Twisted Time

35 - Exhibition

The museum, 03:21

In the diffuse light filtering through the overhead windows, Dan can hardly read the expression on Ric's face. Aware their pursuers are in the building now she presses on, her pulse rushing in her ears.

They find the opening exactly where they thought it might be. But instead of a hallway, it leads into a dark cavern of a room. To judge by the hollow sounds of their steps, it is probably another large hall. Pushing the empty shell of the extinguisher at Ric, Dan searches for her flashlight. Distracted for a moment, she stumbles over a step on the floor, blind in the darkness.

"Take care." Her partner steadies her and pulls her on, deeper into the ominous room. Seconds later, he runs into an obstacle himself, cursing softly under his breath.

It proves hard to suppress a giggle, and her strangled huffing sounds hysteric in her own ears. Dan presses the switch of her torch. The batteries are nearly flat, and the feeble yellow light is reflected by a big white mass of fabric in front of her. Her brain takes a while to process the fragmentary impressions. Right in time, she remembers to lower her voice to a whisper. "What's a Mongolian yurt doing indoors?"

"A Mongolian what?"

"A yurt, a tent-like construction. It's the traditional dwelling of the nomads of the Asian steppes. People live in it. Well, some do, in my backwater century. I've seen a documentary."

"Never seen one of those, but I trust your history. We're in a museum, remember? They are supposed to preserve outdated stuff. That's good for us, come!"

Dan follows her companion with a head-shake into the depths of the exhibition. In the light of her dying torch, the exhibits take on a mysterious life, flashing up for short moments and sinking back into obscurity immediately. A collection of tents and huts contains a full-size leather tepee and an igloo made of something that imitates ice to the T, glittering in her light. When they reach the back wall of the hall, Dan is almost disappointed. But Ric points out a white line on the floor that leads them to the passage into the next room.

They enter what resembles a rustic alpine peasants cottage, the woodcarvings, flowery designs on painted chests completely overdone in Dan's opinion. Even the mandatory red-and-white chequered tablecloth and curtains are present. From there, the white stripe leads them into a Japanese pavilion, it's near sterility a welcome relieve for the senses. Dan pulls Ric aside before he overthrows the low table where a tea set awaits nonexistent guests. "Careful, we don't want to leave a trace of destruction."

"Right. Wow, what's this?" He stops at the entrance to the next room.

"Could be a triclinium, a Roman eating room, with the fancy mosaic floor and the wall paintings. I've seen some of those in Pompeii." She slows her pace and points her light at an artfully painted garden scene. "I'd like to see this museum as a normal visitor, by light and at my leisure. The collection is impressive."

Even in the almost inexistent illumination, Ric's face seems to carry a bewildered expression. "You know what this string of rooms symbolises? Seems pretty confusing."

"I don't recognise everything. I guess the curators reproduced examples of traditional domestic culture from different regions and periods of the world, reaching as far back as the Roman Empire. I wouldn't wonder if we stumble into a replica of the Lascaux caves next."

Reluctantly, she follows Ric's pull into the next piece, only to stop again. "No, not a Palaeolithic cave. This looks more like a mediaeval knight's hall, see the giant fireplace? They did a remarkable job with this ugly slab of concrete."

Her flashlight chooses this moment to flicker a few times and die. Dan clings to Ric's hand, waiting for the sickness of a time shift. But Ric's arm still supports her, and she hears him nestling in his pocket. The pale glow of the Metec seems far brighter than her torch and spreads the light steadier. Thankful, she stows her own lamp in a trouser pocket. The batteries might recover for one last effort.

With a sigh, she takes the extinguisher from Ric. If he wouldn't insist they can't leave behind anachronisms, she'd throw the cumbersome thing away right here. Wistfully, she remembers the small backpack in her car's boot. Should have brought it along to carry all those improvised weapons.

"Ric, are you sure we're still being followed? I haven't heard them for at least five minutes."

Her partner studies his gadget's tiny display with a frown and turns back towards the room they came from, hand and device outstretched. "I register three life-signs in the first room, moving, four more on the roof. The location is distorted, probably by electronics in the walls. Let's hope they search all these huts and tents for us, it will keep them busy for a while."

Dan follows him to the next room without complaint. "We should try to change the floor though, before this tour brings us around to our starting point, beneath the restaurant." The mere thought sends a shiver down Dan's spine.

"True. I have no intention to run directly into the arms of those thugs. Let's look for stairs."

"Who are they? The guys in the chopper, I mean?"

Ric only shrugs, and Dan tries to concentrate on finding an exit instead of studying the displays. The emergency exit, when they discover it, is marked with a mundane, luminous sign: A green directional arrow points towards an unmarked door. At first, it seems like a miracle it isn't locked, but then Dan reasons that a locked emergency exit wouldn't fulfil its purpose.

Before they pass the door and close it, Ric disables the exit sign with his magic box. "Perhaps this will give us more time."

Behind the door, the access to the facilities and a staircase is lit by the glow of emergency lamps. While they hurry down the steps, Dan wonders why the building is fitted with both a fire escape ladder and an emergency stairwell. But she won't complain as long as this proves their way to freedom.

On the landing after three flights of stairs, Ric stops and opens the door to lead them back into the exhibition. Somewhere deep below them, a siren wails its ghostly alarm through the building.