The PuppetMaster Read Online Free PDF Page B

recommended by the manufacturers of autorickshaws.
    “Devi?”
    “Yes, Bhim?” He seemed less affected by our washing machine motion.
    “Did I hear you say this place is in a mine?”
    “No, not technically speaking. It is not within their cursed fence. The entrance to our cave is close by this mining production, you see, but outside the land this evil company has stolen and offended with their steel devices. The property we enter is owned by Mr. L. Robert Muktendra, who is a family friend. He was the first to discover the entrance two weeks ago. It was this good man who phoned C.G., who then himself came by my house last Tuesday evening with papers authorizing us solely to study what is inside.”
    This was the way Masterji communicated--when he wasn’t grumbling. His English was spiked with dizzying rises and drops, lots of head bobbing and endearing little interjections like ‘you see,’ ‘very well’, and ‘precisely so.’ When he was grumpy it all condensed to terse little jabs. Inevitably there was some reference to an associate or family friend. This led me to believe that my teacher knew every person of importance in the district and most of the less notable ones as well. And being a pundit of Sanskrit, they all respected. Immensely. In that part of the world it was like averaging twenty points a game in the NBA, holding the same distinction and requiring just as much training.
    “And this cave? It is large, right?” I was really hoping for an affirmative on this.
    “Precisely so, you will only need to crawl a dozen or so meters from the entrance and then a short climb down.” He was grinning, and I wasn’t sure whether I’d received the answer I wanted.
    “How far?”
    The reply was another grin that curled mischievously below the colossal nose. Then I recalled that he’d never been inside the cave himself. He was enjoying a fine chuckle at my expense
    It wasn’t that I was claustrophobic exactly, or had an unfounded fear of the dark, but a combination of small, black spaces was not my cup of chai, especially if I happened to be trapped or lost inside one. Unfortunately, that notion had entered a few times during the ride.
    My mouth had gone dry again. I reached for my canteen and checked my flashlight to make sure it was still functioning after bouncing across half the province. Another swig of water, another check of the bulb, and I was feeling more or less better.
    I peered ahead again. The road was leading straight toward a very out-of-place looking steel gate. At that point it seemed to turn ninety-degree in both directions along the base of the fence. Inside the mining yard white-roofed sheds reflected waves of heat. Conveyors, crushers, and a lot of machinery I didn’t recognize, zigzagged like erector set pieces. Dump trucks stood idle near the fence, and further in, there was a mound of fresh tailings and a gaping rectangle carved into a low hillside. Meter gauge tracks curved like talons into the cavity and vanished down the shaft. The entire scene had an eerie resemblance to the Morlock cave in The Time Machine--the original one with Rod Harris and Yvette Mimeau. One glance at that opening and my vision began to swim. Beads of sweat that weren’t attributable to the midday heat broke across my forehead.
    We drew nearer and I saw signs on the fence. Not large. They didn’t, I suppose, need to be. IHI Imperial Holding International, Lucknow, India. No Entry. Six languages and a lot of sharp wire told you to turn around and drive away slowly.
    To the left of the entrance there was a squat cinder-block structure with tangle of utility cables angling into it, and as we motored closer, two guards stepped out and shifted casually to either side. They were uniformed, carried binoculars, clipboards, walkie-talkies, and some serious looking assault weapons. This only added to the whole evil Morlock thing in my opinion. Instantly I wondered how they could strut around with all that mass and not