Kim didn't stop. The boy drove his heel into the man's back and made a chopping motion twice to his neck. Then Kim grabbed the lantern with one hand and held his other out to Shilo. She shook her head and got up on her own.
"Is he dead?" Shilo worried that Kim might have killed him. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.
"I don't want to know." The boy moved down the tunnel, taking the light with him, clearly not wanting to learn the man's condition.
Shilo caught up and took the lantern. This was her expedition, and she'd not have her father's eleven-year-old friend take over. "Stop. We can't just let him sprawl there. Dead or alive, someone will find him."
Kim thrust out his lower lip. "Sure someone'll find him— but we don't have any place to stash him, do we?"
She regarded him silently for a moment, troubled thoughts whirling in her head. This was all so wrong! They were supposed to sneak in at night, all of them staying together, find the eggs and get out. Now someone might be dead, and she was separated from her father and Nidintulugal.
"Ulbanu, help me." She'd not heard the dragon's voice since the cave. When she was hearing the voice, she hadn't wanted to. Now, she begged the dragon to reach in her head and communicate. "Open my mind," she whispered. "Make it easy."
"Where should we go?" Kim tugged on her robe. "Down that way, I think. The guy came from there. Might be something interesting, huh?"
Shilo tried to shut him out, searching her head for Ulbanu's voice. But the dragon wasn't intruding. Maybe the dragon couldn't, she thought after a moment. The dragon couldn't determine just where under the Hanging Gardens her eggs were. Maybe something about the mountain blocked her magical senses.
"Let's go this way." Kim was intent on retracing the man's steps.
Shilo thought it likely that Kim didn't want to pass by the man he'd beaten up.
"If you hadn't attacked that man, Kim, he would have caught me ... us. I don't know what would have happened if he'd caught us. But I think it would have been 'game over.'"
He cocked his head.
The expression was a few decades beyond him, she realized. Wlio will you grow up to be, Kim? Will you have a family like my father did? She shifted the lantern to her other hand, finding the leather strip rough and too wide to comfortably fit in her palm. But you won't grow up to be anything if we don't get back to the dragon. Again she fumed that Ulbanu had pulled two children from the future to help.
Kim started down the tunnel. "Your skin is all smeared, Shilo. Hope mine doesn't look that bad. Doesn't look like no skin condition, no rash. Looks like paint running." He looked over his shoulder at her. "I'm going this way, Shilo. I ain't going back that way. No reason to go back that way."
Every reason to go bach that way, she thought. My dad's back there . . . somewhere. And Nidin's there, too. Somewhere.
"Sigmund's there, Kim," she said aloud. "We can't leave him." I won't leave him. "We're going this way instead." She turned to prove her point and took a few steps, the lantern's light reaching the man on the floor. She stared at his back. It wasn't rising and falling, and his head was turned at a sickening angle. Kim had killed him, using some sort of martial art form.
"C'mon, Kim. It'll be easy to retrace our steps now that we have a light." She wished she would have brought the last of the nuts with her so she could reapply the dye. But maybe she could find something else down here that would work. Maybe Nidintulugal had nuts with him.
"C'mon, Kim. We have to find them." She turned and saw that the way behind her was empty. Kim had disappeared again. "He promised." Well, let him wander off that way . . . in the utter darkness, she thought. Shilo's father came first, and Nidintulugal. Kim was little more than a stranger, an acquaintance the dragon selected.
Her father's friend.
She knew where Kim was, or rather where he was going. But she couldn't say the same for her father and Nidintulugal. Who knew where they were right now? Shifting the lamp again, she hurried after Kim, gritting her teeth in dismay that her sandals made slap-slapping sounds against the floor.
The light made everything easier, yet at the same time more frightening. The animals on the bricks kept appearing to move in the play of the lantern. The darkness, though scary, had hidden the details of her surroundings—that the tunnel was so confining. She likened it to being swallowed by some big beast, slipping down its throat and heading toward the oblivion of its belly.
She saw Kim just ahead. He'd been copying her, right hand along the wall and left hand in front, moving slow enough so it was easy for her to catch up. Once more she wanted to throttle him, wanted to grab him by the shoulders and spin him around, push him back the other way.
Maybe they really should do just that, go back the way they'd come. But . . . ahead of Kim the tunnel forked, the right-hand side going up. There were steps, a way out.
"Stop." Shilo didn't say it loudly, but her word had an edge to it. Kim stopped. He didn't turn to face her, though, clearly not wanting to look her in the eye.
She padded up to him, the lantern light dancing faintly. Touching the bricks near the ascending stairway, she settled on a lion and concentrated.
"I can manipulate things," she said. She was talking to herself. "I can mark our way." This would be better than leaving a trail of bread crumbs. She felt the glazed brick soften, and she sculpted it like clay, turning the lion into an odd-looking creature. She wasn't about to take the time to try to make it into something artful. She changed the image of a bull and another lion on nearby bricks, making their heads melt.
"We can come back this way, get out of here later."
She melted a few more farther down. When she was finished, she stepped past Kim, not saying a word. She wanted to scold him; she had a string of venomous sentences running through her head. But she didn't say a word.
She walked at a steady pace, eyes trained on the tunnel ahead, ears straining to hear something other than the slap-slapping of her sandals.
"Sorry," Kim offered. "I just thought—"
She waved her free hand behind her, silencing him. She thought she heard something ahead, though it was soft and she couldn't quite distinguish what it was. It might have been something dripping, maybe a trough leaking. She slowed and held the light low now.
Maybe her father and Nidintulugal were in front of them. It was likely these tunnels connected . . . they had to connect. Whoever built this place had to have planned it. Better than we planned this rescue operation, she mused. The corridors had to make sense, like Disney World. Her father had a friend who worked there. And during their vacation, he'd taken them below the Magic Kingdom. It was like a city beneath the place, and workers scurried from one end of the park to another.
They didn't get to explore long, though, as her father's friend didn't want to get in trouble. Shilo hadn't liked being down there anyway.
The Hanging Gardens, though large and impressive, weren't nearly as big as Disney World. So this particular corridor couldn't go on forever.
Shilo told herself she'd have just as good a chance of finding her father and Nidintulugal by going this way, perhaps a better chance, as the corridor curved back the way they'd come. The dripping sound got louder as she pressed on. She didn't look back; she knew Kim was there, hearing the occasional squeak of his tennis shoes against the brick floor. She suspected he knew that he'd killed the man—a terrible burden for an eleven-year-old. If ... when . . . they got out of here, she'd tell him again how he likely saved both of their lives. Maybe she'd tell him before they got out. But right now, she wanted quiet. She wanted to focus on the dripping sound, and any other sounds she might pick up.
She desperately wanted to hear Sigmund and Nidintulugal talking, maybe calling for her. They had to be worried, had to know they'd gotten separated. They were probably searching for her, though without a light they'd be just stumbling around.
"We have to find them." She walked faster again, praying that she wouldn't come across any other workers down here, but
knowing that it was inevitable.
After a few minutes they came to another fork in the tunnel, one curving farther toward where Shilo suspected her father might be. The other was narrower, at best two feet wide, and sloped down. The walls and floor were earth, not a single brick that she could see, and she could stick her fingers in the walls; they weren't hard-packed by time.
"That's where we gotta go, ain't it?" Kim brushed at one of the sides and watched the dirt fall away. "This's all new, Shilo. Dug not long ago."
"Yes, I think this is where we need to go." Shilo tipped her head, listening down the narrow tunnel. It was where the dripping sound came from.
"Bet Sigmund ain't down there, though." Kim sniffed at the air. "Kinda stinky. Bet Nidin ain't down there either."
Shilo took a deep whiff. It was a fusty smell that reminded her of some of the old things in the antique store's attic. But there was a dampness to it, and a tinge of rottenness, like something had spoiled and had never been cleaned up.
The dripping sound persisted.
"I don't like it," Kim said.
"Neither do I."
"But that's the right way. J can feel it." He squared his shoulders and thrust his chin forward. "It'll just take a little bit of courage is all."
"There are three kinds of courage/' Shilo whispered.
Kim looked up at her, mouth open. "How did you know that? Did you meet my dragon?"
You told me about courage of the blood, she thought, in a dream more than two thousand years from now.
"I don't know how I knew that." Shilo shrugged. "Sounded good," she said. "Three kinds of courage."
"So what sounds good now, Shilo? Going down there, maybe, where we're probably supposed to go? Or going after Sigmund?"
My father, she thought. Going after my father sounds like the best thing to do.
"Going down there, Kim.' To save dragonkind, and mankind, too.
27 Georgia on His Mind
ARSHAKA SPUN AWAY FROM SIGMUND AND NIDINTULUGAL, raising his free hand and making a circling motion with his index fingers. "Bring them. Since Sigmund has joined us, I no longer require the girl. Sigmund will likely suit my needs better anyway."
Nidintulugal did not put up a struggle, though Arshaka's men thought he would, tightening their grips so their fingernails dug painfully into the priest's arms as they pushed him along. He no longer thought about escaping; he'd lied, committed a sin in the eyes of his god and his temple, and so decided to accept whatever punishment was in his future.
Sigmund fought, however, spitting and kicking, and getting picked up by the men when he planted his feet and resisted with all his strength.
The boy reminded Nidintulugal of Shilo—determined and defiant. He'd come to admire those traits. Perhaps all the natives from the land called Georgia were so strong of character. Or perhaps it is indicative of all the natives from that time, the priest thought. Sigmund had told him they were from the future. He believed the boy, though he still had difficulty comprehending it.
The men half dragged, half carried Sigmund, and Nidintu-lugal listened sadly to the boys cursing.
"Don't hurt the boy," Arshaka said over his shoulder. "Not yet, in any event." After a pause, "The priest, either. I'll not sully any of our souls by causing harm to one of Shamash's own."
Shamash's no longer, Nidintulugal thought. A priest no longer. I've lied . . . twice. Can I possibly repent and find redemption? Perhaps in saving the boy from whatever the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar has planned, I might be delivered. And if I can save the boy, maybe I can still entertain the notion of saving the dragon's eggs. I must do something to save my spirit from the endless abyss.
Arshaka trundled down the corridor, which sloped sharply and then opened into an oval room, the walls of which were covered with glazed bricks decorated with lions and bulls. A wide, arched door led from it, and Nidintulugal could barely make out brick stairs going down—the Hand's light did not reach far enough to see beyond the first few steps. There were two benches in this room, both carved from dark wood and polished so they gleamed, the legs resembling lions' legs and ending in black stone talons. A table near them held a diorama of sorts, and after staring at it a moment, Nidintulugal realized it was a miniature representation of the Hanging Gardens. It was flat, as if someone had peeled off the greenery and stretched it across the table.
A lit oil lamp hung above the table, casting its soft light everywhere. There were small flags across the diorama, and squinting, Nidintulugal read a few names of trees. Blue ribbons curled here and there, apparently representing the troughs and streams that watered all the plants. In the very center was a tiny bucket on a post, this being the conveyor machine that brought water up from the river.
Were he not a prisoner, Nidintulugal would have asked to examine the map, and he would have asked how the wondrous conveyor machine worked. He would have asked where the most exotic of the plants and trees came from, and how the king's representatives had managed to put all of this together. Despite his predicament, he couldn't take his eyes off the diorama. Did it show ways out from under the mountain?
And was there another table somewhere, with a diorama that showed the tunnels that twisted beneath the Hanging Gardens?
"I do not understand." Nidintulugal finally spoke. "I do not understand, Hand of Nebuchadnezzar, why the girl was important to you. And now why this boy has caught your interest."
Arshaka went to the table, put his lantern on the floor, and leaned over the diorama. "A curious priest. Of Babylon's gods, I favor Marduk. Not because I believe in him, or because I like what is ascribed to him, or because his priests are not so inquisitive. But because his temple is the largest. I've not been inside the Temple of Shamash in nearly four years. Are all the priests there so curious?"
Nidintulugal did not answer.
"I suppose there is no harm in sating your curiosity, priest. It is Georgia, really, that holds my interest. And the twentieth century." The Hand of Nebuchadnezzar adjusted one of the flags, retrieved the lantern, and shuffled to the benches. He set the lantern on one, then plopped himself on the other and nodded to the men holding Nidintulugal. "It's all right. He's not going anywhere. Are you, Nidintulugal? You won't try to flee from me, will you?"
"No."
"See? It's all right. Take his knife, though. One thing I've learned from all my years in Babylon is that Shamash priests do not lie. They'd rather die first. So if Nidintulugal says he will stay put, he will. The boy is another matter."
Nidintulugal was grateful that the Hand was watching Sig-mund now. The Hand might have noticed his darting eyes and quickened breath, might have discovered that indeed he was not being truthful—again. A third time Nidintulugal had lied, for he truly intended to flee from the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar with Sigmund. He could accept whatever punishment was due him for all his deceit. But the boy deserved no ill.
Sigmund continued to struggle, the hood of his robe thrown back, and his skin streaked. Arshaka watched the boy, a mix of amusement and ire on his fleshy face. He held out his cloth to Nidintulugal. "Take it, take it." He waved it like a pennant.
"Come on."
Nidintulugal plucked the cloth with two fingers.
"Wipe off his face. I want to see him better. Do it!"
Nidintulugal complied, but only because he saw no harm in the task. He gently rubbed the dye off Sigmund's face and neck, no easy thing to do given that the boy kept fighting against the men who held him.
"He's a bad man, Niddy. Shouldn t do anything he says."
Arshaka chuckled. "A little more. There, that's enough, priest." He rocked back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Better, much. Now that's the face that I remember."
"Remember?" Sigmund stopped struggling for a moment.
"I've never seen you before. But Shilo and Niddy told me about you. Never seen you ever. Wish I weren't looking at you now."
This time Arshaka's laugh was deep and long, sending a chill through Nidintulugal. The priest ha
d never heard the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar make such a sinister sound. He passed the dye-smeared cloth to one of the men who'd held him. Then Nidintulugal rubbed at his arms; there were deep scratches where his captors had dug their nails in.
"But you have seen me, Sigmund . . . Sig. When I was younger and we lived in Kennesaw, not terribly far from each other, if my recollections serve me.'
Sigmund leaned forward, his face pinched as he took a good look at the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar. "No." He shook his head vehemently. "I would have remembered someone as ugly and rude as you. Why, I think if I had a dog as ugly as you, I'd shave its . . ."
"Enough!" Arshaka roared. He was on his feet, shaking his fist at Sigmund. Spittle flew from his doughy lips, and he glared so harshly that Sigmund leaned away.
One of the men had Nidintulugal's knife, pointed at the priest to make sure he wouldn't threaten the Hand. Nidintulugal stood between Arshaka and Sigmund, but he took a few steps back so he could see both without turning his head.
"It doesn't matter," Arshaka said, "whether you remember me." He talked in English, and Nidintulugal could not understand him. "I remember you, Sig. And I remember the puzzle we found in that old man's house. I remember traveling to England and seeing the dragon-of-a-man."
"Pendragon."
"Yes, Pendragon."
Sigmund shook his head. "I don't know you."
"I went back to the old man's house and took a few pieces of the puzzle. You always thought your brother had lost the pieces. Maybe he did—some. But I kept a few, for a reason I didn't understand at the time."
". . . Artie?"
Arshaka nodded. "At last you see me."
"Artie?"
"I discovered that I could use the pieces to travel. And at length, again for a reason that remains a mystery, I picked Babylon to journey to."
"Oh . . ." Sigmund started sucking in mouthfuls of air, shaking his head more, this time in disbelief. "This can't be real. You can't really be Artie."