"Deslock? Did we leave the empty barrels with Keil or on the ship?"
"What?" Deslock looked up. "Barrels. Right. They're still in the longboat, aren't they? Wasn't about to carry them through the jungle when we didn't know where we were going. They're with Keil."
He noticed what Royka and Rhee were doing and nodded to the sailors who had followed him. "Come on, gents," he said. "We're supposed to be exploring, eh? So let's explore this place."
Admittedly, Royka and Rhee had already cleared away most of the rubble, but with Deslock and the sailors' help the rest was moved very quickly. Marneus and Jonas kept wary eyes on the door and the roof.
The door to the cellar was seasoned wood, old and battered and bound in rusted iron. To be honest, it was mostly supported by the various bits of rubbish that had lodged in the cracks over the years. The removal of a structurally key stone caused the whole thing to fall in with a dull
thud that made everyone in the tower jump.
"Make a torch or something," Deslock said. Everyone assumed he was talking to someone else for a moment or two, and then one of the sailors snatched a burning branch from the fire.
The cellar was about ten degrees colder than the ground floor of the tower, and smelled of ozone and dust. There was a rack of broken-down shelves with scattered, ancient supplies--leaking cans of rancid lantern oil, food long-since turned to dust, and a cask of wine that smelled like vinegar. Above the shelves was a glyph, carved into the cellar wall, radiating cold and a feeling like ice sliding through your skin. There was no other door besides the one that the Expedition had removed in order to enter.
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The Doctor was taking a quick bath, his clothes lying on the shore, replacing the grit, blood and sweat of the jungle with clean salt water. He dunked his head in the water and emerged from the sea to the shore--not so far, as he didn't have to go particularly deep to find water up to his neck.
He looked down at his clothes with an expression of disgust. The outfit was even more beat up than he had thought, complete taters, and there was blood on the sleeves and front. The animals had done a number on it before he was able to lose them. He turned to the tiger, which was sitting before a red mess that had once been a bird. He dressed, whistled and beckoned, and the tiger sat up, surly but obedient.
It really was odd, riding a tiger. They didn't move like horses, or any other creature, come to think of it. Nexaddo directed the beast back to the cove where the
Cepolada's longboat had beached.
This time the ride was much more relaxing, though just as fast. The doctor could enjoy the sea breeze, and he was anticipating a new find in the trap he had set earlier. Rounding the peninsula (for the third time, now) he shot down the beach toward the beached longboat. Nexaddo saw Keil sitting on the edge of the boat, tossing jerky to a crab the size of a small cat.
Good, the doctor thought,
at least Deslock was smart enough not to let him venture far.
"Hecoona my friend!" he called as soon as he was in vocal range, "How are you feeling? At first I thought Deslock crazy for allowing you to come ashore, but I see he didn't let you get very far. Where has everybody gone off to?"