The Valley of Thunder Page 5

  Six

  Annabelle lay on her back, staring up at the sky, while Clive looked for another of the mysterious, newly appearing entries in the journal. With its salmon-colored sun. the sky here ran more toward a greenish hue than the blue of the world she'd left behind. The odd tones this lent her vision gave her a creepy feeling, but right now she wasn't much missing her own world's skies. Just thinking of their deep blues reminded her too much of the last gateway—talk about your Big Sick.

  She'd thought she was going to die in that blue limbo, and was almost ready to welcome the relief from the cramps and nausea that death promised when they'd finally landed on this new level and she'd blacked out. Wouldn't that've been a laugh for the guys in the band if they could've seen her. Tough old Annie B., passing out like some front-and-center groupie swooning at the shake of Tripper's Spandexed buttocks.

  It was the height—always the heights....

  Thinking of her lead guitarist brought on a different attack of the blues. All that was gone now. Wasn't much chance of her seeing any of them again. Not her friends, not London, not that New Year's gig where they were sharing the bill with the legendary Prince and the Revolution, partying in the next thousand years to the tune of the aging rock star's twenty-some-year-old hit, 1999.

  Instead, all she had to look forward to was dying here in the Dungeon, or growing old with this bunch of rejects from a Lucasfilm production and still dying here.

  They were misfits all. Not to mention her many-times great-grandfather, who was suffering from a bad attack of a daddy complex.

  If Finnbogg hadn't grabbed her, hanging on to her just long enough so that the bloody gate went and closed, trapping her....

  She was only half listening to the others talking as Clive leafed through his twin's journal.

  Misfits.

  She had the feeling that that was the key to this place. It gathered up the people who didn't quite fit in where they came from, and dumped them here. And what happened to them then? Who the hell knew. All she knew was that everybody here was either a misfit, or one of the hero types, like Clive and Finnbogg, who were too true blue to think about anything except chasing after previous victims.

  She had to smile at the thought of someone chasing in here after her. Not bloody likely. Tripper, or her bass player, Dan the Man, or little Chrissie Nunn.... They'd all just think she'd pulled another one of her no-shows, and they'd be expecting her to turn up again in a week or so, like she always did. Of course, when she didn't, they might worry, but what were they gonna do? It wasn't like there were signposts or maps showing the way into this place or anything.

  Maybe she should be keeping a journal herself, or a sketchbook, like Clive did. so that whoever it was that was running this place could sneak it back to the real world to lure in some more suckers, like Clive's brother had done, leading them around by the nose like the bunch of losers that they were.

  She sat up suddenly. "What was that you just said?" she asked. "About that other gate on this level?"

  Clive gave her one of his resigned looks. "Weren't you listening?"

  "Course I was listening. I just want to get the thrill of hearing it again, that's all. So give."

  "It is in a village named Quan," Clive said after consulting the journal once more. "A place guarded by 'blue people' who should be avoided at all costs."

  "And where is it?"

  "It's not quite clear. Somewhere along the river."

  Annabelle nodded. "That's where we should be going. If there's a gateway there. I want to see it. It'll probably just take us down to a deeper level, but maybe it could take us out. Either way, we're moving on—under our own steam."

  Clive put his finger on a line of writing. "It says 'avoid at all cost.'"

  "Of course it does. And that's why we should go there. Don't you see, Clive-o? When we go where your brother wants us to, all we do is get into deeper shit."

  That is not entirely true, Being Annabelle, Shriek said. We have put ourselves into as much danger as Neville's journal has led us into.

  "Okay. But I still think it's time we stopped playing the game by his rules and made some of our own."

  Clive shook his head. "My brother will be heading for the lost city beyond the veldt."

  Annabelle hadn't been paying much attention when he was reading that part, either. But before she could ask him to reread it as well, and earn herself another of Clive's reproving looks. Finnbogg spoke up.

  "Finnbogg know story about Quan," the dwarf said. "Quanians worship a white stone that is the repository of all the souls of those who have died in their lands."

  "Died how?" the cyborg asked. "At the hands of the Quanians?"

  "There's also a story," Annabelle interrupted, "about how dwarves are these cute little guys who take care of princesses in trouble and whistle while they work, but that doesn't mean it's true, either."

  That gave the group pause. They all knew by now that, for all his time in the Dungeon and the tales he could tell of it, Finnbogg had trouble distinguishing between reality and imagination, which made sorting out the fact from his fantasies a hopeless cause. That Annabelle had just cause to BE angry with Finnbogg in no way lessened her warning. Listening to him, one needed a spoonful, rather than a grain of salt.

  "Yet in his journal," Smythe said, "Sir Neville warns of danger, as well."

  Annabelle nodded. "And we all know how much old Neville's looking out for us."

  "He's still my brother," Clive said. "And I still have to find him." His tone was conciliatory, but firm. "I will not shirk that duty."

  "I know, I know. And no one's asking you to. We just do like I said before: You go to that ruined city with whoever wants to go with you, while I go to the next gateway with whoever wants to go with me. It's simple, right?"

  Clive looked as though he was ready to argue, but then he just sighed and nodded his agreement. One by one, the others made their own decisions. Smythe was going with Clive—no surprise there. Also going with him was the cyborg Guafe and Finnbogg, who had looked hopefully at Annabelle, then unhappily chosen Clive's party when all she gave him was a hard stare.

  Shriek opted to join Annabelle, as did Tomàs. Annabelle was pleased with the former's decision, but not at all thrilled about having the Portuguese traveling with her. The only one who remained undecided was Sidi Bombay.

  "What about you?" Clive asked the Indian.

  "Well, now. I signed up to guide you, and I'm not a man who goes back on his word, but I don't know this land, so I'll be of little use as a guide."

  "I release you from any obligations you feel you still owe me," Clive said.

  Annabelle frowned. Like he owned Sidi. What Clive-o needed was a good shaking to loosen him up.

  "Then I will go with Annabelle," Sidi said.

  Well, thank Christ for that. Annabelle thought. Somebody sane to talk to and help her and Shriek keep an eye on Tomàs.

  It look them most of the day to work their way down from the top of the plateau, to where they made a group camp at the base of the heights. The descent was made that much harder because of Annabelle's uncomfortable feeling with heights. After resting, they set about providing themselves with some supper.

  Smythe fished in the river, using sturdy thread pulled from the bottom hem of his jacket and one of Annabelle's many earrings, bent into a hook. Grubs dug out of the mud served for bait. Finnbogg and Sidi foraged along the river bank for this world's variations on tubers and cress. By the time they returned, Smythe had caught three good-sized fish. They were bluish in color, but once they were gutted and scaled, and roasted over a fire, they proved to make good eating. They had the cress on the side, as a salad. The tubers, roasted in the coals, had a texture like sweet potatoes, and a nutty taste.

  They took turns keeping watch through the night, unfamiliar constellations wheeling across the dark skies above. The stars seemed much too close—more like the special effects from the light show of one of her gigs. Annabelle thought, than re
al stars—and looked like winking chips of sapphire.

  She and Clive shared the third watch. The air was warm and humid, so they'd let the fire die down. Annabelle had taken off her jacket and was wearing just her red leather jeans and an armless T-shirt.

  "Guess you're kinda disappointed in me. aren't you?" she said as the silence between them grew too long for her.

  She was a little surprised that what he thought of her made any difference at all. It was probably, she realized, that, for all her criticism of him, and his of her. he was still family. And that was more than most people seemed to get in this place. When she thought of what it'd been like when she was alone in that prison, before Clive and his party had joined her....

  Clive's face was just a shadow when he turned to look at her. "You carry yourself much... differently from the women of my own time," he said finally.

  "Yeah, well, things change. The world's different."

  "Too much so, I think."

  "I don't know about that. Clive." She dropped the "O" that she usually tacked on just to get a rise out of him. "Seems to me freedom's a good thing."

  "Freedom, yes. But when one forgets one's station... I find it disconcerting."

  "Like a woman doing what she wants to do? C'mon. You can't tell me you really believe all that."

  "Well, not exactly. But, still. Women aren't the same as men. In England—"

  "Oh, gimme a break. You want to know what's happening in your merry old England right now? It's a pissant little country, up to its ass in debt, that brownnoses every major world power. Half its work force is on the dole, while the other half's running around with a pickle up its ass.

  "And as for your macho attitude to women—where the hell do you come off thinking we're no better'll you?"

  "Women are the weaker sex," Clive began. "It's a gentleman's duty to look after them."

  "Right. The way you looked after my ancestor, Annabella. Knocking her up and then taking off on a little world tour for your asshole brother who doesn't even want to be found. Wake up. Clive."

  "I had no idea that Annabella was with child."

  "So tell me, was she just some tramp, as far as you were concerned?"

  "I won't listen to you speak of her in such a manner."

  Annabelle sighed. She reached out and added some fuel to the dying coals of the fire. Flames licked up, lighting both their faces. Shadows ran off beyond the periphery of the fire's glow.

  "Look," she said. "I'm trying to make a point. You think I'm cheap—too brassy, too loose ... a soiled woman, right? I speak my mind just like you do. I'm capable of standing up to the same shit you are, and I've slept around. I got my own kid, floating out there in the real world somewhere. What makes us so different? I'm here, aren't I—your descendant? But you never married. Arc you trying to tell me that you never slept with a woman?"

  "No. but—"

  "Oh, yeah. I know. It's okay, because you're a man. Well, bullshit. Clive-o."

  And then she grinned. By the rueful expression on his face, she knew that she had him.

  "This is not fit conversation for mixed company." he tried to argue, but she knew his heart wasn't really in it.

  Score one for enlightenment, she thought. Maybe there's hope for him yet.

  "That's just the point I'm trying to make." she said. "We're not mixed. You're male and I'm female—right— but otherwise, we're just people. Under our skin, never mind our sex, we're the same. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? You're an intelligent man, for God's sake, so pay attention. Watch my lips. Under their skin, people are all the same."

  Clive sat quietly, making no answer.

  "That doesn't mean that every woman's gotta be hard." Annabelle went on. "There's still room for romance. People like being babied sometimes—men and women. Cared for, you know? But they want to be respected, too. It's a tough old world out there. Clive. We've gotta fight a lot of fights—but we shouldn't be fighting with each other."

  There was another long silence.

  "I... understand." Clive said finally.

  Annabelle nodded. Yeah, she thought. At least you think you do. But it was a start. You couldn't expect miracles, but if he just stopped to think about it from time to time, it'd be worth it.

  "So who do you figure for the World Series?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "Just a joke. Changing the subject, you know?"

  "You are a very strange woman, Annabelle Leigh," he said.

  She grinned. "Yeah. Real Twilight Zone material. What do you say we wake up the next watch and get some sleep?"

  The two companies went their separate ways in the morning. As they made their farewells. Annabelle gave Clive a solid hug and a quick kiss on the lips that made him blush. She touched the red flush on his neck with a feathery brush of her fingers.

  "Never met a man who blushed before," she said. "You take good care of yourself now, okay?"

  Though he looked as though he had more to say. he contented himself with a simple. "Fare you well."

  Annabelle watched them set off through the tall grass of the veldt until they were lost from sight, then looked in the direction that their own trail would take them.

  The jungle hung heavily over the west side of the river. Although the east bank was treed as well, the undergrowth wasn't nearly as dense. While she didn't have the best of knowledge when it came to geography, it didn't seem quite right to her that the jungle would end so abruptly at the river, and become grasslands almost immediately after leaving the water. But then, there wasn't a whole lot about this place that made much sense—not when the veldt had a mauve tint to its yellowy grass and the jungle ran more to blue-green and burgundy, with splashes of pure purple that weren't fruit. The only really green—familiar green—things she could see were the blooms on a nearby flowering vine.

  She turned to look at her own companions. Shriek returned her gaze impassively, while Tomàs wouldn't meet hers at all. Only Sidi flashed her a grin, white teeth gleaming against his dark skin.

  "Well, kids," she said. "Looks like it's time for us to go play Tarzan."

  "Tarzan?" Tomàs asked.

  "Yeah, flit the jungle trail, and all that. Knowing our luck, we'll run into our own Opar and all get sacrificed to some monkey got! or something, but what the hell. Nobody said it was gonna be a picnic, right?" Blank looks all around. "Right. Let's go."

  When Shriek took the lead, Annabelle indicated to Tomàs that he should go next. No way she wanted that weasel behind her. She and Sidi took up the rear. As they entered the less dense forest of the cast bank, taking a game trail that followed the river, the oddly colored foliage closed in above them.

  Why do I get a bad feeling about this? Annabelle wondered as she glanced back at the sunlit field they were leaving behind.

  Seven

  The veldt was a vast, trackless sea of grass, dotted with small islands of bushes and trees. The grass swept off in endless leagues of yellowish mauve under the pale green skies, rising up to the shoulders of Clive. Smythe, and the cyborg, while swallowing the bulky but smaller Finnbogg with its height. The blades of the grass were thick and sharp at the edges, springing back up behind them after they had passed. By midmorning, the jungle was no longer visible. All they could see of their backtrail was the immense heights of the mountain range, pushing up at the cloudless sky.

  It was dull trudging with so little to see in the way of landmarks. The islands of bushes and trees gave some relief, but the trees were so immense—the smallest was many times the size of the largest English oak, while the bushes were as tall as the trees the Englishmen were readily familiar with—that their presence left the company with a sense of disquiet whenever they passed through their shadows.

  "She is a fine woman, is young Annabelle." Smythe remarked to Clive. "She will do you proud, sah."

  The cyborg Guafe was walking well ahead of them— his tireless march was enough to make Clive weary just watching him—while Finnbogg lagged behind, so the
two Englishmen were walking abreast. Clive had been relating his previous night's conversation with Annabelle to his companion—an edited version that didn't cover Clive's more personal relationship with his lover in England.

  "Do you think so?" Clive asked. "She has some rather curious notions concerning class structure and a woman's place."

  "If you'll pardon my candor," Smythe said, "I believe there's much to what she has to say. Take Sidi—he's more than simply clever. Give him white skin and drop him into London, and I'll wager that in a month or so, you would be hard put to pick him out from another Englishman. He's adaptable, is Sidi Bombay. A good man, no matter what color his skin."

  "Oh. I'll grant you that. But he's still... well, common."

  "And so am I. Yet we eat at the same table, you and I. and you respect me. as I do you. It isn't merely the uniform we snare that allows us our friendship—at least. I would hope not."

  "A man never had a truer friend than I have in you, Horace," Clive said.

  "It warms my heart to hear you speak so, sab."

  "But all this talk of Annabelle's ... I must admit I find it disturbing."

  Smythe nodded. "A new idea is often disturbing— warrant the furor back home over the evolutionists—but if it speaks a truth, then the wise man would do well to listen. We are in a new world now, salt—one from which we may never escape. By such reckoning, we would do well to set aside some of our beliefs and be willing to accept the strangers that we meet here on their own terms, no matter how alien or 'common' we might perceive them to be."

  "But damn it. Horace, we're Englishmen. We must set an example."

  "You're beginning to sound like your brother, sab," Smythe said with a smile.

  "You know what I mean."

  Smythe shrugged. "Perhaps it comes easier for me, sab, being common and all—"

  "You know I didn't mean—"