The House of Doors - 01 by Brian Lumley

Author:Brian Lumley [Lumley, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1990-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

“Desert!” Turnbull called down from the top of the dune. “White, glaring desert in all directions. And thataway”—he pointed at something the others couldn’t yet see—“is a mountain range. Don’t ask me how far, could be five miles or fifteen—or just a mirage. Everything shimmers. But … is there something glinting up there? A mirror? A piece of glass or crystal? Windows?” He shrugged. “If we’re going anywhere, I’d guess that’s our destination. Anywhere else is nowhere.”

“Is that it?” Gill called back. “No trees anywhere? Buildings? Ruins?” He sat at the foot of the dune, roughly where the door had been, and gazed at the drifts of sand all about. His jacket felt rough against his shoulders and back, for now Angela was wearing his shirt. It gave her back something of modesty and protected her from the sun. For it was broad daylight here, and hot; something less than twenty minutes had gone by since their arrival; sufficient time that they’d all made their adjustments and recovered their senses.

“That’s it,” Turnbull answered. “A few kites in the sky far off—birds of some sort, anyway. Nothing else. Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, this isn’t Earth. As well as that sun up there”—directly overhead was a small, blinding white orb—“there’s another one low on the horizon. And a big moon; its craters are clearly visible.”

Gill looked at the others. Anderson was already toiling up the side of the dune, with the muttering Clayborne a little to his rear. Give the ex-Minister his due, at least he was making the best of it. He paused for a moment for a breather and wiped his brow. His foppish handkerchief was little more than a silken rag now. “Come on, let’s go!” he called down to Gill, Angela and Varre. Apparently he’d got his second wind! People seemed to make very quick recoveries … here.

Varre was examining the carcass of the quadruped. He licked his lips. “Haggie said we could eat this?”

Angela went to the thing and looked at it, said, “Oh!” and drew back. She looked shocked or disgusted—or both—Gill couldn’t say. He, too, went to look at the dead creature. It was like a fawn from tail to shoulders, but from the shoulders up its “neck” was more a tapering torso, with short, childlike arms and six-fingered hands. The face was also childlike, which is to say very nearly human. And it was female.

“Haggie would have eaten this?” Angela was appalled.

Varre looked at her curiously. “But it is an animal, a beast. It is meat.”

“Like a small centaur.” Gill shook his head in wonder, gently closed the large, sad, lifeless eyes. And to Varre: “Meat? Of course it is. So is Angela. So are you.” He shook his head again. “I couldn’t touch this. It would be like eating a legend, a kind of cannibalism.”

“You think so?” Varre lifted his eyebrows. “Come now, hardly that!” He licked his lips again, insisting, “And it is meat.”

“If you want it,” Gill told him bluntly, “you carry it.

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