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impetus to start moving again.
He staggered forward, steadied himself with one hand on the wall, then boosted
his pace to a painful, galumphing jog, his oversize wing-tip oxfords slapping
against the flagstone.
They ran. The place was nothing but endless corridors shunting every which
way, leading to nothing but more passageways and corridors and the occasional
crypt or alcove, all of it giving the impression of having been laid out
without design, purpose, or plan.
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I m no hero, Barnaby thought to himself. In fact, he was just the opposite. He
was more afraid now than he had ever been at any time in his life. He had told
her to go on without him as a sort of test. He didn t know what he would have
done had she left. Alone, he might have simply gone insane.
They made their way down the stone-walled corridor, Deena at a sprint, Barnaby
loping along. She reached a cross-tunnel and stopped until he caught up.
Stairs, she said, pointing to the left.
Barnaby could barely see in the gloom. Let s go, he said.
The stairwell was spiral. Deena started down the well, taking two steps at a
time, her crisp white athletic shoes glowing in the darkness.
Barnaby said, I can barely then stumbled and almost fell.
Deena halted a few turns down. Watch yourself, she warned. It s dark down
here.
Yeah, he said dully.
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They continued down, and found to their dismay that the stairwell was endless.
After five minutes of steady descent they stopped, not knowing what to do.
Go back up? Deena suggested.
Barnaby gave her an incredulous look.
Guess not. She shrugged. They gotta end sometime.
They kept on following the downward spiral for another ten minutes. The
stairwell continued with no sign of a bottom.
Shit?
It s ridiculous, Barnaby said.
Silliest damn thing, Deena complained, hands on her hips and a look of
offended dignity on her dark brown face. She sneered up, then down. Damn.
Well, if we didn t go back up before, we sure ain t gonna do it now.
Let s go.
They stumped down the stairs for another five or ten minutes. The stairwell
was bare and featureless, except for an occasional glowing jewel-torch and the
odd niche here and there.
I m really starting to get pissed off, Deena said.
Barnaby couldn t help laughing. Deena caught it and began to giggle. She
continued doing so, intermittently, for the next few minutes, but as time wore
on, she fell silent save for occasional grumbling and cursing.
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They marched down the spiral for a quarter hour before the stairs eventually
ended in a low-ceilinged tunnel.
Finally, Barnaby murmured, barely able to keep his legs moving. He was
beyond fatigue now; he wondered how long his heart would last, how long it
would keep feebly pushing blood through his bloated carcass, which now felt
like something dead that had to be dragged along.
The tunnel went straight for a stretch, then made a forty-five-degree turn,
followed by a right-angled corner. The passage continued for about sixty feet,
ultimately feeding into another stairwell whose spiraling steps led nowhere
but up.
Oh, no! Barnaby staggered backward.
Damn, she said. They screwin
with us!
Oh my God. Barnaby collapsed against the cold stone wall of the tunnel. He
sank to his haunches and closed his eyes.
Deena sat on the steps and began tenderly massaging her firm, almost muscular
brown legs. They jerkin us around.
Barnaby didn t speak; he couldn t. They sat in silence for a long spell.
Damn, she said again, quietly. And then, after a long pause: Well &
Don t even think of it, Barnaby said.
Okay, she said. Take your time. We ain t exactly got anywhere to go.
Thanks.
But up.
Exactly.
She craned her neck, peering up the spiral. Maybe it don t go up as far as
the other one went down.
Why can t I believe that? Barnaby said.
Cause they screwin
with us, that s why, Deena said. Then she began giggling again.
Barnaby answered with a hideous laugh, which made Deena giggle all the more.
Barnaby closed his eyes again and laughed till it hurt.
He choked it off when Deena suddenly yelped and jumped up from the steps as if
from a hot stove.
What the hell ? She stared in disbelief at the steps, which, inexplicably,
had begun moving upward of their own accord, like some impossible stone
escalator.
Getting to his feet, Barnaby acted as though he wasn t at all surprised. He
caught the bottom step, mounted, and rose up the stairwell.
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Going up lingerie, notions, merchandise return on the mezzanine.
I m comin , Deena told him, stepping aboard. I just wish this was
Bloomingdale s, she added in a mutter.
They rose in silence, the paradoxical escalator making a barely audible
humming noise. Gradually its speed increased, and the stairwell showed no sign
of ending. Eyes wide with wonder, Barnaby and Deena continued their magical
ascent. Air whistled past them down the spiraling shaft. The rate of climb
kept steadily increasing.
In a few minutes it began to take on alarming proportions.
What was that you said about the mezzanine? she asked nervously. I want to
get off.
Yeah, he said, licking dry lips. This seemed a peachy idea down at the
bottom.
The noise increased to a thunderous roar, and the escalator s speed soon
necessitated their getting down on all fours to fight a centrifugal force that
threatened to push them into the stationary outside wall, which was rushing by
at a rate guaranteed to impart a severe brush burn at the very least. But
there was nothing to hold on to but bare stone.
It was like being inside a tumble-dryer. Soon, the walls became a blur and
vertigo overtook both of them.
Barnaby felt consciousness slipping away as his hands inexorably slid across
the smooth stone of the steps.&
He reached the brink of oblivion, then came back, and he realized that the
escalator was slowing down. He held on tightly until it came to an abrupt
stop.
They lay motionless for a moment. Barnaby raised his head. There was a landing
a few steps up. He slowly got to his feet, then looked back at Deena, who was
rising. He held out his hand, and she took it.
Come on, he said.
They mounted the last few steps and came out into an expansive room with
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