forest of thorn trees. The collar of his silk shirt was dark with blood, sweat, and fog.
He staggered this way and that, held up his arms as if to ward off the House of Doors. And: “No,” he sobbed again. “I’m not back at all. I’m still … here!”
“Who are you?” Anderson stepped close to him.
The stranger went at once into a half crouch, backed away from the group, made ready for instant flight. He wouldn’t be able to run far, but still he’d run if he had to. “Don’t you worry about me, mate,” he answered, his voice high and panting, his accent all London. “I know who I am all right. But who the fuck are you?”
Turnbull took two quick paces forward and caught him by the arm even as he made to race away. “We’re the ones who let you out of there, son,” he said quietly, inclining his head towards the looming House of Doors, specifically door Number One. “We’re the good guys, okay?”
“What were you running from?” Angela asked him.
The stranger’s eyes went wide in a moment, flashing his terror. “The crab!” he gasped. “The bloody lobster! The scorpion—whatever it is!”
Varre whispered to Gill, “Is he sane?”
“Did I come out of there?” The stranger pointed a trembling hand at the door. They all nodded affirmatives. “Then I’m not far enough away from it!”
He at once jerked himself free of Turnbull’s grasp, ran to door Number Two and leaped for the iron ring. The clang of heavy metal on hardwood resounded as before and the door swung inwards and stood gaping open.
Sunlight blasted out! Impossible! With the moon and stars overhead? Totally impossible—but real for all that. A shaft of golden sunlight oblong as the door itself, almost solid in comparison with the darkness it thrust back and invalidated, fell warm on the group where they leaped in pursuit of the fugitive, bringing them crashing together and to a halt. But not the stranger. He had paused for the merest moment on the threshold, and with one arm thrown up before his eyes had sobbed, “Warm! Oh, Jesus, no— warm ! ” And then he’d hurled himself through.
“Go on in,” Turnbull yelled at the others. Frantically he waved them forward. “After him, quickly— come on!”
They might have faltered, argued, but the big man had already left them, stepping out of a shadow world into a world of blinding bright haze. Bannerman was right behind him, and like lemmings the rest quickly followed. The door at once slammed shut behind them—and vanished! When they turned their heads to look back, there was no door there at all. Neither door nor House of Doors. Just … jungle! Green things growing everywhere, and sunlight turning the air to a dappled golden haze.
Again the instantaneous and simultaneous assault upon every human sense was terrific. Angela, Anderson, Varre and Clayborne felt their senses spinning and fell to their knees, collapsing together in loam and leaf mould and creeper. But Gill, Turnbull and Bannerman remained on their feet. Though they staggered a little, they quickly regained their balance. And without pride Gill thought: Obviously we three learn faster — we’re more adaptable — than most people.
“Why, Jack?” Anderson gasped, clutching Turnbull’s leg to steady himself where he kneeled on the forest’s floor. “Why did you follow him? There may be danger here.” Suddenly he was furious. “Who the hell authorised you to follow him?”
Turnbull stared down at him, frowned and shook him off. “I need someone’s authority to stay alive? Why did I follow him? Because he’s been a prisoner here longer than us, that’s why. And he’s survived. He must have learned a few things while he’s been here. I say stick with him, at least until we know as much as he does.”
Anderson took several deep breaths, finally looked away. “You’re probably right,” he said, however grudgingly. “But in future let’s try not to be too … . precipitous.”
“He is
He staggered this way and that, held up his arms as if to ward off the House of Doors. And: “No,” he sobbed again. “I’m not back at all. I’m still … here!”
“Who are you?” Anderson stepped close to him.
The stranger went at once into a half crouch, backed away from the group, made ready for instant flight. He wouldn’t be able to run far, but still he’d run if he had to. “Don’t you worry about me, mate,” he answered, his voice high and panting, his accent all London. “I know who I am all right. But who the fuck are you?”
Turnbull took two quick paces forward and caught him by the arm even as he made to race away. “We’re the ones who let you out of there, son,” he said quietly, inclining his head towards the looming House of Doors, specifically door Number One. “We’re the good guys, okay?”
“What were you running from?” Angela asked him.
The stranger’s eyes went wide in a moment, flashing his terror. “The crab!” he gasped. “The bloody lobster! The scorpion—whatever it is!”
Varre whispered to Gill, “Is he sane?”
“Did I come out of there?” The stranger pointed a trembling hand at the door. They all nodded affirmatives. “Then I’m not far enough away from it!”
He at once jerked himself free of Turnbull’s grasp, ran to door Number Two and leaped for the iron ring. The clang of heavy metal on hardwood resounded as before and the door swung inwards and stood gaping open.
Sunlight blasted out! Impossible! With the moon and stars overhead? Totally impossible—but real for all that. A shaft of golden sunlight oblong as the door itself, almost solid in comparison with the darkness it thrust back and invalidated, fell warm on the group where they leaped in pursuit of the fugitive, bringing them crashing together and to a halt. But not the stranger. He had paused for the merest moment on the threshold, and with one arm thrown up before his eyes had sobbed, “Warm! Oh, Jesus, no— warm ! ” And then he’d hurled himself through.
“Go on in,” Turnbull yelled at the others. Frantically he waved them forward. “After him, quickly— come on!”
They might have faltered, argued, but the big man had already left them, stepping out of a shadow world into a world of blinding bright haze. Bannerman was right behind him, and like lemmings the rest quickly followed. The door at once slammed shut behind them—and vanished! When they turned their heads to look back, there was no door there at all. Neither door nor House of Doors. Just … jungle! Green things growing everywhere, and sunlight turning the air to a dappled golden haze.
Again the instantaneous and simultaneous assault upon every human sense was terrific. Angela, Anderson, Varre and Clayborne felt their senses spinning and fell to their knees, collapsing together in loam and leaf mould and creeper. But Gill, Turnbull and Bannerman remained on their feet. Though they staggered a little, they quickly regained their balance. And without pride Gill thought: Obviously we three learn faster — we’re more adaptable — than most people.
“Why, Jack?” Anderson gasped, clutching Turnbull’s leg to steady himself where he kneeled on the forest’s floor. “Why did you follow him? There may be danger here.” Suddenly he was furious. “Who the hell authorised you to follow him?”
Turnbull stared down at him, frowned and shook him off. “I need someone’s authority to stay alive? Why did I follow him? Because he’s been a prisoner here longer than us, that’s why. And he’s survived. He must have learned a few things while he’s been here. I say stick with him, at least until we know as much as he does.”
Anderson took several deep breaths, finally looked away. “You’re probably right,” he said, however grudgingly. “But in future let’s try not to be too … . precipitous.”
“He is
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