dryly, âtend to mirror their mastersâ personalities. So perhaps you should keep an eye on them. â
7
Annja opened her eyes to darknessâand the cold conviction she was not alone.
The night throbbed with a samba beat from the small hotelâs nightclub a couple of floors below, audible as a bass thrum beneath the white noise of the overburdened air conditioner in the window. For a moment she lay frozen, wondering if she was having a sleep-paralysis experience.
She smelled a waft of greens and warm, moist, dark earthâ
She and Dan had spent a hot, tiring and unproductive day trolling the museums, the dark shops and bustling outdoor markets for clues to the fabled lost city of Promessa. As far as Annja was concerned it was anything but promising. For all the apparent conviction of Mafaldaâs warning to them the day before, Annja was beginning to suspect they were on a wild-goose chase. And Annja knew enough about folk beliefs and culture to understand too well that Mafaldaâs role in the community practically demanded she be a skilled actress.
But nowâ
With a sense of foreboding rising up her neck and tingling at the hinges of her jaw, Annja turned her head.
A figure stood at the foot of her bed. It was a shadow molded in the shape of a human. As she stared, the light of a streetlight and the half-moon glowed through inadequate curtains and enabled her wide eyes to resolve the form into what seemed to be an Amazonian man, short, wide shouldered, with a braided band holding long heavy hair away from what the shadows suggested was his darkly handsome face. His lean-muscled torso was bare; he appeared to be wearing only a loincloth of some sort.
As almost self-consciously quaint as this older part of Belém could be, the apparition had no more place in the climate-controlled room in a modern city than a pterodactyl or knight in armor. I donât believe in ghosts, she thought.
âI am real,â the apparition said. Did he read my mind, she wondered, or did I speak aloud?
âYou must stop asking the questions you are asking,â the man said. âPlease. Otherwise untold harm will result.â
She struggled to sit up in bed, her heart racing.
âWhat about the harm youâre doing by withholding your secrets from the world?â She said it more to see if she got a response than from any belief that such harm was being done, or that such secrets even existed. âIsnât that the ultimate selfishness?â
The man shook his head. âYou speak of things you do not understand,â he said sadly. âThere are many things you do not know, and cannot be permitted to know.â
âThatâs ridiculous.â Anger at the violation of her privacy mixed with the adrenaline of fear surged within Annja.
âYou have been warned,â the man said sorrowfully. âWe are willing to die to protect our secret. Consider what we will do to you, if we must.â His apparent sadness only added mass to the soft menace of his words.
Annja whipped the sheet clear of her with a matador twirl and jumped from the bed. The sword came into her hand.
During the eyeblink that the sheet obscured her vision, her mysterious sad-voiced visitor had vanished. As if into thin air.
Scowling ferociously, she searched the room, sword almost quivering with eagerness to strike. Sometimes it seemed to have almost a life of its own.
She didnât like to think such thoughts. They smacked of madness. She pushed them firmly from her mind.
M OMENTS LATER Annja found herself standing barefoot on the threadbare green-and-maroon flower-patterned carpet in the hallway, wrapped in a white bathrobe, aware that her hair and eyes were both wild. She did not carry the sword, since she felt a grim certainty she was much more likely to encounter alarmed innocent tourists or hotel staff than any crafty cat burglars.
What she did encounter was Dan Seddon, wearing a pair of
7
Annja opened her eyes to darknessâand the cold conviction she was not alone.
The night throbbed with a samba beat from the small hotelâs nightclub a couple of floors below, audible as a bass thrum beneath the white noise of the overburdened air conditioner in the window. For a moment she lay frozen, wondering if she was having a sleep-paralysis experience.
She smelled a waft of greens and warm, moist, dark earthâ
She and Dan had spent a hot, tiring and unproductive day trolling the museums, the dark shops and bustling outdoor markets for clues to the fabled lost city of Promessa. As far as Annja was concerned it was anything but promising. For all the apparent conviction of Mafaldaâs warning to them the day before, Annja was beginning to suspect they were on a wild-goose chase. And Annja knew enough about folk beliefs and culture to understand too well that Mafaldaâs role in the community practically demanded she be a skilled actress.
But nowâ
With a sense of foreboding rising up her neck and tingling at the hinges of her jaw, Annja turned her head.
A figure stood at the foot of her bed. It was a shadow molded in the shape of a human. As she stared, the light of a streetlight and the half-moon glowed through inadequate curtains and enabled her wide eyes to resolve the form into what seemed to be an Amazonian man, short, wide shouldered, with a braided band holding long heavy hair away from what the shadows suggested was his darkly handsome face. His lean-muscled torso was bare; he appeared to be wearing only a loincloth of some sort.
As almost self-consciously quaint as this older part of Belém could be, the apparition had no more place in the climate-controlled room in a modern city than a pterodactyl or knight in armor. I donât believe in ghosts, she thought.
âI am real,â the apparition said. Did he read my mind, she wondered, or did I speak aloud?
âYou must stop asking the questions you are asking,â the man said. âPlease. Otherwise untold harm will result.â
She struggled to sit up in bed, her heart racing.
âWhat about the harm youâre doing by withholding your secrets from the world?â She said it more to see if she got a response than from any belief that such harm was being done, or that such secrets even existed. âIsnât that the ultimate selfishness?â
The man shook his head. âYou speak of things you do not understand,â he said sadly. âThere are many things you do not know, and cannot be permitted to know.â
âThatâs ridiculous.â Anger at the violation of her privacy mixed with the adrenaline of fear surged within Annja.
âYou have been warned,â the man said sorrowfully. âWe are willing to die to protect our secret. Consider what we will do to you, if we must.â His apparent sadness only added mass to the soft menace of his words.
Annja whipped the sheet clear of her with a matador twirl and jumped from the bed. The sword came into her hand.
During the eyeblink that the sheet obscured her vision, her mysterious sad-voiced visitor had vanished. As if into thin air.
Scowling ferociously, she searched the room, sword almost quivering with eagerness to strike. Sometimes it seemed to have almost a life of its own.
She didnât like to think such thoughts. They smacked of madness. She pushed them firmly from her mind.
M OMENTS LATER Annja found herself standing barefoot on the threadbare green-and-maroon flower-patterned carpet in the hallway, wrapped in a white bathrobe, aware that her hair and eyes were both wild. She did not carry the sword, since she felt a grim certainty she was much more likely to encounter alarmed innocent tourists or hotel staff than any crafty cat burglars.
What she did encounter was Dan Seddon, wearing a pair of
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