Page 41 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure (The Children Of The Gods #98)

NABIN

T he tremor jolted Nabin from his light sleep, years of military training bringing him to alertness before his eyes were fully open. His hand was already reaching for the kukri knife beside his bed when his mind caught up with his body. It was an earthquake, not an attack.

As if anyone would attack the harem, and even if some forces from the outside tried it, the legions of immortal warriors would take care of the invader. One human with a knife was worthless.

Still, he would protect his family if needed because the immortals would just let the humans die. They didn't value human life.

He sat up, listening to the structure settle around him.

In his eleven years serving as security chief of the harem, he'd experienced dozens of these tremors.

After all, the island sat on volcanic rock.

But something about this one felt different.

The duration, perhaps, or the rolling quality that suggested movement deep below rather than the sharp jolts of tectonic shifts.

His wife turned on her side. "What is it?"

"An earthquake."

"Oh." She turned to her other side and went back to sleep. His woman could sleep through anything.

As his walkie-talkie chimed, he knew it was Hassan before his name lit up the display.

"You felt it," Nabin said into the device.

"I'm already in the control room," Hassan answered, his Pakistani accent thickening with stress. "All systems are showing green, but that was a nasty one. Not big, but stinky. You know what I mean?"

Nabin rolled his eyes. All of Hassan's jokes were fart based.

"We should do a visual inspection. Let's start with Level Five. I don't want to bother the ladies for no reason."

"I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

Nabin dressed quickly in his black tactical pants and the gray shirt bearing the Harem Security insignia. The kukri went into its sheath at his hip. Lord Navuh permitted him this one cultural concession, recognizing perhaps that a Gurkha without his blade was like a bird without wings.

The corridors of Level Six were quiet as he made his way to the service elevator. Hassan was already waiting for him, his toolkit in hand.

"Any reports from the other levels?" Nabin asked as they descended.

"Nothing significant. A few residents woke up, and some items fell off shelves. The usual." Hassan adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit that intensified under stress. "I'm worried because of the duration of that tremor. It lasted nearly forty seconds. Usually, they last half of that."

They emerged onto Level Five, the first of the staff quarters.

The hallway stretched before them, fluorescent lights humming steadily.

Everything appeared normal—doors closed, no visible cracks in the walls or ceiling.

They walked the perimeter systematically, Nabin checking security points while Hassan examined structural elements.

"Remember when we thought this would be temporary?" Hassan said quietly as they completed their circuit. "Fifteen years. Where did the time go?"

Nabin remembered his own recruitment vividly.

A decorated Gurkha soldier honorably discharged and struggling to support his elderly parents.

The offer had seemed like a gift from the gods—security work for a private employer, pay that would let him hire a caretaker for his parents and pay for all their other needs.

He hadn't known that this wasn't a job he would ever leave. The only exits were in boxes or weighted bags destined for the ocean floor.

"At least we were able to support our families," Nabin said. "That's more than most can say."

They'd had this conversation before, in various forms. It was part of their ritual, like checking the walls for cracks—probing old wounds to make sure they hadn't festered.

Nabin had married a sweet servant girl, and he would have been happy if they were allowed to have a child, but they were still waiting for their turn. The harem population was strictly controlled.

Level Six showed similar normalcy. A few residents poked their heads out as they passed, but Nabin waved them back to bed. "Just a routine check. Nothing to worry about."

The lie came easily. In this place, maintaining calm was as much a part of security as walking the hallways and monitoring the cameras.

Level Seven was larger, housing most of the service staff. Here they found the first signs of the tremor's impact—a cracked water pipe dripping steadily onto the floor, some fallen ceiling tiles. Nabin made notes on his tablet while Hassan called for his maintenance crew.

"Should we wake Lord Navuh?" Hassan asked as they approached the access to the service level below.

"Not yet." Nabin punched in his security code. "No point disturbing him or the ladies for minor damage."

They took the emergency stairs that were rarely used. The metal steps echoed under their boots, the sound strangely hollow in the confined space. Emergency lighting cast harsh shadows on the concrete walls.

"I've always hated this place," Hassan muttered. "Feels like descending into a tomb."

Nabin couldn't argue. There was something menacing about Level Eight and moving even deeper underground, away from even the artificial comfort of the residential levels. The air grew cooler and carried a mechanical smell.

As he punched in another code and opened the secured door at the bottom of the stairs, the underbelly of the pyramid opened before them like an industrial cathedral.

The ceiling soared twenty feet high, necessary to accommodate the massive machinery that kept their underground world functioning.

Water pumps the size of tanks hummed steadily.

Electrical panels lined one wall, their indicator lights creating a constellation of green and amber.

The waste-processing systems occupied their own section, mercifully sealed and sound dampened.

"I'll check the water systems." Hassan walked toward the pumps. "You take electrical?"

Nabin nodded, though his attention was drawn to the far wall and a series of vault doors. Five in total, each secured with electronic locks that responded only to the highest security clearances. In eleven years, he'd never seen them open.

"Still wondering what's in there?" Hassan followed his gaze.

"Aren't you?"

"Self-preservation trumps curiosity, my friend. Some doors are better left closed."

Wise words, but Nabin couldn't help speculating. What was behind those square locker-style doors? Gold? Diamonds? Or something more exotic—the kind of treasures a man like Lord Navuh might accumulate over his never-ending life?

The guards whispered theories when they were a safe distance from the surveillance equipment. Some even claimed to have heard sounds from behind the doors—mechanical noises or sometimes what might have been voices. But guards stationed too long underground often heard things that weren't there.

He forced himself to focus on the electrical panels. All the readings were normal. No tripped breakers, no unusual power draws. The backup generators showed full fuel reserves and recent successful test cycles.

"Nabin." Hassan's voice carried an edge that made him turn. "Come look at this."

The engineer stood by the far wall, his flashlight beam playing across the concrete surface. At first, Nabin saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then Hassan placed his palm against the wall and held it there.

"Feel," he said.

Nabin pressed his hand to the concrete. It was damp. Not wet enough to be visible, but definitely carrying moisture that shouldn't be there.

"When did we last have the dehumidifiers serviced?" he asked.

"Six weeks ago. They are working fine. It's not the dehumidifiers." Hassan moved his flashlight beam slowly across the wall. "There—do you see that?"

Thin lines of mineral deposits traced patterns on the concrete like spider webs. It was the kind of buildup that came from water seeping through microscopic cracks over time.

"How long would this take to form?" Nabin asked.

Hassan knelt, examining the deposits more closely.

"Depends on the mineral content of the water and the rate of seepage.

It could be months or years. However, what bothers me is that this wall faces the interior of the structure.

Any water reaching it would have to come from above or.

.." He paused, frowning. "Or from below. "

"The water table?"

"Possibly. When this place was built, it was supposedly far above the water table, but that can shift.

Volcanic activity, changes in rainfall patterns, and underground streams finding new channels.

" Hassan stood, wiping his hands on his pants.

"We should run a full diagnostic. Moisture sensors, structural scans, the works. "

Nabin considered their options. A full diagnostic would involve reports, which would mean waking people, potentially alerting Lord Navuh to a problem that might be minor. In his experience, the lord did not appreciate false alarms.

"What's the worst-case scenario?" he asked.

Hassan removed his glasses, cleaning them slowly with a cloth he'd produced from his pocket—another nervous tell. "Worst case? Hydrostatic pressure is building up beneath the foundation. If water finds a weakness, it doesn't knock politely. It comes in hard and fast."

"And best case?"

"Surface water from the monsoons found a new path. It'll dry up when the rains stop." He replaced his glasses. "But the tremor complicates the picture."

They stood in silence, both calculating risks they were tasked with anticipating and diagnosing but not fully empowered to address. The machinery hummed around them, an illusion of normalcy, while the water tried to undermine the building's foundation.

"Let's just keep monitoring the situation," Nabin said. "We will check every two hours, document the changes. If it gets worse, we report to Lord Navuh. If it stays stable, we say nothing and avoid causing unnecessary panic."

Hassan nodded. "Every two hours means no sleep. Oh, well. I'll set up some humidity sensors and strain gauges in key locations."

As they made their way back to the stairs, Nabin took a final glance at the damp wall. The mineral deposits seemed to shimmer malevolently in the fluorescent lighting.

They parted ways at Level Four, Hassan heading to gather monitoring equipment while Nabin made for the security office. He filed a report—minor tremor, minimal damage, all systems operational. The kind of report that would go into the file cabinet and never see the light again.

But he also wrote a private log, documenting in careful detail what they'd found. His military training had taught him the value of accurate records. In his desk drawer, locked away, were eleven years' worth of similar observations. Small anomalies, patterns that might mean nothing or everything.

His desk phone rang. The night watch commander reporting all quiet on the upper levels. Nabin thanked him and hung up, then pulled up the security feeds from Level Eight. The cameras showed the machinery running smoothly, the vault doors undisturbed.

But cameras couldn't capture the moisture in the walls or the weight of water gathering in the darkness below. They couldn't show the hairline cracks spreading through concrete or the way that pressure was conspiring against the human inhabitants of this monstrosity.