Power Lines Part 7

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. It just popped into my head."

"Look, my people may be mistakenly following a sleaze bag but I still don't like them being insulted by an outsider . . ."

"Okay, okay. I didn't mean anything by it. Come on, let's see the rest."

"There's more?" Krisuk held the light up head high, advanced a step inside the new opening, and emitted a low whistle. "There sure is."

Even in the weak light of the lamp they could see that a good-sized tunnel had been cleared through the cave-in.

The floor still was mainly stone overlain with dust, but the walls and ceiling had an odd white sheen. Krisuk ran his fingers over it and sniffed. "No smell."

Diego leaned in closer and dragged his fingernails down the wall, leaving not so much as a scratch in their wake. "No, there wouldn't be. It's bonded with Petraseal."

"What's that?"

"It's what they use in mines these days to prevent cave-ins. They bond the rock surfaces to each other with this stuff. It's very strong. Nothing gets through. I wonder where Satok got it in this quant.i.ty."

"You think he did this?"

"Who else?"

The other boy gave a quavering groan. "Oh, no. I can't believe he did this.'

"What?" Diego asked, peering in the direction Krisuk was looking with a transfixed stare. Then he saw the outlines of skulls, large and small, and all sizes and lengths of bones, jumbled in with the rock, like so many fossils.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d! He could have brought them out for a decent burial!" Krisuk said.

"Looks like they're still half-crushed by the rocks,"

Diego said fairly. "Maybe he couldn't get them out without bringing down another cave-in. So he just sealed them up."

"Without even a proper song?"

"You did say there was a memorial service for them in the cave."

"Yes, but. . ."

"Look, I'm not trying to defend the guy, but the bonding wasn't put on until they were already skeletons. My guess is that it took him a while to dig this out and seal it up. Would have had to. Come on, let's see how far this goes.

"I was only a tad, mind you," Krisuk said, swallowing convulsively, "but it seems to me like the cave was really long. The floor sloped down because it was a hard walk up when we came back out: Mum used to have to carry me. I also remember that the cave used to have little teeth farther on." Krisuk pointed to the darkness ahead, beyond the reach of the light.

'You mean stalact.i.tes and stalagmites?" Diego asked. "Pointy things dripping down from the ceiling or sticking up from the floor like anthills?"

"Yeah. I never saw an anthill like them, but you got the idea."

They walked back farther, their footsteps at first scuffing on the grit across the floor, then sounding with a ringing echo as the floor, too, became coated with the Petraseal and metal grates had been placed along the corridor. For a time the floor sloped down, as Krisuk had remembered, but then another corridor, of fresh, jagged rock, still sharp through the sealant, branched off and twisted upward.

"That wasn't there before!" Krisuk said and turned into the new pa.s.sage.

Diego followed him up for a few feet, enough to see that the Petraseal covered the floor and from the ceiling dangled the roots of trees and bushes, preserved for all time in death-glossy bones.

Diego shuddered, in spite of himself. "This probably leads to Satok's place, if he lives above the cave, like you said "

"He did all this stuff ?" Krisuk asked. "How could he?"

Diego shrugged. "It's not that hard with the right tools. I just wonder where he got them. Come on. I'll bet if we look further we'll find out why he's doing all this."

They didn't find out why, but they did find out what it was he was doing when they took the descending path into the lower cavern Krisuk remembered.

Lower, farther from the entrance, everything was not covered with the stone bonder. But where the stalact.i.tes and stalagmites had been were only round craters, and sometimes small tunnels, like the holes of giant snakes, burrowed deep into the rock walls.

When she was finally able to retire from the elaborate welcoming dinner Torkel Fiske had arranged, Marmion asked Faber to arrange transport for her the next morning to see Kilcoole from ground level.

"Ask Sally and Millard to see what they can hear round and about, too, would you, dear Faber?" she added, allowing herself the luxury of a yawn she didn't have to stifle.

"Shall I pull rank if I run into obstruction? Faber asked. He was a bird colonel, currently detached to her service on a long loan basis.

"Hmmm, I'd rather you saved that for later, if at all possible. Torkel did mention somewhere in the gabble at dinner that we could make use of any facilities we needed in our investigations. So we will."

She was up and out at what would have been considered by many of her peers an obscenely early hour. She wasn't as surprised to see Whittaker Fiske as he was to see her emerging from her apartment.

"Why, Whit, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?"

He chortled. "The question applies more to you than me, Marmie." He bowed gracefully over her hand with a real skin-touching kiss. "Early birding?"

She smiled, and the arrival of Faber driving the antiquated rattletrap 4x4 vehicle spared her the necessity of replying to the obvious.

"Can we give you a lift?" she asked.

"Depends on where you're bound."

"Kilcoole. Didn't see very much from the air yesterday, and it seems the best place to start."

Whit c.o.c.ked his head at her, laugh lines crinkling at the comers of his amused eyes.

"It's safe today," he said, handing her up the first high step to the pa.s.senger seat.

"Oh, your leg!" Marmion said, starting to get down.

"Don't mind me." Opening the rear door, he agilely swung himself into the back.

"What'd you mean by 'it's safe today,' Whit, dear?" Marmion asked as she snapped on her seat belt and Faber pulled the vehicle away.

The ride was going to be b.u.mpy over the mangled plascrete, but later she would have exchanged that for the slip and slide of the mud-track to Kilcoole.

"Ah, well, Matt had his boys up before breakfast, scurrying about the place, accessing all kinds of records and reports so he'd 'have the overall picture and the demographic levels' and stuff like that." Whittaker snorted. "No chance of your running into him today out at Kilcoole."

Marmion smiled. She had hoped to do her research first without stumbling over those physically fit types. As the vehicle hit a particularly large b.u.mp, she clung to the handle above her head. She could feel Whittaker taking a firm grip on the back of her seat.

"Should still be able to use snocles this time of year," Faber said. "Thaw caught everyone off guard."

"So much so," Whit said with a chuckle, that no one came close to winning the Pool."

"The Pool?" Marmion asked, clinging tightly to her handle.

"The betting pool the locals have on when the river breaks up. The thaw was so early this year it took everyone by surprise. See?" he said, pointing to the river at their left, where soldiers were working at the water's edge. "Still retrieving sunk snocles from their watery grave."

From what Marmion could see as they drove by, the soldiers were having trouble: the tires of the tow truck were slipping on the muddy bank, unable to find enough traction to pull the vehicle on the end of its cable out of the fast-running river.

"Faber," Whit said, leaning forward to point over the driver's shoulder to the woods, "see that opening? I'd take that route were I you. Make much better time. I usually walk."

Both Marmion and Faber were happy they'd taken his advice, for the narrow track gave a much smoother ride than the churned mud by the river.

"Oh, it is pretty here," Marmion said, breathing in the rich damp-earth smells. "Trees are budding out!" she added in exclamation. "Almost overnight it seems."

"I don't think Petaybee's keeping to schedule this year," Whittaker said, sounding enormously pleased with himself. "I'd advise you to do the same, Marmie. You'll get where you're going faster."

"Then where do you advise I go first, Whit?"

"Where I am," he said, sitting back. "Just keep on this track, Faber, and when you reach the town, hang a right."

Kilcoole, despite its mountains of once-snow-covered paraphernalia, had an air of desertion. Marmion remarked on it, n.o.bly refraining from commenting on its appearance.

"Oh, a lot of folks have taken advantage of the thaw to visit relatives and exchange garden plants."

"How wise. They're ahead of schedule, too!"

"They did get the hint. And don't be misled by all the stuff you see outside, Marmie. No one throws anything away that might be useful." He pointed to several lads who were carefully moving machinery parts in the side yard of one house, obviously looking for a particular one.

Marmie caught their running commentary as the vehicle rolled by: "I know it was here 'fore the first snow. And I know it was at this end." "Well, my father was looking for stuff, and he might have just pulled the pile to pieces looking. You know how he is." "Then try underneath.''

Faber braked suddenly as a trio of orange-striped cats jumped out in the middle of the road just ahead of them.

"My word, do they often commit suicide that way?"

"My fault," Whit said sheepishly. "Should'a told you to stop at that house on the left. That's where I'm working and where you should start."

"But if you're working there, Whit, I don't want to intrude . . ."

"I'm working outside, Marmie," Whittaker said, opening the door of the vehicle. The cats emerged from under the ancient 4x4, prrrowing to him; two of them propped front paws up on his knees to be petted. The third spoke to him, then turned to wait at the pa.s.senger door. "You're invited inside," he added. "That's good, believe me."

"I'm always agreeable to invitations," Marmion replied, signaling for Faber to descend, as well. "What a marvelous shade of orange," she said directly to the cat. When it turned, tail tip idly swaying high above its body, she followed. "Mirandabelle Turvey-West would give her eye teeth for a hair dye that shade, just wouldn't she!" she murmured under her breath.

The cat shot up the muddy steps. Marmion, eschewing Faber's out held hand, managed to place her booted feet carefully in the drier spots.

The door opened as they reached the porch and one of the largest, most impressive-looking women Marmion had ever seen, with a complexion to die for and a smile that was the most beautiful thing so far about Kilcoole, stood in the opening.

"Slainte, Whittaker, Miz Algemeine, Colonel Nike, grand morning for a ride, is it not? I'm Clodagh Senungatuk. I'm that pleased to meet you. Come in. I've fresh coffee and some decent baking just out of the oven."

Warmed by the welcome, Marmion held out her hand, to have it briefly but kindly shaken and given back slightly floured. Then Faber was met with the same cordial treatment.

"The new s.h.i.+ngles got here first light, Whit" Clodagh said, "but you've time for a bite and a sup first.''

"Hey, that's good," Whit said with more enthusiasm than Marmion remembered him showing. "I can probably finish the roof today. Maybe I'll just get started, Clodagh, and grab a bite later."

With a nod to the other two. he tramped to the edge of the porch and hopped off. A brief explosive exhalation reached the others.

"Leg's not good enough yet to be jarred by leaping as if he was young again," Clodagh said, tsking-tsking as she shooed her bemused guests inside.

Marmion's first shock at the interior dissolved with the scent of spicy warm bread and her instant realization that this small home-and home it definitely was-was actually highly organized and astonis.h.i.+ngly neat if you looked past what might be cursorily dismissed as "clutter." There were, however, more cats inside who, one after the other, strolled over to make personal evaluations of the newcomers.

"Did we pa.s.s? Marmion asked as Clodagh gestured her to the rocking chair and motioned Faber to a st.u.r.dy bench.

Clodagh delayed answering until she had served her guests coffee and freshly baked hot cinnamon rolls, and placed a pitcher of milk and a huge bowl of sweetener before them. Refilling her own cup, she sat across from Marmion, her elbows on the table, placidly smiling.

"I've always had a lot of cats around," she began.

"All of them orange?" Marmion asked. "Or are they a singularly unique Petaybean breed?"

'You could definitely say that."

"I just did. My, these rolls are delicious," Marmion said, lightly changing topics. "And thank goodness you know how to make proper coffee. Doesn't she, Faber?"

"Yes, indeed, you do, Miz Senungatuk," Faber said, smiling in that unexpectedly charming fas.h.i.+on that had disarmed many folk more worldly than Clodagh. Clodagh grinned and winked at him for his accurate p.r.o.nunciation of her last name. That was another trait Marmion admired in Faber Nike. "Are you able to get regular supplies?"

Clodagh grunted. "Whit got this batch. Said it was a bleeding shame what s.p.a.ceBase did to unprotected coffee beans." She nodded to a corner of her crowded works.p.a.ce. "I grind them myself when I need them, and keep them frozen till I do."

"Wouldn't that be a bit difficult to do right now?" Marmion asked delicately.

"Nah. Even the thaw doesn't affect the permafrost cache much."

"Ah, yes!" Marmion said. "I have read, of course, of the permafrost layer that is so like frozen rock, but I had not appreciated until now its practical applications."

"Well, usually we only use it in summer," Clodagh said.

"So then good coffee is as much a treat for you as it is for us," Marmion said and took another grateful sip. The milk in the pitcher had been fresh, too, cream rising to the top. Judging by various-sized lumps, the sweetener had also been home-ground.

"That it is," Clodagh said.

Marmion felt something press against her lower leg and dropped one hand to touch a furry skull, which she obediently scratched.

"Your cats survive the extremes of Petaybee's temperatures?"

"Bred for it. A course, they're smart to begin with, and they use their instincts, too."

"As do most of you living here on Petaybee, I'd say," Marmion remarked, getting closer to the purpose of her visit.