Philip José Farmer's The Dungeon 06] - The Final Battle by Richard Lupoff

Author:Richard Lupoff
Language: eng
Format: epub

CHAPTER 13

As an Alien in Eden

He whirled, looking for Horace Smythe, for the Baron Samedi, for the monsters and demons who had surrounded him until a split second ago. They were nowhere to be seen.

The cries of the damned, the gleeful laughter of their tormentors… were gone. Clive was surrounded by silence. The air was sweet, the only sound was the soft rustle of a zephyr in the tall, friendly trees.

Somewhere a bird sang. Its call, a trilling, warbling song, was so beautiful that it brought tears to Clive Folliot's eyes. He raised his hands to brush away the tears, then looked down to discover that he was newly garbed in a soft outfit of green and brown.

He exclaimed aloud, voicing wonder at where he was.

No one answered.

There was no point in standing still. He sighted in on the three green suns that blazed above the leafy canopy, trying to determine a direction by which to orient himself. He was not a tracker by any means. If he could only have the skills of a Red Indian! But he had learned something of geography at Cambridge, and some lore in Her Majesty's service, and once satisfied he set out a steady pace.

As he strode along, he took stock of himself and his clothing and possessions. His garments were made of sturdy cloth, carefully tailored and excellently fitted. There were no pockets in the tight-fitting shirt, the looser jacket, or the trousers. He had neither weapon nor tool in his possession: obviously, then, he had been transported to this place and left with only the proverbial clothes on his back.

But his boots were sturdy, the temperature was comfortable, and he himself was unharmed in any way. A fine escape from Hades!

The Baron Samedi was nowhere to be seen. He'd said that he could not—or would not—leave Hell with Clive and Horace Smythe.

Clive halted. Horace—where was he? The man had accompanied Clive to the establishment that housed the U.N.I.A's London station. Where was he now—still trapped in the realm of sulfur and brimstone? Or returned to the quarters where they had left Sidi Bombay?

There was no way for Clive to find out.

He continued his march, passing through clearings, crossing meadows, but always returning to the woods. This place—this world—might well be a paradise of its own sort, but Clive felt himself growing fatigued, and assaulted by hunger and thirst. He still had no idea where he was, whether this was yet another level of the Dungeon, an exotic realm upon the Earth, or a land of fantasy—even of illusion—into which Baron Samedi had cast him.

He came to a section where the forest was less dense, and where a stream bubbled clear and inviting over a bed of fine sand and small rocks. He halted, lowered himself to the strange, bluish grass, and studied the stream. It looked like pure water, but he knew nothing of the local environment, of the life and the materials of this place. For all he knew, the

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