Chapter 40

I got some sleep on the way to the museum—not helpful if I ever needed to find the place—which, for reasons I didn’t consider a priority, seemed to be in the middle of the desert and far away from civilisation.

“Morning,” Drakeforth said when I sat up.

“Urgh?” I asked.

“Almost lunch time,” Drakeforth replied.

We climbed out of the van, which Eade had stopped in the carpark in the shadow of the museum building.

“Wish we had known this was here last time,” I said. “Goat could have parked his airship and come with us.”

“Of course trousers migrate,” Goat said. “Why else would they have legs?”

“Staff entrance is this way,” Eade said. We walked up a less intimidating stone staircase, and waited while Eade swiped an access card and unlocked the door.

The cool air washed over us and Goat backed up so fast he collided with Drakeforth.

“It’s cool,” Drakeforth said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Goat nodded, his eyes sweeping around the corridor we found ourselves in.

“Reminds me of a joke,” he said.

Eade flicked a switch and the hallway filled with light. We moved along in an orderly fashion.

“Is there a bathroom?” I asked Eade.

She nodded, “Yes. Yes, there is.”

I clenched. “Good to know.”

I saw the sign and turned off into a bathroom where the facilities were typically Pathian. If the currency revolution that the Credit Union wanted to bring about was successful, someone could make a fortune selling moisturiser.

The corridor was empty when I returned. I followed it through various rooms filled with stone shelves and metal boxes that looked like they contained papers and files. The Pathian equiv­alent of a bank vault. Why does no one just break in and steal all this information?

I kept walking, past shelves and through various rooms with­out labels or even numbers. I went down different corridors, turning in various directions with the same disconnected approach that had brought us here previously.

At the back of a broom closet, which turned out to be a very short corridor, I found a door that opened inwards. The other side was panelled wall, hiding the door from the other side.

The room was familiar: the rubble on the floor, the broken glass, and the murrai footprints in the dust.

I wandered through the shattered gallery until I found where the air-conditioning unit had stood. In its place was a sarcophagus, a carefully sculpted frieze of a human figure that, if it wasn’t some kind of burial casket, would have made an amazing jelly mould.

I ran my hands over the case, which was cold to the touch and humming like a refrigerator. Maybe it was an air conditioner? I found the back edge and worked my fingers into the narrow gap against the wall. Leaning against the metal side, I tried to move it. Where’s a murrai when you need one?

Something gave way and the cover slid forward. I scrambled to catch it before the entire shell crashed to the floor. It might be an ancient relic, for all I knew.

With the sarcophagus removed, I could get a closer look at the metal cylinder. It was less aesthetically pleasing than the last one I had seen. This one wasn’t meant for public use. No one would go willingly into this. The sarcophagus disguise was apt.

The Godden Energy Corporation had shown me the double-e flux reclamation tank before I went into it. That one was nice: warmly coloured and accessorised with the kind of useless bling usually found on the outside of coffins.

This looked like an industrial model. All practical function and no frivolity. I found the control panel and tapped at the soft keys until a menu came up on the screen.

I pressed the touchscreen “Status” option.

“Transfer Complete,” the screen replied.

Frowning, I selected the command to open the tank. The machine clanked and gurgled. Then, with the hiss of a freshly opened carbonated beverage, the two halves of the pod separated.

I waved the mist aside and stared at the empty case where I’d been sure Professor Bombilate would be.