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1986-10-29
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2KB
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64 lines
HOMER NARR2-LM/PD/Ref@5504
It wasn't much of a building. Now it is
even less, just a rude shelter made by
hand of deadfall and cut limbs. It sat
in a clearing, a rough square shape,
roofed with planks and stone, surrounded
by moss and ferns and lichen-covered
stone. In the intervals of relative
quiet they could hear running water.
Then the booming and creaking of the ice
would start up again, the mists would
close in once more, and the trickle
would fade.
"Some dry valley!" someone murmured.
They stood in a semicircle and looked at
the building. Moss clung to the rough
logs, in places still untrimmed, the
gray smooth bark fuzzed and damp with
the mists. Primeval ferns grew higher
than the sill of the one window, filled
the doorless opening. Inside was
darkness.
"It looks like a topside gazebo," Larin
said. "Like an entrance."
"Who built this thing? It's crazy." Shem
scuffed his boot through the dank humus.
Droplets sprayed away from the ferns he
disturbed.
Peter moved to the door, entered. His
form vanished into the dark.
When he came out he said, "The roof is
sound. It's dry. Come on."
The groaning of the ice was muffled
inside. Their glowlamps revealed rough
logs inside, but dry and clean. Through
the window the green ferns swayed in
orange-tinted light as the rain fell.
The floor was rough lased planking,
black from the heat that formed them,
blistered from the explosions of green
wood as they were sliced. Looking at it
Peter said, "Well, at least we know no
primitive man dressed in skins is going
to leap out at us. This floor was made
with relatively modern equipment."
"There's a trap door," Rover said. They
heaved it up, revealing crude stone
steps leading down.
Peter nodded. "Mentor," he said. "He
knew where this place was. He knew we'd
find it."
The lights came on as they descended.