by E. C. Jarvis
Bile jumped up into her throat at the sight of it and she had to cover her mouth with the back of her hand. She stepped into the room, attempting to avoid getting her boots drenched in blood and gore. The second corpse appeared to be female, dark skin, the facial features...removed, though the mop of dark curly hair seemed familiar to Larissa.
She started to wonder if this whole thing was really such a good idea. The body had been tied to the table, presumably because the poor creature had been alive during the recent dissection; dead bodies required no such restraint. Larissa couldn’t help but imagine herself in that same position; the thought made her toes curl.
“Serenia,” she said out loud, finally realizing whom the corpse belonged to, a puzzle piece clicking into place. She remembered their meeting in the bar, how Serenia had warned her that she’d get herself killed.
“You’ll be next.”
A male voice whispered in her ear and her heart leapt into her throat. She jumped and spun, clutching her knife, knocking into the metal table with her hip. As the table wobbled, the corpse slid to one edge, dragging against the ropes, and the entire thing crashed over onto its side. Blood splatter erupted from a pool on the floor, coating everything in picturesque red dots and splotches. Larissa backed into a wall; she had forgotten to breathe. Her eyes darted around the room but she was the only one alive inside. As her lungs begged to be filled with new air, she consciously forced herself to start breathing again.
“Trick of the mind,” she whispered, although not quite managing to convince herself. “Let’s get out of the room of death...” Larissa headed back out into the corridor and followed the path onwards.
. . .
Holt reached the bottom of the stairs, having encountered no attempted illusions other than the smoke. He studied the surroundings through the spyglass and found the array of switches on the wall. There was no obvious key as to which switch would have what effect. A sound echoed somewhere nearby, a dull thud that seemed to come from somewhere beyond the wall.
As he stood straining to listen, two men appeared in the hallway ahead, one dressed in white overalls and the other in some form of uniform, weapons at his side—a guard. The guard immediately raised his pistol and pointed it at Holt.
“Drop your weapon,” the man shouted, “Now!”
A thought flicked across Holt’s mind, unsure how many other guards were around to have heard the man shouting. The man in overalls had skittered away into a side room. Holt put his free hand in the air, lowering the pistol to the floor, and the guard took the bait to approach him alone.
“Who are you? Where is the woman and the engineer?” the guard asked.
“I believe the woman has taken an alternate route,” Holt said calmly, flicking his gaze towards the switches on the walls though he couldn’t see them without the spyglass. The guard’s stare shifted to the walls for the briefest moment. That moment was all Holt needed; he reached for a knife. The guard saw the movement and pulled on the trigger of his pistol, but Holt launched forwards, knocking the pistol to the side as the shot rang out.
Gunpowder and blood showered the side of Holt’s face as he sunk the blade deep into the guard’s neck. The bullet from the shot ricocheted off the wall, hitting Holt on the back of his arm. He grimaced at the pain as the guard dropped to the floor. The gunshot echoed down the hallway and Holt growled. He hadn’t planned on giving away the game so soon, but as the first move had been made he had no choice now.
Holt flicked a switch on the wall and ducked out into the hallway as the room began to turn, hoping someone would think he headed down whatever passageway it was into which the room opened up. He marched along, stepping into a side room to find the man in white overalls cowering behind a table, some lackey scientist with unwashed hair and ill-fitting spectacles. Holt half-smiled at the man. He’d be unlikely to put up much of a fight.
. . .
Cid reached the bottom of the ladder and dropped through a hole into a radiantly opulent bedroom. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The smell of kerosene from the lamps was blocked out by some fruity incense burning in a glass bowl atop a dark wood dresser. In the center of the room beside Cid was a large circular bed, covered in dark green, velvet sheets. Imago jumped off of Cid’s shoulder onto the bed and immediately clawed at the fabric.
“Orother’s bedroom?” Cid asked Imago, though the cat did not answer. Cid turned around slowly again and again, trying to figure out where the door was.
“Surely he doesn’t climb down that ladder every time he wants to have a nap?” As he looked up at the hole in the ceiling, contemplating pushing some bits of furniture underneath it to get back out again, the unmistakeable sound of a single gunshot caught his attention.
“Bloody hell.”
Moments later the opening in the ceiling disappeared as a panel slid across it, trapping Cid inside.
“Bloody hell.”
Imago dragged his claws along the green velvet, ripping the fabric open with some determination.
“Well, that’s just fantastic, cat. That’s about as much use as we can be trapped in here. So much for you being sent by the bloody Gods.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Larissa walked through a seemingly endless array of tunnels. Some rooms led off the main corridors, but for the most part they held nothing more interesting than storage rooms filled with boxes. She’d already come across two or three dead-ends and was starting to wonder if she was lost. The hairs on the back of her neck kept tingling and she couldn’t escape the nagging feeling of being followed, though no one was visible in the long hallway stretching out behind her.
As she reached yet another dead-end, she groaned aloud and lay her forehead against the jutting rock face. With one long sigh she plopped the goggles down again to check her surroundings in case of any illusions. As she turned back toward the main hallway she froze. In the darkened cavern, blocking her only exit, stood a tall figure in a dark red robe. The hood of the robe was pushed back from his face, revealing short, spiky blond hair, his pale green eyes burning with intensity. He needed no introduction; Larissa knew she’d found the Cleric.
Larissa opened her mouth to speak, hoping upon hope that she could somehow talk her way out of the situation. Instead of words, she spluttered and coughed as a pressure formed across her throat, as though a pair of slimy hands had wrapped around her neck.
Still the Cleric didn’t speak nor move; he simply stood at a distance, watching. He was in full control of whatever odd mind technique he used against her. Larissa tried to suck a breath in through her nostrils, finding her throat constricted. As her lungs screamed for air and her eyes bulged out of their sockets, she clutched at her neck and collapsed to her knees. The light in the hallway darkened, black spots dancing on the edges of her vision, and inside her mind a deep voice echoed.
“You will take me to the source.” The Cleric smiled as Larissa collapsed to the ground.
. . .
Cid laid his forehead against the dark wood wardrobe door, occasionally allowing his head to rock back and roll forward, knocking against the wood in frustration. The room was a mess; Cid had tossed through every drawer, overturned every ornament, and upended the bed, all to no avail. There was no way out. Cid glared at the ornate casket he’d found in one of the chests.
He wasn’t a thief. Really, he had no intention of stealing, even if it was from a loathsome individual, but what harm would it do? It wasn’t as if Orother would report him to the authorities, and the casket contents appeared particularly valuable and interesting. Not that it mattered as he still had no way of escaping the room.
“Stop fucking looking at me, cat. It’s your fault we’re down here.” Imago sat atop the wardrobe, looking down at Cid.
As Cid and Imago stared at one another, Cid pondered whether cats could roll their eyes or not. He was sure Imago would be doing so if he could. Imago moved slightly to one side and Cid noticed the small hole in the rock. It wasn’t big enough for C
id to get into, but Imago might fit through.
“Well, go on. Come on, animal, go through there,” Cid said, trying to coax Imago with a wave of his arms. “Go see if you can find a switch on the other side of the wall or something.”
After several minutes of trying Cid threw his arms in the air and sat down on the mattress, muttering a string of expletives to himself. Imago gave one last flick of his tail and disappeared through the small hole.
. . .
Larissa’s eyes fluttered open and she found herself bobbing up and down, upside down. As she fought against the nauseous feeling caused by the movement, she tried to focus. The Cleric had slung her over his shoulder and now carried her...where? She didn’t like to think, though she still felt groggy from passing out and was hardly able to fight a man seemingly capable of strangling a person without even touching them—and goodness knows what else.
Eventually he stopped and slung her forwards. She landed on her feet and wobbled for balance, coming face to face with the Cleric, who had a perplexed look upon his face. Perhaps he’d expected her to still be unconscious?
“Thank you.” A vaguely familiar voice came from across the room.
“She has brought an accomplice. I will stop him next,” the Cleric said shortly before leaving.
Larissa turned to find herself in a large room, still within the cave. A pair of guards stood at the entrance, armed to the teeth, and on the opposite wall she caught sight of Orother, who stood beside a body curled into a heap on the floor. Her heart froze as she saw the long, white-blond hair covering the head of the body.
“Doctor Orother?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Yes, and you are Miss Markus.”
“Is he dead?” She pointed to the Professor.
“No, I just rendered him immobile for the moment. I wanted the chance to speak to you directly and privately.”
She sucked in a sigh of relief and straightened her skirt ruffles out as she moved further into the room.
“I must say you’ve done rather well for such an ordinary little girl.”
“I have come to negotiate.” Larissa ignored his slight, her spine rigid, palms sweating.
“You’re hardly in the position to do that, although you are an intriguing creature. I’m listening. Make your proposition.”
“I have something you want.”
“Yes?” Orother took a step toward her. She felt her toes instinctively curling up inside her boots as though they were trying to dig into the ground, to root her to the spot. She pulled the lockbox from her pocket and balanced it in her palm.
“The Anthonium.”
“I see. I suppose you’ll tell me the code to unlock it in exchange for...?”
“The Professor.” She glanced towards the pale and gaunt body bound by a collar to the wall; it looked like a hollow shell of the man who’d been so fixed and strong in her memory. The Professor lay in silence. Orother looked between the two of them and took a few steps backwards to stand beside the Professor.
“You came all this way, through all this effort, to save this man, who barely cares a thing for you?”
“You don’t know anything about us,” she snapped in defense.
“Oh, but I know far more than you realize.”
“I don’t care what you think you know. This is my proposition. What is your answer?” Larissa clenched her fist, frustrated at herself, forgetting the plan. She was supposed to be buying time for Holt to pick his way through the guards, but she doubted his uncanny abilities would be much use against the Cleric. The hope in her heart faded rapidly.
“My dear, I will extract the information I require from you, whether you wish to give it willingly or not and without any need for sacrifice on my part. You will tell me the code to your little box, you will tell me where the engineer is hiding, and the location of the Anthonium deposit. Once I know everything I need to know, I will use you as a test subject on one of my newest devices. It’s quite a daunting thing designed to push the body to the limits of pain and suffering, though I must say its effects are rather gruesome, even for my strong constitution.”
Larissa felt the butterflies in her stomach turning somersaults as she tried not to think about Serenia’s fate. If a man who enjoyed dissecting people alive found something to be gruesome, it was surely beyond her imagination to comprehend. She looked down at the Professor’s listless body, his long hair cascading across the floor, revealing holes in his skull. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to think clearly, but her thoughts were clouded in a fog of fear.
Orother took another step toward her and she instinctively stepped backwards, finding a jutting piece of rock that stuck between her shoulder blades, blocking her retreat. She imagined Holt would chide her for allowing herself to get backed into a corner. Her mind raced to think of something, anything to try to keep Orother talking.
“What makes you think I know where the Anthonium deposit is?” Larissa asked. Her voice sounded small and weak.
“Ah, you must not be aware. Your dear Professor, whom you so gallantly came to save, only wanted you for this.” He pointed to the box in her hand. “He traced you through your father. Everyone knows the story of the famed archaeologist, Professor Ronald Markus, who disappeared from the world after he allegedly found the Anthonium source.”
“You think I know where my father disappeared to? I can assure you, if I had any clue, I would have gone looking for him years ago.”
“Really? You care so much for a father who abandoned you as a child?”
“No. I wouldn’t have gone for my sake. I would have gone for my mother. I would have tracked him down for her.”
She barely registered the fact that their subject had made an unexpected switch to her father. It wasn’t something she usually spoke about, even with Mother when she was alive, as every time she tried to ask Mother about him the poor woman had ended up a sobbing wreck.
Now, here she was, standing with the most despicable man she’d ever come across, trying to explain a family connection that had never made sense. It felt more than odd that it would come up now. Would she really have gone looking for her father years ago if the opportunity had come up? No, that part was a lie. Even so, there was nothing in all her memory that suggested she’d know where to start.
“All the same, I feel there is some little piece of information tucked away in your brain, some memory you think is insignificant, that might just hold the key. Not to worry, I’ll prize it out of you.”
“You are a twisted bastard,” she said, grinding her teeth together to suppress the tears threatening to spill out.
“You’re afraid? That’s good. Perhaps we can still negotiate a bargain. You unlock this little box now, and once I’ve searched through your memories, I will lock you up beside your Professor instead of torturing you to death. How does that sound?”
Larissa looked down at the Professor. His eyes were still closed, yet she was sure he’d shifted position slightly. There was no reason to believe a single word Orother said. Still, the notion that she might escape from the very worst torment was very appealing, especially as her final hope of Holt saving the day seemed more and more unlikely.
“Fine, have the damn stone, for all the good it’s done me.” She turned the lockbox over in her hands, trying to hide the tremble in her fingers.
Cat.
She pushed the first dial round and clicked it into place.
Three. Three dates with the Professor. Not sure I can consider this encounter as a fourth date.
The second dial clicked.
Ah, the top-hat.
She glanced to the Professor again, staring at the holes in his head. She was sure she saw him move slightly. The third dial locked.
The dirigible. I imagine Grubbs and the others have run off. So much for my escape plan.
The fourth dial locked. Larissa paused for a moment with the next two dials, rolling them over and over, again and again, trying to remember what symbols she’d ch
osen. Her finger hovered over a picture of a bird, as her mind tried to think back to the day Cid gave her the box.
Poor Cid. I’ll bet he wishes I’d never been born. He was much happier when it was just him and the Professor, just the two of them...Two.
She pushed the dial around one click further and pressed it into place.
“This is taking an inordinate amount of time, my dear,” Orother crooned.
Snake.
She pressed down the fifth dial.
“It seems you’ve gone to an awful lot of a trouble, all for the sake of a machine,” she said, locking the final dial down on the letter M.
The box clicked and whirred to life, the pictures whizzing around until the latch unclipped and the box popped open, revealing the familiar silvery-white stone inside. Larissa sighed and pulled the stone from the box, holding it out in her thin and trembling fingertips.
Orother watched her movements closely, his eyes glistening with wild excitement. He inched closer, forcing her to sink back into the wall. He placed one hand against the wall beside her head and leaned in, bringing his lips to her ear.
“The machine is merely the beginning. You are a plucky little thing. I will enjoy penetrating your mind. I look forward to hearing your screams echoing around my home.”
His other hand reached up to take the stone from her fingers, though he was interrupted by a guard rushing into the room, panting and flustered.
“Doctor Orother, the assassin is coming.”
“What?” the Doctor bellowed. “So why aren’t you out there killing him?”
“He’s already killed several men. We’re not sure where he is. We will stay here and let him come to us.”
“Where is the Cleric?” Orother said as several other guards spilled into the room, though none of them seemed to have an answer for him.
