Slowly Nahoot's head sank below the surface again.
For long minutes the pool was agitated by the movements in its depth and
the occasional gleam of one of the serpentine fish. Then gradually the
surface settled as still and serene as a sheet of black glass.
Von Schiller turned and ran, back up the incline shaft, past the landing
on which the generator still puttered quietly, blindly trying to get as
far away as he could from that dreadful pool. He did not know where he
was going, but followed any passageway that opened in front of him.
At the foot of the central stairway he ran into the corner Of the wall
and stunned himself, falling to the agate tiles and lying there
blubbering as a large purple lump rose on his forehead.
After a while he dragged himself to his feet and lurched up the stairs.
He was confused and disorientated, his mind starting to break up -in
delirium, driven over the edge of
652 it's sanity by horror and fear. He fell again, and crawled along the
tunnel on his hands and knees to the next corner of . Only the was he
able to regain his feet to the maz stagger onwards.
The steep shaft leading down into Taita's gas trap opened under his feet
without him seeing it. He fell down the steps, jarring and bruising his
legs and chest. Then he was on his feet again, reeling across the store
room past the ranks of amphorae, up the far staircase and into the
painted arcade that led to the torrib of Pharaoh Mamose.
He had tottered dowh half the length of it, dishevelled and wild'eyed
and demented, when suddenly the lights dimmed for a moment, fading to a
yellow glow. Then they brightened again as the generator sucked the last
drops of fuel from the bottom of the tank. Von Schiller stopped in the
centre of the arcade and looked up at the lights with despair. He knew
what was coming. For another few minutes the bulbs burned on, bright and
cheerfully, and then again they dimmed and faded.
The darkness settled over him like the heavy velvet folds of a funeral
pall. It was so intense and complete that it seemed to have a physical
weight and texture. He could taste the darkness in his mouth as it
seemed to force its way into his body and suffocate him.
He ran again, wildly and blindly, losing all sense of direction in the
blackness. He crashed headlong into stone and fell again, stunned. He
could feel the warm tickle of blood running down his face, and he could
not breathe. He whimpered and gasped and slowly, lying on his side, he
curled himself into a ball like a foetus in the womb.
He wondered how long it would take him to die, and his soul quailed as
he knew that it might take days and even weeks. He moved slightly,
cuddling in closer to the stone object with which he had collided. In
the darkness he had no way of telling that it was the great sarcophagus
of Mamose that sheltered him. Thus he lay in the darkness of the tomb,
surrounded by the funeral treasures of an emperor, and waited for his
own slow but inexorable death.
he monastery of St. Frumentius was deserted.
The monks had heard the gunfire and the sounds of battle echoing down
the gorge, and had gathered up their treasures and fled.
Nicholas ran down the long, empty cloister, pausing to catch his breath
