Hexad: The Chamber (9 page)

It was no use, and he knew it, so he tried to keep his promise to himself and simply forget about the impossibility of the whole damn thing. Stick to the basics, that was best. Stick to what he could just about understand, and that was that they had to stop Hexads ever being invented in the first place, then all the rest would be just as it should be. Right?

"Here we are," said Amanda, staring into yet another expansive room, all vaulted ceilings and large Edwardian windows. The smell of steel, old carpet and the lingering hint of waxed furniture were threatening to send Dale into a sneezing fit at any second.

"Wow. They certainly were a little haphazard with their collections, weren't they?"

"Before the owner handed the place over to The National Trust, as he couldn't afford to run it any longer, he'd spent all his money continuing to collect just about anything he took a fancy to. It had been the same for generations. Each owner was kind of eccentric and they simply collected things. Not much of a system to it as far as I remember reading." Amanda hefted a sword that thudded dully into a thick hide of what looked like a stuffed boar that had been in serious need of a haircut before it met a rather unfortunate end. "Damn that's heavy. Don't think I will be using anything like this."

"Be careful, a lot of this stuff might fall apart in your hands, or have a nasty surprise." Dale wandered around the room, checking out the various antiques. Some of the most prized possessions were under glass, but the room was clearly far from ready to receive visitors. It seemed that after the home had been closed, and The National Trust stopped spending money on an attraction that had never succeeded from day one, the room was being used more as a storage area for items that would eventually all be sold off to try to help to maintain the actual structure rather than it's contents.

So swords were piled against walls, crossbows of all description were laid out carefully on the floor ready to be repaired or sold as is, and there were even a number of shields, not to mention a large area dedicated to more recent weaponry and other assorted paraphernalia from the Second World War.

Dale was attracted to a lot of it — it was amazing to see the changes over the centuries when it came to weapons from different countries, although most of it was definitely British in origin.

He could just picture the latest owner of such a strange collection: all tweed jacket, receding chin and clipped upper-class accent, lamenting the fall of the British Empire and doing what he could to make sure at least some of that bygone era and what it produced still had a home.

Now all it did was gather dust, waiting in the shadows to be sold off to the highest bidder, put on display to impress their friends and acquaintances, all functionality forgotten — just another way to show off wealth.

Dale and Amanda wandered around the room, picking up clubs, strange looking curved machetes and all manner of short-handled steel blades from the colonial past. Dale thought he recognized some things from their travels to places like the Philippines and India: older versions of everyday knives and functional equipment they had seen away from the tourist traps they loved to explore given the opportunity.

Eventually he settled on what he was sure was a parang chanting. The weight felt right and the smooth-as-glass dark wooden handle felt amazingly reassuring. The chopper was about fifty centimeters long on the blade, was convex on the cutting side, concave on the back, sweeping forward to a curved point. This was an Indonesian, or maybe Bornean chopper used like a traditional machete as well as making a very versatile weapon. Dale cut through the air in long arcs, getting a real feel for the simple yet deadly tool, feeling perfect balance in terms of the weight of the handle and the center of gravity that lay close to the blade's tip.

There was even a wooden sheath with leather straps, although he was sure the straps would have been a later addition. It was old, but it was sharp. Very sharp. As he slid the strap over his shoulder he reached behind his back to check how easy it would be to get it in a hurry, then adjusted it a little tighter so it rode higher up.

"Perfect." Dale easily reached a hand back and grabbed the warm wooden hilt, pulling the parang over and in front in one easy motion.

"Careful, you'll have someone's eye out with that. Pretty cool though," said Amanda, admiring the glinting steel as it reflected the daylight trying to wipe away the shadows through dirty windows.

"Nice eh? I've always wanted a parang."

"Just be careful. And how about this?" Amanda pulled out a very impressive blade from a leather scabbard at her side. It was a re-curving blade, slender and beautiful. The handle looked like it was made from bone with tiny brass decorations inlaid.

"Very nice. Does it feel all right?"

Amanda swished it through the air gracefully, then put it back in the scabbard. "Feels perfect. Mid-nineteenth century Indian short sword. Jealous?"

"Ha, a little. It is pretty stunning. How'd you know the heritage?"

"There was a label," said Amanda sheepishly, before smiling.

"You big cheat! Right, now what's next? And shouldn't we have guns really? These are cool and all, but a gun would be a lot more effective."

"Except neither of us have ever used one, we could run out of bullets, and anyway, these will be more functional as well."

"Functional for what? Smashing through the jungle or doing a bit of whittling?"

"Don't be cheeky, you know what I mean."

"Just messing honey. Now, let's get on with this."

"Okay."

They stood facing each other, each waiting for the other to lead. The silence stretched on.

"God, what are we doing?"

"I have no idea," said Dale, trying hard to think what would be the very best next step.

With nothing coming to mind, he pulled a Hexad from his satchel, feeling strangely happy to see the flashing 6, the warm blue glow welcoming him like a long lost lover. Dale fiddled with the settings, fingers working as if they had a life of their own, no conscious thought involved.

Maybe this was it, how to stop it all? Let his unconscious mind lead the way, take them where he couldn't consciously think of? It was something, at least, so he let his fingers do the work while he watched motes of dust dance in the streams of light finding their way into the room through windows where they had been rubbed almost clean in places, probably by one of the trustees, just so they could get a glimpse of the beautiful countryside on the other side of the ancient glass.

"Come on, let's go," said Dale, reaching out a hand for Amanda to take.

"Where to?" she said, taking hold of the offered hand, the contact reassuring for them both.

"I have no idea, but let's find out anyway shall we?"

Amanda shrugged. "Why not?"

"Whooooooooooooooooooosh."

"Dale, will you please stop—"

They jumped.

Stupid Brain

Time Unknown

"Bugger." Dale scrambled to his feet, feeling rather foolish for not remembering to focus on landing on the ground. He'd freaked again, thinking he was falling to his death when really it was merely a split-second before his feet hit the floor.

Amanda was smiling at him, clearly expecting it and staying calm as she jumped. Dale noted the smile fading, turning to astonishment, as she took in their surroundings. Dale stood next to her, looking around at where his unconscious mind had decided was the best place to jump to. "Stupid brain, shouldn't have trusted it," muttered Dale.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, ignore me. I think I will from now on."

"Where are we Dale? This place is incredible."

"I have no idea, but it sure is rather bonkers."

They stood, they stared, and they stared some more. Dale felt like he could spend a lifetime just looking at the strange, mind-bending vista spread out before them. It made a mockery of everything that he knew about gravity, about how reality worked. About everything.

They were stood in what at first impressions would be nothing more than a simple field, all lush green grass and soft, clearly fertile soil beneath. It was only when you looked around you that everything became skewed, warped and incomprehensible until your brain readjusted to put what your eyes were seeing into some kind of order.

The only way Dale could describe it to himself was if you had a world in miniature that instead of wrapping around the surface of a globe was wrapped around a cylinder. Then, just to laugh in the face of physics, instead of wrapping it around the outer surface, you took all that you understood and played God by wrapping it around the inner surface instead.

Staring mutely at the strange views, Dale and a clearly confused Amanda, who was standing with her mouth open, brain trying to come to terms with what she saw just like Dale, traced the curve of the landscape, following it up until he was looking directly above where he stood, looking at fields as if he were high up in the sky looking down on them. He was sure he could see rooftops, even a hint of smoke trailing away from the tops of chimneys, meandering down towards him far, far below. Or above, not that there really was a top or a bottom to such a strange landscape as far as he could tell.

Dale turned to face the opposite direction, similar scenes presenting themselves. Halfway up the cylinder, tube, or whatever it was, not even sure if the words actually meant different things really, there appeared to be, quite bizarrely, a small village, complete with what Dale was sure was a cricket pitch in the middle of the twee scene. Similar traditional English country scenes presented themselves in whatever direction he looked.

Back down on the ground, for he had to think of where he stood as the ground or he had the feeling he'd suddenly fall off and end up above himself, the field they were stood in led to a small stream. On the other side, past a low hawthorn hedge, there were a few sheep, white backs gleaming like blue-tinged bone in the diffused light. He didn't even want to think about how the light worked in such a place, but guessed it must be coming from regular intervals around the whole vast interior.

There were small farmhouses scattered amongst the fields like oversized boulders, there were trees and almost blinding fields of canola, their yellow flowers like patchwork sunshine dotted around the landscape, mixing with the green of the fields, the dark brown of rich exposed soil, the blue of streams meandering between the straight lines like squiggles on a Mondrian canvas.

"How big do you think it is?" said Amanda, whispering as if she was in a library.

"Dunno. Huge. A mile long. Two? Not sure how wide, but it has to be a half mile at least, or who knows? It messes with your sense of perspective, everything is the wrong way around."

"It's incredible." Amanda, eyes wide and energized, spun in a circle, trying to take it all in again in an instant. She moved away a short distance as she spoke, bending to feel the grass, as if it was as fake as the reality they found themselves in.

"It sure is. But how is this even possible?"

"Everything is possible," said Amanda, from right behind him.

Amanda? But she's over there...

"Amanda," shouted Dale, but it was too late. She was turning, and then she was staring at the Amanda that was stood right beside him, an Amanda that was not the Amanda he had just jumped with.

Dale held his breath, waiting for the world to implode, to awake in a straitjacket in a padded cell, or at the very least for one or both of the Amandas to disappear because of the paradox.

Nothing happened. Nothing apart from his Amanda staring in total shock at yet another version of herself.

"Don't worry," said the new Amanda, "the paradoxes won't mess with things. Not here."

"And, um, where is here?" asked Dale, trying to slow his heart, stop it from leaping out of his chest and running away to hide in a dark corner somewhere.

"Why, this is home, of course. The Chamber."

"Home? You live here?"

"Yes, lots of us do." Amanda, the new one, smiled at him sweetly, a nice even tan really making her look radiant.

Dale turned to the approaching Amanda, realizing how tired she looked, and confused, which was to be expected. Heck, if he was confused and disorientated he couldn't imagine how she was feeling.

"I'm guessing it's best for us not to shake hands?" said Amanda.

"It's fine, honestly. But if it makes you feel uncomfortable..."

"You live here?" interrupted Dale, asking again, trying to get information, and to maybe occupy Amanda rather than her freak out about another her. Dale thought she had said that the other versions of her were all safely back where they were supposed to be, and that obviously wasn't really the case at all. He couldn't imagine this being where anyone had really come from and truly belonged, it was too alien in design.

Amanda smiled again, calm and totally at ease in their presence, as if they were expected. "Come, let's walk while we talk. And yes Dale, I truly do live here. Lots of Amandas do. For a while, at least."

Why don't I like the way this is heading?

They walked through the field, an Amanda on either side of Dale, making him extremely uncomfortable. Just what did this new woman know of him? How many experiences had she shared with a version of him that would make it as if they knew each other intimately? Dale thanked the powers-that-be that her scent wasn't quite right — he wasn't sure what he would do if suddenly confronted with two Amandas that both were to all intents and purposes the same woman.

Amanda tried to make sense of their situation for them both. "Amanda? Gosh, ugh, that sounds so weird, I don't normally talk to myself. Look, what's going on? How are you here? Where is here? And what the hell is this weird place anyway?"

"You don't mess about do you?" said the other Amanda. "But then neither do I so I promise to tell it to you straight. Let's go inside though, shall we? Maybe a roof over your head will allow you to relax a little. I know when I first arrived I thought my mind was going. It's a little disorienting until you get used to it, but you do. Eventually."