The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [99]
On the pebbled shore the boat slid to a halt, and Kilroy bade the companions farewell. Charles thought to ask him something more, but as the ferryman bent to adjust the rudder, Charles got a glimpse behind the dark glasses.
Kilroy had no eyes, and where they were supposed to be were rows of sharp ivory teeth.
Charles stepped quickly away from the boat and did not look back.
Falun, the sixth island, was nothing more than a great rending in the earth; a huge cleft, which glowed with the redness of the mythical Pit it inspired.
“Dante following Beatrice?” said John.
“Just so,” agreed Bert, indicating a series of steps that had been hewn into the walls. “Lead on, Caveo Principia.”
“Thanks a lot,” said John.
As with the crossing from Haven to Centrum Terrae, the opening at the bottom of the rift was connected to the next island by a bridge, although this one was not nearly as trustworthy as the first. It was made of thick, ropy strands of what could have been a spiderweb, and their feet stuck wherever they stepped. As they crossed, it became more and more of an effort to move easily, and they were all relieved when they finally set foot on solid earth once more.
“Remember,” Bert cautioned, “this is also Circe’s island. It could be more dangerous than all the rest combined.”
The island, which the History said was called Aiaia, looked like any island in the Mediterranean. There were olive trees and short, scrubby bushes, and here and there they could see scorpions lying in the warm sand.
And ahead was a great, foreboding building. It was a fortress, in every sense of the word.
The structure was not ostentatious by any means, but the various battlements and towers gave testament to what lay underneath. The towers were capped with steeply pitched roofs, and the outer wall was ringed with archways of sculpted stone. At the wall nearest the companions were three great metal-reinforced oaken doors, each with a small window inset about ten feet off the ground.
“Do we knock?” Charles asked. “What does it say in the History, John?”
“It doesn’t,” John replied. “So I suppose knocking is as good an idea as any other.”
“Then again,” said Charles, “what if it brings out more hostiles? I’d rather avoid a battle, if we can help it.”
Aven rolled her eyes and rapped her knuckles firmly on the door.
“That settles that,” said Charles.
There was no response, so Aven knocked again. Finally a panel in the window slid back and a meek voice spoke.
“What do you want?”
The companions looked at one another, and Aven gave John a nudge.
“Ah,” John began, “we’re looking for a friend of ours. A small fellow, called Jack.”
“Hmm,” the doorman said. “No Jack here, I’m afraid. No, all we’ve got here is children. Sorry I couldn’t help you.” And with that, the panel slid shut.
“Hey!” Aven yelled, pounding on the door. “Jack is a child. Let us in!”
The panel slid back again. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I can’t be expected to know a ‘Jack’ is also a child. I’ve got responsibilities, you know. Can’t keep track of everything.”
There was a clomping noise, followed by the sound of several bolts being thrown back. The door creaked open, and instead of the near giant they expected, they saw that the doorman was only four feet tall.
The curious creature had a hunchback, a carapace like a beetle’s, and six arms. There were two disks on his head, which looked as if they’d been horny growths that had been filed down. One eye was rheumy, the other an empty socket, and his face was sullen.
“Where’s Jack?” said John. “Can you take us to him?”
“I’m sorry,” the six-armed creature said plaintively. “There have to be forms. I can’t release anyone until you’ve filled out the proper forms.”
Charles stepped forward and raised a finger. “I can handle that,” he declared. “I’m an editor. I know how to deal with paperwork.”
The odd little creature led them down a series of corridors, talking