Page 29 of Spelunking Through Hell

—Enid Healy

Not sure, but not dead either, and that’s a good start

I woke up. Thatwas nice. I hadn’t entirely been expecting that when I passed out, and yeah, it would have been a stupid way to die, but also a fitting one. I was already a ghost story in half a dozen dimensions, so disappearing in the middle of nowhere without a trace would just have guaranteed I’d stay a story forever. Behave or Alice Price-Healy will get you. Behave, be a good kid, or she’ll be in your closet when you go to bed tonight.

But my family would never have known the truth, and my clergy would have waited for me forever, holding out hope that one day they were going to come into the kitchen and find me baking cookies, wearing a borrowed apron, and trying not to have opinions about the contents of the fridge. No, it was better for me to be alive.

Alive, but still weak and a little shaky, like I’d gone to bed after running a marathon without taking the time to hydrate first. I stretched, checking that all my parts were still there, and froze as I realized whatwasn’tthere.

If I wasn’t naked, I was wearing something so light I could barely register it without opening my eyes, and I definitely wasn’t armed. None of my weapons felt like they were where they were supposed to be. That was enough of a surprise that I rolled onto my side, pleased when I realized that nothing was being used to restrain me, and opened my eyes on a plain, unornamented white stone wall. It looked like it had been assembled from individual bricks and then painted, ratherthan being a single piece of something, but it was spotlessly clean, and must have been maintained on a regular basis.

The light was warm and diffuse and didn’t hurt my head, so I risked pushing myself upright and answered two questions at the same time.

First, I could sit up without vomiting or passing out; someone had managed to get some sugar into me while I was under, although they hadn’t used an IV, since there wasn’t anything attached to me. Good. I don’t like needles much when I’m awake to agree to them. I like them even less when people are jabbing them into me without asking first, even if it’s to save my life.

Second, Iwasdressed, although the filmy, diaphanous robe I was wearing was barely worthy of being considered clothing. It wasn’t transparent despite its weight, which was pleasant, but it felt like wearing a dress made of gauze, or flower petals, or something equally unsuitable.

Whoever had redressed me had also taken my underclothes, and the fabric I’d wrapped around my wrists to stabilize them. I was more naked even with a robe than I normally was any time short of stepping out of the shower or moving between rejuvenation treatment and the tattoo station. I didn’t like this. Big surprise there. I was, at least, reasonably sure the fabric was thick enough to let me hide a few knives if I could get my hands on them. I’ve had years upon years of practice to determine exactly how much clothing I need where in order to go armed enough to feel comfortable. One of my granddaughters does something similar with fringe and sequins when she puts on her ballroom costumes—it’s all about knowing both your body and your wardrobe. Nothing hurt. The people who’d stripped me had done it without injuring me.

That was good. It wasn’t going to stop me from injuringthem, but no one ever said I was into proportionate response. And either I’d somehow forced my way into the wrong dimension, or I’d just confirmed that the bottle world I’d been looking for had people in it. Either way, I was still alive, and all I had to do from here was get my stuff back and get the hell out of here.

“You’re awake!” The voice was light, easy, and incredibly bright, like the speaker was on the verge of bursting into a happy ballad about how nice it was when the company woke up. I turned. A woman had entered through a small door I hadn’t turned to notice before; it was round at the top, like a Hobbit hole, and had no sharp edges.

The woman herself had plenty of them, thanks to the fact that she had what looked like thorns growing out of her shoulders, upper arms,and the sides of her neck. Her throat, chest, and face were free of thorns, and her skin was a pale, rosy pink. I couldn’t have explained exactly what about her face wasn’t quite human; she was one of those species who would have been called cryptids back at home, close enough to pass through humanity’s world, not quite close enough to blend in.

She was wearing a short dress with a toga-style neckline, made of the same diaphanous fabric as my robe, and beaming at me brilliantly, all sunshine and sparkles. “They don’t always wake up as fast as you—you were lucky to break through where you did, and Sally heard the wards when you arrived, so you weren’t alone out there fortoolong. But it’s all right now. You’re safe here. Oh, and our Autarch is going to be pleased to see you. You look like you’re probably the same species he is. You even have the same kind of skin.”

I blinked, very slowly. “All right... let’s start with the easy ones. Where am I?”

“The Palace of the Autarch,” she said. “All newcomers come here first—and have since he claimed and warded it to provide us with safety. I mean, if that’s not precise enough for you, you’re in the women’s quarters.”

“The women’s quarters?” That sounded suspiciously like a polite way of saying “harem,” and I didn’t like it. Then again, I hadn’t liked anything since I woke up, so why should this be any different? Liking things was no longer a part of my job.

“Yes. All who come through the great barrier are taken under the Autarch’s protection upon arrival, to keep them safe.” Her smile got somehow even brighter. “He’s a very good man. You’ll like him. And oh, he’ll likeyou. I don’t think I’ve seen any females of his kind except for Sally, and she’s of a different phylum. I didn’t even think their females had the markings.”

“Uh.” I do not like passing through thick dimensional walls. I like losing consciousness even less than that. I like waking up without my weapons so much less than that that it’s almost comic. And more than all of those things, I do not like being confused by pink, thorny women who tell me I’ve been dumped in a stranger’s harem like it’s a good thing. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh, yes! Rubina is my name. It’s a pleasure to meet you...”

“Alice,” I said. “Are we speaking English?”

“No, we’re speaking whatever language brings you the most comfort. The Autarch was concerned, as so many of us come from dissimilar worlds, that we would be unable to find commonality. Hearranged for translation runes to be painted in all the rooms, to be sure we’d be able to speak with one another freely.”

She was still smiling. Either this Autarch of hers was a great guy and would be totally willing to let me out of this supposedly protective custody as soon as I met him and explained exactly what I was doing here and who I was looking for, or he was a monster operating a girl collection and she was too afraid to say anything bad about him.

“Okay,” I said. “Cool. Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course! Anything to make you comfortable here.”

“Okay, then, is it possible for you to take me to get my stuff back, please? A lot of the things I was carrying when I arrived have sentimental value.” And the ones that didn’t could be used to hurt people. Which might be necessary if the Autarch wasn’t miraculously awesome.

People who call themselves “Autarchs” and start collecting people who need their inexplicably benevolent “protection” are very rarely awesome, in my experience. Whoever this guy was, he was probably already a dead man walking. He just didn’t know who was going to pull the trigger. I was happy to volunteer.

“Of course,” repeated Rubina. Either she was naturally good-natured, or I needed to be careful about what I put in my mouth while I was here. Drugs in the water would be pretty solidly on-brand for an “Autarch.” I was really starting to dislike this guy, and I hadn’t even met him yet.

She walked over to the Hobbit-hole door, still smiling. It opened easily when she pressed the latch, and I relaxed slightly. So they weren’t locking me in here.

“Belongings of new arrivals are temporarily kept in the storage rooms for safekeeping,” she said. “Come with me.”

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