Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu
By
Neil Stokes
This story contains some violence and bad language.
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.
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Chapter 2: A Meeting with Destiny
In a spray of gravel, a Norton 'Streetfighter' came to a crunching halt. A slim rider enveloped in tight black leather dismounted, removed her helmet and shook free waves of long auburn hair. With the soft purr of a zipper she peeled open the front of her tunic, taking out a pair of round shades and pushing them up to the bridge of her nose. Lara Croft's sunglasses would one day be a collector's item: hallmark, calling card, mask; they provided her with much more than protection from the sun's rays.
The moment she entered the reception area of 'The Dorchester Hotel' every man in the vicinity turned to look. Threatening only her dignity, she was aware of each one, where they were sitting or standing and what they were doing. Lara had learnt that being aware was a far more useful weapon than any pistol or shotgun; she rarely let her guard down even in the lobby of an expensive hotel. She was perfectly conscious of the good-looking, middle-aged man who had risen as she had come in and who followed her to the reception desk where she now stood. She spun round to face him but before she could speak, his deep educated voice began to recite:
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea..."
Lara cut in:
"So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree...
'Kubla Khan' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: a lovely poem," she said, presuming she had found her contact.
"It is, it is but alas not quite so lovely as you, Miss Croft."
Lara lifted one eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. "You're very forward, Mr Hurt."
He leaned towards her smiling and speaking in a confidential tone: "I say what I think, Miss Croft, although I must admit, not with the finesse of poetry. Shall we sit?" He bowed as he turned, one guiding hand indicating the direction. Lara didn't move; she looked at him, noting everything: his hair was grey but thick and neat; he wore an immaculately tailored pearl grey suit set off by a bright red silk tie; he was tall and although good-looking had a contented air that could easily be interpreted as smugness. Lara let herself be led to a nearby couch. She said nothing for the moment; she wanted to see and hear more before she allowed things to go any further. She watched his smooth confident movements and noted the fussiness with which he straightened the crease of his expensive trousers as he sat. For some reason he irritated her. She placed her helmet on the floor and with a creak of leather she too sat but avoided the disabling depth of the cushions and remained perched on the edge of her seat as if ready to leave at any moment. Hurt reached out a manicured hand and began to pour coffee as he spoke: "I imagine you are fond of literature, Miss Croft. I have avidly followed the publication of your most original books. They interest me greatly."
"Not quite Coleridge though," Lara responded, resting a boot on the top of her helmet.
"No, but they could be." He passed her a cup.
"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Hurt?" said Lara, playing along.
"My recital of 'Kubla Khan' was more than a dramatic entrance." He leaned back into the padding of the couch and sipped at his coffee. "Just imagine if Xanadu, that elusive paradise hunted ruthlessly through western literature really did exist. Imagine if an emperor of absolute power really had commanded a 'Pleasure Dome' to be built, imagine a magnificent palace filled with outlandish treasures. And imagine the treasure, hidden at the centre of this impossibly beautiful fortress, through which the owner could have his deepest longing made reality. What a find that would be, eh, Miss Croft?"
"I think that if it were true, it would have been found by now," was Lara's curt reply.
Hurt cocked his head as if in thought before saying: "Do you mean, like the Scion?"
It was no secret but Lara felt her mind reel at the unexpected mention of the Scion. Looking down she very carefully replaced the cup on the low coffee table. Hurt's tone was like a slap across her cheek; this stranger understood too much. Recalling her first outing that had irrevocably converted her into what she was: a tomb raider, she suddenly felt faint; her hearing was obliterated for a second by the remembered scream of subterranean winds, which failed to hide the terrifying mutant howls of memory that still woke her some nights. She noticed that her hands were trembling slightly as she forced herself to look at Hurt. With her returning composure she saw a small glint of surprise, or possibly triumph, in Hurt's eyes. "An inexperienced adventuress alone in the dark with only her wits to fend off a mutant army baying for her blood. It must have been hard, very hard," he said in a soft, sympathetic voice stretching out a hand and patting her knee.
Lara's anger ignited at his touch and she asked sharply: "What do you want exactly, Mr. Hurt? I haven't got all day." She was furious with him for having found his target so well and with herself for having let him through to that confused area of emotion where fear shadowed pride with every step of memory. Lara was unable, or rather unwilling to hide anger and now, unseen behind her sunglasses, her eyes sparkled with defiance.
"But then you are an equally hard woman," he went on, withdrawing his hand and shaking his head in admiration. "Extraordinary," he added after a pause. Lara said nothing, continuing to stare at him angrily. "Very well, Miss Croft, " he said, "I'll be brief and 'get down to business' as they say. Or may I call you Lara?" he asked.
"Miss Croft," was all she could spit out through her anger.
Hurt's face took on a disappointed expression for a moment and raising his eyebrows in a look of slight indignation he continued: "Kubla Khan did build his pleasure dome, Miss Croft." He accentuated her name with unnecessary emphasis. "And the treasure of which I spoke does exist: The Orb of Longing. It reputedly has the power to provide its possessor with whatever he or she desires. It lies at the heart of the Dome and is there for the taking. Unfortunately being an old man," clearly less than sixty the way he held himself suggested health and poise, "I am unable to get there myself and...," he looked around, searching for the word. "...extract what interests me. You are, of course, the best at what you do. I only ever have the best." He drew out the sibilant sound in the word 'best' and looked at her in such a way that gave her a sudden feeling of bashfulness as if caught leaving the shower.
"Go on," Lara commanded.
"There is little more to say. I want the Orb and I want you to get it for me. It's as simple as that."
"You want your deepest wishes to come true," Lara scoffed.
"Don't we all, Miss Croft. However, I am a businessman with little time for fantasies. The Orb is a diamond, the biggest in the world, naturally. I'll settle for that." He sat back into the sofa as if he had finished but when Lara opened her mouth to speak he held up a hand to forestall her, sat forward and whispered seriously: "I am not asking for your help, Miss Croft. I am merely enabling you to fulfil the destiny that you yourself have chosen." He sat back waving his hands slightly to encourage her to talk.
Lara's first reaction was to laugh in his face for his dramatic words and gestures but she sensed a truth in them that she couldn't deny. She felt a familiar curiosity take control and she knew that she would accept whatever preposterous scheme he was about to suggest. However, she refused to give in so easily; her acceptance would put inevitable restrictions on her independence and she wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. With a frozen smile she said, "I'm not interested in wild goose chases, Mr Hurt, but thank you for your confidence." Reaching for her helmet, she stood up as if to leave.
Before either of them could move a mobile phone started screeching and holding out one hand to detain her Hurt reached into his inside pocket and answered with a touch of annoyance. His expression changed immediately and with a large smile he bellowed: "Mr Smiley, how nice of you to answer so promptly." He stopped talking and listened while Lara thought to herself: So Rob Smiley's in on this? "Of course, of course, Mr Smiley," continued Hurt, "just say 'when'."
Lara shook her head and thought once more, Rob Smiley? She felt a pang of disappointment at the sound of his name. Smiley was a tomb raider like herself and although he'd been around a lot longer than she had, she knew she was better than any ageing Australian with an inflated reputation. This sudden indignation surprised her and she realised that she already considered the Kubla Khan project as her own. As Hurt finished his phone conversation she had to admit to herself that holding out any longer was not going to get her anywhere. Replacing the mobile, Hurt turned to face her. "Where were we, Miss Croft?"
"We were about to discuss my fee," she replied as innocently as possible.
He gave her a large smile. "Oh, yes. Now I remember," he said. "Please, sit down Lara. I'll order some more coffee." Lara sat down again, her fists clenched at her sides.