Beyond the Golden Stair by Hannes Bok

Author:Hannes Bok [Bok, Hannes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 1970-06-04T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Mareth of the Watchers

They were traversing that same hall of blackness by which they had approached Patur’s chamber from the room of the Fu dogs and the ebon frame, but now they made many more of the grotesque weaving movements than before, though always they seemed to be walking straight ahead. Hibbert recalled the pictures on the cobweb screen and decided that in keeping with Khoire’s peculiar gravity they were now walking head-downward or at least up some vertical plane.

He saw no landmark by which to chart their progress. As far as his eyes could tell, they were pacing a treadmill in a blackened room.

Without warning, a door arose before them, glowing brassy yellow as had the others. It was a triangle reflected by the mirrored floor to diamond-shape. The blue robe slid it open and courteously stood aside that they might precede him.

He followed them within and, much after the manner of a hotel bellman, hastened to make last-minute improvements—patting a perfectly rounded sofa-cushion into the same perfect rondure; straightening a chair unnecessarily to its table; lifting a vase fussily 109 from its place and setting it back again exactly as he had found it.

He finished these amenities and bowed—Hibbert half-expected him to hold out a hand for a tip. However, he straightened and went outside. The door glided shut.

Immediately Scarlatti swept a forearm under Hibbert's chin, sweeping him off the floor. His other hand ripped into Hibbert’s shirt and snatched the gun. He let Hibbert go and drew back to await the youngster s attack, but Hibbert knew better.

The giant chuckled. “You didn’t know I seen you snitch this, huh? Well, I don’t miss no tricks! I wanted you to snitch it so that I could get it—Burks wouldn’t of let me have it Don’t try to get it back, or”—he guffawed at the pun—“111 let you have it! Haw! You know what I mean.”

Any answer would have been superfluous, so Hibbert merely shrugged and turned away.

Carlotta had begun to explore the suite. The powers of Khoire were indeed a considerate sort when it came to their visitors’ contentment. They had slavishly duplicated the last word in the interior decoration of Hibbert’s world, even to the fried-egg-shaped chairs which Hibbert had never much cared for.

There was a deep-piled rug, matching walls of unbleached duck on which apparently authentic Picassos hung. Overstuffed pieces made pleasant contrast with clean-lined blonde-birch ones. All the incidentals were familiar, down to the last ashtray of Swedish glass.

The apartment contained several bedrooms, sitting-and living-rooms, a kitchen, dining-room, and baths. Carlotta rapturously plumped herself down on the sofas and beds, testing their softness in turn. She squeaked with delight at a vanity table littered with flasks of perfume and other feminine appurtenances, and clapped blissful hands on sight of a closetful of colorful wraparounds in assorted sizes and hues.

Typically she did not wait for the men to leave, nor refresh herself with a bath. She ripped one after another of the robes from their hangers, holding them against herself for size.

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