"I've been here for decades, Sigmund."
"But you're . . . old." The last word was said as if Sigmund had just bitten into a lemon.
Arshaka returned to the bench and sat down, spat on the floor and looked to Nidintulugal. This time he spoke so the priest could understand him. "Sig and I were friends, priest, back when we both lived in Georgia. He moved away with his parents, to Wisconsin."
Nidintulugal mouthed the word "Wisconsin," growing more confused.
"And I moved here." Arshaka rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But I have aged, and Sigmund has not. That's puzzling." He brightened. "No, I understand. Sigmund traveled here as a child. I traveled here rather than go to college. I stayed, delightful place, this. Sigmund . . . who knows how old Sigmund really is, or where his adult self has settled."
Arshaka rested his elbows on his knees now. Nidintulugal guessed that the Hand might be nervous, or anxious. Always in motion, and sweating more than from the stuffiness of this room. Anxious over a boy? No, anxious over something that was to come.
The eggs and the demons. Nidintulugal shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet. He wished that Shilo were here. Maybe together they could find a way out of here. There was magic about her.
"Why do you really need the boy?" Nidintulugal drew Ar-shaka's attention.
"Yes. Because of Kennesaw. Because of Georgia." Again the Hand used a language the priest understood. "Because I've forgotten whatever magic I commanded that let me travel through time and across continents. Because Sig here hasn't forgotten."
"You want to go home."
"Not perceptive enough, Shamash priest. I want to go home, but only briefly. There are some things there I want to bring back, things beyond this culture's ability to produce." He gave another deep, malicious laugh, and Nidintulugal shivered. "Oh, this culture is a relatively advanced one, a good bit of it thanks to me." He pointed at the ceiling. "These gard ..." Ar-shaka stopped himself. "I better not tell you too much, priest, in the event I decide not to kill you."
"The boy . . ." Nidintulugal pressed.
Arshaka ignored the priest and again rose from the bench. He smoothed at his skirt. "Sigmund . . . Dear Sig, all you have to do is take me back to Georgia. Anytime after World War II would be just fine."
World war? Nidintulugal pictured the image the dragon had painted of demons flowing across the land.
"There's a piece or two of technology I want to pick up."
Sigmund redoubled his efforts to break free. "I'm not gonna help you do anything, Artie. Yeah, I can see who you are. The eyes're the same. But that's it. You've gotten old and fat and smelly and—"
Arshaka roared, "you foul-mouthed worm!"
Sigmund giggled, but it was a frightened laugh. Still, it succeeded in making the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar even angrier.
"I couldn't help you even if I wanted to, Artie. I didn't get here under my own steam this time. Either Shilo brought me, or a dragon, maybe both of 'em working together. Can't say for sure, as I didn't see the dragon."
"Dragon?"
"Yeah, from what I understand, you stole her eggs. Right?"
Arshaka s face was red with fury. He stormed toward the boy and lashed out with his fist, striking Sigmund in the side of the face. The men holding Sigmund nearly dropped him— so strong was the Hands blow. The boy spat blood and tried to bring his arm to his mouth to wipe it off, but the men wouldn't allow it. He spat again and pieces of teeth came out. There was pain in the boy's eyes, but he didn't whimper.
Nidintulugal once more thought the boy and Shilo were of a similar mien. "Do not hit the boy again," the priest warned.
"And what will you do about it?" Arshaka didn't take his eyes off Sigmund. "I want that technology, do you understand? And you can cooperate, or you can die."
"Everybody dies," Sigmund answered.
Arshaka hit him again.
"Take them to one of the chambers below. I will call for them later." Arshaka picked up the lantern and headed back through the doorway, pausing just beyond it. "I do not need you, Sigmund, for my plans to be realized. But your help would make things go quicker and smoother. And there would be far less pain for everyone concerned."
The lantern flared over the diorama, and the man with the knife pulled it down from a hook. He gestured with the knife for Arshaka to go through the opposite doorway, the one with the steps disappearing into darkness.
"Where are you taking us?" Nidintulugal used a civil tone. "I have no concern for myself. But I do not want the boy harmed further."
The man with the knife opened his mouth, revealing that he had no tongue. His fellows did likewise.
"Yuck," Sigmund said. "That's just disgusting."
Nidintulugal knew Arshaka had either done the deed or had ordered it. He doubted he could ever hate a man more. The priest started down the steps, listening to the footfalls of the two men behind him.
"Double disgusting with a big dollop of ick on top," Sigmund said. "Artie sure got nasty in his old age."
28 Men of Clay
ARSHAKA, THAT RICH MAN WHO WAS AFTER ME, HE S FROM THE South, from our time." Shilo talked mainly to herself, though she didn't mind that Kim listened in. "He's called the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar, and I understand that he's in charge of Babylon while the king's gone. He's terribly powerful."
"Bet he likes it when the king is gone."
She nodded. "It took me a while to admit it, but I can't figure another explanation for it. He's from the future—our present. Well, your or my present or thereabouts." She stepped carefully along the slope of the narrow passage, as it was uneven and there were muddy depressions.
"So what's he doing here?" Kim walked too close behind her, bumping into the backs of her legs. "There's no plumbing and electricity. No air-conditioning, no hot showers, no television, no macaroni and cheese. Why'd anyone ever want to come here? Nidin said Arshaka's the one who probably stole the dragon's eggs ... or since he's rich, had them stolen. You think he traveled through time, like us, but to hurt things, not to help out like we're doing? "
Shilo thought about that a moment. "I don't know why he traveled through time, but I get the idea he's been here for several years. I don't think he originally set out to get the eggs. I think he found out about them, though. And somehow he's going to use the baby dragons to unleash demons." She shuddered. "Why would anyone want to do such a thing? "
Kim made a tsk-tsking sound. "You're not really into history, huh?"
The question hurt. She loved history.
"I mean, I ain't read that much about it, Shilo, but I'm not stupid. Ever heard about Stalin? Hitler? Mussolini?"
"Point made." She stopped at a gauzy curtain. Odd to find such a thing hanging in a tunnel, she thought. "But have you ever heard of Arshaka in a history book?"
Shilo couldn't see Kim shake his head. "Of course not, Shilo. That's 'cause the guy hasn't done his thing yet. But if he unleashes these demons, and if we make it back home, then we'll probably find him in the history books. Probably be bigger than Hirohito and Caesar, Napoleon, and all of 'em. People from the future have no right to meddle in the past. It's not their time, and it's not their place. History could be changing right now, you know."
She thought him wise for his age, and she was pleased that her father had such a friend. "If Arshaka unleashes the demons, Kim, there might not be any home or history books." Shilo held her breath and touched the edge of the curtain with her free hand. The dripping sound was louder—annoying in its volume—and was directly ahead of them. She drew the material back slowly.
The lantern shone through the gauze, casting the room beyond in an eerie light and reminding her of one of the better haunted houses her dad had taken her to. She stepped through, careful not to catch the lantern on the curtain and start a fire. There was no one in the room, and she let out a deep breath of relief. Kim came through behind her, then walked past, stopping when he reached the center.
It wasn't really a room; it was like the chamber
of a cave, though it had been excavated by man, not nature. The walls were dirt, and here and there she saw tree roots protruding like bent and broken fingers. There were two other passages leading out, both dark and making her think they looked like black eyes staring malevolently right at her. What bothered her the most, though, was its contents. Crude shelves lined two walls, stretching up to a ceiling that she guessed was at least ten feet high. One shelf was covered with clay bowls, some as small as a cereal bowl, others large enough to bob for apples in. They'd all been thrown on a pottery wheel. The wheel sat off to her right.
That's where the dripping sound came from. A contraption like a vat hung suspended near the ceiling. It was above a trough that looked like a double-sized bathtub, and it was next to the pottery wheel. There was a spigot at the bottom of the vat, and it regularly plopped gobs of liquid clay into the tub. Because the tub was metal and the gobs had several feet to fall, they plopped rather loudly.
"Hey, Shilo, that's where the squishy sound's coming from."
"I figured that out.'' The clay in the massive tub was too wet to work with. But she spotted two smaller tubs beyond it, half-filled with clay that looked more firm. "Drying it out some, looks like.'' She didn't want to stay here long, fearing someone would come to check on the clay or to throw some more of the ugly bowls.
There were more than a dozen tall, thick candles in the room, and a lantern hanging near the vat, all of them unlit. She sniffed the air, trying to tell if they'd been burning recently. All she could smell was the clay and the earth of the chamber, and her own stink from going so long without a bath.
"Need to be moving on," she told Kim. "But I want to get a closer look at what's on the shelves." She met his gaze, her eyes daggers.
"I know, don't run off. Don't touch anything.' Softer: "Stop acting like my mother."
Shilo smiled. It had been some time since she'd smiled— all this worry and danger had kept her from it. She stepped closer to the shelf with the pottery. There was something about the bowls that niggled at the back of her mind. Something a little bit familiar.
"In Meemaw's attic." She'd seen some like these, though the ones above the attic store were clearly old—ancient, chipped, and the marks on them faded in places. Noticed them the night she went up in the storm and discovered the puzzle in the old sea chest. "What are they for?" The ones in Meemaw's attic had not bothered her and had not been worth more than a passing glance. But these were somehow disturbing.
The other shelf contained objects that sent a tingle down her spine. There were eggshells of various sizes, though none larger than a big duck or heron egg, all poked in the bottoms and their contents drained out. Wait . . . there was one the size of an ostrich egg, but only half of it was intact. And there were bones—finger and toe bones mostly, but a few larger pieces, including a lower jaw and a few chunks that looked like puzzle pieces.
"Ugh." She realized they were sections of a skull. "This is not good stuff."
"Gives me the willies for sure." Kim ogled the assortment, too. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna touch anything." He shoved his fist in his mouth to stifle a yawn. "What's it all for, Shilo? You got a clue?"
She shook her head. "No, Kim. Not a—"
"They are demon bowls, young woman. You should know that. Used throughout Babylonia. And they are not to be trifled with. Those on the shelf are of a dark magic, and so should command your respect."
The speaker was better than six feet tall, perhaps the tallest man Shilo had seen since arriving in Babylon. She couldn't tell his age, though she put him at more than thirty. His brown skin was smooth, and his long hair and beard, both decorated with dark wooden beads, were shot through with streaks of silver. Her gaze was drawn to his hands, which she could clearly see as he lit two of the thick candles. The hands were thin, like a woman's, the fingers long and circled with tattoos that were made to look like rings. Like the bowls, there was something about him that instantly set her on edge.
"I am Belzu-Mar, caretaker of the Old One, guardian of the Secrets of the Clay, and Esteemed Recorder of the Demon-Script." He stood back from the candles and stared at Shilo and Kim, critically appraising them. "And you do not belong here, either of you. May I show you the way out?"
"Yes, please!" Shilo said, feigning an expression of relief. Again, she didn't want to go, but she doubted this man would just let them keep exploring. They could leave with him, and she could wrap her robe tight around her so her streaked skin wouldn't show, and then they could come back in later.
"I should ask, perhaps, how you came to be in this chamber." Belzu-Mar nodded politely. "But that is not important. I am leaving myself, to retrieve the Old One from the western quarter. We've work to finish, and—"
"Who's the Old One?"
Shilo cringed when Kim blurted the question.
"The greatest sorcerer in Babylon."
"Wow."
"He does not trifle with young ones."
"Did he make these bowls?" Shilo immediately cursed herself for asking something.
Kim's curiosity had infected her.
"Yeah, does he use the wheel and all this goopy clay?"
Belzu-Mar looked mildly surprised. "Some of the bowls, he makes—inscribes. The best of them are his." His gaze narrowed.
"Will you show us the way out now?" Shilo was worried they'd asked too many questions and wouldn't be permitted to leave.
"That would be best, I think." Belzu-Mar picked up the tallest of the lit candles and held it toward the farthest dark opening.
Shilo wondered if that was the one he'd come through. He hadn't been carrying a light. Could he see in the dark? Or had he been in this chamber and they hadn't noticed him? Had he been listening to their conversation?
"What's down that way?" Kim pointed to the other opening.
One question too many, Shilo thought.
"Perhaps my first thought is important now," Belzu-Mar said. "How did you two come to be down here?" He stared intently at Shilo, seeing something perhaps he hadn't the first time. "And what is wrong with your skin?"
"A rash," Kim spoke up for her. "It's contagious. So you don't want to touch her."
"We fell down into the mountain because we got too close to the buckets at the top. We were trying to see how the water conveyor worked." Shilo thought that fashion of the truth might stop him from worrying about her skin. The clay! She could use that to make her skin look darker. She should have thought of that right away, tended to it immediately, and to a splotch on Kim's hand. This tall stranger wouldn't have been so suspicious of them.
"Fortunate you were not injured." He took three measured steps toward them. "It is a long fall to the bottom. You must have landed on a ledge."
"Yes," Kim said, nodding so vigorously his hood fell off.
"Nothing broken?"
"We should follow you out of here," Shilo said. Then turnaround and come back inside. "Would you mind?"
"I should . . ." Belzu-Mar returned. There was the slightest hesitation, then Belzu-Mar turned back to the dark passage. "Come, clumsy, curious young ones. I've no more time for you. Set the lantern down. You won't be needing it once you are outside."
Kim raised his eyebrows and shrugged, pointed to the man's back and mouthed: "What should we do~?"
Shilo didn't have an answer for that, but she did as the man said, setting the lantern down by the shelf. The light it cast upward made the bones and eggs look creepier.
"You had best not return here," Belzu-Mar warned them. The corridor he led them down narrowed after the opening, becoming no more than two feet wide. It turned to what Shilo guessed was west, and started to ascend. "If you fall down the hole again, the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar could decide that you are worth dealing with. And that would be unfortunate for you."
"What's he doin' down here? The Hand of Nebuchadnezzar?" Kim couldn't contain his curiosity. "You know, what's he doing way underground? With these bowls and stuff?"
Belzu-Mar turned, his face sad and his shoulder
s slumped. "I warn you not to touch the subject again. You had best forget you saw this place, young man. This is a place of bad dreams."
Shilo remembered Kim from her dream in Slade's Corners.
"There are three kinds of courage," the boy had said. "Courage in the hlood. Courage in the veins. And courage in the spirit."
The more she thought about it, leaving with this man and finding a way back in now seemed like a bad idea. While Belzu-Mar was letting them go, he might find a way to prevent their return. And she didn't like the notion of him going to get the man who made demon bowls—the bad version of them.
The Old One, Belzu-Mar had called him.
The name sounded . . . evil.
"What about the dragon eggs?" Shilo found her "courage in the spirit." All her thoughts about them not doing enough planning, and that the dragon's pair of added helpers were too young ... all of that was her fear speaking. Sigmund and Kim weren't too young. And how could one properly plan for something like this anyway? "Is the Old One going to break up the dragon eggs and put them in demon bowls? Is he going to poke the bottoms and drain the contents, killing the baby dragons inside?"
Angry lines, looking like jagged lightning bolts, sprouted on Belzu-Mar's forehead and at the edges of his mouth. "That is enough, I must—"
Shilo didn't give him a chance to curse at them, or threaten them, or say that he was now taking them to the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar. She darted forward and with both hands grabbed the candle from him and tugged it away. In the same motion she rammed her heel down on his instep.
Kim squeezed next to her. "What got into you?" he asked as he drove a rigid hand into the man's stomach and copied her move by slamming his foot down on the man's other instep.
Belzu-Mar wheezed and doubled over, reached out to his sides to grab the walls of the tunnel. He groaned and opened his mouth wider, and Shilo could tell he was going to holler for help.
She formed a fist with her free hand and punched his jaw, gasping when she heard either bones or teeth crunch. "Omigod." She stepped back as Kim punched the man in the stomach twice more.