Owl and the Japanese Circus (13 page)

I climbed up the rocks, balancing my flashlight between my teeth. The cliff jutted out over the water, so I had to use five hooks to reach the first cavern opening. The edges of the opening were polished and smooth to the touch, so much so I wondered what kind of water flow could have eaten through the cliff like that. I was surprised geologists hadn’t gotten in on the action.

The opening was high enough for me to crouch without getting
claustrophobic. I pulled myself in over the lip and was happy to find that the cavern flattened out before heading in an upward trajectory into the cliff. It reminded me of a dried-out waterfall.

I pulled my rope up and removed the two hooks in range on the cliff face, in case I needed them up ahead. I inched up the cave tunnel on all fours until I reached a spot where it inclined steeply enough for me to stand. I shone my flashlight up and watched the beam bounce off the loose network of tunnels, moonlight filtering in through small openings far above. The tunnels were connected, all right. Score one for amateur geologist me.

With my flashlight I checked how far the tunnel ran upwards before changing direction towards the catacombs. From the looks of it, it was a good eight or nine feet. I sighed, put my flashlight back between my teeth, and primed another hook in my drill. Good thing I had four hours and chalk.

Forty-five minutes later I still hadn’t reached the catacombs. On a positive note, I hadn’t gotten stuck. All the tunnels had a surprisingly uniform width and smoothness, like polished stone. What they did do was branch off every which way. Even with a compass I still managed to make three wrong turns and spent half my time backtracking and erasing my colored chalk marks and notes. I’d started off with a generic “this way back,” but after the fifth wrong turn, my notes deteriorated to “you idiot, you made another wrong turn, didn’t you?”

By the time sixty minutes was up I was worried I’d made yet another time-consuming wrong turn. The tunnel widened and opened into a cavern tall enough to stand. I pulled out my phone; still no reception. I opened the map I’d taken from the team’s laptop and checked my point the old-fashioned way. They’d never made it all the way out to the water, only speculated like everyone else that’s where the tunnels lead, but they had noted smooth caverns at the bottom of the catacombs with old pictograms on them. I edged over and started to check the cave walls inch by inch. I was just about ready to start backtracking yet again when I found a cluster of pictographs. It took
me another few minutes to match the exact ones on file, but finally I was in the right place. And I had a trail of chalk to lead me back to the water. Figured that a fifteen-minute walk took me just over an hour.

The cavern was roughly the size of a small apartment with two offshooting alcoves. All I needed to do was figure out which one led to the catacombs. I walked around, careful not to loosen any rocks with my feet, and checked where the catacomb entry point should be on the map.

What the . . .

I shone the flashlight directly on a set of pictographs wedged underneath one of the outjutting rocks. Unlike the white relief images the archaeologists had documented, these were done with a vibrant red paint and depicted a woman surrounded by snakes. Lots of snakes. It looked new . . . and wet. On a hunch I leaned my face as close as I dared and sniffed. The unmistakable metallic scent of blood overwhelmed me. I covered my mouth and nose against the unpleasant smell and took two steps back. Even though they looked and smelled fresh I doubted the images were recent, since as far as I could see, the students had stopped short of reaching this section of tunnels. From the undisturbed cliff face, I found it just as unlikely anyone had come from the water. It dawned on me this was ritualistic magic, the kind that stands the test of time.

I closed my eyes. I’d really hoped I could avoid supernatural shit tonight. Checking out the tablets and getting the hell out of here were now my top priorities. Snakes and ritualistic magic are not a good combination.

I turned my attention back to the alcoves. Both led upwards and back into the cliff. They both ran so close together in the same general direction that I couldn’t tell which one was more likely to take me where I needed to go—not without the PhD students’ notes. Sometimes you just have to work with what you have . . . and hope to hell you don’t stumble into some ancient booby trap. I really didn’t need to get lost again. I shook my head and drew another arrow on the floor
with my chalk. Well, on the bright side, if the map distance was accurate, I was only ten minutes away from the catacombs.

I decided to go left, mostly because I’m left handed. Four feet in, the light dimmed and I needed my flashlight once again.

A pebble skittered and clicked down the cave wall, then rolled to a stop by my feet. I froze. Adrenaline took over my senses, priming them to react as I listened for other sounds—like the hiss of pressurized acid or other assorted ancient booby traps. I don’t put much faith in coincidence. For the first time, I noticed the faint taste of mold in the air, like stale water left in a rock pool too long. There’s something really eerie about getting an image like that out of the blue.

I took slow, deep breaths and waited, ears strained for anything out of the ordinary. For a ten count of me trying not to hyperventilate, there was nothing, and then something slid against the rocks above me. I looked up and saw a series of interlaced caverns; smooth and polished exactly like the tunnels that led out to the ocean. I stood still and waited for what I hoped was a giant bat or lizard to pass by . . . hell, even a crocodile was preferable . . .

Something hissed, above and to my left. I swore and fumbled my flashlight as I aimed the beam at it. A patch of rock began to move and wind over itself, glistening in the moonlight. It took me a sec to make the connection. Scales. Giant white scales.

Adrenaline hit me so hard I froze. I stumbled over my own feet, twice, before I regained my balance enough to bolt. I scrambled up onto a ledge as the very large snake dropped to the ground behind me.

I ran, and I didn’t give a flying rat’s ass who the hell heard me at this point.

In the words of a famous archaeologist, “I hate snakes.”

Less than fifty feet down, the tunnel ended and spilled out into the catacombs. Rule of thumb: never look over your shoulder when running from monsters. Keep running, fast. Especially where snakes are concerned. Think all those Medusa stories.

Instead, from the tail I’d glimpsed winding through the tunnel
lattice, I could well imagine the giant white snake hurtling towards me. Apparently it had decided I was tonight’s dinner theater. I swore and kept running, convinced with each hiss that it was gaining on me. I think I even blew right by the tablet.

I recognized this section of tunnels from the maps and pictures I’d studied. Instead of keeping left and heading farther into the catacombs, I took a sharp right, straight for the main temple. If I was lucky, the giant snake was bound as a guardian in the temple proper, meaning if I passed by the temple threshold I’d be out of the snake’s range . . . or have more open ground to run on. Either way I’d be better off than if I kept running in the catacombs. . . . One giant snake mousetrap.

My feet hit the tiled floor of a temple side room. Halfway across, I hurdled over an altar in hopes the slab of granite would slow the snake down. In a matter of seconds I was across the chamber and out a doorway that led to a flight of stone stairs cut into the bedrock. I was breathing heavily now—maybe I should cut back on the World Quest and Corona—but the stairs went up, and up meant I’d be heading towards the surface.

I pushed my lungs to reach the flight of stairs before the snake caught up. My legs quit taking orders and I tripped over an uneven step, landing hard on my wrists and knocking the wind out of myself. The stone altar broke behind me. Not daring to look back, I scrambled back up, ignoring the sharp pain in my left wrist. Damn it, that was the one I used. At the top of the stairs was a wooden door, not the original but a good replica, complete with a slab bolt. As soon as my foot touched the top step, I slammed the door behind me and dropped the metal rebar into place, bolting it shut. The snake crashed into the door, but the hard wood panels held. For now. I had no illusions how long a few slabs of wood would hold up against a three-hundred-pound snake. Anything that opted to crash through a granite altar rather than slide around it would have no problem with a wooden door. The rebar only bought me a few more minutes. Time to hide.

I took fast stock of my surroundings. I was in a larger temple
room roughly the size of a baseball diamond with vaulted ceilings and Balinese statues lining the walls. From the style and structure, I could tell this had been built after the lower catacombs, probably by a few hundred years, give or take, and a cool breeze carried fresh air here.

I was right under the surface; all I had to do now was find the exit. I wracked my brain and tried to remember where the exit had been on the map, and where I was.

Crack!

The wood door splintered along the length, bending against the rebar as the snake smashed into the door again. Who cared about the exit—a giant snake was about to eat me. I heard the door splinter again behind me and a hiss echoed through the temple, bouncing off the walls, as if in an amphitheater.

There were six statues, three on each side of the room. I ran by the second pair and skidded to a halt; I’d almost blown by an escape route, a set of narrower, steeper stairs built into the wall on my left and leading up to a ledge that ran along the perimeter. I made a sharp left for the stairs, hoping and betting that the snake couldn’t climb.

If it can ever be said that there is a golden rule of archaeology, it’s this: “Always keep an eye peeled for ancient booby traps.”

Why the hell can’t I follow my own advice?

It sprung after my foot landed on the tenth or twelfth step. I swore as the stone slabs collapsed underneath me into a slide. This part of the temple had a lot of foot traffic, so either the giant snake or I had triggered something . . . something the damn student archaeologists hadn’t found or bothered to disarm yet. I scrambled to wedge my fingers and toes into any cracks or crevices, but the ancient Balinese had thought of that. I slid right back down to the temple floor and came to a stop below one of the statues, an Apsara to be precise, a female Balinese muse of gaming and fortune.

Figures.

The rebar shrieked and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the door. It looked more like a balloon now than the laws of physics gave
it any right to. A balloon ready to burst. Flat on your ass, you notice things—like the snake imagery woven into the stonework and statues . . . A sickening thought struck me: I didn’t think the ancient Balinese had designed this place for getting away from the snake.

The collapse of the ancient slide and the snake obliterating the door were also just the right amount of noise to get the guards’ attention . . . if you were wondering what it would take to get the minimum-wage night shift to put their drinks down and do their job. I heard two male, middle-aged voices echo from the far end. They worried me less than the snake—they’d run as soon as they realized it was supernatural. No sense risking them seeing me here though.

I scanned the room, but hiding spots weren’t exactly jumping out at me, and the ledge recessed around the ceiling seemed to be it—designed for priests and spectators, I’d wager.

The only things in the temple left to climb were the statues. I gauged the one closest to me; it stood nine, maybe ten, feet in a classic pose, one arm raised towards the heavens and the other extended down towards the earth. Though the tip of its headdress didn’t reach all the way to the ledge, it was a hell of a lot closer than I was now. I hopped up and latched on to the extended statue arm. I winced as a sharp pain shot up my injured left wrist, but I ignored it with a mental reminder of guns and snakes. I pulled myself up onto its shoulders.

There was a commotion at the far end of the hall—the guards, and closer than they had been before. From the sound of it, they were arguing, probably about whether to come in or not. It stopped and footsteps began again, coming towards me. I frowned. Why hadn’t they turned back yet? The hissing alone should have sent them into supernatural mode—wasn’t the IAA training these guys anymore?
Hiss
and
Crash
don’t mean “Go look for intruders”—they mean “Run! Run now!”

I stood up, a foot on either shoulder and knees balanced against the headdress. To say the recess was a bit of a jump from the statue was an understatement. It had looked a hell of a lot closer from the
ground. I was glad I had my spiked shoes on; I’d need them to help catch the ledge.

I leapt.

A yelp escaped me as I slammed into the recess. My right hand latched onto the ledge, but my injured left one grabbed a jagged piece of rock. My reflexes took over and my left released in a wave of fresh pain. I managed to get a fingerhold in a carved relief with my right, but it wasn’t good enough, and I began to slip. My shoes scraped against the ancient carvings. Great, now I could add ruining priceless artwork to what I’d accomplished this trip.

The fingers of my right hand started to go numb. I looked down at the floor—why do things always look so much higher from above? If I didn’t get hold of the ledge now, I’d fall, or the guards would shoot me . . . or the snake would break the door and eat me after I fell . . .

In a last-ditch effort I began to swing my body side to side to create momentum. The guards were getting closer, and for some reason the snake had ceased its onslaught on the door, which worried me.

Having gotten as much momentum as I dared, I shut my eyes and swung my legs up. With a colossal effort from my out-of-shape abs, I shimmied my leg over the ledge and pulled the rest of me over. I lay flat so that only my head peeked over the side while I caught my breath. The temple amplified every sound, so I slowed my breathing and tried to keep as quiet as possible as the guards entered.