Fireball Read Online Free Page B

down here. There were stone flags under his feet, but when he probed a little further, the surface was more yielding. Beaten earth, he guessed. Not exactly a feather bed, but weariness made a good mattress. He curled himself up on the ground. He wondered again where he was—or when—and what had happened to Brad; but not for long before he fell asleep.
    His sleep was heavy. When he awoke, it was to a lancing brightness; he opened his eyes andimmediately closed them against the dazzle of early sunlight. Shielding with his hand, he was aware of the sun’s rays streaming in through the small window.
    He took in his surroundings. It was a single room, about twelve feet square and no more than seven or eight feet high. Around the walls oblong stone boxes were stacked on shelves in tiers. The only furnishings were the stone table on which were the remains of the food he had eaten and another longer stone table carrying one of the boxes. There was a sickly, sweetish smell; he had been aware of it last night, but it seemed much stronger now.
    Simon got to his feet and went to the table with the box. It was between five and six feet long, two or three feet across, a couple of feet in depth. The top was open, but a lid of stone, rimmed with what looked like lead, lay beside it.
    Inside the box was a statue, or rather a kind of high relief; the surround was white stone, but a human figure rose out of the centre. It was the effigy of a sleeping woman, hands folded on her breast, dressed in a white robe. Behind her head were ranged small jars and glass bottles with silver tops, a comband silver-backed brush. Weird, he thought. He put a finger to the white surround. It wasn’t stone but something softer. Plaster of paris?
    The figure had been brilliantly carved. In the dimness, the folds of the robe looked like real cloth. And the curve of the pale cheek . . . a youngish woman, in her twenties probably, and pretty. He touched the cheek with his finger, too, and at once whipped it away, in horror. That wasn’t stone either. It had indented under the light pressure of his finger: not stone, but cold dead flesh.
    He knew now what place he was in: a charnel house, with coffins ranged all around and this latest one not yet sealed. The food and wine had been left as grave gifts, along with the ornaments and toilet articles. He had an urge to be sick, an absolute need to get out. The aperture by which he had entered was the only exit. Simon scrambled through it, kicking the stone table away behind him, not caring what noise he made. He fell out into the open, picked himself up, and stood for a moment deeply breathing in fresh air. The next thing he knew, there was a heavy step beside him, and before he could turn around to see who it was, an arm was against histhroat like an iron bar, bruising and choking.
    The events that followed were confusing and unpleasant. There were three other men apart from the one who had half choked him, and they drove him up a hill, belabouring his legs with sticks. There was a house at the top, but he was too dazed to have any impression beyond the fact that it was large and rectangular in shape. A wooden trapdoor was opened at the base of a wall, and he found himself being thrown down into a cellar. He hit the ground with a thump that slammed the breath from his body. The trapdoor slammed shut, leaving him in near blackness.
    Someone already down there spoke to him in gibberish. He saw no point in trying to answer, and the other did not persist. He started trying to work things out. He had been discovered emerging from a family tomb. And tombs, everywhere and at all times, carried a heavy taboo, which he had, unwittingly, broken. He had, in fact, committed sacrilege, and whatever sort of society this was, punishment was liable to be severe.
    His companion started talking again. It was still gibberish, but by repetition some bits took onsignificance. One phrase, for instance, spoken with