What da fuck? . . .

Mark watched the area closely, his eyes going wide as a head and shoulders pushed their way upward through the ground. Even as it forced its way through the loose earth, several others began to come forth in the same manner.

"Motherfuckit!"

The lieutenant pulled his gun just as Shinia screamed. Mark jerked around in her direction only to see more figures literally breaking out of the back of the house. Any of them could have been the twin of the burglar that assaulted him.

"Shinia," he shouted as he aimed his revolver, "run!"

Mark pulled the trigger; his bullet hit home, his target spun around, arcing blood filling the air. The other twisted figures continued on toward the lieutenant. Then, Mark froze for a moment as he realized the one he had hit was still moving forward toward him.

I put a magnum round in that son'va bitch!

Mark grabbed Shinia and thrust her behind him. Leveling his weapon once more, brace-hand wrapped around the wrist of his shooting hand, he fired once more, planting a slug in the chest of the nearest attacker. This figure reeled from contact with the powerful projectile, but it also did not fall down, did not falter in its approach.

As a half-dozen of the nightmare men advanced steadily, the detective in Mark made him study them even as he fired round after round into them. They were as tall as any man, but built more like grizzly bears. And their faces, God help him, Mark shuddered, they looked like moles, like gigantic, grotesque, man-like, monster moles walking on their hind feet!

"Mark!"

Shinia's cry broke his bewitchment. As the creatures closed in, Mark fired round after round, knocking the things back, making them stagger, even laying one out flat on its back. But, no matter how severely they were hit, or how badly they bled, the things were unstoppable. As Mark tried to reload, the advancing horrors surrounded him and Shinia, one grabbing her, the others dog-piling the lieutenant. Strong as he was, he was beaten to the ground in seconds where all he could do to protect himself was curl into a ball and cover his head. After a moment, their rain of blows stopped. As the one holding Shinia took her off in the direction of the house, one other stood next to Mark, its foot on the lieutenant's chest. Through a fog of pain and blurred vision, Mark saw the scarred head and face, the broken nose and jaw of the burglar from Pendleton's house.

Wincing from the pain of his beating, Mark gasped, "hadda ya want?"

"Listen carefully, Mr. Thorner," his assailant said in an unusually high pitched voice. "We want you and Mariposa to find the mine for us. If you refuse, if you try to involve the authorities, we will kill the girl. Locate it, and we will let her go. All we want is the mine. Do I make myself clear?"

"Go ta hell," was the lieutenant's only reply.

The mouth split into a wide grin, showing two rows of needle-sharp teeth. "Been there, Mr. Thorner."

Reaching down, the brute cradled Mark's head between his two great spade hands. The thumbs curled over the top of Mark's bald scalp, and his fingers laced behind it. The rough pads scrapped against Mark's cheeks as he felt himself being lifted off the ground.

"I could crush your skull like an egg, if I wanted to." The thing pressed his palms together, forcing Mark to grimace in pain. Then the pressure let up. "But I have my orders. For now you are necessary, but that will change in time, and I can wait." He then shifted his hands to Mark's neck and belt. In a move he picked up the larger man and then threw him away. The lieutenant remained where he fell, winded. Exhausted. Exactly how long he lay there he did not know, but his attention was commanded when he felt something walk onto his chest.

It was Bastet. The cat sniffed at him, licked at his face a few times, then curled up next to him, waiting until Mariposa arrived. Wordlessly, the librarian helped Mark to his feet and into the buggy. Then they returned to the boarding house.

Fortunately Mark's injuries were relatively minor, just bruising and minor cuts. The way the landlady and her daughter fused over him, however, one might think he was on his deathbed. He was glad when Mariposa finally dismissed them.

Once they were gone, the librarian asked, "Do you feel well enough to accompany me?"

"Yah, sure doc," and he demonstrated it by getting painfully out of bed. "I just need ta work the kinks out, that's all." He then started stripping off his suit.

"Good," Mariposa responded, "since I do not want to be separated after this. Despite what you were told, we can not count on being left unmolested."

"I'd give odds on you bein' right about that," Mark agreed as he began putting on his new cowboy clothes.

"By the way, have you noticed that Shinia's things were also taken by the kidnappers?"

"Even her new stuff," remarked Mark. "That don't make sense, doc; I mean, take it from me, kidnappers ain't that solicitous."

"Precisely," Mariposa agreed, "which suggests that they must have had an ulterior motive."

Mark frowned. "We bought the clothes for cross-country travelin'. They must be plannin' on doin' the same. Maybe followin' us to the mine."

"Sound supposition. Except why take Shinia along?"

Mark shrugged. "To use her as a hostage maybe; to get us to surrender once we find it."

"Perhaps," Mariposa mused. Then he hesitated, "There may be an alternative explanation."

"I know where yer goin'," answered Mark. He paused after slipping on one boot so as to look his companion in the eye. "She wasn't kidnapped; it was just an act so she could get away from us." As he slipped the other boot on he asked; "But why, doc? She don't know where the mine is, so she can't get there ahead of us. If they left us alone, we would have gone right there, and they could have moved in on us then."

Standing, the lieutenant added, "Worse yet, if they ain't workin' with her, then they got no idea what our relationship is. For all they know we could be overjoyed to get rid of one partner. And if she is one of them, why would she not want to be where she could keep an eye on us?"

"If I admit that I have no answers, will you admit either answer could be correct?"

Mark understood the librarian's logic. Rather than comment, however, he stood up and posed before Mariposa, asking, "How do I look, doc?"

Mariposa nodded; answering, "Very authentic." The cat purred. Mark grinned, but then put on his derby instead of a cowboy hat. When the librarian commented, the lieutenant answered, "Look, I'm outta my depth here. Usually when I tackle these weirder than weird kinda cases I've got some heavy duty back-up. Here, I don't even have a call box I can count on. I'm workin' blind, surrounded by trees and drawin' on empty. I need something of the familiar to keep my nerves steady."

"I think you may find that hat's protection inappropriate for where we will have to go, but I know better than to push you unnecessarily; suit yourself. Do you know your way around a horse, lieutenant?"

"Two years in the cavalry in the war, another after that in the NYPD mounted patrol."

"Then," Mariposa said with a smile, "let us ride."

The outfitter's establishment was not an impressive sight. It was a simple, long, single-story building, plain and unassuming, with an open corral in the back and to one side. Inside, however, the place took on the look of a far more professional organization than one would assume from the look of the outside. The place was a showroom, with samples or photographs of everything they offered. It was also kept in exceedingly good order — not a speck of dust was there to be seen, not even drifting within sunbeams. On the walls were maps of the local area and photographs of various notables who had used the establishment's services, including one of a large overweight man standing next to Teddy Roosevelt, who was himself standing over a dead grizzly bear.

As they entered, Mark and Mariposa were approached by the man in the photograph next to the former President. He was older, and if anything even fatter, with wispy blond hair, a ruddy face, and a double chin. But his step was quick and light for his bulk, and his eyes glittered with excitement. The lieutenant liked him instantly, if for no other reason than he did not look like an Aurum native.

"Pleas'd ta meech ya," he said in a jolly but grating voice, "I'm Samu'l Wat'rfurd; my fri'nds call me Sam."

The two men introduced themselves and the cat, who balanced itself on the librarian's shoulders. Extending one puffy hand, Sam seemed somewhat of a clown, but when Mark took his hand the man's grip made him wince.

"Sorry 'bout that," Sam said, grinning. "Sometim's I git carri'd away."

"Mark, I would like you to see to the weapons while I arrange the supplies. Sam, we will need a suitable rifle and pistol combination, for hunting and self-protection."

"Okey-dokey, perfess'r," the outfitter replied with a wink. "Let's go out back, Mark," he added with an expansive sweep of his hand. Mark followed the man out to a make-shift shooting range next to the corral. "Whatcha think you'll need?"

"Like the Doc said, somethin' for huntin' and 'self-protection', with emphasis on the protection part."

Sam nodded and turned to a guide who was waiting nearby. At the large man's instruction he retrieved and laid out two rifles and two pistols, along with magazines and a couple of oddly-shaped objects.

"What experience do ya have with guns?"

Mark smiled sarcastically. "I know which end the lead comes out of."

"That's a start," smiled Sam. "Recognize any o' these?"

Mark picked up one of the pistols.

"Colt M1911A1 .45 caliber semi-automatic. Takes a seven-round clip --" he picked up one of the magazines and rammed it into place, then cocked the gun "-- fires one round at'a time." He then aimed down the range and squeezed off three shots in rapid succession at the far target. "Good stopping power."

"We also got these here drum magazin's," Sam explained, picking up the second gun and one of the odd objects -- a thing looking like a hockey puck with a standard magazine sticking out of it. Sam inserted the magazine end into the pistol. As Mark stared admiringly, Sam continued, saying, "They conta'n twenty-one rounds 'n they allow ya ta stick it out in'a firefight long'r than yer oppon'nt."

He handed the pistol to Mark, who admired the awkward-looking weapon's surprising balance. The lieutenant fired a half-dozen rounds to test it and found he had no trouble keeping the gun steady. At the same time Sam had picked up one of the rifles. Mark put the pistol down and examined the new weapon as Sam passed it to him. He found it beautiful, smooth and streamlined, with a curved handgrip built into the stock and a scope mounted on the barrel. Mark recognized the make, but not the model.

"This is a Winchest'r Model 70 thirty-aught-six bolt acti'n Feath'rweight rifle. They jest started mak'ng 'em last year. It tak's a five-round clip like so. . . ." He held up a small metal frame containing five bullets, then he inserted it into the rifle's magazine. He pulled out the frame, which was now empty, closed the magazine, and pumped the bolt. He then offered the weapon to Mark who took it. It, too, was well-balanced, and lighter than he expected.

"Five rounds ain't alot," he commented.

"It's me'nt ta be us'd fer hunt'ng 'n fer snip'ng, not fight'ng. That's what the pist'ls 'r fer."

Mark lifted the rifle to his shoulder and looked into the scope. The target was large and clear. He pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet holed the target slightly to the right of center. He worked the bolt, fired again, and placed an inch closer to dead center. Mariposa came out of the building, Bastet still perched on his shoulders as Mark handed the rifle back to Sam.

"What do you think?" he asked, gesturing toward the arsenal.

Mark pulled at his chin with mock surprise, then answered innocently, "Gee, expectin' trouble?"

"I don't know," Mariposa mused, "there are numerous aspects of this affair that trouble me. Let us just say that I would rather be prepared than not."

"Yeah," Mark agreed. "I like the cut'a yer jib, mister."

"It will take us at least twelve hours to reach our destination, so I want to leave here no later than five tomorrow morning. Can you have everything ready by then, Sam?"

"Yepper, perfess'r. You'll be outfitt'd with four hors's, map 'n comp'ss, camp'ng equipm'nt, five day's food, canteens, two rifl's, two pist'ls, 300 rounds of .45 calib'r ammunition, 'n 100 rounds of thirty-aught-six ammunition."

"Sounds fine, Sam," Mariposa replied. "My companion and I will be leaving now. We will want to return at four AM; that gives you enough time, yes, Sam?"

"Easy as pie, perfess'r, everyth'ng will be re'dy."

The trio returned to the boarding house and retired after an early meal. In keeping with Mariposa's concern that they not be separated, they slept in the same bed. Mark was not overly concerned about such an arrangement given the circumstances, though he was somewhat amused that Mariposa wore a fresh set of silk formal gentleman's pajamas while he simply stripped down to his shorts. He was grateful, however, that Mariposa neither snored, nor tossed and turned. In fact, the librarian lay on his back as if dead, with his arms crossed over his chest like some Egyptian mummy.

Mark, though, found it difficult to sleep; apparently he was more worried about Shinia than he was willing to admit, even to himself. What he could not determine, though, was exactly why he was bothered. A few days ago he had sneered at the possibility he might feel something for her, but now he felt forced to admit things may have gotten out of his control. From the first moment he had met her he had understood that she was not like any woman he had previously known, or was ever likely to know. He could not decide if that was a good thing, but he hoped it was, for there was no denying the hold she had over him.

Then suddenly, he felt a slight tremor in the mattress. Looking down towards the foot of the bed he saw Bastet standing there staring at him, its eyes glowing faintly in the weak moonlight. The lieutenant felt no apprehension. Even though he had never thought of himself as a cat lover, somehow he felt comfortable around Bastet -- almost as if he could count on the animal to watch over him like a guardian angel.

"You wouldn't have any advice for the lovelorn, would ya?" he whispered to it. It's only response was to lay down, folding its legs beneath it, and to begin to purr. For some reason that made Mark feel better, and he rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes, falling into a deep and restful sleep in moments, a desperately needed slumber he would enjoy for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Sam was as good as his word. When they arrived, two of the horses were already packed and ready to go, and the other two were just being saddled. Mark was stiff and sore from the beating he took the day before, and he wasn't looking forward to a long day's riding, but once he got into the saddle he actually felt better. It felt strangely comfortable, like being home again. He quickly checked his mount. A canteen was slung onto his saddle horn and a bedroll was draped over the back. He had one of the rifles in a saddle mount, easily accessible. Sam gave him one of the pistols, which he slipped into his shoulder holster. One saddle bag contained two of the drum magazines, a dozen regular pistol magazines, and a half-dozen rifle clips. The other saddle bag contained an assortment of small pieces of gear, including a tinderbox, a compass, and a few bags of what Sam called "trail mix". Mark opened one and poured a bit of the contents into his hand; it was a mixture of peanuts and other nuts, raisins and bits of other dried fruits, and pieces of semi-sweet chocolate. He popped the handful into his mouth, tasted it, and pronounced it good.

For some odd reason the cat preferred to stay with him instead of Mariposa. It stood on the railing of the corral, watching the preparations, but when Mariposa called to it, it jumped onto Mark's bedroll instead. It turned around a couple of times, then settled itself and closed its eyes in contentment. Mariposa gave Mark a half-amused look, but made no comment. For his part Mark was somewhat embarrassed, but since Mariposa didn't seem to mind he decided not to worry about it.

Sam handed Mark the reins to the pack horses as Mariposa eased his mount on out of the corral. He then turned immediately towards the Bothar mansion. Sam wished them luck and Mark shook his hand. Then he tugged on the lead pack horse to get both moving and followed the librarian.

Mark was somewhat concerned about another ambush, and so he kept his pistol handy, but they reached the ruins without incident. Mariposa steered clear of the house, then stopped to scan the hills ahead of them. When Mark caught up with him, he pointed towards a jumble of rocks at the top of a ridge.

"That is our first landmark."

Mark looked, but he couldn't see anything that made them any more unique than the other rock jumbles he saw, but this was Mariposa's expedition; he was just along for the ride, so he kept his misgivings to himself.

As Mariposa predicted, the trip took all day. The librarian navigated a complex, weaving route of landmarks and compass headings that left Mark confused and misdirected. After awhile he stopped trying to follow along and simply watched the passing scenery. Once they had reached the ridge they descended the other side towards a cut between two mountains. They followed that to a pass over one of the mountains and ascended it through a thick pine forest. It was then that Mark really appreciated the clothes he wore. They not only protected him from the branches, but were too tough to tear. Mariposa was similarly dressed, though he looked more like a farmer in his pair of bib overalls. Despite the librarian's prediction, Mark's tough derby held up just fine, but occasionally it got swept off his head by an especially obnoxious branch. Each time, however, the cat eagerly retrieved it for him.

The pass was above the tree line, but once they crossed it, they could see ahead of them what looked like a forested bowl-shaped valley nestled between a cluster of four mountains. Mariposa took a compass bearing and they began their descent towards it. Soon they were in the trees again, and they didn't emerge the rest of the trip. They didn't stop except to rest the horses after climbing the pass, so Mark made liberal use of the canteen and the trail mix. Mariposa seemed to hardly eat or drink at all. Once they were in the valley proper, the cat decided to go off exploring on its own. Mark mentioned it to Mariposa, but he seemed unconcerned. Mark wondered aloud about predators, but Mariposa stated nonchalantly that anything they might meet would be in greater danger from Bastet than they would be from it.

Mark had a chance to find out what Mariposa was talking about when in the afternoon they surprised a grizzly bear rooting through a rotting log. It stood barely a dozen feet in front of them, roaring and waving its paws in the air. Mark expected it to charge, and he reached for the rifle, but Mariposa forestalled him with a raised hand. Then Mark saw Bastet between Mariposa and the bear. The cat calmly walked to within three feet of it, tail in the air, as if expecting to play. The bear looked down at it and Mark waited for it to attack the cat. Instead it quieted, backed up a couple of paces, and got down on all fours. It then sniffed at the cat, which stood nose-to-nose with it. Finally it snuffled, turned, and ambled off without further fuss. Mark pushed his hat back on his head and gave Mariposa such a look of astonished surprise that the librarian couldn't help laughing.

They reached their destination just as the sun was disappearing behind one the mountains. It was a large clearing set against a steep cliff. Inside it were a dozen rustic wooden shacks of various sizes, all in need of repair, but most surprisingly in good condition. It was obvious to Mark that this was the camp where the mine workers lived. That meant the mine had to be close by.

Fortunately the sky remained bright enough for them to make camp. They unpacked and unsaddled the horses and put them in what appeared to have been a stable. Mariposa had Mark feed them and fill the water trough from a nearby stream as he moved the packs into what was probably a barracks. When Mark joined him, he saw that it was filled with double-decker bunk beds, all of which had collapsed. At one end, however, was a large hearth with a cooking area. Mariposa sent Mark out to fetch kindling and firewood while he unpacked the food and the cooking gear. Then as he prepared supper, Mark unrolled their bed rolls and unpacked the rifles and the rest of the ammunition. He loaded all the weapons and set them within easy reach.

Mariposa turned out to be just as good a trail cook as a kitchen chef, and Mark ate his fill of stew, biscuits, and apple cobbler. After the food had been repacked and hung from the rafters out of reach of scavengers, and the cooking gear was cleaned and put away for morning, he and Mariposa lay on their bed rolls before the fire, relaxing. Sam had seen fit to include a bottle of whiskey, and they both mixed some of it in their coffee.

The cat had disappeared outside after eating; when Mark asked after it, Mariposa explained it was surveying the lay of the land and getting acquainted with the local wildlife. Mark could contain his curiosity no longer. "If ya don't mind my askin', doc, what's with you and that cat?"

Mariposa kept silent for about a minute as he considered his answer. "You strike me as being entirely at ease with our situation, despite its more outré elements."

"You can say that again, doc. Back in New York, I'm the resident expert on the strange and unusual."

"Then I believe I can be honest with you, as long as you pledge to keep it to yourself."

"I can keep a secret when I have ta, yah."

"Are you familiar with Bast?"

Mark frowned a moment as he thought. "Wasn't she the Egyptian goddess of cats?"

Mariposa seemed surprised. "You are unusually well informed, Mr. Thorner."

The lieutenant grinned. "Just because I'm a cop doesn't mean I'm ignorant. I was two years at NYU before I joined the Marines."

"My apologies, Mr. Thorner; you are of course quite right. However, Bast was not actually a goddess of cats, though cats were, excuse me, are her sacred animal. She was a goddess of pleasure and represented the gentle warmth of the sun, which fertilized the fields. She loved music, dancing, and celebrations in all forms, especially erotic ones, and she presided over sexual intimacy, especially within the family. She was also a protective spirit, guarding men against diseases and evil spirits.

"Her city was Bubastis, capital of the eighteenth nome of Lower Egypt. At one time, during the twenty-second dynasty when the Libyans ruled as Pharaohs, it became the capital of the empire. Yet it was in the fourth century BC when she achieved the height of her popularity. Her temple in the city was the most beautifully decorated in all of the two kingdoms. A great, joyful annual fair was held there, and hundreds of thousands of devout citizens would attend. They would journey by barge, playing flutes and castanets and replicas of the sacred sistrum. Women would gather along the banks of the Nile, and trade jokes with the pilgrims who would clown for them. In the city itself every excuse for engaging in pleasurable activity was indulged, and men and women engaged in free and open sexual antics. On the day of the ceremony a grand procession began at the gates of the city; it wound its way through the streets to the temple, growing ever larger as more people joined the march, but it was no solemn affair. It was a joyous revelry, with singing and dancing and comic entertainment. Afterwards, a raucous festival was held that lasted until dawn the next day, during which there was much feasting, and more wine was drunk than during all the rest of the year. The celebrants would participate in burlesque and farcical theatre, unrestrained indulgence of all varieties, and libertine exploits. It was not unusual for groups of pilgrims and city dwellers to engage in sexual orgies in which the normal bonds of marriage were temporarily disregarded."

Mariposa fell silent for a moment. Mark had been listening with keen interest. Though the librarian's voice was quiet, it had an intensity that compelled his attention. He could almost believe the scholar had actually been there.

"During the fair, a new high priestess would be consecrated in a public ceremony as the living embodiment of the goddess. She would reign for a year, then give up her position to her successor. She was the de facto and titular head of the cult, but she had a partner, a consort, who acted as high priest, though he had no political power or religious authority, just spiritual eminence. In contrast to the high priestess, he was consecrated in private, by the goddess herself, since he was technically the consort of Bast and not the priestess. He was sealed in a secret chamber inside the heart of the temple. There the goddess would come to him and make love with him. If she approved of him, she would send one of her servitors to him, who would show him the concealed exit. He would then reign beside the high priestesses until his death, which, unless he was killed, was often a long time coming, since the consort was blessed with an inordinately long life. Those whom the goddess did not approve of were allowed to die of dehydration, trapped within the chamber.

"Of course, most modern scholars believe that it was the high priestess who came to him and made the choice, then either brought him out or had him killed. Whatever the truth may be, as the favorite of Bast he was expected to serve the high priestess, the incarnation of the goddess, both in her bed and in the temple."

"That all very interestin', doc, but it doesn't explain the cat."

"You don't remember me, do you?" he suddenly asked.

Surprised, Mark stared at him for some moments. "Should I?"

"You were in the war." It wasn't a question, so he said nothing and waited.

"June, 1918; the Battle for Belleau Wood. You were part of the 4th Marine Brigade of the 2nd U.S. Division."

"So?"

"During the second week; do you remember a group of British and French soldiers who reinforced your platoon and saved it from being overrun by a German charge?"

"Of course."

"They were led by a British captain who kept a small black cat as a mascot."

The light was starting to dawn. "Yah," he said tentatively.

"I was that captain."

Mark shook his head, not in disbelief, but in wry amusement; he should have guessed.

"So you're sayin' you're one of those priests. I'm sorry, doc, but ya don't look Egyptian."

Mariposa smiled wryly himself. "Close, Mr. Thorner; I am 'one of those priests', but I am nowhere near that old. And you are partially right, I am not Egyptian, at least not entirely so. My father was British, primarily of Norman-Anglo Saxon descent, but with a healthy contribution of Welsh Celt thrown in from his mother's family. He was an officer in the army serving in Egypt. There he met, fell in love with, and married a woman who could trace her ancestry back unbroken to the last high priestess of Bast, on her mother's side; her father was Arabian. I was born in England, on the estate of my paternal grandmother, in the Cotswolds of the Severn Valley, in 1875. I was a studious child and early on displayed a talent and love for scholarship, thanks largely to my mother and grandmother, who despite initial misgivings soon became fast friends and a formidable partnership. My father had expected me to make a career in the army, but they overruled him, much to his amused consternation. Despite his plans, I loved him dearly and he doted on me. It was a supreme tragedy that he died when I was sixteen.

"I went to Oxford and studied what passed for archaeology in that day. A few years after graduation I was invited to join an expedition to Shedet, known to the Greeks as Crocodilopolis, the chief sanctuary of Sebek, the crocodile god. We spent a year there, excavating a newly discovered temple complex outside the city. At one point, however, desert nomads raided our camp and I was kidnapped. My captors took me far into the desert where they left me to die in a patch of quicksand. Instead, I fell through a hole in the roof of an underground tomb complex and survived.

"I won't bore you with the details of how I explored the complex looking for a way out. After three days, however, I was nearly dead from thirst when I emerged into a giant chamber that had been fashioned into a great temple. At its center was a pool or fountain that had dried up millennia ago. Unable to go any further, I collapsed beside it and drifted off into unconsciousness. I thought I would die, but instead I dreamed. I was in ancient Egypt, in the great temple in Bubastis, and I was being prepared to become the consort of Bast. I was led in to the secret chamber and the entrance sealed behind me. The goddess appeared before me. We disrobed and copulated; afterwards she told me I was worthy. She then summoned one of her servitors and disappeared. The servitor, in appearance a small black cat with liquid green-gold eyes, showed me the secret exit and we appeared before the temple hierarchy, amid much celebration.

"I awoke, and there sitting in front of me was Bastet. She meowed at me, and in the same instant the fountain came to life and filled the pool with fresh water. I drank my fill and Bastet led me up out of the temple and above ground. She then guided me back across the desert to Shedet. She has been with me ever since.

"To answer your original question, the best way to describe her relationship to me is as a familiar. She is my conduit to the goddess; through her I can . . . interact with Bast. She is also my companion, guardian, teacher, and guide. Her sole purpose for existence is to serve and defend me; if necessary she will give her life to keep me safe. In return I am expected to serve the goddess. That means primarily that I am to protect mankind from evil; secondarily I am to serve and defend the high priestess. Bast still incarnates human women, but rarely now; at present there is no high priestess."

"Ya mentioned the priest could live a long time. Ya haven't changed a bit in twenty-one years. How long can ya expect to live?"

"As with the high priestess, the consort only serves for a year; unlike the high priestess, he dies at the end of his term. However, the gift of Bast is that, as long as he remains faithful, for each solar year that passes he ages but one day. I became the consort of Bast in 1901; I can expect to see the year 2253."

Mark whistled, then he said, "Wait a minute, that's only 352 years."

Mariposa nodded. "Bastet has fulfilled her ultimate obligation to me twelve times so far. Each time I voluntarily surrendered a year of my life to restore her."

Mark pushed his hat back. "But it's just a cat, I grant ya a very special cat, but still nothin' more than that. Why give up part of your life for it?"

Mariposa didn't respond right away. He first looked at Mark intently. "Wouldn't you 'give up part of your life' to restore your recently dead friend?"

At first too shocked to speak, Mark then blurted out angrily, "How the fuckin' hell did you know about that!?"

"The morning back in Aurum, when you and Shinia were shopping for clothes, I placed a long distance call to New York and spoke with your captain. He told me about your recent past. He also confirmed your unique position in the police department, and your special relationship with Anton Zarnak. It was based on that information that I believed I could trust you, both with this expedition and with my story."

Mark made no reply. Instead, he stared into fire for some time. Finally he said, "So what happens tomorrow?"

"The mine is above us, about midway up the cliff face. The first thing tomorrow morning we climb up and look for it."

"And then?"

"I honestly do not know, Mr. Thorner. I suspect that once we find it our adversaries will make themselves known to us. Hopefully we will then be able to get Shinia back and leave."

"How likely do ya think that will be?"

"It depends upon two factors."

"Whether Shinia is in cahoots with them, or if not whether they care we know where the mine is," Mark finished for him.

"Exactly."

"I doubt they'll just let us go in any event, so I'm damn glad we've got all that ammo. I have ta tell ya, though, I haven't decided about Shinia."

"I have my suspicions."

"Care ta share them?"

"There are indications -- rumors mostly -- that the Bothar family trafficked with outré beings, especially while living in Aurum."

"Come again?"

"Are you familiar with a town in Massachusetts called Innsmouth?"

Mark grimaced. "Yah, doc, I am, and for once I'm way ahead of ya. I worked a bootlegging case in '31. A gang had established itself in Brooklyn and was usin' the 'fish-frogs' to bring in bathtub gin made in Innsmouth." Mark then gave Mariposa a lopsided grin. "You think there are fish-frogs in Colorado?"

Mariposa returned it with a cryptic smile of his own. "Or the terrestrial equivalent."

Suddenly Mark had a flash of inspiration. "Mole people!" he said, snapping his fingers.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mole people! You know, 'The Curse of the Mole People', Universal Pictures, 1937." Mariposa gave him a quizzical look. Mark replied in exasperation, "Don't'cha go to the movies? A trio of scientists find a lost civilization underground bein' ruled over by a bunch of monsters that look like giant moles."

"I'm afraid I'm not following you."

But Mark waved it off. "Forget about the movie. Just think about it for a moment. The mook that broke into Pendleton's Cairnsford house, the people in Aurum, they all look like moles. Kind of like the 'Innsmouth look', see? And those goons that took Shinia --"

"I'm sorry, but what 'goons'?" Mariposa interrupted quietly.

Mark blinked in surprise. "Didn't I tell you about them?"

Mariposa shook his head, so Mark described them, in excruciating detail. Mariposa listened intently, his hand on his chin, then ruminated in silence for some minutes. Finally he nodded and said, "What you say makes logical sense. There is no reason to believe that the Deep Ones or the ghouls would be the only outré beings that miscegenate with humans. As a matter of fact, I've read about a race of creatures that live underground and look and act like moles, but are civilized and live in cities. They are often referred to as the 'Tulpans', though they serve as the basis for such legends as the Knockers of Cornwall, the Erdluitles of Switzerland, the Korred of Brittany, and the Red Caps of Scotland. They are said to infiltrate isolated human communities, giving wealth and prosperity but demanding a mixture of blood lines in payment. That could very well be the case in this instance."

"So what can we do about it?"

"I'm afraid nothing. We can be forearmed, but short of returning to Aurum there is nothing we can do to prevent whatever is going to happen. It is, however, unlikely that the Tulpans are directly involved. Chances are this is the work of the human-derived hybrids, possibly instigated by a Bothar or some other Aurum native. Unfortunately, we can only wait and see. In any event, it is getting late, and tomorrow promises to be eventful, so we should retire."

"What about keepin' a watch?"

"I doubt our adversaries will involve themselves until we have found the mine. Besides, Bastet is organizing a watch even as we speak. She will alert us if any threat appears."

"Whatever you say, doc."

The next morning, Mariposa arose before Mark, made the fire, fed and watered the horses, and started breakfast. The smell of coffee dragged the detective awake. He expected to be sore after a day's riding, but was surprised to find himself only slightly stiff. He was, however, famished, and wolfed down the eggs, bacon, and french toast the librarian had made as the two of them discussed strategy. Their decision was simple: find and verify the mine, then camp at its entrance and await their adversaries.

Technically, of course, they would be trapped there, with their enemies in control of the valley floor. However, their only interest was in recovering Shinia and then escaping, and their rifles would give them a powerful negotiating advantage from their vantage point. The narrow trail would make it impossible for their pursuers to rush them and they could pick off anyone who tried to reach them. At night they would have to rely on their pistols, but if they kept a large fire going and took turns keeping watch, no one could sneak up on them. Besides, Mariposa told his partner, they had Bastet; and she had allies that would besiege their attackers during the night, and cover them as they made their escape. Mark was not certain how much faith to put in the idea of a cat's allies helping them, but it was the best plan they had, and he was eager to save Shinia.

After breakfast, as Mariposa cleaned up and put the camp in order, Mark prepared for their exploration. Sam had seen fit to include a couple of bullseye lanterns and a gallon of oil in individual pint-size containers. He filled them, then packed the remaining bottles in a rucksack between a couple of blankets. In a second knapsack he loaded the two pistols and all the ammunition, plus the remainder of the trail mix and the biscuits from the night before, as well as some beef jerky, a few cans of meat and vegetables, the sack of coffee, and, of course, the whiskey. He then filled their canteens. If they were judicious, the food and water could last them a few days, hopefully enough time to convince their adversaries it would be best to just let them go.

When they were ready to leave, they helped each other on with their sacks, loaded and checked the rifles, then started off. Mark looked around for Bastet, but did not spot the cat. When he asked Mariposa about it, the librarian replied that his friend would be keeping watch on them from a distance.

From the camp the cliff face looked formidable, but at the base a rough trail carved out by erosion and improved by the hand of man became obvious. Even so, no one would be able to see it unless they were standing right next to it. The climb was still difficult, especially with the sacks on their backs, but not impossible. There were a few places where they had to hug the rock wall, and parts of the trail were steep, a few places extremely so. Twenty years worth of rain and snow had also damaged the trail, creating a layer of scree and piles of rubble which made their footing treacherous. Nonetheless they finally made it to the top.

The trail ended at a small but wide ledge. Behind it, in the cliff face, was a small opening partially obscured by rocks. They shook off their sacks and cleared away the debris to find a tunnel leading down and back into the cliff. The pair stowed their rifles and removed the lanterns, pistols, and several bottles of oil. They placed the oil in a small drawstring bag, and filled their pockets with pistol magazines. Lighting one of the lanterns, Mark peered into the opening. The passageway was large enough for a man to stand erect, but too narrow for more than two men to stand abreast. Mark placed the lantern inside, then crawled in after it. Once he was through Mariposa handed his lantern in to the lieutenant, then joined him.

The downward grade they found was gentle and they had no trouble negotiating it. The floor had been worn smooth with decades of traffic and there was only a minimum of erosion damage. The walk was a long one; an hour according to Mariposa's watch. Finally, however, they emerged into a fair-sized cave. Immediately they saw the walls were encrusted with large outcroppings of crystals. Embedded in the crystals were lumps of dull yellow metal. The pair walked over to the nearest clump and, using the butt of his pistol, Mark knocked a fist-sized nodule of metal loose. He gingerly extracted it from the crystal matrix and held it in the open palm of his hand. It was not rounded and smooth like he expected it to be. In fact, it had facets like the quartz crystals, though the edges were not as sharp.

"I assume that's gold," he said hoarsely, his voice cracking on the last word. Mariposa was more collected.

"Indeed. And by the look of it, pure elemental gold as well. This whole mountain range was formed by magma that created batholiths underground. The overlying soil eroded away, exposing the solidified magma as granite mountains. Later, fresh magma was extruded into the mountains, forming pipes. Quartz crystallized out of the magma and formed a bed onto which the gold crystallized as the magma cooled."

He paused long enough to shine his light around the cave. The walls, ceiling, and even the floor were studded with dozens of quartz outcroppings, and each contained gold nodules of varying sizes. "From the looks of the place, there may be several million dollars worth of gold just on the surface alone."

Mark's head swam. "How deep could these pipes go?"

Mariposa's quiet voice was even more hushed than usual. "Impossible to say. At least a couple of hundred yards, perhaps half a mile, conceivably several miles."

Mark whistled as he absently pocketed the nodule in his hand. "If that's true, doc, then this mine could be worth billions!"

"At least that much, gentlemen."

At the sound of Shinia's voice Mark's heart leapt, but any joy at seeing her again was strangled when he and Mariposa turned their lanterns toward her voice. She stood just inside the cave, wearing her western clothing, and pointing one of their own rifles directly at them. Beside her was the burglar, the other rifle held clumsily in his own oversized hands. Behind them were an assortment of those fellows who resembled the burglar. They were unarmed, but Mark knew they did not need anything more than their formidable size and strength. The lieutenant made a slow, surreptitious reach for his gun, but Shinia leveled hers at his gut.

"Don't, Mark; I'd rather not have to shoot you." Mark hesitated, understood the hard tone of her voice, and dropped his arm back to his side.

"That's better. Now, take it out -- slowly -- and drop it on the ground. You too, Professor." Both men complied. Once they were unarmed, Shinia and the burglar stepped aside to admit their fellows. They relieved Mark and Mariposa of their lanterns and ammunition; one tried to remove the gold nodule from Mark's pocket, but Shinia laughed, saying, "No, let him keep that. He deserves some reward for his hard work on our behalf."

The two men were then taken to one side of the cave and had their hands tied behind their backs. They were then forced to sit. Their guns and ammo were put in the sack with the oil bottles and left beside them, but far out of reach. At that point the burglar turned to Shinia and asked, "All right, it's done; we want our payment."

Shinia gave him a hard look, but then smiled with sanguine sarcasm and gestured around them. "It's there for the taking; help yourselves." Though the inhuman features were hard to read, the burglar looked shocked and genuinely surprised. Then his face was split by a hideous grin filled with needle-sharp teeth.

"Hear that boys?" he bellowed, his words echoing fainting around the chamber. "Help ourselves, she says!" His mates replied with a stupendous collective roar, and they rushed to the walls and began clawing gold out the various nodules. The more normal among them let their more monstrous companions do most of the digging, while they sorted gold from quartz and loaded the former in knapsacks. But the burglar made no move.

Shinia looked at him impatiently and asked, "Aren't you going to join your friends?"

"I'll get my share, don't worry, but I want something more."

"What?" Shinia said suspiciously.

"Him," he said, pointing to Mark. Shifting his finger's aim toward his scarred and disfigured head, he added, "I owe him for this."

Shinia sighed with relief, though she managed to feign sadness. "Very well, if you want him badly enough. Now leave us alone, I want to have one last talk with them."

The goon nodded, then grinned maliciously at Mark. Shinia watched him go, then turned her attention to her former companions. At first she merely stared at them, saying nothing. Mariposa maintained a calm, neutral expression, but Mark was seething, both from the betrayal and the hurt of a broken heart. Even so, things were starting to fall into place.

"You had this planned from the beginnin', that night in Pat's apartment. You played me for a sucker, just as you planned to do with Pat."

Shinia knelt beside the lieutenant, staring at him hard as she said, "You're right, Mark. At first I intended to just use you, as muscle, a distraction, protection if necessary -- I seduced you, sexually and emotionally. It was laughably easy. I've known men like you all my life, lonely misogynists masquerading as ladies' men. I learned very early how to manipulate you all, and it worked on you as it worked on the rest before you. But then something happened I hadn't expected. You may not believe this, but I fell in love with you."

Mark snorted in derision, but Shinia smiled. "It's true. I had decided to make you a partner, as long as you consented to stay with me."

"Some partnership."

"Yes, well, it's not too late. If you join with me, you can still get an equal share of the mine's output."

"Won't your friend object?" he asked, nodding to the burglar, who was busy with his companions.

"He can be taken care of; in fact, will be, quite shortly. You see, he and his bunch were never my true allies."

Mariposa narrowed his eyes, but Mark said, "What about the doc? Will he be a partner as well?"

Created: October 28, 2006