Page 97 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
It was harsh, but it worked. The stragglers stopped dawdling, and the flow of people toward the exit became more urgent. Nabin did a rapid circuit of the level, banging on doors, checking common areas. In the communal kitchen, he found the chef struggling with a bag of possessions.
"Leave it," Nabin ordered.
"My photographs?—"
"Will do you no good if you're dead." He grabbed the man's arm and steered him toward the stairs.
The seepage was becoming a flow. Water poured under the stairwell doors, spreading across the floor in an expanding pool. The pumps on this level engaged automatically, but Nabin knew they were just buying them minutes.
Hassan appeared next to him. "That's everyone I could find. We need to go."
But Nabin's duty wasn't done. Lord Navuh had ordered the doors sealed. If he didn't do it now, the water would race up the stairwells, potentially flooding the entire structure.
"Help me," he said, moving to the emergency control panel.
The stairwell doors were designed to seal in case of fire, preventing smoke from spreading between levels. They'd work just as well for water. Nabin input his security code, then turned the manual lock. A red cover lifted, revealing a row of switches.
"This will trap anyone still down there," Hassan said quietly.
"I know." Nabin's hand hovered over the switches. Somewhere below, Level Eight was probably completely flooded.
They were out of time.
He threw the switches.
One by one, the heavy steel doors slammed shut. The sound was final, like the closing of a tomb. The flow of water cut off instantly, though they could hear it building behind the barriers, testing the seals.
"They're rated for fire suppression," Hassan said. "Should handle water pressure to thirty feet." He wiped sweat from his face. "Beyond that..."
They both knew what beyond that meant. If the water rose high enough, the pressure would blow the doors off their hinges like champagne corks.
His walkie-talkie crackled. "Nabin. Report."
Lord Navuh again. Nabin keyed the microphone. "Level Seven evacuated, my lord. Stairwell doors sealed. The barriers are holding for now."
"For now." The lord's tone was contemplative. "How long?"
Nabin looked at Hassan, who shrugged. Too many variables. How much water was coming in? What was its source? Would it reach equilibrium before the pressure exceeded the door ratings?
"Unknown, my lord."
"I see. Keep monitoring. Report any changes immediately."
The connection ended. No word of thanks for saving the staff on Level Seven. No acknowledgment of the crisis still unfolding.
But that was Lord Navuh. Nabin had served him long enough to expect nothing else.
"Come on," he told Hassan. "We need to get the other levels to evacuate."
Because the doors would fail.
33
TAMIRA
Tamira's bag weighed almost nothing—a change of clothes, her journal, the small wooden box containing her grandmother's ring. She had countless gowns, shoes, jewelry, hair accessories, belts, exotic perfumes, and makeup, but none of that mattered to her. It was all replaceable. The only things she regretted having to leave behind were her books and the precious moments with Elias she'd collected over the past week.
Hopefully, there would be many more.
