‘Even if what I tell you is so shocking your first instinct is to do just that.’
‘I try to, how you say? Think, before do anything. But I worry now. Why you not just tell me?’
‘Yes, I will tell you. I will tell you.’ Harold said, but then he hesitated. If he told Refet about the children, he had to be sure he would not try to destroy them. He knew they may be potential killers and once he had taken them from the underground caverns, they could be a threat to anyone. He did not know if their human character had changed. But he also knew that, killers or no killers, he would lay down his own life to protect them.
Refet waited for Harold to decide whether or not he trusted him enough to share his secret.
‘My children are not dead,’ Harold finally said. ‘Come with me and I will show you.’
Refet said nothing but followed him down into the dark ventilation shaft to the coffins. Harold opened one of them and on viewing its contents Refet appeared more shocked and horrified than if he had been looking at a stinking, rotting corpse. He found himself staring down at Alexandre who was monstrously, supernaturally beautiful.
‘What is this?’ Refet whispered.
‘Do not worry,’ Harold clasped his shoulders. ‘He will not harm you. He has been changed but he does not stir. See? He is still.’
Refet backed away and took hold of the rope. He said something in his native language and then switched to English. ‘We not safe. I know they were you family, but they gone. These ... someone else. Not same as you family or friends.’
‘Please, Refet. Wait. They may have changed but they will always be my children and I need your trust and your help. Will you help me? My offer still stands. We can try to puzzle this out together.’
‘I go up now. We not safe down here.’ Refet shinned up the rope and pulled Harold up after him.
Harold gave Refet space to think about his proposal. He prayed he would not tell the other guards or try to harm the children, but he did not think he was the sort to do anything rash.
That night, Refet came to Harold and agreed to help him. But Harold knew it was more from a desire to keep an eye on them, than to actually protect them from danger or from being discovered.
‘I will come with you. I feel it my duty. If they do something wrong I must stop them. You understand this?’
‘Yes, Refet,’ Harold understood. ‘That is acceptable.’
*
A few days later, Harold had recovered enough to make the long journey home to England. They loaded up the carts and Harold ensured the coffins were sealed up tight. He did not know for certain if daylight was harmful to them but, according to the legend, the ancient demons had not come out during the day and he did not want to take any chances with his children’s safety. He covered the wagons over with thick sheets.
Once packed and ready to leave, he and Refet sent all the workers back to their homes with their wages and his thanks. Then Harold sent the convoy of coffins on its way to the Port of Smyrna, complete with four armed guards. He and Refet would catch them up later that day or the next, on horseback.
Soon, the sound of creaking wheels and the sight of swirling dust clouds faded into the distance. Harold and Refet could delay no longer. They knew what they had to do.
‘Are you absolutely sure you are alright to do this?’ Harold asked Refet.
‘It must be done.’
‘Very well. But you must be quick getting out of there. Are you a strong enough swimmer?’
‘I excellent swimmer.’
‘Good. So we will do it at twelve o’clock on the dot.’
‘I go now.’
‘Good luck, Refet. I shall see you later.’
‘God willing.’ Refet mounted his horse, dug his heels into its flanks and the sleek grey mare took off at a fast gallop.
Harold watched Refet disappear into the rocky blue horizon. He was alone for the first time in weeks. Alone, completely and utterly, in every sense of the word. He sat at the top of the shaft and wept. He cried for his family, for his wife and his children and, strangely, he cried for his long-dead parents. What he wouldn’t give to be able to sink his head into his mother’s chest and weep like a little boy, to be comforted as only a mother knows how to comfort. But this was all useless wishing. He was alone and had to make the best of it. He had no other choice.
He stood up, wiped his tears and shook himself briskly, fanning his face with his hat and clearing his throat self-consciously, even though there was nobody there to witness his breakdown. He wandered around the deserted site trying not to think about anything in particular, counting down the minutes until he had to do what was required.
When it was nearly time he climbed down the rope, hand-over-hand, until he reached the cool dark chamber. He thought back to the first time he had been here, to when his family and friends had been alive, excited and happy, on the verge of a great discovery. Now it was all in ruins. They were either dead or changed forever and he and Refet were about to ensure that nobody would ever again be able to stumble across the most amazing archaeological find of the century.
He felt cold now that the heat of the sun had left his skin. He rubbed the sleeves of his jacket against his goose-fleshed arms and checked his pocket watch again – a quarter to eleven. Not long now. He had better get started.
*
Refet reached the river a little earlier than anticipated. It was good they were going to do this. It was the only thing they could do, for what had happened could never be allowed to happen again. The legends were a warning and if they had ignored it, then others too might ignore it in the future and suffer the fatal consequences.
He tethered his horse under a willow tree and prepared himself for the dive. He took off his tunic, tied a small wooden box around his waist and said a quick prayer to ask that all would go smoothly. Then he lowered his body into the cold river and headed towards the twin peaks of the fairy chimneys which jutted out of the frothing water. He reached the nearest peak and held on while he got his breath back. Then, when he felt ready, he took a huge breath and dived.
Underwater, all was muffled and quiet after the hectic roar of the river. Refet swam gracefully, undulating his body towards the large white cave. He soon found the narrow entrance at the back which led to the underground lake. As he wriggled through, bubbles of air escaped rapidly from his mouth. Eventually, he surfaced in the dark cavern lake and pulled himself onto the stone shore. He wiped the water from his eyes and untied the box from his waist. It was sealed with pitch to make it watertight and now he cut it open with his knife. Good, everything inside was bone dry. He lit a candle and got to work.
By ten past eleven he was set up. He tried not to think about what lay hidden in this place, but images of his massacred comrades and the two doomed families came unbidden into his mind. The seconds dragged by. Every minute felt like ten as he checked and re-checked the heavy pocket watch that Harold had given him.
The walls of the cavern were green and mossy, and strange pointed stalactites hung down from the ceiling like giant swords ready to parry and thrust. He listened to the drip, drip and ripple of water from the underground lake which echoed throughout the huge cavern.
At five to twelve Refet stood up and prepared himself, stretching and pacing like a caged tiger, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders, his taut body suddenly flooding with adrenalin.
Lighting the fuses, he watched them snake away towards the millstone entrances. He slipped like a fish into the underground lake and dove down and away into the narrow underwater tunnel and back through the white river cave. He finally surfaced out in the fast-flowing river and the brightness of the noonday sun.
Refet took huge gulps of air and squeezed his eyes closed against the spray of water and white daytime light that took some getting used to after the black gloom of the caves. He trod water, fighting the current and finally opened his eyes and focused, looking for the river bank.
He was about to head for dry land
when he felt a deep rumble beneath him. The water sucked at his legs and pulled him backwards, smashing him sideways into one of the fairy chimneys that protruded from the water. He was just able to reach out and wrap his arm around it.
Refet stayed there for a second or two before he realised the cone-shaped rock was slowly tipping over, sinking into the water. He let go, but found he too was being pulled down into the spinning vortex of water and rocks. The whirlpool spun him around and sucked him under again. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the spinning slowed and stopped. He was thrown back up to the surface like a cork and the water resumed its flow.
Choking and spluttering, Refet let the river take him downstream while he floated on his back trying to get his breath. Then, when he had recovered enough, he struck out towards the river bank, heaving himself onto dry land. He lay there, letting the heat warm his tired, battered body.
After some time, he could not have said how long, Refet finally had the strength to sit up. His clothes were almost dry and he already felt hot and very thirsty. He crawled forwards, scooped some river water into his mouth, stood and walked back upstream. The two fairy chimneys, with their ancient heads above the water line, had disappeared. The explosion had done its job and dislodged them. Good. No clues left as to what lay beneath.
His task complete, he would wait here for Harold. They would leave this cursed place and travel across the ocean to England and his new life. He tried not to think of the other matter that would soon need to be addressed - that of the Englishman’s family. God willing, they would continue to sleep in their coffins and never wake up, but somehow he did not think things would be that easy.
*
Having climbed hand-over-hand back up the rope with the long fuses between his teeth, Harold lit them and let them go. He prayed they would not burn out before reaching the sticks of dynamite he had placed by each of the four entrance ways. Had he calculated correctly? Would the charge be enough to collapse the tunnels completely?
The blast rumbled the earth and soon all that remained of the shaft, was a wide, shallow depression in the ground that would soon blend into its surroundings. Harold had one last swift glance around the abandoned site and shook his head, ruing the day he had ever come to this damned place. He mounted his horse and made off towards the river near Zelmat, where Refet waited.
*
After many days of uneventful, melancholy travel, Harold and Refet found themselves back in England adjusting to a new way of life. The five children remained unmoving in their coffins.
He had arranged for the bodies of Didier and Marie-Louise to be returned to their families in France and had written to say that the children had not been recovered from the rock fall that killed them all. He hated to lie like this, but the truth was too shocking to be revealed and Harold wanted to spare their families from any further pain and worry. He would take on the responsibility of caring for them. It would help to ease his grief and give him some kind of reason to go on. He would do whatever it took to revive them.
Harold made a space for the sleeping children in the large cellar of his country home. He created a beautiful comfortable room down there, hidden by a false wall to prevent discovery by his servants. He constructed large wooden crates, lined with soft blankets for them to lie on. He spoke to them every day and read to them from books and newspapers.
Harold did not sleep well in his huge four poster bed anymore; it felt too big without Victoria and he usually spent most of his nights tossing and turning or wandering around his house in the quiet small hours.
It was the beginning of June and the weather was unseasonably warm for England. Even with all the windows propped open as wide as they could go, there was no breeze and the heat hung thick and heavy.
Harold awoke from a fitful sleep and noted a change in the air. A chill enveloped him and he had the strange sensation that he was being watched.
Chapter Nineteen
*
How did you make sense of something that didn’t make sense? A statue that wasn’t a statue. Was it alive? Was it supernatural? It hadn’t talked or anything. It hadn’t even opened its eyes. Could it really be what Madison thought it was? A ... a ... She couldn’t even say the word in her head without it sounding so far-fetched and ridiculous that she was in danger of checking herself into the loony bin.
And if it was what she thought it was, then why hadn’t it attacked her before now? Was it because this time she had gone down there at night? There were too many unanswered questions, but the main one was, were she and Ben safe? She looked at the bandage on her wrist. She had been in bed for four days now and felt much better, physically. But mentally she was a wreck.
She peeled back the tape and began to unwind the bandage, tensing her body in preparation for what she was about to see under the dressing. The soft skin on her inner wrist was yellowish, bruised and tender. But the marks themselves had healed quickly - now showing as two small triangular-shaped scabs. She took the bandage off completely and decided get up and see Ben. She needed to talk to him about what had happened and find out whether or not Esther and Morris had been into the cellar.
The Foxtons were still here, in a room on the second floor. Esther brought Maddy her meals in bed, changed her dressings and gave her the medicine Dr Wilson had prescribed. She talked a lot; mainly about Ben and the housework, but she delivered it all in her usual abrupt manner - more a monologue than a conversation. Maddy wondered how long they planned on staying. She was grateful for their help, but could do without them being here all the time; it was doing her head in.
‘Hey, geezer,’ Maddy peered into Ben’s bedroom. He was sprawled on his bed doing his homework.
‘You’re up!’ Ben threw his pen down and grinned at her. ‘Are you better now?’
‘Getting there, shortie. Still a bit shaky.’
She got on his bed, pulling her feet up under her. ‘I was really out of it, wasn’t I?’
‘Yeah, you were bad, Mads. Shivering and talking in your sleep and stuff. But I meant to ask you about something weird, cos the morning you got ill, the cellar was open with the lights on, but you were still in bed. Did you go down there or something?’
‘Yeah,’ Maddy said, relieved he hadn’t noticed anything else amiss. ‘I was down there when I started feeling ill and I felt so bad I must’ve forgotten to turn everything off. Did Esther or Morris go down there? Did they see the statues d’you know?’ She asked the question as casually as she could.
‘Don’t think so. Dunno. Mads, are you well enough to help me with this history homework? It about Wat Tyler, this peasant bloke …’
‘Yeah, Ben, sure. What do we have to do?’
Ben spent the next hour or so, talking to her about the fourteenth century peasant revolution and Maddy listened, finding it a welcome distraction from her turbulent thoughts.
*
That night, Madison woke at about three in the morning. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t get her mind away from what had happened. She knew it was madness, but she felt a compulsion to revisit the cellar and see if the statue creature would wake again. Because, although what had happened was horrific, Maddy couldn’t shake the memory that it was also sublime. She had never experienced feelings like that in her life. It had been like being connected to the cosmos - terrifyingly wonderful. And he … he still drew her to him with his beauty; it was like an addiction.
And so, fighting against the rational part of her brain which screamed at her to stay away, she tiptoed down the stairs towards them, towards him. She unlocked the utility room door and crept down the cellar steps with the torch in her hand. Maddy turned on the halogen light, but nothing happened. The bulb must have burned out. The crates were still pulled away from the opening, so she walked through to the small room in the cold torchlit gloom.
The lid still lay on the ground and Maddy breathed in with apprehension and pleasure as she saw him lying there. She sat too close, terrified he would attack her again, but t
errified he would not.
Madison reached out her hand. The same hand that ached from the last time she came down here. She touched his face with her fingertips and marvelled at its hardness, like granite or marble. It seemed impossible it could be alive, in any sense of the word. Had she imagined it? Looking at her wrist, she shook her head, not knowing what to believe. Maddy sat there for a while, staring at his unmoving face.
*
Madison recovered and Esther and Morris returned to their cottage on the edge of the estate. Maddy awkwardly thanked them for looking after her, and Morris stated it was no trouble. Esther said that they were the caretakers and it was part of their job. Life continued as before, with Ben enjoying his new school and Maddy receiving intermittent visits from Travis. She spent large chunks of her time down in the cellar, but nothing else untoward occurred.
The days and weeks sped past and Maddy’s wrist healed up completely, with only two faint scars to remind her of what had happened.
The week before Christmas, Maddy sat in the kitchen warming her hands around a mug of tea, when the doorbell rang. She heard Esther banging around upstairs somewhere, so she answered the door herself, taking sips of her tea. Morris and one of the gardeners stood on the doorstep in the rain, with a ten foot Christmas tree resting on their shoulders.
‘Where d’you want him?’ Morris asked. ‘Chopped him down this morning.’
‘Wow!’ Maddy gasped. ‘Is that for us? For the house?’
‘Well it ain’t for the Wizard of Oz. You gonna tell us where you want him before our backs break?’
‘Oh, sorry. Umm, in the hall? No. In the lounge in front of the big window.’
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