It was horrible. Bradley shuddered. For a long time each sat in
silence. The Englishman could guess why the other made no sound--he
awaited the moment that sleep should overcome his victim. In the long
silence there was born upon Bradley's ears a faint, monotonous sound as
of running water. He listened intently. It seemed to come from far
beneath the floor.
"What is that noise?" he asked. "That sounds like water running
through a narrow channel."
"It is the river," replied An-Tak. "Why do you not go to sleep? It
passes directly beneath the Blue Place of Seven Skulls. It runs
through the temple grounds, beneath the temple and under the city.
When we die, they will cut off our heads and throw our bodies into the
river. At the mouth of the river await many large reptiles. Thus do
they feed. The Wieroos do likewise with their own dead, keeping only
the skulls and the wings. Come, let us sleep."
"Do the reptiles come up the river into the city?" asked Bradley.
"The water is too cold--they never leave the warm water of the great
pool," replied An-Tak.
"Let us search for the way out," suggested Bradley.
An-Tak shook his head. "I have searched for it all these moons," he
said. "If I could not find it, how would you?"
Bradley made no reply but commenced a diligent examination of the walls
and floor of the room, pressing over each square foot and tapping with
his knuckles. About six feet from the floor he discovered a
sleeping-perch near one end of the apartment. He asked An-Tak about
it, but the Galu said that no Weiroo had occupied the place since he
had been incarcerated there. Again and again Bradley went over the
floor and walls as high up as he could reach. Finally he swung himself
to the perch, that he might examine at least one end of the room all
the way to the ceiling.
In the center of the wall close to the top, an area about three feet
square gave forth a hollow sound when he rapped upon it. Bradley felt
over every square inch of that area with the tips of his fingers. Near
the top he found a small round hole a trifle larger in diameter than
his forefinger, which he immediately stuck into it. The panel, if such
it was, seemed about an inch thick, and beyond it his finger
encountered nothing. Bradley crooked his finger upon the opposite side
of the panel and pulled toward him, steadily but with considerable
force. Suddenly the panel flew inward, nearly precipitating the man to
the floor. It was hinged at the bottom, and when lowered the outer
edge rested upon the perch, making a little platform parallel with the
floor of the room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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