The Librarian nodded and tried to put the book in her hands. She waved him off for a moment, and stood staring into the shadows.
She took the book.
She looked from the ape to the troll to the man.
Then she pulled her arm back and hurled the book away from her.
This time it wasn't a ping. It was a definite, low and very resonant 'booong'. Something could make a noise in the place with no sound.
Victor skidded around the slab.
The big disc was a gong. He tapped it. Bits of corrosion fell off, but the metal shivered under the light blow and gave out another tinny rumble under his touch. Below it, now that his eyes were instinctively seeing it out, was a six-foot metal pole with a padded ball at one end.
He grabbed it and heaved it off its supports. Or tried to, at least. It was rusted solidly in place.
The Librarian positioned himself at the other end, caught Victor's eye, and this time they hauled on it together. Flakes of rust dug into Victor's hands.
It was immovable. The gong hammer and its supports had been turned by time and salt air into one single metallic whole.
Then time seemed to slow and became a series of frozen events in the flickering light, like moving pictures sliding through the box.
Click.
Detritus reached down over Victor's head, grasped the hammer by its middle, and lifted it up, tearing the rusted supports out of the very rock.
Click.
They threw themselves flat as he gripped it in both hands, flexed his muscles, and took a swing at the gong.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Caught in a series of tableaux, Detritus appeared to move instantly into . . . click . . . different but connected positions as he pivoted on one horny foot, the hammer head . . . click . . . making a bright arc in the darkness.
Click.
The impact knocked the gong so far backwards that the chains broke, and it slammed against the wall of the pit.
Sound came back quickly and in vast quantities, as though it had been dammed up somewhere and had then suddenly been released, to slosh joyfully back into the world and drown every eardrum.
Booong.
Click.
The giant figure on the slab sat upright slowly, dust cascading off it in slow streams. Underneath it was gold, untarnished by the years.
It moved slowly but deliberately, as though propelled by clockwork. One hand grasped the giant sword. The other gripped the edge of the slab to steady the figure as its long, tapering legs swung down to
Вы читаете Moving pictures
