Seven Ancient Wonders Read Online Free Page B
Author: Matthew Reilly
like a 30-storey office building that had been divided into four step-like tiers. Each ledge ran for the entire width of the rockface, but they were perilously narrow: barely wide enough for two men to stand on side-by-side.
If that wasn’t dangerous enough, Imhotep V had adapted this already-unusual structure into a masterpiece of protective engineering.
In short, he’d laid hundreds of traps all over it.
The four narrow ledges swung back and forth, each risingsteadily before ending at a cut-into-the-rock ladder that led to the next level.
The only exception was the wall-ladder between the first and second levels: its ladder was situated in the exact centre of the cavern, equidistant from the northern and southern entrances, as if Imhotep V was encouraging a race between rival parties who arrived at the same time.
Since each narrow ledge was cut from pure diorite, a grappling hook would be useless—it could never get a purchase on the hard black stone. To get to the top, one had to traverse
every level
and defeat the traps on them.
And how many traps there were!
Small arched forts dotted the great wall at irregular intervals, spanning each of the ledges, concealing traps.
Hundreds of basketball-sized wall-holes littered the rockface, containing God-only-knew what kinds of lethal liquids. And where holes were not possible, long stone chutes slid snake-like down the rockface—looking a bit like upside-down chimneys that ended with open spouts ready to spew foul liquids over the unwary intruder.
Seeing the holes, West detected the distinctive odour of oil in the air—giving him a clue as to what might come out of some of them.
And there was the final feature.
The Scar.
This was a great uneven crevice that ran all the way down the rockwall, cutting across the ledges and the rockface with indifference. It looked like a dry riverbed, only it ran vertically not horizontally.
At the top of the cavern, it was a single thick crevice, but it widened toward the base, where it forked into two smaller scars.
A trickling waterfall dribbled down its length, from some unknown source high up inside the mountain.
To cross the Scar on any of the four ledges meant either tiptoeing across a foot-wide mini-ledge or leaping a small void . . . in both cases in front of wall-holes or other shadowy recesses.
The trickling waterfall that rolled down the Scar fed a wide lake at the base of the rockface—a lake that now separated West and histeam from the European force, a lake that was home to about sixty Nile crocodiles, all variously sleeping, sloshing or crawling over each other.
And at the very top of the colossal structure: a small stone doorway that led to this mine’s fabled treasure:
The head of an ancient wonder.
Peering over the rim of the manhole, West gazed at the Europeans and their half-finished crane.
As he watched, dozens of men hauled more pieces of the giant crane into the cavern, handing them to engineers who then supervised the attachment of the pieces to the growing machine.
In the midst of this activity, West spied the leader of the European expedition, the Jesuit, del Piero, standing perfectly erect, his hands clasped behind his back. At 68, del Piero had thinning slicked-down black hair, ghost-like grey eyes, deep creases on his face, and the severe expression of a man who had spent his life frowning at people.
But it was the tiny figure standing next to del Piero who seized West’s attention.
A small boy.
With black hair and even blacker eyes.
West’s eyes widened. He had seen this boy before. Ten years ago . . .
The boy stood at del Piero’s side with his hands clasped behind his back, mimicking the imperious stance of the old Jesuit.
He seemed to be about Lily’s age.
No
, West corrected himself,
he was exactly Lily’s age
.
West’s gaze shifted back to the crane.
It was a clever plan.
Once finished, the crane would lift the Europeans up over the first ledge and land them on the
If that wasn’t dangerous enough, Imhotep V had adapted this already-unusual structure into a masterpiece of protective engineering.
In short, he’d laid hundreds of traps all over it.
The four narrow ledges swung back and forth, each risingsteadily before ending at a cut-into-the-rock ladder that led to the next level.
The only exception was the wall-ladder between the first and second levels: its ladder was situated in the exact centre of the cavern, equidistant from the northern and southern entrances, as if Imhotep V was encouraging a race between rival parties who arrived at the same time.
Since each narrow ledge was cut from pure diorite, a grappling hook would be useless—it could never get a purchase on the hard black stone. To get to the top, one had to traverse
every level
and defeat the traps on them.
And how many traps there were!
Small arched forts dotted the great wall at irregular intervals, spanning each of the ledges, concealing traps.
Hundreds of basketball-sized wall-holes littered the rockface, containing God-only-knew what kinds of lethal liquids. And where holes were not possible, long stone chutes slid snake-like down the rockface—looking a bit like upside-down chimneys that ended with open spouts ready to spew foul liquids over the unwary intruder.
Seeing the holes, West detected the distinctive odour of oil in the air—giving him a clue as to what might come out of some of them.
And there was the final feature.
The Scar.
This was a great uneven crevice that ran all the way down the rockwall, cutting across the ledges and the rockface with indifference. It looked like a dry riverbed, only it ran vertically not horizontally.
At the top of the cavern, it was a single thick crevice, but it widened toward the base, where it forked into two smaller scars.
A trickling waterfall dribbled down its length, from some unknown source high up inside the mountain.
To cross the Scar on any of the four ledges meant either tiptoeing across a foot-wide mini-ledge or leaping a small void . . . in both cases in front of wall-holes or other shadowy recesses.
The trickling waterfall that rolled down the Scar fed a wide lake at the base of the rockface—a lake that now separated West and histeam from the European force, a lake that was home to about sixty Nile crocodiles, all variously sleeping, sloshing or crawling over each other.
And at the very top of the colossal structure: a small stone doorway that led to this mine’s fabled treasure:
The head of an ancient wonder.
Peering over the rim of the manhole, West gazed at the Europeans and their half-finished crane.
As he watched, dozens of men hauled more pieces of the giant crane into the cavern, handing them to engineers who then supervised the attachment of the pieces to the growing machine.
In the midst of this activity, West spied the leader of the European expedition, the Jesuit, del Piero, standing perfectly erect, his hands clasped behind his back. At 68, del Piero had thinning slicked-down black hair, ghost-like grey eyes, deep creases on his face, and the severe expression of a man who had spent his life frowning at people.
But it was the tiny figure standing next to del Piero who seized West’s attention.
A small boy.
With black hair and even blacker eyes.
West’s eyes widened. He had seen this boy before. Ten years ago . . .
The boy stood at del Piero’s side with his hands clasped behind his back, mimicking the imperious stance of the old Jesuit.
He seemed to be about Lily’s age.
No
, West corrected himself,
he was exactly Lily’s age
.
West’s gaze shifted back to the crane.
It was a clever plan.
Once finished, the crane would lift the Europeans up over the first ledge and land them on the
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