“So someone decided to dig a mine,” I muttered. “How could it go wrong?”
“The mine wasn’t open long,” Ziegler said. “This was before mining was a big business. Two men bought the land, hired the miners, and dug the shaft. It had bad luck from the beginning. Miners quit, saying it was haunted, or cursed. Men died or disappeared. Stories went around about there being ‘something’ down in the mine. The miners went on strike, the owners of the mine went bankrupt, there was an explosion, and then they sealed off the entrance. They sold it to the city. And here we are,” he added with a shrug.
“That’s very much the same story that I heard from the ghosts at the potter’s field,” I said and recounted what the three spirits had told me. “Proof that the creatures are real. If sealing the mine back then has kept them bottled up all this time, then we might be good for another hundred years if we can keep Hans and Jakob from blowing it wide open.”
Mrs. Kemmner cleared her throat. “There’s one other thing,” she said. “Before they left, I heard Jakob talking about working some kind of ritual in Penn’s Commons, over near the potter’s field. They didn’t say what it was supposed to do, but it didn’t sound like the kind of thing Pastor Schmidt would have approved of.”
I doubted very much that any man of the cloth would approve of the activities planned for tonight. “Do you know when?” I asked.
“After midnight,” she reported. “That’s all I heard.”
It was already just past nine in the evening. I had no idea how long it would take us to deal with the problem in the mine. We’d deal with Jakob afterward—assuming we made it out in one piece.
“I, um, took it upon myself to meddle,” Mrs. Kemmner said with a hint of a smile. “Spoke to my nephew, asked him to round up his boys and give anyone who showed up at the potter’s field some trouble. That should slow Jakob down if nothing else.”
“Bless you,” I told the landlady, who blushed at the praise but tut-tutted about it being nothing. With the help of the Eighth Street Gang, we might be able to derail both rituals, stop the Free Society’s mad plan, and save the world.
But first, we had to break into the fountain.
Ziegler said something in German to Mrs. Kemmner, and she nodded, patting her bosom beneath her apron. I picked up enough to know he had given her a himmelsbrief and a copy of The Long Lost Friend for protection, and that the landlady knew enough about hexes to work some spells to safeguard herself and the house.
We followed Ziegler through the back alleys, keeping to the shadows. The weather had turned cold, and a light rain fell. While it made walking unpleasant, the shift in the weather meant fewer people were about, making it easier to slip undetected toward our destination.
On the way, we passed Penn’s Commons, and a missing piece clicked into place in my mind.
“As above, so below,” I murmured.
“What?” West’s head came up sharply.
“The potter’s field in the park, it’s right above the mines,” I said. “Want to bet that whatever ritual Jakob and his Free Society pals are planning is a ‘part two’ for freeing the Vril-ya in the mines below?” If I’d had any doubts that it was urgent to deal with the matter tonight, this sealed the deal. Even without our misadventure at the Pagoda, tonight was meant to be the night.
“I believe you are right,” Ziegler said. “Which is why I have the Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses with me. They have instructions on how to bind the spirits of the earth. Cover me while I work the incantation, and if Heaven wills it, we will prevail.”
I wasn’t counting on heaven to rescue us, but I placed what remained of my battered faith in Krukis and said a prayer to let him know I’d be calling on our arrangement again soon. He was a god, so maybe he already knew what I needed, but I figured it was best to cover all my bases. Trust didn’t come easy to me.
We reached the nondescript maintenance building without incident, which just made me more nervous, since I figured our luck was due to run out at some point, and the longer it took, the worse it would be when it happened. If Jakob intended to preside over a dark rite at the pauper’s cemetery, it didn’t look like he or any of his cronies had arrived yet. I wondered if Hans and Ernst meant to summon the Vril-ya down in the mine. If so, we needed to be extra cautious, since I wasn’t sure how much magic Ernst had.
The small, solid stone fountain building had been built at the turn of the century, and it reminded me of a mausoleum.
“Do you have a key?” I asked Ziegler. He shook his head.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sarah huffed, pushing to the front. Her lock picks made quick work of the old tumblers, and Ziegler raised an eyebrow but said nothing of her unorthodox skills.
Once inside, we looked around. The stone held damp, and despite my layers of clothing, I shivered. The main room held a metal desk piled with papers and a control panel for the fountain. The streamlined console couldn’t possibly hold all of the actual equipment, just the wiring and relays for the controls. Which meant that the true workings of the fountain had to be below us.
“Do you think Hans and his Free Society buddies would have come this way?” I asked.
Ziegler shook his head. “Doubtful. There are other ways in, although they are farther from the old section. This route is not as well known.”
“Why didn’t someone brick up the connection years ago?” Sarah asked.
“The way I heard it, when the fountain was built, the engineers took advantage of some of the uppermost mine corridors to save on excavation costs,” Ziegler said. “They ran water pipes through the old mine and brought them up to the basement of this mechanical house. But in case there was a problem beneath the fountain or with the pipes, they left the connection to the mine—just put it behind a locked door. Over time, people pretty much forgot it was there.”
West had somehow obtained four electric miner’s headlamps for us, and before we headed down the metal steps to the basement, we put them on and made sure they worked. To keep us from being beacons to give away our position, he had smeared a clear blue gel over the lights that dimmed the glow but also made it more difficult to see from a distance. The light bobbled as we walked, but it was safer than carrying an open flame into mines where the air could be questionable at the best of times.
“If the mines have been closed for a long time, how do we know the air is safe to breathe?” I asked. I’d heard stories of firedamp and other noxious gases that could easily explode, or suffocate a man in minutes.
“Because the old pipes ran through the upper levels, and workmen needed access, vents were installed to circulate the air,” Ziegler said. “I checked—they’re still in place, and most looked operational. They’re just located in out-of-the-way places, so no one notices them.”
West handed a thick piece of red chalk to Sarah. “Use this to mark our turns with an arrow pointing in the direction we’re going. I’d hate to get lost down here.”
The maintenance building had a basement and a sub-basement, and we clomped down the old iron circular staircase, going deeper below the park. The main valves with their big twist wheels filled the upper basement. Though the top floor appeared to still be in regular use, the dust down here suggested it had been a while since anyone had bothered with this area.
“Give me a hand,” Ziegler said, eyeing an old set of metal shelving against one wall. West and I maneuvered it so that we could slip behind, where a metal door obviously hadn’t been used in some time.
Sarah picked the lock like a pro, and we pushed the door open into darkness. The air smelled stale, but I could also pick up the scent of wet rock and damp dirt. Our headlamps barely put a dent in the darkness, and I tried not to think about being underground.
Ziegler led the way with his map. I followed, then Sarah, with West taking up the rear. In the distance, I heard water dripping.
Our lamps illuminated old iron pipes that extended into the darkness and connected to the mechanical room behind us. Other pi
pes appeared to be for sewage and water, and they led on past the pump room, down another darkened tunnel. From the cobwebs, I knew no one had been this way in a long time. If Hans and his buddies were going to make their move, they hadn’t entered here.
“This way,” Ziegler said, with the old map as his guide. We took a branching tunnel. Sarah dutifully marked the turn with a large chalk arrow. Becoming lost down here worried me more than whether Hans would be able to follow us.
We followed the tunnel for half an hour, according to the glowing hands on my wristwatch. Then, Ziegler came to an abrupt halt, and we dug in our heels to keep from crashing into him.
“It’s blocked,” he told us, and our headlamps revealed a tumble of rocks and dirt that filled most of the passageway. Perhaps, if there were no alternative, we could wriggle through, but I didn’t like the idea of tempting the ceiling to collapse further, trapping us on the other side.
“Now what?” Sarah put her hands on her hips and turned in a circle, with a look of annoyance as if the tunnel had thwarted us on purpose.
“The top level was a large square,” Ziegler replied, consulting his map. “We took the most direct route. We should be able to go around the long way and get to the shaft.”
I really didn’t like the idea of wandering around down here. Our lamps would only work for so long, and without them, we would be helplessly lost. I wanted to get in, get done, and get out.
“Maybe we can find a guide.” I remembered how the spirits of the Reading Railroad Massacre had shown themselves to me. We weren’t far from the potter’s field, where I’d found helpful ghosts before.
Ziegler met my gaze and nodded, understanding. I laid my hand over the pocket of my jacket that held the himmelsbrief and closed my eyes, concentrating. I thought about what we needed to find—a safe path to the place where the Vril-ya rose from the deep places so we could destroy them. I pictured the consequences if the hell spawn were to be loosed on the city. I spoke a silent prayer to Krukis, and a plea to the restless ghosts of the miners to help us.
“Joe, I think they heard you,” Sarah said, bumping my elbow.
I opened my eyes and saw the same three ghostly figures who had appeared to me in the park. Now, they stood just a few feet away. I could make out their features and their clothing, but they were insubstantial, like an image from a black-and-white movie.
“Thank you,” I said, hoping they could hear me if I spoke aloud for the benefit of my companions. “We want to find where the monsters are, stop them, and then get out safely. Can you help us get around the blocked tunnel so we can blow up the main shaft?”
The three ghosts regarded us in silence, and I hoped they weren’t angry about being roused once more from their slumber, even though it was for a good cause.
“Some bad men want to let the monsters out. We’re trying to make sure that doesn’t happen. But the tunnel is blocked. Please, show us how to get to the elevator shaft,” I added. They’d been done wrong by the men who owned the mines and railroads, just like my friends and I had been betrayed by the steel barons and mill owners. I couldn’t save them, but perhaps together, we could stop the bastards who had caused our deaths from claiming more victims.
The mine grew even colder than before, and I saw Sarah wrap her arms around herself. West stared at the ghosts, looking a bit poleaxed. Ziegler seemed to take it all in stride.
“Are there others in the mine tonight?” I asked. “Other living men?”
The ghost boys nodded. That meant the race was on, between us and Hans’s Free Society, with the fate of the city—and more—hanging in the balance.
Dripping water and the crunch of rock beneath our boots filled the tunnels as we followed Ziegler’s map and our ghostly guides. I wondered where Hans had found another entrance, and whether he and his cronies had unsealed the original mine mouth.
We went back the way we came and passed the machinery room doorway, then kept on going down another long, dark corridor. After a while, I realized that the air had grown colder, and a foul smell filled the air.
Despite what Ziegler’s map showed about the upper level being a large square, in the dark, the reality was more confusing since little spurs extended frequently from the main corridor. I wondered how much light the miners had to work with, and how much they learned the navigate their underground world by feel. I was grateful for our ghostly guides, who moved through the tunnels confidently.
The tunnel widened. I wondered if we were coming up to what had originally been the mouth of the mine. My guess proved right when we turned the next corner and saw the remains of a flat road used for horses or mules to drag out the heavy wagons. The road ended abruptly in a wall of stone blocks, held solid by cement.
The air felt different here, fresher. If I squinted, I could see where a few of the uppermost blocks had been pushed out of the way. Far enough for a few thin men to wriggle through. Hans and his crew, no doubt.
“Someone has broken the binding,” Ziegler said.
“What do you mean?” West glanced sharply at the braucher.
Ziegler held his hands palm out and moved them over the blocked entrance. “When the mouth of the mine was sealed, someone had a witch with strong magic add a binding spell. Whoever broke the seal also broke the spell.”
“Wonderful. Let me bet—that also helped to contain the Vril-ya?” I asked.
“Yes. But it’s not the only magic in the mine,” Ziegler replied. “I can feel another strong protective spell that permeates the whole site. That’s what I think the men came to break, to let the monsters loose.”
“Wait,” I said before we moved on. I pulled out my slim copy of The Long Lost Friend and handed it to Sarah. “Keep this close. It’ll protect you.” I kept the himmelsbrief so I could communicate with the ghosts.
“What about you?” Sarah asked, reluctantly accepting the book.
“I’m going to put my money on Krukis,” I replied, and said a silent prayer to my patron.
Ziegler’s map led us deeper into the mine, away from the entrance. As we moved, the blessed letter in my pocket made me aware that we were surrounded by ghosts, although they did not make themselves visible to us. I had an eerie feeling as if moving farther away from the old mine entrance moved us somehow back in time as well.
“What’s that smell?” West complained.
The urge to retch nearly overpowered me, all of a sudden. The air, which had been dank and stuffy, now stank of rotted fish. Then I realized that buckets hung from brackets along the path, and their contents glowed, a faint blue-green light.
“In the old days, before electricity, candles and flame-lit lanterns could set off mine gas,” Ziegler said in a hushed voice. “So they brought down buckets or rotting fish because they glow as they decompose.”
“That fish hasn’t been down here for a century,” West noted.
“Want to bet Hans and Ernst brought it down with them?” I asked. I wasn’t sure the light was worth the smell.
Bong. The peal of a bell resounded from somewhere in the darkness. I jumped at the sound and saw the others flinch as well. It rang again and again, and old habit made me count the rings.
“Seven,” I said when silence shrouded the mine once more. A memory I hadn’t thought about in years came to mind. “That’s the danger signal.” Seemed like the mine’s ghosts were active tonight.
“And what the hell is that?” Sarah turned her flashlight on an odd cluster of blue crystals that cascaded down a wall like something from beneath the sea. Ziegler walked over and stared at the crystals and then the wall. To my surprise, he smiled.
“I’ve seen this before. They’re called ‘coal flowers.’ Children make them with ammonia and some other ingredients, for something pretty at the holidays.” He gestured toward the wall, which glistened with moisture in the glow of our lamps. “I’m guessing rainwater with a high ammonia content seeps in here and reacts to the coal.”
“So I’m thinking we’re in the right place,”
I said, remembering the riddle-like prophesy engraved on the Pagoda bell: “Down in the valley the gong resounds low and deep…with the moon on high it sounds clearly in the heavens…with the flowers into the land of the dead.”
We’d heard the alarm gong, and the rotting fish gave off something of a moonlight-type glow. The coal flowers were definitely the only kind we would find here, in a mine with a high death toll—the “land of the dead.”
Although Ziegler had described this upper level as one floor, that hadn’t prepared me for how large it was. Gradually, I realized that we were walking the outline of a huge square, with deep shafts in the center that descended to the abyss. We didn’t know for certain how far down the mine went; those records had been lost long ago. Far enough that no mortal would survive hitting the bottom.
Far enough that inhuman creatures had survived for thousands of years in the deep places.
“Dim your lights,” West ordered. We complied, then stood completely still for a moment as our eyes adjusted to nearly complete darkness. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.
“There!” I kept my voice low and pointed.
Across the depthless darkness in the center, I could just make out the shapes of several men on the opposite side of the pit. As I strained to hear, using my god-enhanced senses, a familiar voice reached me, chanting an incantation.
“It’s Ernst and Hans,” I told them. “Some sort of incantation. Maybe from a grimoire? It looks like one of them is holding a book.”
“Then we’re already almost too late,” Ziegler said, barely hiding a note of panic. He set down his bag and rummaged through it, rising with an old tome in his hands. The leather had peeled in places, rubbed smooth in others from frequent handling.
Black Sun Page 10
