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or markings that indicated the brow hairs were plucked or the singed away by an accidental brush with fire. Beneath this were his eyes, at first dark brown but as he blinked, shifting to a khaki green. His nose was almost feline-blunt, ending abruptly and in a quick triangle that led to his too small mouth. His lips, another odd feature, appeared shadded dark brown against his skin, or was it because of the light? Then, to either side, was the stray wisps of a mustache the same color as his hair and as sparse as whiskers!

Mrs. Adamson's mind strayed then. She thought not of the man before her but of her husband and what he'd do in this situation. Wasn't her husband always saying she was too trusting? She thought fondly of Mr. Adamson's face for a moment and ignored the pain of recently loosing her grammar school love. There would be time enough later to mourn him. Unconsciously her hand smoothed her belly, soothed her baby.

The man's eyes followed the motion. One corner of his mouth curled up in a humorless smile. Without word to her, he started down the second set of steps.

Mrs. Adamson followed, wondering at the impulse to do so. The man worked his way down at a steady pace and even stopped when she stopped. And although he did not once turn to face her, Mrs. Adamson quickly grew to accept nay! welcome his presence. For with him there it meant she was no longer alone in this dry, cold underground place that seemed more tomblike the further they descended.

Then: the last step. She sighed in relief at seeing this, at sensing they'd not any more steps to descend. Her calves were killing her. Mrs. Adamson opened her mouth to complain when the man spun about, his eyes warning her to silence. She gave a hesitant nod and motioned him to follow. Although she, herself, could not see a danger, Mrs. Adamson could feel it all around them.

They were off again, the odd man leading, and Mrs. Adamson following. The light here was dim. She found herself relying on the man's directions rather than her own. A quick look behind her proved the corridor already navigated was just as confusing and dark as the corridor they'd yet to face. And the turns! Mrs. Adamson was aware the walls were curving, the floor lightly graded, and that they were still working their way down. And when all of it seemed to press around them, when she believed there was no more air to be had, and her baby stopped moving, and Mrs. Adamson thought she'd scream from it allthen they came out into a bigger room. A cavernous room with the Ancient King of sorrows standing in the center of the room surrounded by light.

"King Pamidore!" Mrs. Adamson breathed, forgetting the warning in the note. Then, seeing the gleam on his clothing, the metallic solidness of his shirt and trousers, the stone of his skin, she laughed in delight. All this for a statue! A wonderful and whimsical stat-

The statue's eyes opened.

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