Watford’s shouts were growing louder, indicating that they had all but caught up to the Cornishman. There was another sharp bend in the now expansive gorge. This they ambled around ... and' stopped where they stood, overwhelmed by the sight that greeted them.
It was fortunate indeed, Smiggens decided as he gaped wordlessly alongside the others, that the sky was filled with clouds, else every man-jack among them would likely have been blinded.
The most wondrous vista lay spread before them, no less overpowering for its compactness. Flanked by brooding walls of sheer gray and red rock, the complex of temples and ancillary edifices thrust into the clear air. Neat avenues separated the step pyramids, the columned public buildings, and the more modest, single-story structures that had once served as living quarters for the masters of the community. Smiggens recognized a host of architectural influences, from Egyptian to Greek, Chinese, and Incan. It was an olla podrida of styles. The results were confusing, but they worked.
Of more interest to the rest of the crew was not the engineering but the choice of building materials.
Many of the structures were fashioned of the same solid gold brick as the wall they had left behind. Others used gold and silver brick in alternating line. Those must be the cheap houses, a dumbfounded Smiggens decided. Though every building had suffered in some way from the ravages of time, many of the ornate embellishments and decorations were still intact. In their own way, these were even more fascinating than the amazing structures themselves.
Silently, the stunned intruders made their way along the silver boulevard that ran between the principal edifices. In a whorl of engravings and gold inlay it halted before the largest and most complex structure in the sunken valley.
Pillars inscribed with detailed bas-reliefs and finely wrought sculpture decorated the front of the temple. People were the subject of much of this art, along with creatures large and small that for the most part the men did not recognize. It was Smiggens who pointed out that several of the nonhuman sculptures resembled creatures they had already encountered in this land, as well as their own captives.
Each of the pillars had been cut from a single piece of malachite. The bas-reliefs that wound around their circumferences were set with amethysts and citrines, chrysoprase and turquoise. Lintels of lapis lazuli supported the roof of the porch, so dark blue they were almost black. The ramshackle crew of the Condor were simple men whose tastes had been only partly elevated by their choice of career. Here was wealth beyond their comprehension.
“And to think,” O’Connor was mumbling, “all I ever wanted out o’ life was a decent house in Dublin.”
“Why think so small?” Suarez stood next to him, gaping up at the inlaid columns. “Buy Dublin.”
The golden walls behind the columned porch were inlaid with large squares of jasper and agate, carnelian and opal. These had been carved as deeply and intricately as the pillars.
A grinning Watford stepped out from behind the nearest. “Well, boys, what do you think? Myself, I think Buckingham Palace would be but an outhouse compared to this country cottage.”
Blackstrap peered past the energetic sailor. Panels of translucent jade passed light through the ceiling onto the wide porch, while circular ports of flawless rock crystal served as windows into the structure.
“You will have an extra share from all this, Mr. Watford.
As for meself, me ambitions have changed. I think now I will not buy myself a county, but rather a country. If you hear of one for sale, Mr. Smiggens, you will let me know. Perhaps you will buy the country alongside and we can be neighbors.”
They mounted the last of the golden steps, which were trimmed in polished onyx, and found themselves confronting a pair of ten-foot-high doors. These had been cut from purest rose quartz and inlaid with rubies, sapphires, padparasha, and pearls. Staggered by the riches they had found, they leaned on the heavy barrier until it parted, admitting them to the temple.
Though fashioned of the same precious materials, the interior was surprisingly sparse. Rooms were devoid of furniture and, save for a few scattered sculptures, the main hall was deserted. The floor was a detailed mosaic of animal life that all but Smiggens found incomprehensible and nightmarish. The mosaic chips themselves engendered far more comment, each being fashioned from an appropriately colored semiprecious stone.
As he studied the floor, Smiggens ignored the sound of boots clicking softly on the smooth stonework. “I think this may represent the history not only of this land but of life on earth.” “Belay that kind of talk, Mr. Smiggens.” Johanssen, too, had been examining the beautifully inlaid surface. “There’s no depiction of the flood, so this can be no more than a scene from someone’s imagination.”
Smiggens chose not to reply, certain he was the only one among them who was in any way familiar with the recent writings of those intrepid Englishmen Darwin and Wallace.
“See how they empty their minds through their eyes,” Shremaza whispered to her mate. “They are completely obsessed, though with what I cannot imagine.”
“Perhaps they will forget us.” Hisaulk ignored their splendiferous surroundings. “I don’t like it in here. It’s cold.”
Perhaps the pirates were beginning to feel likewise. Sunset threatened, and no one was anxious to spend the night in that venerable, mysterious temple. Returning the way they had come, they exited through the rose-hued entrance and busied themselves with knives and swords, prying precious gems from the bas-reliefs and sculptures.
By the time darkness enveloped them, Smiggens had a cheery fire ablaze on the golden porch. Copperhead had managed to accumulate a hatful of fine emeralds. As Thomas played a Caribbean jig on his hornpipe, the other man, inebriated by wealth, danced for his comrades, tossing flashes of green fire at them like an Arab potentate dispensing alms to the poor. Laughing all the while, the men snatched lazily at these offerings. In the context of the fortune surrounding them, such baubles were pretty but of no especial worth.
Masticating their dry evening meal, which now did not seem so tasteless, they swapped grandiose dreams, each man trying to top his mate with a description of what he planned to do with his newly acquired, incalculable wealth. To amuse themselves, Thomas and Andreas pried bricks from the wall of the temple and used them to construct a solid gold fire pit around the first mate’s blaze. They had no difficulty finding fuel with which to feed the fire. Ample plant matter, dry and ready for the gathering, lay scattered everywhere, having fallen or been blown down from the enclosing canyon rim.
Seeing no reason to conserve it further, Blackstrap magnanimously ordered Smiggens to break out their small flagon of medicinal grog and measure out a ration to each man. While this was insufficient in quantity to enable the men to get roaring drunk, it did lighten their already elevated spirits considerably. Ruskin brought out his Jew’s harp and joined its metallic twang to Thomas’s hornpipe, whereupon the porch of the temple soon echoed to the merry tunes of sailor and landsman alike. Not even Blackstrap objected when several of the men chose to fire off their weapons in celebration.
“Their dancing is execrable.” Shremaza watched the humans stumble and totter about. “It would not pass entry at the simplest festival.”
“I hear the fireworks but see only flashes of light.” Tryll hovered close to her mother. “Where are the pretty colors?” Hisaulk watched one man aim his rifle skyward and let loose a succession of shots. “They’re noisy enough, but these are not fireworks as we know them. They emerge from long tubes, which is right, but without color. Just as the lives of these humans must be devoid of color.”
As usual, Prettykill paid no attention to the family discussion.
Even were she conversant with the struthie tongue she would not have been inclined to participate. The pops and bangs of the humans’ toys she ignored.
Guimaraes might not have joined so wholeheartedly in the celebration had he known that his every move was being followed closely by a pair of burning yellow eyes.
/> XVII
FOR THE PAST HOUR CROOKEYE HAD BEEN RUMBLING LIKE A threatening
storm. Will knew that the tyrannosaur was baffled and frustrated.
They’d spent most of the morning wandering aimlessly through the rain forest. The intruders’ trail had finally faded beyond the ability even of the great carnivores to detect. It had rained hard several times and the trail repeatedly crossed small streams. Will was surprised that the dedicated tyran-nosaurs had managed to follow it for as long as they had.
From his lofty perch atop the great head, he looked to his right and down. “What is he saying?”
Held securely if not comfortably in Shethorn’s grasp, Chaz kicked his legs and tried to turn his head. “You think, Will Denison, I have nothing better to do than dangle here and translate at your whim?”
“Well, do you?” Will waited for a reply.
The Protoceratops had none. “Oh, well, I suppose you’re right. Crookeye says that they’ve lost the trail. Time and dilution have weakened the scent beyond their ability to follow it. They don’t know which way to go.”
Will considered the impasse. “I guess the best thing to do is continue eastward while keeping the mountains on our left. That’s what I’d do if I were a stranger here needing a way out.”
“Yes, that’s what you’d do, but you’re familiar with the dangers of the Rainy Basin. These intruders must be ignorant of such things. Who’s to say they aren’t heading due south across the basin?” The Protoceratops looked like a giant tadpole in the female tyrannosaur’s grasp.
“Their trail’s followed the foothills for the past two days, and from the time our friends picked it up, it’s never strayed far from the mountains. Isn’t it more reasonable to assume they’ll hew to the same pattern than suddenly change direction?” Clinging comfortably to the back of Shethorn’s neck, Keelk chittered at them. Though she addressed herself to Chaz, who alone among her companions could understand her speech, her gaze remained focused on Will. She had beautiful eyes, he thought. All struthies did.
“She wants to know what’s happening, why we’re hesitating here.” Chaz looked to his human companion for assistance. “I don’t know what to tell her.”
“Tell her the truth,” Will replied.
As soon as Chaz had finished explaining, Shethorn chipped in with a series of sonorous rumblings. Again the Protoceratops translated.
“She says that we’d better find her daughter in good health.” Chaz shuddered slightly. “I agree. I’ve no desire to learn what a Tyrannosaurus rex looks like in the throes of a mad rage.”
“Nor do I.” Shifting his backside against the smoothly pebbled skin of his mount’s skull, Will peered over the side. “Somehow we have to pick up the trail again. I’ve been watching for footprints and broken branches.”
“Footprints would help,” agreed Chaz. “Other creatures besides humans also break branches.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Will was slightly crestfallen. “Remember, I’m new to this. I’m used to looking for signs from a lot higher up.” He leaned over the other side. “You’d think with there being so many of them we’d see some trace of their passing.”
Chaz translated for Keelk and then translated her reply. “She says the ground’s too wet and too soft. I don’t know how we’re going to—”
He was interrupted by a long, loud ringing noise. It echoed through the trees and reverberated off the precipitous cliffs of the nearby foothills. It was followed by another, and another.
“Odd sort of thunder,” Chaz remarked. Shethorn growled querulously.
“Tell her that’s not thunder.” Will was excited and concerned all at the same time. Excited because he now knew which way to go, and concerned for what they might find when they got there.
Not many people could have stood confidently atop a tyrannosaur’s head, shielding their eyes as they searched the surrounding country, but Will managed it. In addition to a disdain for heights, he had an excellent sense of balance. As he scanned the enveloping rain forest, trying to see through the trees, the sharp pealing came again. The five-foot-long skull beneath his feet twitched slightly, forcing him to spread his arms to maintain»his stability.
“Crookeye wants to know what that is,” Chaz explained, “and frankly, so do I.”
“Gunfire! Those were gunshots.”
“What is gunfire, and what are gunshots?” The history and use of such weapons were unknown in Dinotopia except to historians.
Will considered carefully before replying. The two tyran-nosaurs were already edgy enough. “They’re kind of like fireworks.”
“Fireworks.” From his undignified position the translator tried to meet Will’s eyes but could not. “Why would the people we seek—or anyone else, for that matter—be setting off fireworks this deep into the Rainy Basin?”
“Why ask me to speculate on their motives?” Will responded quickly. “Maybe they’re celebrating something.” Please let them be celebrating something, he thought anxiously, and not shooting at any of their captives. He tried not to think of what might happen if they encountered the intruders only to find that they had injured young Prettykill, or worse. If such turned out to be the case he knew that sympathetic words were not likely to calm enraged tyrannosaurs. Remembering their bargain, he was acutely conscious of the immensely powerful skull on which he stood.
They could avoid such a possibility by sneaking off at the first opportunity, he knew. They could find a way up the cliffs or hide in crevices in the rock until the deceived predators gave up and went away. They could do that . . . except that he’d given his word. In Dinotopia it didn’t matter if you gave that to a dinosaur or another human. In a society based on barter, a person’s word was their bond.
Of course, the tyrannosaurs were uncivilized and not formally a party to such covenants. But he was.
Resuming his cross-legged seat atop Crookeye’s head, he pointed northeast with his left hand. No trail lay in that direction, but that wouldn’t be a problem. The tyrannosaurs made their own trail.
“Tell them to go in the direction of the sounds. The sounds mark the location of the intruders.”
“Then we must be fairly close.” Chaz hastened to translate for the tyrannosaurs.
As he was doing so, Will reached down to rap his mount on the upper lip. A yellow orb rolled up to look at him, and he saw his face reflected in the tyrannosaur’s eye.
“That way.” He pointed again. “The ones we seek are that way.”
The big male didn’t wait for Chaz to finish the brief translation. With a lurch he started forward, snarling in anticipation. Breaking into a run, the two colossi smashed their way effortlessly through the forest, scattering a host of smaller creatures from their path. Will hung on to the pair of knobby projections that rose above each eye and focused on the rocking scenery ahead. They were speeding now, the tyrannosaurs moving as fast as they could, and the sensation was breathtaking.
If Will lost his seat and fell off, he knew, it would be more than that.
Off to his right he could hear Keelk chirping away encouragingly. She appeared to have no difficulty maintaining her grip on Shethorn’s neck. Below, Chaz kept up a constant litany of complaint that the female tyrannosaur ignored as usual.
A flock of birds-of-paradise exploded from a small, densely vegetated tree directly ahead. The tree went down beneath Crookeye’s belly, only to spring erect again in his wake. Off to their left, the Backbone Mountains beckoned. Soon, Will hoped, he would be at home in their cool heights once more.
But first he had a rescue to perform.
Where gravel and rock replaced soil, the rain forest began to thin. The tyrannosaurs were finally forced to slow as they approached sheer walls of gray granite. Both bent low to the ground and sniffed energetically, their great heads once more sweeping methodically from side to side.
Shethorn came near. Shoving her snout close to Will, she snorted several curt phrases. Her breath made him reel, but he managed to m
uster an attentive smile. Keelk peered anxiously around the tyrannosaur’s neck.
“What... what does she say?”
From below, Chaz looked up at him. “They’ve picked up the trail again.”
Moments later they found themselves pausing outside the entrance to the* slot canyon. Confirmation of the correctness of their course came in the form of hundreds of overlapping footprints that marred the rock and sand underfoot. Many were those of resident dinosaurs, but enough showed the unmistakable outline of well-worn boots. Hardly able to restrain their impatience, Crookeye and Shethorn strode into the well-shaded gap.
They soon encountered not human intruders, nor Keelk’s family, nor even the adult tyrannosaurs’ missing daughter. Three very startled spinosaurs whirled around at their approach. Their initial snarls of challenge quickly gave way to panic and desperation as they saw what was coming up the canyon behind them. With nowhere to go, they scrabbled and clawed at the rocks and one other, each trying to force itself into a smaller and smaller opening behind its companion.
Parting massive jaws, Crookeye bellowed his own challenge. It was echoed by his mate. This only increased the spinosaurs’ panic, and Will found himself sympathizing.
One of the smaller sail-backed carnosaurs dropped to its belly and put its head on the ground. This gesture of abject submission was quickly duplicated by the other two, until all three lay prone on the sand, their colorful sails swaying slightly from side to side. In such fashion were bloody conflicts between the dominant inhabitants of the Rainy Basin avoided.
Half crawling, half groveling, the spinosaurs slithered sideways, pressing as close as possible to the southern wall of the chasm. Properly appeased, Crookeye and Shethorn backed themselves close to the opposite wall to allow their smaller, deferential cousins to pass.
“Tell them to stop, and find out if they know anything,” Will abruptly told Chaz.
The Protoceratops looked up at him. “What, me?” he squeaked.