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scare, did it?
    â€œYour humor eludes me. Just who are you, by the way?”
    I am the august monarch for whom this many-times-violated tomb was built. And I think it was damned clever.
    Rance gave a crooked smile. “No doubt you have the right.”
    So you think that door is easy prey, do you?
    â€œSomething tells me it is not.”
    It will yield like dry kindling. Try it!
    He turned and regarded the barrier. He read the curse again.
    There came a chuckle. Makes you think twice, and then some, doesn’t it?
    â€œIt does, yes. But it makes me think that something of value lies within.”
    Laughter. It stands to reason! Who would waste such potent power on baubles or some marble bust or another? Some effigy of a long-forgotten potentate—one, say, of your humble host.
    â€œPerhaps you would. Where are your mortal remains?”
    Gone to dust ages ago. Stripped of every jewel and trampled underfoot by tomb robbers. My bones splintered! My countenance smashed—! . . . I beg your forgiveness. Indulge me.
    â€œBy all means, go on.”
    Suffice it to say my elements have long been commingled with those of the universe. But let’s get to business. Why not have a crack at that door?
    Rance eyed the empty coffin askance.
    â€œYou seem strangely eager.”
    Then you’re afraid. The curse deters you, as it did all the others. I fear it is my lot to wait for someone with sufficient mettle.
    â€œHold on, I haven’t yet made my decision.”
    The voice took time to size him up. No, not you.
    â€œEh? Why not?”
    You’re an odd-looking sort. Dark-complexioned, long-faced. And a long nose, too. It emphasizes a weak chin, a sure sign of pusillanimity.
    Rance smiled. “Your taunts won’t goad me. But I will take a crack at your door. The truth is I’m desperately in need of booty.”
    Splendid! Finally someone with sufficient courage. You have my profound admiration and deepest sympathy.
    Rance halted a motion to lift the hammer.
    â€œHow’s that?”
    The curse, man, the curse! Have its implications somehow eluded you?
    â€œNo, but in my own particular case, my fortunes could not go more awry.”
    Down on your luck? You have the look of degenerate nobility about you. Land poor? Too bad. But your luck can and will get worse. This I will warrant.
    â€œSpirit, I detect a note of glee.”
    Academic interest only. You will admit I have little to occupy my time.
    â€œIs this truly, then, what death is?”
    My punishment, I think.
    â€œYou’re not certain?”
    The uncertainty is surely part of the punishment.
    He nodded, picked up the sledge, and slammed at the door.
    The barrier came down in no time. Within lay darkness. He picked up the lantern and peered in. It was a thick, almost tangible darkness that seemed to drink up light.
    Afraid?
    â€œOf course, damn you. What fiendish delights have you planned for me?”
    Fiend I am none. Would that I were! Demons are powerful. Alas, I am but a soul lost.
    â€œLost and by the wind mourned, Ghost, begone! You bother me.”
    He stepped into the chamber. Something crunched underfoot.
    The darkness seemed to recede. He caught the glint of smiling teeth, a death rictus. Then another. Then piles of skulls and bones . . .
    He turned to go but it was too late. The real door—a mammoth slab of finely dressed limestone—banged down before he could barely move. Darkness adamantine fell.
    Hear that?
    He could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart.
    That is the drip of water from a cistern. You will not die of thirst. You will, however, die slowly of starvation. You might be able to catch a dung beetle now and then. You may perhaps find a thigh bone to gnaw on. But you will eventually starve in here. Do you wish me to describe the sensations of such a slow dying?
    He kicked bones out of the way, found a spot to sit, and did.
    â€œDoubtless I can’t stop you. Please begin.”
    A