A Fistful of Dust Page 9

  Chapter Eight

  “In Which the Crew Struggle to Separate Dreams,

  Fears, Fantasies and Reality”

  1.

  THE FIRST THOUGHT to pierce the fog in Arnaud’s brain was that Nathaniel no longer rested in the spot where he had curled up to sleep. The second, as he eased his tired, aching bones into a seated position, was that the interior of Phobos did not make for the most comfortable bed. The creatures, when they slept, had the advantage of tucking limbs in against the sides of their shells and then calmly resting within their carapace. Ahh…the advantages of being a turtle.

  He’d not slept well. Strange thoughts and disturbances had shadowed his dreams, and although they now seemed fleeting, left a sense of unease. Whatever he had dreamt, they were things of nightmare.

  Moving gently so as not to disturb the others, he glanced at their faces. If their expressions were a way to judge, they were not enjoying the landscapes of their slumbers any more than he had done.

  He found Nathaniel on the other side of the cave, crouched in front of three creatures. His toujours drew in the red sand, which seemed to delight the—it took Arnaud a moment to think of the word—Chaldrites.

  He approached Nathaniel and the Chaldrites slowly so as not to startle them and then crouched. Some sticklike figures resembled people. One even wore a top hat, the sight of which made Arnaud smile. There were two representations of men. Even as he looked, Nathaniel gestured to one group, pointed to where the others lay, touched Arnaud on the arm, then pointed at the drawing. He then gestured to the second group and spread his hands, before pointing to his eyes, then the creatures, then the drawing again.

  One of the Chaldrites chittered as it rose up. It moved so abruptly that Arnaud first took its excitement for anger. He tensed and felt Nathaniel’s hand on his arm, holding him in place. Clearly, Nathaniel had made some headway understanding these beasts. The creature shifted forwards, the oval shape of its head straining. Waving antlers over the drawing, it then turned in a direction angling across the cave to one of several tunnels. Nathaniel stood pulling Arnaud with him.

  “You really think they’ve seen the other party?”

  “It would seem likely and we can but hope. They’ve not done anything threatening and could likely overpower us so I doubt they’re leading us into a trap of their own making. You looked tired.”

  “Hmm? Oh…yes. Nathaniel, were your dreams…uneasy?”

  “That’s one way of putting it. I cannot say I remember them precisely, but I know I dreamed, and I know it was unpleasant.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly how I feel. From what I can see the others are experiencing the same.”

  “I guess we should wake them. It’s not as if they’re resting easy.”

  Arnaud yawned, scratched at his chin. “Yes. And we need to be on our way. The sooner we get started, I hope the sooner we can leave. If we spend too long down here, we’ll all have beards.”

  “Except for the women.”

  Arnaud laughed softly. “Yes, except for the women.”

  “It’s not unbecoming on you.”

  Arnaud looked to Nathaniel’s face, wondering if it was a trick of the light or his imagination that made the other man’s cheeks look pink. “It wouldn’t look unbecoming on you, either,” he said, wondering whether Nathaniel would deduce his true meaning. A flicker of puzzlement flashed through the other man’s eyes, before they widened. A vague expression of pleasure softened his features. Pleasure that sat as uneasy with Nathaniel as his dreams apparently, as he also managed to look troubled.

  “It hardly feels real now but our lives were very much in danger yesterday. Highmore could have throttled me. Any one of you might have removed your helmet and died in the vacuum of space.”

  “Yes, I realise that.” Nathaniel sounded rather dismissive. “However, it feels as if our lives have been in danger so often lately that one event blends into another.”

  “Oui, it does. And while I am, what you might call pragmatic, it does not mean I am without heartache. Some say the bad things in life are designed to remind us of the good and that we should grasp even the smallest chance of happiness while we may.”

  Nathaniel didn’t answer him right away, but after a few seconds said; “You’re not…wrong.”

  A small cry drew their attention. Elizabeth sat, looking dazed and bewildered, her countenance gradually changing as she came more fully awake. Her cry having disturbed Annabelle, she reached out in a tired, lazy fashion to comfort her. Folkard also moved. He kicked Highmore into wakefulness, and then made no reference to having done so. Whitlock was already awake but fortunately had his back turned to the scene and was not a witness.

  “What else did you learn from the creatures?”

  “I’m not…sure.” It sounded as if it pained Nathaniel to admit that. “I’m positive I learned more than I realise or understand.”

  “Pray tell,” Annabelle said, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

  Nathaniel hankered down as the group shared out supplies and washed a meagre breakfast down with more of their water ration.

  “I believe the markings on the monolith speak of creatures that do or have inhabited Phobos, but equally they could indicate creatures from far away.”

  “That’s subjective, Stone.”

  Arnaud whispered. “It’s funny how Highmore calls you Stone when annoyed, non?”

  “Actually not as subjective as you may think,” Nathaniel said, lips twitching as though he suppressed a smirk at Arnaud’s comment. “The Chaldrites are depicted on the monolith. It is reasonable to assume other things depicted there exist somewhere. What other purpose would it serve? Also, although I cannot be certain for the depictions are crude, I believe the creatures illustrated tie in with Quintana’s discovery of Drobate skulls on Phobos.”

  “Drobates?” Highmore enquired.

  “Just another species. Do not concern yourself. As for the Chaldrites, I have also been trying my best to communicate with them.”

  “Communicate?” If Highmore noticed the deflection, shock distracted him.

  “What have you learned, Professor?” Folkard asked, ignoring Highmore’s outburst. He appeared more tired than anyone did. Dark circles ringed his eyes, ironically giving him a hardened, criminal appearance.

  “That we need to take that passageway over there.”

  Elizabeth looked up, clearly hopeful. “Henry?”

  “I am afraid, Miss Highmore, that my communication involves many hand gestures and drawing in the dust. While I can make them understand we seek others like us, it does not break down into the identification of individuals.”

  Not wanting to quash the woman’s hope, Arnaud said; “They are likely to be one and the same, Miss Highmore. At the very least, they are the most likely to know what has become of your Henry.”

  “Do not hope for too much, Elizabeth,” Highmore said, his scolding gaze aimed at Arnaud.

  “You do not have to keep reminding me that we may find Henry dead!” Elizabeth rose, walking to another part of the cave. When Highmore moved as if to go after her, Annabelle waylaid him.

  “She is safe and I am sure…going about preparations to make certain she is ready to travel. I suggest we all do the same, and then get underway.”

  2.

  THE PATH GREW steeper, in one or two places so much so, Annabelle began to feel certain she would do worse than embarrass herself. As if the prospect of breaking one’s neck wasn’t bad enough, her dreams had begun this way: with a slip. The others claimed not to remember their dreams, although all agreed a disturbed sleep had been had by all. However, Annabelle recalled too vividly.

  They began on a path such as this where her leg buckled and gave way on her. She fell, injuring an arm. An arm that could not be saved, and once they returned to Mars, Nathaniel replaced it with another artificial limb. No matter. She had coped with a replacement leg and in the universe of her dreams, she had learned to cope with the arm. George stil
l loved her.

  Then on another mission, she had been pushed from a great height and broke her back.

  No matter when Nathaniel was so resourceful as to find the greatest surgeons in the world, and together with his cleverness with technology, they had invented an artificial spine to repair her damaged one. During the many months of waiting, the blood supply to her legs had been hampered and so she had to have both amputated at the thighs. She emerged from her hospital bed with one mechanical arm, two mechanical legs, and a torso through which a skeleton of metal, wires and cogs ran. When she moved she made either a clanking or whirring sound; sometimes both. Her reflexes were hampered and although George still claimed to love her, gradually he found more reasons to be away from the home to which she found herself confined. Nathaniel visited whenever he could, but he was always so busy checking she was in “working order” that she quickly forgot what their friendship prior to her metamorphosis had been like.

  Then came the day when she snapped in a fit of pique, rearing out of her chair, awhirl. Her legs moving in strange twitching motions, jerked her across the room, her false arm spinning in a murderous orbit, fingers revolving from the end of her hand like rotating blades. All Nathaniel could say was that he’d have to get that seen to and the next thing she knew Nathaniel lay at her feet, the rug in the drawing room as well as her dress splashed bright red with his life’s fluid.

  She could have discounted the dream as comical if it had ended, but there was more. A hideous amount more. Unless she fought to suppress them, these recollections came to her bright with noise, colour, pain and smell. The thing she struggled with most was the scent of her own flesh burning—surgeries in which she had to remain awake while they cut into her with the aid of some strange light that Nathaniel had naturally invented for precision work. He’d lied to her, told her she wouldn’t feel a thing. She could feel. Maybe not as much as she should have, but she felt them slicing her open, and smelt it too. To smell one’s own flesh burning even in a dream stole any merriment she might have gleaned from an otherwise ludicrous vision. Her dream self could feel the sensation of cogs gyrating inside her, rubbing against each other. It was enough to drive a person mad.

  Blinking away drops of perspiration, Annabelle clung to a rocky outcrop. She couldn’t risk using a hand to clear her eyes for fear that letting go of the wall might precipitate her falling. It was only a dream. Nathaniel was clever but he wasn’t capable of inventing the things she had seen. No one was. Not…yet. If she fell, she’d die, or be an invalid, but that she could cope with. Anything was better than being that strange creature that clicked and clanked when she walked, who made strange internal whirring noises even as she slept, who grew so despondent she would spill the blood of a friend.

  “Need a hand?” Folkard made the offer sound so casual she was already accepting before she disseminated his words. Annabelle almost barked out a laugh, an image of the captain handing over an artificial limb jumping into her mind, and found she had said, “Yes, Captain,” before she could consider whether she did indeed wish his aid. She made it to the next flat level by bracing one hand against the wall, the other around the good captain’s neck and slithering down the last few feet.

  “Not the most elegant way to travel, but it is a sound landing,” Folkard declared, having set her on her feet and stepped away. “Let’s hope it’s not much further. I want to get my hands on these blighters causing us such discomfort.”

  3.

  “HEADCOUNT?” FOLKARD ASKED.

  “I count seven…hostiles.” Nathaniel shrugged.

  “As good a title for them as any, Professor, and I count the same. Although there could be more elsewhere.” The number of Chaldrites moving below had made the tally difficult.

  They sat for some time watching. “Seven of us to seven of them,” Folkard mused.

  “I hope you are not counting the ladies.”

  Folkard spared Highmore a glance. “If Miss Highmore wishes to be excluded then I amend my calculation to six versus seven.”

  “I most certainly do not wish to be excluded!”

  “Elizabeth!”

  “Keep your voices down,” Folkard ordered.

  “Forgive me.” Elizabeth looked between the captain and her brother. “I can shoot.”

  “Hunting in the Cotswolds is hardly the same as…”

  “You line up your target and fire.” She reached into her outfit and produced a small gun.

  “Do not tell me you’ve been carrying that all this time?”

  “Honestly, Joseph, what did you expect me to bring with me? Embroidery?”

  “Killing a man is quite different from…”

  “Putting food on the table?” She looked to the others. “We Highmores have always made it a point to eat what we shoot.” Looking back to her brother, she said; “I dare say it is, and I dare say I will have to spend a great deal of time in church should it prove necessary, but I will protect everyone here if called upon to do so. I will do what I have to do to save Henry’s life. Do not even consider it,” she told him as he made a move as if to take the gun from her. “I would not like to shoot you by accident.”

  “Now that little matter is resolved…” Folkard broke off. One of the men from the main group followed a trail to the right. At Folkard’s urging the others shifted along a similar line from on high. The Chaldrites who accompanied them seemed confused by their behaviour, but came quietly. The path below narrowed between two large boulders before widening. Then it led into another tunnel. The entrance could not be viewed by anyone on the other side. If they were careful…

  “Should we approach these men, do you think, Captain?” Whitlock asked.

  Folkard hesitated. He should lead the watch and possible assault on these men, but violence might not be necessary. Besides, something was calling to him, whispering. He could only recall one fragment of his dreams and it could have been imagination. He saw a black shiny wall, his reflection starring back at him.

  “Not under a flag of truce. I suggest we split into two parties, one to keep watch on this group. Approach only if necessary and with your weapons at the ready. The others to follow the man who has wandered off. If there is a greater number here, we need to know. It’s best we know where that man went, and his purpose.”

  “Your orders, sah?”

  “You will come with me and Professor Stone. The rest of you will remain here. Miss Somerset and Miss Highmore, if a confrontation ensues, I suggest you both hang back. Not because I believe either of you incapable or fear for your safety, but because that will give you the advantage to shoot if necessary. Do not seek to engage with these fellows unless it is unavoidable. We will return as soon as we can. Work together on this. Although Arnaud is in charge, I want you both to press ahead only if you agree.” He looked pointedly at Arnaud and Annabelle. “Joint decisions where possible because none of us can be certain we’re not being influenced by something on Phobos.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Annabelle nodded. “What if you locate a greater number of men?”

  “We will endeavour to keep a low profile, and return without being seen. Right now I fear being cut off at the rear more than facing what may lie ahead. Come, sirs.”

  4.

  NATHANIEL TOLD ANNABELLE to take care, and was about to head after Folkard when Arnaud caught hold.

  “If Folkard starts to act strangely, punch him on the nose. If that doesn’t work, kiss him.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind. I am joking. Just…watch him.”

  “I will heed the warning.”

  “Good. I could not bear anything to happen to you.”

  Nathaniel cleared his throat. “An admirable sentiment.” He moved to pull away. Arnaud did not let go. Nathaniel jerked his arm loose. Arnaud looked both puzzled and hurt, but really what was he thinking? Deliberately making a show of turning his back on him, Nathaniel edged along after Folkard and Whitlock.

  “Are you sure this is wise?” N
athaniel asked Folkard when they made it to the entrance of the tunnel.

  “I’m not sure when we last did anything wise, but this…feels right to me.”

  The two men stared at each other for an instant before Nathaniel nodded his consent. He didn’t need an explanation to know that Folkard was being pulled deeper into Phobos.

  Chapter Nine

  “In Which the Crew go as Deep as Their Minds Allow”

  1.

  NATHANIEL’S MOST IMMEDIATE fear when he first entered the passageway was that the man ahead would hear them following. Then, as they were taking so much care, that they would lose him if the path branched out. Here the ground was rocky, worn smooth in places, probably from the wandering passage of the creatures’ movements. Neither proved to be a problem. The man started whistling and they were able to quicken their pace. When they did came to an intersection with three paths leading off, the ground had given way to the customary rufous dust they needed to only follow his footsteps, taking care to camouflage their own.

  Up until this point, they’d been lucky to have sufficient light reflecting from the lantern of the man in front. They’d turned their own lanterns off. Expecting to follow their target, Nathaniel took a step, only to have Folkard grab his arm and bring him up short. His attention focused on another destination.

  “We could take one passage each,” Nathaniel suggested.

  Folkard hesitated, “That’s a good idea. Whitlock, follow that man. Observation only. Ascertain numbers, and then return to the others. We’ll investigate elsewhere.” The man, used to obeying orders, saluted and moved off.

  Nathaniel was about to ask which tunnel he should take, when Folkard again snagged his sleeve and pulled him to the far right. “We go this way.”

  2.

  “I THINK WE should go down.” Highmore was getting edgy, and Annabelle could now well understand why Folkard had left Arnaud and her in charge.

  “Our orders are to keep watch unless we’ve cause to do otherwise,” she reminded Highmore.