Unknown 9 by Layton Green (each kindness read aloud txt) 📕

He waited another hour, just in case any prying eyes were about, then made a vow to himself as he stumbled, forlorn and despairing, through the foliage in the dark and silent park.

I will find you, Ettore. My search for you has led us to this place, this terrible place, and I will not let it be in vain.

I will find you.

   20   

Andie noticed right away the interior of the Rickshaw Obscura was abnormal. The oval metallic walls were as smooth and white as an eggshell. There was no door handle, and she could not see the driver. Their own compartment was entirely enclosed, lit by track lighting around the perimeter.

In the center of the compartment, a stainless-steel pedestal, similar to a music stand, was bolted into the floor between two aluminum chairs. On top of the pedestal was an indentation the size of a cell phone.

“Damn you!” Cal said, pulling her into a bear hug in the cramped quarters. “What happened out there? I couldn’t see a thing, and the driver isn’t responding. I shouted at him to wait and tried to get out, but the door wouldn’t open again. I was about to lose my mind.”

She collapsed into one of the seats, overwhelmed by stress and lingering adrenaline. “I got it. I saw the next image.”

He whooped and gripped her by the arm. “Tell me about it later. Right now we have to figure out where we’re going, how to get out of here, and what to do when we get there.” He rapped hard on the front of the carriage. “Hey! Who are you? Where’s this thing headed?”

In response, the rickshaw lurched forward, causing Cal to stumble as it accelerated. Andie clutched the sides of her chair, worried they were being chased. Cal took a seat in the chair beside her to steady himself. As soon as he sat down, the rickshaw slowed again, and she noticed the indentation in the pedestal had started to glow.

She ran her eyes over the carriage, searching for wires or a hidden camera. “How did they know when to pick us up?”

“I told you there’s a tracker on Zawadi’s phone.”

“Maybe. Or maybe this driver is part of the Star Phone puzzle, keeping an eye on the Temple of Literature. Maybe something we did triggered his presence. And I have a feeling”—she took out the Star Phone and set it inside the glowing depression on the silver stand—“we’re about to find out why.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Cal said, just as a digitized voice intoned, “Welcome to the Rickshaw Obscura.”

All of a sudden, everything around them—walls and floor and ceiling—turned a dark-gray color, rendering the inside of the carriage a gloomy, shadowy 3-D panorama of an all-too-familiar place.

Andie gasped, thinking she had entered another vision. But she quickly realized the experience didn’t possess the same all-consuming sensation of being in another place, of leaving one world for another.

“Cal?” she said, relieved to see he was still beside her.

“Right here,” he said grimly. “What’s happening?”

“No idea,” she said quietly. Before they could discuss it further, the three-dimensional image surrounding them dissolved, and another took its place: a blindingly white field of glaciers set against a night sky with unfamiliar stars. There were drifts of snow piled at their feet, and a cold howling wind. The sharp freshness of a winter wilderness filled Andie’s mouth and nostrils. It was as if they were seated inside a tiny IMAX cinema that included an immersive sensory experience.

The only variance in the glacial setting was a scraggly tree directly ahead, with a single plum hanging from one of the bare branches. As Andie shivered, wondering if the driver was pumping in cold air and scents through an invisible vent, signs of a civilization began to emerge among the glaciers: spires and towers and pillars carved into the ice, an antediluvian Petra in the frozen wilds of Hyberborea. The plum was still there, now poised at the tip of the highest ice spire, a dollop of color in the field of white.

The glaciers dissolved. The cold wind ceased, and the scene reformed, this time into an Eden-like panorama of tropical beauty, a glade by a jungle river surrounded by the exotic foliage of Southeast Asia. Animals both strange and familiar filled the jungle. People wearing simple woven clothing wandered through, performing various tasks: building tree houses out of vines and logs, scooping water in earthen bowls from the river, lounging beneath mushrooms as big as boulders, harvesting brilliantly colored flowers that dwarfed any Andie had ever seen. The landscape was breathtaking, and the more she craned her neck and looked, the more she saw hints of a civilization entwined within the jungle: a rope bridge spanning the river, a viewing platform in the branches of a tree, stone-carved steps on a hillside. The plum was there again, nestled in a basket beside a woman washing a child’s hair in the river.

A chorus of wild shrieks and beating drums interrupted the tranquil scene, so loud it caused Andie to jump. An army of men with clubs and painted bodies stormed the peaceful village, killing everyone in sight in a frenzy of violence that turned Andie’s stomach. One of the warriors yanked the plum out of the basket and thrust it skyward, causing the image to dissolve and shift again, this time to a vast field of sinuous stone structures that resembled giant beehives. Is this Angkor Wat? Hundreds of temples surrounded her and Cal, complemented by paths of mosaic tile and reflecting pools and green spaces full of lush flowers. This time the plum was a jewel crowning the top of the tallest temple. It was one of the most beautiful sights Andie had ever seen, yet it was marred by the cluster of enslaved workers laboring to build a new temple on the periphery of the complex. Flies and mosquitoes surrounded the workers, landing on their