The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗

Slowly the log revolved un er the eccentric weight distribution, and

Helm began to slide off the spike. His skin tore with a sound like silk

parting, and the vertebrae of his spine grated on wood.

Then the corpse, at last quiescent, flopped face down into the water and

began to sink.

Nicholas would not let him go so easily. "Let's make sure of you, dear

boy," he grated through his swollen, bleeding mouth. He spat out a

mouthful of blood and saliva as he stretched out and grabbed the back of

Helm's collar, holding him face down in the water under the log. They

icked up speed rapidly down the last stretch of the canyon,  but

Nicholas held on doggedly, drowning any last spark of life from Helm's

carcass, until at last it was torn. from his grip by the current and he

watched it sink away into the grey, roiling waters.

"I'll give your love to Tessay," Nicholas called after him as he

disappeared. Then he gave all his concentration to balancing the log and

staying aboard for the ride through the tumbling, racing current. At

last he was spewed out -AL

through the pink rock portals into the bottom reach of the DandeTa

river. As he was swept beneath the rope suspension bridge he slid off

the log and struck out for the western bank, very much aware of the

terrible drop into the Nile that lay half a mile downstream.

Sitting on the bank, he tore a strip from the tail of his shirt. Then he

bound up his wounded chin as best he could, strapping it around the back

of his head. The blood soaked through the thin wet cotton, but he

knotted it tighter and it began to staunch the flow.

He stood up unsteadily and pushed his way through the strip of thick

river in bush which bounded the river, until at last he struck the trail

that led down to the monastery and hobbled down it on his bare feet. He

only stopped once, and that was when he heard the sound of the

helicopter taking off from the top of the cliff above the chasm far

behind him.

He looked back. "Sounds as though Tuma Nogo made it out of there, more's

the pity. I wonder what happened to von Schiller and the Egyptian," he

muttered grimly, fingering his injured face. "At least none of them are

going to get into the tomb, not unless they dam the river again."

Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"My God, what if von Schiller was already in there when the river hit!"

He began to chuckle, and then shook his head. "Too much to hope for.

justice is never that neat." He shook his head again, but the movement

started his wound aching brutally. He clutched his bandaged jaw with one

hand and started down the trail again, breaking into a trot as he

reached the paved causeway that led down to the monastery.

ahoot Guddabi ran full into von Schiller around a corner of the maze,

and in a peculiar way the old man's presence, even thoug  he was of no

conceivable value in this crisis, steadied him and kept at bay the panic

that threatened at any moment to boil over and overwhelm him. Without

Hansith the maze was a weird and lonely place. Any human company was a

blessing. For a moment the two of them clung together like children lost

in the forest.

Von Schiller still carried part of the treasure that they had been

examining when Hansith had panicked and run.

He had Pharaoh's golden crook in one hand and the ceremonial flail in

the other.

"Where is the monk?" he screamed at Guddabi. "Why did you run off and

leave me? We have to find the way out of these tunnels, you idiot. Don't

you realize the danger?"

"How do you expect me to know the way-' Nahoot began furiously, and then

broke off as he noticed the chalk notations on the wall behind von

Schiller's shoulder, and for the first time realized their significance.

"That's it!' he exclaimed with relief. "Harper or the Al Simma woman

have marked it out for us. Come on!" He started down the tunnel,

following the signposting. However, by the time they came out on the

central staircase almost an hour had passed since Hansith had left them.

As they hurried down the staircase into the long gallery the sound of

the river rose to a pervading hiss, like the breathing of a sleeping

dragon, Nahoot broke into a run and von Schiller staggered along behind

him, his aged legs weakening with fear.

"Wait!" he shouted after Nahoot, who ignored his plea and ducked out

through the opening in the plaster-sealed doorway. On the landing the

generator was still running smoothly, and Nahoot did not even glance at

it as he hurried down the inclined shaft in the bright dazzle of the

light bulbs along the roof.

He turned the corner still at a run, and stopped dead 41, as he realized

that the tunnel below him was flooded, right back up to the level of the

ancient high-water mark on the masonry blocks of the walls. There was no

sign of the sinkhole or the pontoon bridge. They were submerged under

fifty feet or more of water.

The Dandera river, guardian of the tomb down all the ages, had resumed

its duty. Dark and implacable, it sealed the entrance to the tomb as it

had done these four thousand years past.

"Allah!" whispered  ahoot. "Allah have mercy on us." Von Schiller came

around the corner of the tunnel and stopped beside Nahoot. The two of

them stared in horror at the flooded shaft. Then slowly von Schiller

sagged against the side wall.

"We are trapped," he whispered, and at those words Nahoot whimpered

softly and sank to his knees. He began to pray in a high, nasal

sing-song. The sound infuriated on Schiller.

"That will not help us. Stop it!" He swung the golden flail in his right

hand across Nahoot's bowed back. Nahoot cried out at the pain and

crawled away from von Schiller.

"We must find a way out of here." Von Schiller's voice steadied. He was

accustomed to command, and now he took charge.

"There must be another way out of here," he decided.

(We will search. If there is an opening to the outside then we should

feel a draught of air." His voice became firmer and more confident.

"Yes! That's what we will do. Switch off that fan, and we will try to

detect any movement of air."

Nahoot responded eagerly to his tone and authority, and hurried back to

switch off the electric fan.

"You have your cigarette lighter," von Schiller told him. "We will light

tapers from these." He pointed at the papers and photographs that Royan

had left lying on the trestle table by the doorway. "We will use the

smoke to detect any draught."

For the next two hours they moved through all levels of the tomb,

holding aloft the burning tapers, watching the movement of the smoke. At

no point could they detect even the faintest movement of air in the

tunnels, and in the end they came back to the flooded shaft and stared

despairingly at the pool of still black water that blocked it.

"That is the only way out," von Schiller whispered.

11 wonder if the monk escaped that way," said Nahoot as he slumped down

the wall.

"There is no other way."

They were silent for a while; it -was difficult to judge the passage of

time in the tomb. Now that the river had found its own level there was

no movement of water in the shaft, and the faint and distant sound of