed chair against the wall opposite the frenetic fools.

At Pfnaravin's sharp command, the circle of
moaning, prancing, heavily robed eunuchs froze in place, as if
paralyzed by a Mage-bolt. After which, Dockw, at line's end, with
the proper hesitation befitting Pfnaravin's power, approached,
mincing forward on his baby feet.

Coming near, bowing low, the painted horror
lisped: "It is unwise, oh great Pfnaravin, to interrupt the
ritual."

"And equally unwise," Pfnaravin sneered, "to
continue it."

"But, great Mage ...

"If your talent as a gatherer of information
is better than your skills as a religious danseuse, it is tomorrow
that I will learn the truth."

As much as Pfnaravin wished to know the
location of the crystal of Stil-de-grain, it was sickening to see
the smile on the priest's hair-plucked face. Whatever the
color-banded gelding's true beliefs, Dockw's delight was in
inflicting pain.

A fact that made no difference. Living too
long in the other world without the veneration due him, Pfnaravin
had no concern for anything but the preservation and enhancement of
his reclaimed power. At last, with his green crystal throbbing at
his neck, with the prospect of possessing the magic power of the
gold gem of Stil-de-grain as well, Pfnaravin was in position to
dominate all bands!

There was no time to lose, however. It had
been some time since the prisoners he himself had put in the
Xanthin Palace dungeon had escaped.

Then, there were these vibrations from the
crystal. (A certain thrashing that tells the spider that a fly is
caught within the web, a quavering of the magic wards set about the
castle told Pfnaravin someone was agitating the defensive net.)

Might he speculate that those outside were
the escaped friends of John-Lyon? Perhaps the former admiral,
Coluth? Even the elusive Golden, who Pfnaravin had not captured?
Might a further speculation be that Golden was the outside factor
who had arranged the escape of the others? Knives were something of
a Golden specialty. At least against the robber captain they had
encountered in the woods. (Pfnaravin had discovered the other
bandits in the dungeon. Freed them. Made them officers. ....
Surrounded by John-Lyon friends when he had assumed command, it was
wise to counteract their influence with John-Lyon enemies.)

No matter. The drawbridge was securely
raised. Even if the far wall was breached, the portcullis defended
the inner, castle. There was no quick way past the solid, second
wall.

A final precaution could be taken, however.
Unnecessary, but ...

Returning to the business of the priests,
Pfnaravin raised his voice in cold command.

"Dockw, you have my permission to
withdraw."

Without another sound, the priest bowed,
turned, and motioned the other priests into a silent, sinuous line,
Dockw scuttling to the front to lead the priest-line as it
slithered from the torchlit room.

The castrati gone, Pfnaravin raised his voice
again. "Guards!"

As they had been trained to do, his squads of
hand-picked men quick stepped in from every passageway, their
officers dressing them into lines. "I have need for three guards to
stand watch here throughout the night," Pfnaravin ordered. "The
rest to strengthen the perimeter defense."

Salutes exchanged, Pfnaravin selected two
hulking soldiers and one officer to remain, the rest of the troops
matching out, their hardened leather boots clicking on the
flagstone floor, the crisp cadence echoing dully from the tapestry
covered walls.

When the tramp of the guards had whispered to
a heavy silence, Pfnaravin spoke to the remaining officer. "Suspend
the cage from that beam." Pfnaravin pointed to an age-blackened
buttress two floors above. "Chain it high. Lock the chain; then
give me the key."

"Yes, sir," the squad Head said, saluting
smartly.

"I will remain ... to watch," Pfnaravin
threatened, the officer hastening his men off for a lock, chain,
and hand-cranked windlass for hoisting the heavy cage.

Pfnaravin's final preparations underway,
allowing himself to settle back in the intricately carved chair,
hands on the wheat-head armrests, Pfnaravin stared through the
flickering light at the silent captive in the indistinctly lit cage
at room center.

As if to guard himself from an unknown force,
Pfnaravin's hand, of itself, rose to stroke the green crystal
dangling at his neck.

Presently, gaining comfort from the thick,
moist stillness of the aged room, feeling crystal-power surging in
his blood, Pfnaravin was ... content. Content that the fulfillment
of all his dreams would come .......

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, those termites chewing at the outer
wall would be eliminated. By tomorrow -- if he must bury John-Lyon,
cage and all, in the deepest pit that could be dug! -- this
troubling pretender would be no more. And best of all, by tomorrow,
the great Pfnaravin would own the golden gem of Stil-de-grain!

All secure, guards at their stations,
Pfnaravin could now retire to his room, confident that tomorrow --
he would be crystal-master of the world!

* * * * *

Since imminent death was a guarantee of
insomnia, John couldn't sleep. (And to think that he'd come back to
Stil-de-grain to stretch his life span!)

Nor did the swinging cage, help.

As for the solid bars, he couldn't bend them.
He'd tried until his muscles had given out.

John remembered the shock -- arrest instead
of celebration -- that jolt followed by his discovery that he'd
lost the crystal. Followed by prisoner-John's removal to Hero
Castle. Then came the show trial with its judges, dignitaries and
incomprehensible legal formalities -- the trial for the sole
purpose of railroading him to a conviction of treason. Done in the
name of young Yarro, of course, the child king seated on his little
throne, mournfully scanning the assembled officials for Coluth,
Coluth also "mysteriously disappeared." As had Golden. And Leet.
And Nator.

The ultimate shock had been finding that old
man Robin (in John's world called Van Robin, John remembered), has
turned out to be what historian-Paul had once suspected -- the real
Pfnaravin. Complete with green crystal which, while John was off
saving the world, Pfnaravin had found in Yarro senior's hiding
place.

With an interminable night to reflect on the
whole, sorry business, John regretted he'd been blind to so much. A
lack of foresight that had doomed his friends.

Only the women seemed to have come through
unharmed, John seeing Zwicia tottering along the road on the trip
from Xanthin Island to Hero Castle. Probably hadn't even noticed
there'd been a change of Mages.

The girl, catlike, had also landed on her
feet. He'd seen her, too, in the line of march. Also part of
Pfnaravin's entourage.

Platinia.

Not a young girl but a "full-grown" woman,
John reminded himself. A darkly attractive woman; in the body of a
mature child.

In the dark cage, chained a story above the
stone-slab floor, John thought about his first and second trips to
this strange, Bandworld. Speculated that Platinia had been the
common denominator to both ventures.

In the chilly shadows of the one torch room,
facing a tomorrow that promised -- certainly torture -- probably
death -- John was surprised to find it was the dark-eyed girl who
filled his thoughts.

Though he'd tried to deny it, he had to admit
he had ... feelings ... for Platinia.

Feelings: but what kind of feelings?

Pity? ... Certainly. From what little he knew
about her, he was convinced Platinia had a tragic life.

Sympathy?

Friendship?

Affection?

Something more? ...............

Not that she was his only friend in this
foreign realm.

There was Coluth.

And the ubiquitously versatile Golden.

Thinking of Golden, a piece of the puzzle
John had seen, but ignored, fell into place!

At John's trial, he'd noticed a young priest
whispering to the head banded, dildo-equipped, chief priest, Dockw,
Dockw leaning the other way to mumble to Pfnaravin, Pfnaravin
standing to announce that, henceforth, John was to be locked in an
iron cage.

All this time, John had thought that being
enclosed by iron bars had been a fortunate accident, one that had
saved his life when Pfnaravin lost his temper at John's failure to
answer Pfnaravin's incomprehensible questions and blasted John with
green lightning!

Not a chance event at all ... because the
subordinate priest had been Golden in disguise!

So -- it was Golden who'd made the suggestion
that John be caged, the young man knowing that any, iron-bound
creature -- pig or man -- was safe from magic lightning! Figuring
that Pfnaravin might try to strike John down ......

Summed up, Golden had proved himself to be a
friend! ........ (Who, then, was the person who wished John dead,
the person who'd stabbed him? The person who'd substituted a plain
rope for the fuse?) Whoever that shadowy figure might be, John
could be sure John's intimate companions had stood by him to the
end.

And what had their loyalty gotten them?

It was a good bet that, of all his old
friends, only Zwicia -- whose insanity buffeted her from the
penalties of reality -- still had her freedom.

And Platinia.

Above all, John was glad his misfortune had
not hurt Platinia. Glad for this single gleam of light in the
lonely darkness of the remainder of his life!

Jogging ..... Up. .......

It had been a miracle! In spite of facing
probable torture and possible death, John must have gone to sleep
sometime before up-light. He had to have been asleep because he was
surprised to be awake! Peering through the cage bars by the light
of a single torch down there in the gray stone dining hall, his
flesh crawled when he saw what looked like giant spiders descending
on wisps of webs to either side of him, the apparitions
disappearing as quickly as they'd come. Had he witnessed something
in the gloom ... or only imagined it?

Silence.

Followed by thuds in the blackness below.

After which John saw another "spider," also
glissading from blackness on a slender thread, this time, directly
above the suspended cage.

Nearer. Nearer ....!

Golden!

With the agility of a cat, Golden stepped on
the cage top, balancing there like a trapeze artist, the cage
barely swinging with his added weight.

From under his tunic, Golden produced a
lighted torch.

"Gyufeel syw qwy," Golden said in a low
voice, the young man speaking in Stil-de-grain. Looking down at
John through the barred ceiling of the cage, apparently realizing
John couldn't understand, Golden motioned for John to remain
quiet.

Of course! The hollow sounds from the room
below must have been someone taking care of the guards.

Looking down, John saw men climbing the
ropes. Sailors: Orig, Philelph. Coluth.

Strapped over Coluth's shoulder was a
cargo-windlass. ..... For leverage! So they could bend the bars to
let John out! John's friends had come to rescue him!

Hanging onto their ropes at cage level, the
three seamen fastened the claws of the winch to the central bars,
then to the sides of the cage, all done in silence.

Ready, Philelph turned the greased crank, the
only sound the groaning of the bars as they were slowly twisted
back.

When the gap was wide enough, with the others
steadying the chained up cage, Coluth helped John through the bent
bars, boosting John to the top of the iron prison.

Kneeling on the ceiling bars, wrapping one
leg around Golden's rope for balance, John pushed off to lower
himself to the floor.

John down, everyone else off the hemp lines
as well, the sailors flicked waves in the ropes to unhook their
grapnels from moorings on the stone railing above, the ropes
snaking down in the murk of the great dining hall, the sailors
somehow managing to catch the grapnels before they clanged on the
stone floor.

The ropes off the railing, the lines coiled
on the sailor's shoulders, the rescuers set out through the
flickering dark, John leading, the five of them headed up crooked
stairs and through narrow, twisting halls in what John hoped was
the direction of the tower room. Up. And up.