Through a Pair of Dark Glasses
Somewhere, perhaps, beyond the Lake of Darkness, was Long Shadow.
Rick felt certain of it. The Tibetan who lay unconscious at his feet had been going somewhere. He had walked steadily and purposefully, with some definite destination in mind. What was more logical than to assume that the Tibetan had been heading for the hidden plant where heavy water was being produced?
Once the plant was found, Long Shadow would be found there, also. Even if he were not there at the moment, he would come. And when he did, Rick intended to do something about it. He had no definite plans. He only knew that somehow he would force Long Shadow to unlock the gate to the outer world.
His oars dipped rhythmically as he pulled out into the lake. The infrared light was directed toward a jutting edge of limestone on the shore he had just left. He was using the rock formation as a marker so he could steer a straight course.
He wondered about his friends. Were they lost, too? Or had they managed to keep to the right trail by following the tiny drops of candle wax? The odd tin candleholder explained why there wasn't more wax to follow. The holder caught most, but not all of the drippings.
The rocky shore of the underground lake receded rapidly. Rick stopped rowing and turned, switching the infrared light toward the direction in which he was heading. He could see the opposite shore now, but dimly. Knowing that the infrared light was effective at eight hundred yards, he estimated the lake to be about twelve hundred yards wide. That was over three-fifths of a mile.
When he shot the light up and down the lake, he saw nothing but the black water. That meant the lake was more than sixteen hundred yards long. He turned the light upward and surveyed the ceiling. It was irregular, varying in height from a dozen feet to over two hundred. In one place, the ceiling came down to within a few feet of the black water.
It was an eerie place. Rick's quick imagination turned him into the mythical Charon, who ferried the dead across the River Styx into Hades. He grinned mirthlessly. The limp figure of the Tibetan gave substance to the picture.
He bent over the man, reaching for his wrist. The pulse was weak but steady. He had given the Tibetan a healthy belt. There was no sign of returning consciousness. But Rick wasn't worried. If he had hurt the man badly, the pulse would have been thready and unsteady. He would wake up presently, and his head would feel like a pillow stuffed with rocks, but otherwise he would be all right. Rick knew. He had been knocked out himself a couple of times.