There was a sprinkling of overnight snow covering everything when they awoke the next morning.
Randall was woken up by the sound of workmen shouting at each other and when he climbed out of his thick, furry sleeping blankets and opened the tent flap to look outside he saw men leaving dark footprints in the thin, white snow as they carried spades and mattocks towards the area of ground covered by the wedding marquee. A few flat flakes were still drifting lazily in the still morning air as they attacked the frozen ground with enthusiastic, energetic vigour. Fortunately the frozen layer was only a couple of inches deep and once they were through it the burly workmen made good progress digging up the heavy, clay soil and carrying it in wheelbarrows to dump it a short distance to the side.
Randall and Loach quickly pulled on some warm clothes and went outside to watch. The soil three feet down steamed gently as it gave off the last of the summer's heat, and beneath it was a layer of crumbling, disintegrating tarmac. Every now and then, though, one of the workmen gave a hiss of superstitious fear as his spade scraped the tarmac away to reveal what was beneath.
"Devil rock," growled one of the men unhappily. A broad, stocky man who had removed his shirt to reveal the hairiest chest Randall had ever seen. "We risk the wrath of VIX."
"There's devil rock everywhere," said the foreman, however. "Half of Elmton's built on it. If the priests don't mind, why should we?"
"But what's under the devil rock?" asked the hairy man. "Latimer says he wants us to find a way down under it and that's tempting damnation!"
"Any damnation'll fall on the nobs," the foreman replied. "It's them who's paying for this. You can walk away if ya wants, though, Cotton. All the more coin for the rest of us."
The other workmen paused in their work to look hopefully across at Cotton, but the man only scowled before hefting his pickaxe and having another swing at the frozen ground.
Randall and Loach walked around the perimeter of the area being excavated. The workmen worked with impressive speed and had soon uncovered an area nearly three metres across. There was a seam running across the centre of the ancient helicopter landing pad, Randall saw with excitement. The place where the two halves would open up on electro-mechanical pistons to allow the transmitter to rise up between them, if the ancient machinery still worked. The door mechanism was supposed to be almost entirely maintenance free for long period of time, but that was taken to mean ten or twenty years at most. A thousand years was a completely different kettle of fish...
Sudden doubt seized him with a tremor of fear. Was he insane to think it would still be working after all this time? Electro-mechanical pistons were almost infallible, it was true. So long as no moisture got in to corrode the wiring or the magnets there was virtually nothing to them that could degrade or wear out, but even so... A thousand years! The hibernation cubicles had still been working, he reminded himself. They'd been on their last legs but they'd been working nonetheless and that had to mean something, but he still couldn't get rid of the dread fear that he would make his way down to the control room, give the command for the great doors to open and nothing would happen.
The Duke and the two Barons came sauntering over to join them. A small crowd of servants came with them, but they hung back. Close enough to be ready if their masters needed them but not too close as to intrude upon a conversation between their betters. The workmen also drew back as the aristocrats approached and began digging in a different spot.
Latimer stared down at the exposed section of plasteel, his eyes widening in wonder and excitement. "It's really down there, then," he almost whispered.
"So it seems," said Randall.
"Not that I ever doubted you, of course. And it still waits to be seen whether there's any actual gold down there."
"We'll find out soon enough."
"We will indeed. I suppose there must have been a city here, then. Once. So long ago that everything above ground has been destroyed by wind and rain." He looked across at Randall. "Which begs the question. How did you know it was here?"
Randall had been expecting the question. "A dying man told me," he said. "He and the group he'd been travelling with had been assailed by a small force of orcs. I was travelling with a group of merchants. We and the men we'd hired to protect us drove the orcs away but it was too late. They were all dead. All except this one man who whispered the secret of this place into my ear with his dying breath. I suppose he knew that he'd no longer be able to claim the gold himself and wanted to bequeathe it to the men who'd saved him from being feasted upon like a stag taken by wolves."
Duke Latimer's eyes narrowed, clearly not believing a word of it. "A stroke of luck on your part, then," he said, "and a suitable reward for your heroic actions. And where did he learn of this hoard, do you suppose?"
"Unfortunately, he died before he could tell us."
"Maybe it was nothing but the deranged fantasy of a dying man."
Randall gestured down at the partially exposed layer of plasteel. "The vault is here," he said. "If that part of his story was true, there's no reason to believe that the rest isn't true as well."
"As you say," said the Duke. "Well, we'd better let the men get in with their work, then. The sooner we're down there, the sooner we'll know." He turned and strolled away, the Barons and the servants following him.
"He doesn't believe in the gold," said Loach in soft voice, "but he believes there is something valuable down there and he intends to claim it for himself."
"Let him believe that," replied Randall. "So long as his men do their work, I don't care."
Something struck him in the middle of the back and he spun around to see what it was. Someone had thrown something at him! He stared suspiciously at Loach but the other man merely stared curiously back at him. He was standing on the wrong side of him anyway. The man who'd thrown the stone would have been standing somewhere over there, near that small clump of trees.
There was a man in the trees, he saw. No, not a man. It was too big to be a man. Seven feet tall at least and powerfully built... It was an orc! He staggered back in new terror, but common sense came to his rescue. The orc had allowed itself to be seen by him and had thrown a stone to attract his attention without alerting the rest of the camp. It must be his orc chieftain. The one he'd taken over with yama666 in Duffield. The creature wanted to speak with him.
He couldn't just walk over to it. People would watch where he was going and see the chieftain. He would have to take a roundabout route. "My orc's here," he said to Loach in a quiet voice. "I'm going to see what it wants."
"I'm coming too," said Loach.
"Best if I go alone, I think. I can pretend to be looking for a spot to answer a call of nature..."
"I'm coming too," Loach repeated, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. Randall sighed in resignation and began walking.
They went in a big circle, going off to the north and swinging around to the east so that they approached the small grove of trees from the rear. With the trees shielding them from the sight of everyone in the expedition the orc chieftain stepped forward to meet them. It was the first time Loach had been this close to one and he found himself shrinking back from it with an almost primordial fear. The sheer size of the creature was intimidating! Loach was a tall man, but the chieftain was a full head taller than him and bulkier, at least three times his weight. It made him feel like a rabbit under the gaze of a fox.
How would he fight it if he had to, he wondered. It was a robot, he reminded himself. Simply sticking a knife into it would do no good. It was the robot he would have to fight, not the superficial, overlying layer of flesh.
An idea came to him. This one had been reprogrammed to obey them, after all. "If I had to fight you," he said, "how would I do it? How may a man destroy a chieftain? I assume you have weak spots. Where are they?"
The chieftain ignored him, though, and came to stand in front of Randall. "Answer his question," the former businessman told it, suddenly nervous. The version of yama666 he'd used to take control of this creature contained instructions to make it obey him, Randall, in preference to anyone else. This would be a bad time for Loach to find this out. "Answer any question he asks you. Er, can you speak?"
The chieftain shook its great, wolf jawed head while its bestial eyes glared malevolently. Or at least they looked as though they were glaring malevolently. The creature probably had much less ability to change its facial expression than a human.
"Okay," said Randall, thinking furiously. "Are there any of those robot pigeons in the area? Or anything else able to eavesdrop on a short range radio transmission?" The chieftain moved its long shouted head from side to side. "Okay," said Randall. "Any time it's safe to do so, you can communicate with us by radio. Understood?"
*Affirmative,* came the chieftains voice in his head phone.
"Okay. Now please answer my friend's question."
*You already have software that can bind any sapient machine to your will," the chieftain replied. *You have no need for any other weapon.*
"What if I can't use yama666?" demanded Loach, though. "What if there's a priest or a robot pigeon nearby that might detect the transmission?"
*A fall from a height greater than thirty metres onto a hard surface has a high probability of causing crippling damage to a chieftain. You should lure the chieftain to the edge of a high cliff and push it over. Alternatively, dropping a rock weighing more than five thousand kilogrammes from a height greater than twenty metres onto a chieftain will have a similar effect.*
"Is that the only way?" asked Loach, his eyes widening in alarm.
*The only way using contemporary weapons and materials, yes.*
"What about fire?"
*The cybernetic components of a chieftain can endure temperatures greater than one thousand degrees centigrade. A wood fire burns at six hundred degrees centigrade.*
"You don't have any weak spots? Places where an arrow might find a gap between plates of armour? Small gaps that the point of a spear might find?"
*Negative.*
"Fighting them would be useless anyway," pointed out Randall. "They would just send wave after wave of orcs against you first. You're never going to be in a situation where you're in single combat with a chieftain."
"You did," pointed out Loach.
"That was a play fight. We weren't really fighting. In a real fight you'd stand no chance. It's a war machine. A walking tank. Even you would have no chance against it."
Loach nodded unhappily. Then he turned back to the chieftain. "So, what do you want?" he asked. "Why did you bring us here?"
*I was commanded to report here. Now that I am here, I am requesting additional instructions.*
"For now, just wait," said Randall. He thought for a few moments. Sending a radio message to summon the chieftain was out of the question since more robot pigeons were sure to show up and the risk of the message being picked up was too great. Also, it was unlikely that Randall would be able to come back here to meet the chieftain face to face. He only had this one chance to tell it what to do.
"Watch the wedding marquee," he said at last. "Do you know what a wedding marquee is? The big tent with the open sides?"
*Affirmative.*
"Hopefully, some big doors are going to open under it soon and a large transmitter is going to rise up through it. When that happens, tell your orcs to kill everyone in the area not in category one, as defined by the piece of software I used to take control of you. Do you understand?"
*Affirmative.*
"Category one?" said Loach, staring at Randall suspiciously.
"People equipped with head phones," replied Randall. "You, me and Jane."
Loach nodded, then turned back to the chieftain. "What is category one?" he asked it.
*Category one includes everyone equipped with a personal communications device,* replied the chieftain.
"Satisfied?" said Randall, raising an eyebrow at the other man.
"In my line of business, suspicion saves lives," Loach replied with a wry smile.
"Just make sure you take your head phone out of flight mode if you see the orcs attacking," Randall said. "To our friend here, a phone in flight mode is indistinguishable from not having a phone. There'll be no more need for secrecy at that point. The raising of the transmitter will be a pretty big giveaway." Loach nodded his understanding.
" And now we've got to be getting back before we're missed," said Randall. He turned back to the chieftain. "Stay close, but stay out of sight. You and your orcs as well. Can you trust them not to go wandering around and being spotted?"
*Affirmative. They are accustomed to spending long periods of time in an almost comatose state. They will not be discovered.*
"Good." Randall turned back to Loach. "Best we be off then."
Loach nodded, and the two men made their circuitous way back to the camp.