What an odd thing, this building they now approached. It was like the remnant of some town center otherwise destroyed.
The closer they came to it, the more some primal, defensive instincts awakened inside of Bastet.
Something lived within this building, something which stirred at their approach. She could smell it now. A strange mingling of musky scents. Somehow familiar, but seemingly out of place and therefore hard to pinpoint.
"What of the queen?" Burnham asked timidly. "How goes it with the queen?" he pressed.
"The queen sleeps," Saqnos growled.
"But how do you know--"
"She sleeps," insisted Saqnos as though he did not want to be questioned. "Or she has done herself in with her own poison. She thought she could spend eternal life posing as a healer and a trader. Wandering without end, in search of what, she did not know. A torment, this lack of ambition. This lack of clarity, it destroyed her. It has driven her into a tomb of her own making, I am sure. If not, we would have heard from her long before now."
Ambition, clarity, so these were the twentieth-century words he now used for his avarice and greed, Bektaten thought. And he assumes me dead by my own hand because I did not share in his desire to clutch the entire world in one fist? And what sneering arrogance in his tone. Did he truly believe this, or did he simply desire to make his children believe it?
"But, Master, we can't be sure that--"
"Speak no more of the queen, Burnham. She is my concern and always has been, not yours."
They were only a few paces from the Cage. Its entrance was a single steel door; Bektaten was sure it was not original to the building.
The windows on all three floors were dark.
One after the other, the group filed inside. She waited until the last possible second.
Again the shock of a blind entry. But Bastet's senses were assaulted by more than just the smell of animals within--a terrible, deafening sound. Howls, barks, growls; all of them echoing madly off the bare stone walls. There were no furnishings here; just a crude staircase without a railing. It was up these stairs she darted, to the thicket of shadows at the top, so she could turn and survey the group below.
The most notable feature in the room was a large steel grate in one corner of the floor. Perhaps it had once been the entrance to some basement. Now it seemed this basement had become a pit, and from it came this chorus of ferocious barks and howls.
Was it the cat's presence that had driven these hounds to madness? Or did they react this way to all intruders?
One of the fracti stepped forward, a compact, elegantly dressed woman, her great mane of blonde hair fastened to the back of her head with a jeweled pin. She opened her handbag and dropped several raw steaks through the grate--four, five, six...Bektaten was startled to count eight in all. Not until the last one passed through the bars did the chorus of growls collapse into the moist sounds of a ravenous feast.
Eight steaks it took to quiet this horde. How many beasts were down there?
Stunned into silence, Saqnos watched the creatures eat.
"They are immortal," Saqnos finally said. "You have given the half elixir to these...dogs?"
"Yes, Master," Burnham answered. "And it has made them quite hungry. And quite strong. They were fighting beasts before, trained to hunt and kill. Now they can do both with incredible strength."
"I can see this. I can see this, Burnham." His words were almost a whisper. Was he pleased or revolted?
From her vantage point, she saw flashes of the dogs' great chocolate-colored flanks as they wrestled and fought each other for scraps of meat. Massive heads, floppy ears. Mastiffs, these dogs. Great, powerful mastiffs given even greater strength by the half elixir.
The barks resumed. The steaks were gone. Eight steaks, gone in the span of a few seconds.
Monsters. In the bowels of this building meant for the idle habits of nobility long deceased, the children of Saqnos had bred monsters.
"You wish to put Julie Stratford in here?" Saqnos asked.
"Indeed, Father," Burnham answered.
Impossible to tell if the others were as horrified as Bektaten was by this.
"Surely you do not expect her to die?" Saqnos asked.
"No. And that will be worse. She may fight them off for moments at a time. Perhaps she will recover from their wounds as we might, or as someone of your strength might. But the cycle of attack and defense and regeneration will be ceaseless. It will not end until we decide it should. It will not end until Mr. Ramsey tells us everything he knows." And then this Burnham smiled prim