Secrets of the Dragon Tomb (23 page)

“And if not?” Olivia said.

“If not, we'll find him some other way. We're not going to give up, I promise you.”

I could tell Freddie meant it, and that he was determined. I just hoped it would be enough.

I just hoped we would be in time.

 

18

The Museum of Martian Antiquities

The Museum of Martian Antiquities was a vast red-stone building set apart from the narrow streets of Lunae City by a wide paved square. The entire front of the building was made from the wall of an Ancient Martian temple. Ideograms and stylized pictures covered most of the surface, and worn carvings of men, dragons, and strange Martian beasts jutted like gargoyles from ledges and columns. Iron-studded oak doors had been set in the entrance, and as Olivia, Putty, and I approached, Freddie stepped from the shadow of a pillar.

“There you are,” he said. “I was starting to get worried. Oh…” His voice trailed off as Olivia stepped in front of him.

“Forgive us,” she said. “It took a while to find just the right gown and have it fitted.”

A while?
It had felt like about a million years. How did it take so long to choose a dress and put in a few stitches?

“Do you like it?” Olivia said. When she'd chosen the gown, I'd thought I was hallucinating. Olivia always wore sensible, practical gowns that hid as much of her as possible. But this was very different. Even Jane would have thought twice before wearing something this revealing.

“Good gracious,” Freddie managed.

I inserted myself between them before they could start staring into each other's eyes. “Should we really be standing around out here? What if one of Sir Titus's men sees us?”

Olivia shot me a look of annoyance.

Freddie blinked, then shook himself. “Of course. You're right.” He put out an arm to herd us toward the doors. “Come on. I've arranged for a brief tour of the museum, then we've got an appointment with a Professor Michel Fournier.”

“A Frenchman?” I said.

“I told you,” Freddie said, “this isn't British Mars. You'll find as many Frenchmen as Englishmen here. Anyway, Professor Fournier is the leading expert on ideograms. If Sir Titus went to anyone, it would have been to him.”

We didn't have long to wait, because a small, dusty man hurried toward us across the entrance hall as soon as we entered.

“Gentlemen. Young lady,” he said, bobbing his head like a bird pecking for worms. “I am Dr. Filipo Guzman, junior-under-curator for Third Age antiquities. The senior-assistant-curator has asked me to give you the tour. Shall we get going? You must forgive us our disorder today. We have received a new consignment of pottery from the region around the mouth of the Martian Nile. We are all atwitter.” He blinked, as though expecting a response.

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Jolly exciting. Er, pots and that.”

“You are an aficionado?” the junior-under-curator said. “Capital! I have always maintained that Third Age pottery is the most refined of antiquity, would you not agree? Sadly, not all of my colleagues, particularly those specializing in the Second Age”—he sniffed—“have such discernment.”

“As you say,” Freddie said cheerfully. “Third Age is the thing!”

“Well, we cannot stand around talking all day.” Dr. Guzman laid his hand on his dusty beard. “Although … I have an idea. The tour usually takes us through the mechanisms found in the dragon tombs, but perhaps…” He smiled. “I think we could take in the exhibit of Third Age pottery I have been assembling instead. It is not open to the public. The curators”—he sniffed again—“think there would be no interest, but we might take a private tour, do you not think?”

Putty made a choking sound.

The junior-under-curator for Third Age antiquities squinted down at her. “I say. Is something wrong with your brother?”

Freddie grinned at Putty, who was dressed once again in boy's clothes. “I can't think of anything I'd like more than to stare at old pottery for days on end, but we promised my, ah, brother he could see the mechanisms. You know how boys are.”

The junior-under-curator looked down with an expression of distaste. “Boys. Yes.” He rubbed his fingers together, as though he was trying to wipe something off them. “Well, if you have given your word. You will find the mechanisms, young man, of significantly less interest than the pottery. But if that is to be the way, it is the way.”

Olivia took Freddie's arm. “I am sure my older brother would wish to return to examine the pottery in more detail another day. In fact, I've heard him talk about how much he'd love to spend several days at the museum admiring Third Age pottery.”

Freddie blinked stupidly at her.

“Well then,” the junior-under-curator said, brightening. “It is settled. Well, well. This has quite made my day. Come. Follow. Let us begin.”

He led us through a door at the side of the entrance hall. “These are the mechanisms from the first dragon tomb, which was uncovered over a hundred years ago. We believe it was the tomb of an emperor called Har-no-Sek, or possibly Hro-en-Sak. It's not always easy to translate the ideograms of names into something we can pronounce.”

The center of the room held an enormous gold sarcophagus, inlaid with gems and silver thread in the swirling, twisting patterns that seemed to dominate Ancient Martian design. Around the sarcophagus were arranged the fantastic discoveries that had launched mankind into its golden age of technology. I recognized some of them. A large steam boiler, attached to pistons and wheels, of the type that could still be found in old-fashioned steam carriages, occupied a large, roped-off area. In the neighboring glass case stood a suit of some rubbery material with a glass helmet attached and a hose protruding from it. A diving suit of some type, I guessed. There were other strange contraptions of metal, glass, and wood that I didn't recognize. Behind each stood a section of rock face, covered in ideograms.

“You have noticed the ideograms, I see,” the junior-under-curator said. “They contain instructions as to the operation of the artifacts. Much of the work when a new dragon tomb is discovered comes in attempting to decipher the ideograms. Some, sadly, are never decoded, and only close examination of the artifacts in question allows their use to be deduced. Indeed, it took the first explorers more than fifty years to understand enough of the ideograms found in the then-ruined Lunae City to enable them to find the first dragon tomb.”

“Why are they called dragon tombs,” Olivia asked, “if they're the tombs of the Ancient Martian emperors?”

The junior-under-curator smiled. “A romantic idea, I fear. At the beginning of the First Age, the Ancient Martians tamed the great dragons of Mars. It launched their civilization, because the dragons were fierce and unstoppable in battle. Dragons became symbols of status. Each emperor had his own dragon, to prove his worth. It became the Ancient Martians' habit to slay the dragons when their masters died and entomb them with the emperors, much in the way the pagans of Earth might slay horses or slaves and lay them in the tombs of their masters.”

“That's horrible,” Olivia said.

“Not at all. The dragons were no more than savage beasts, and it was a more savage age. One must not judge the actions of more primitive men by our own standards. In any case, when the first dragon tombs were discovered, the explorers were overawed by the bodies of the dragons and named the resting places dragon tombs.”

“Can we see the remains of the dragons?” Putty said.

“Always the dragons,” the junior-under-curator muttered, as though he'd bitten into a lemon. “Always the beasts, not the glorious civilization that tamed them.”

“But they died out at the end of the Fourth Age?” I said.

“We call that period the Time of Many Emperors,” Dr. Guzman said. “Most of the dragon tombs come from a space of no more than ten years. It appears that the empire fragmented, because in that time, dozens of emperors—although perhaps we shouldn't call them emperors; they were too far fallen—were buried, and with each was the body of a dragon. The population of dragons, which was never great, was too decimated to recover. The civilization fell, and the dragons did not survive it.”

“That's sad,” Olivia said.

“I must disagree. Such beasts have no place in the civilized world. The Ancient Martians were barbarians. This is a new, brighter age.”

“And yet all our achievements have their origin in the mechanisms and artifacts of that empire,” Freddie said.

The junior-under-curator shrugged. “All knowledge begins somewhere. In only a hundred years, we have improved upon them beyond recognition. Now, let us move to the next room.”

The junior-under-curator led us through a series of spectacular rooms, packed with incredible artifacts. We saw the first steam-powered automatic servant, its head laid open to show the tiny levers and fine cogs within that allowed it to interpret instructions. We saw several cannons attached to the steam engines used to pressurize the air that would shoot out the cannon balls, and in the room holding artifacts from the most recent dragon tomb, discovered ten years ago by Sir Titus Dane himself, the device that could focus sunlight into photon emission globes. The wall behind that was densely illustrated and covered in miniature ideograms. We even saw an early version of the cycle-copter that Freddie had nearly crashed into me. Putty raced around, letting out excited squeaks.

Finally, the junior-under-curator of Third Age antiquities drew us together. “There is but one room remaining,” he said. “We always save it for last. I am told it is for reasons of drama, although, for myself, I do not see it, finding far more drama and interest in a fragment of beautifully crafted pottery. Nonetheless…”

He strode to the double doors at the end of the room and threw them open.

There, in the largest hall we had yet seen, was a dragon.

I had known that dragons were big, but I'd never really realized just how enormous they were. The sheer bulk of the dragon was overwhelming. It stretched nearly forty yards from end to end. I'd seen a whale, once, breaching the waters of the Valles Marineris, but this creature was even bigger. Its tail looped and curved around its feet, and its vast wings were folded against its chest. Its scaled body rose above us, far higher than our heads, like a wall. I had to crane my neck to see the smooth curve of its back. Long, surprisingly delicate claws jutted from its four feet. From the highest point of the room, where a glass skylight ran the length of the ceiling, the dragon's thin head peered down at us, its eyes glittering like black diamonds.

Putty sighed. “Oh. You have a preserved one.”

The junior-under-curator chuckled. “Indeed. At the end of the Fourth Age, the ancient Martians discovered a technique to preserve the bodies of their beasts. Perhaps they had some pagan superstition that the beasts would protect them in their afterlife. It is a shame that their civilization did not last more than a few years after the discovery, or we might have many more complete specimens like this one. Some of my colleagues would like the opportunity to dissect a preserved dragon. Go on. You may touch it.”

Slowly, I approached the body of the dragon. It was covered in a slightly cloudy resin. Even so, and even with the dead stillness of the dragon, my hand shook as I reached out to touch it. The creature looked alive beneath its coating.

The dragon was cold to the touch. The layer that covered it was surprisingly giving. Putty came up beside me. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she laid both hands on the resin. Her breath came fast.

“A dragon, Edward,” she whispered. “Imagine. It must have lain like that for thousands of years in its tomb beneath the sands, untouched and still complete.”

“Eighteen hundred years,” the junior-under-curator said. “That is how long ago their civilization collapsed, and it is from then that the preserved dragons date.”

“How did it die?” Putty asked. “I don't see any wounds.”

“Sadly, we do not know. That resin that covers it is immensely tough. You could stab it with a knife and you wouldn't get through. Only with the sharpest of tools are we able to penetrate it, but when the resin is pierced, the body within begins to decay, and within mere weeks, it crumbles. Several of the beasts were opened when they were first discovered, but there are too few of the specimens to risk losing more. It is hoped that one day we will discover techniques that will allow us to open the resin without losing the beasts within. However, for the moment, the dragons are safe, and we expend our efforts on more profitable inquiries.”

“Such as pottery, eh?” Freddie said. “Ha-ha.”

“Quite! I see you are a true enthusiast, sir. I look forward to your next visit. We shall have a fine discussion! Perhaps I may expect you tomorrow?”

“Ah,” Freddie said.