Old Mars

“The clues I have put together lead me to believe that the Tomb of the Martian Kings actually exists in or beneath the Crater, and within the golden tombs, I will find the one remaining copy of the sacred Book of Blaxorak, interred with the greatest of the kings. Even if the existence of the book is a myth, even if there is no truth to it whatsoever and there is nothing but a series of empty tombs, it will still be the most important historical find of the millennium.”

“Golden tombs, did you say?” said Scorpio.

“Jewel-encrusted,” replied Quedipai.

Is he telling the truth?

He believes that he is, answered Merlin.

And he’s really a scholar who specializes in this stuff?

Yes.

“Where are you staying?” asked Scorpio out loud.

“At the hotel across the street.”

“The Fallen Torch?” said Scorpio.

“Yes.”

“I suggest you go there right now and get some sleep. I plan to start this expedition at daybreak tomorrow.”

“But I have more to show and tell you,” protested the Martian.

“You’ll show and tell me along the way,” replied Scorpio. “Suddenly I’m anxious to get this show on the road.”

“But I’ve barely mentioned—”

“Your wildly evocative descriptions bring the past back to life and make me want to see it for myself,” said Scorpio, getting to his feet. “Come on, Merlin.”

“Where shall we meet?” asked the Martian.

“I’ll pick you up in your lobby at sunrise,” said Scorpio. He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “Pay my bar bill before you leave, Cutie Pie.”

Scorpio had counted out the money, the total was correct, and he drove Quedipai to the airfield in the morning.

“I have the coordinates right here,” announced the Martian, indicating his shoulder bag.

“Keep them where they are,” replied Scorpio, climbing out of the three-wheeled iron-plated vehicle, a leftover from a recent war.

“But surely you didn’t study the map long enough to pinpoint the location!” protested Quedipai.

“That’s right.”

“Then—?”

“You told me there have already been two attempts on your life,” said Scorpio, lighting a cigar. “Were you just trying to impress me, or were you telling the truth?”

“I do not lie,” said the Martian with all the dignity he could muster.

“Then that means that someone besides you thinks you know where the Tomb of the Martian Kings is,” continued Scorpio, “and you don’t have to be a master scientist to be able to track a planet-bound flyer once it’s aloft. We’ll land a couple of hundred miles from the edge of the Crater and waste a day there before we head toward it, just to put anyone who’s watching us off the scent. I’ll have plenty of time to study the map.”

Quedipai’s dark eyes opened wide. “I never considered that.”

“You don’t have to,” answered Scorpio. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

“I chose the right person for the job.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Scorpio. “We’ll leave as soon as Merlin arrives.”

“He is missing?”

“He hates driving in these landcars. He’ll be here in another minute or two.”

“Which flyer is ours?” asked Quedipai.

“That one,” answered Scorpio, pointing to the oldest, most beat-up flyer in the area.

The Martian gave his race’s equivalent of a frown. “It looks like only the dirt and the rust are holding it together.”

“If you want to treat us to a new one, be my guest.”

Suddenly Merlin trotted up. You’ll be pleased to know that the Martian dancer didn’t cry herself to sleep.

Go ahead, break my heart, responded Scorpio wordlessly. Climb into the flyer and remember you’re a pet. Don’t mess around with the controls.

“How did he know you were driving to this location?” asked Quedipai.

“This is the only place in Marsport that I ever drive to,” answered Scorpio.

Hah!

He’ll buy it, thought Scorpio confidently. Why would I lie to him? Wait until he knows you better.

I don’t lie to anyone who’s paying me a quarter million credits to stand guard while he wastes a couple of months looking for something that never existed. Well, not unless I have to, anyway. This should be a piece of cake.

I don’t eat cake.

“Shall we climb aboard?” said Scorpio to Quedipai.

The Martian ascended the stairs to the hatch, and was soon strapping himself into the cocoonlike chair. Scorpio followed suit, didn’t bother checking Merlin, who entered last and refused, as always, to be strapped or secured to anything, and soon they were aloft and heading toward the Crater, which was some seven hundred miles distant.