by Stuart Daly
Our former companions, raised from the dead.
As if things could not get any worse, it’s then, just as Francesca and I step onto the platform, that it sinks beneath our weight. Staring down in horror, we realise that we should have been more cautious – for we have sprung the final trap. The entire circular platform is one great pressure-stone.
It only descends an inch or two before it stops – and then there’s a tremendous sound of grinding rock coming from somewhere deep beyond the walls of the chamber. The noise is deafening, forcing us to cover our ears in an attempt to muffle the sound. It is as if hundreds of tonnes of rock have been suddenly dislodged, like some cataclysmic landslide. The floor vibrates violently, causing many of the shelves to topple over, and forcing us to stand with our feet wide apart lest we fall over. Our eyes dart around the chamber, fearful of what we have activated.
But it’s to the ceiling that our eyes are drawn, for it’s here that the grinding sound becomes most pronounced, as if some massive stone lid is being drawn back. And it’s only now that Francesca and I realise what we have done. We stare in wide-eyed terror as the sloping roof of the Hall of Records slides back . . . allowing the Dead Sea to cascade through the ever-widening gap.
Whereas I stand rooted with fear, staring up at the growing wall of water that is falling down the entire left-hand side of the chamber – over two hundred yards long! – Francesca springs into action, racing across the platform to snatch the Tablet of Breaking from its podium. Not a heartbeat later, she races to my side, grabs me by the arm and pulls me after her.
‘The roof is being drawn back by massive counter weights hidden behind the chamber’s walls,’ she yells over the roar of the descending torrent. ‘We must get to the Ark! It’s our only hope.’
Spurred forward by fear, knowing that it is only a matter of seconds before the wall of water hits the floor of the Hall of Records, I race after her across the chamber, back forty yards to the rear of the boat. By the time we reach the supporting scaffold, the water crashes onto the floor of the chamber with incredible power, the sheer force of the impact making the floor and scaffold vibrate, almost knocking us off our feet. The next instant, it races towards us in the form of a massive wave, over ten yards high, and steadily gaining in height as it is fed by the waterfall. It knocks over everything in its path – bookcases, crates and tables.
‘Climb!’ Francesca cries, tucking the Tablet of Breaking inside her shirt.
And we are off, scrambling desperately up the scaffold. Somehow, I have the presence of mind to look over to my left to see how my companions are faring, and notice that they have also made for the scaffold and started to climb. But only Francesca and Armand are high enough to escape the wave before it is upon us. The rest of us barely have time to lock our arms and legs around the wooden beams of the scaffold and take a deep breath before we are consumed by the raging wall of water.
The impact nearly tears me from the scaffold, but I manage to hold on. A hand grabs hold of my collar and drags me to the surface. I burst free from the water and gulp in air, thankful for Francesca’s assistance. And then we start to climb again.
It’s a desperate race, and higher and higher we clamber up the scaffold, determined to reach the Ark. Across to my left, Blodklutt and von Konigsmarck have been able to rise above the water and are following Armand up the wooden supports. Of the undead, however, there is no sign; they have been hit by the full force of the wave and swept away to be smashed with bone-crunching force into the opposite wall. But then, as the seconds pass, they begin to appear below, carried in the backwash from when the wave rebounded off the far wall. Their lifeless bodies flung about in the turbulent water like leaves in a storm.
‘We’re almost there,’ Francesca calls out in encouragement, drawing my attention to the top of the scaffold, which is now only three yards away.
But just as I start to think that we might somehow survive this chaos, the scaffold on the opposite side of the Ark buckles under the sheer force of the churning water and breaks away. The giant vessel then starts to drift off towards the opposite side of the chamber.
Knowing that our only hope of survival lies in jumping aboard the boat, we race to the top of the scaffold and, without a moment’s hesitation, make a desperate leap across to the Ark. It’s a dangerous jump, the Ark already having drifted several yards, but our hands miraculously manage to grab hold of the vessel’s side railing, and it only takes us a few seconds to haul ourselves onto the deck. Looking again over to the left, I’m relieved to find that Armand, Blodklutt and von Konigsmarck are also lying on the deck, sucking in air.
Francesca and I stagger over to join them.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again,’ Francesca says, extending a hand in welcome to each of them in turn.
‘It doesn’t exactly appear as if we are out trouble just yet,’ Armand says dourly, looking worriedly at the thundering waterfall. ‘What’s happened?’
‘We triggered a final trap,’ Francesca explains. ‘The roof of the Hall of Records is being pulled back by a series of massive counterweights hidden somewhere behind the chamber’s walls – and the Dead Sea is spilling in on us.’
Armand’s eyes flash with disbelief. ‘The Dead Sea is what?’
‘But how is that possible?’ I ask. ‘How could the roof have withstood the pressure from the outside water? It should have caved in thousands of years ago, when Sodom was first swallowed by the Dead Sea. And the roof of the chamber must be huge! How could it ever be moved?’
Francesca looks up at the ceiling. ‘For starters, I don’t think the roof is a single stone slab. If you look carefully you will see that it is comprised of several hundred slabs, all held together by a metal framework, obviously giving it the strength it needs to withstand the pressure exerted by the Dead Sea. The roof is also set at an angle. I can’t even begin to imagine how much the roof weighs, but its own weight would assist the counterweights – which must be absolutely enormous.’
I shake my head, still confused. ‘But Sodom was constructed before it had been swallowed by the Dead Sea. Why, then, did the people who created the Hall of Records design such a roof? They would have had no way of knowing that one day it would be lying at the bottom of the Dead Sea.’
Francesca shrugs uncertainly. ‘All I can think is that the Hall of Records had been intended to be buried beneath a mountain of sand, which would have then filled the chamber when the roof retracted, killing anybody trapped inside. But rather than speculate about how this chamber was built, we should put our minds to thinking about how we are going to get out of here; the Dead Sea will eventually flood the entire chamber. Fortunately, we are safe for the moment, and –’ she pauses as she pats at an object tucked under her shirt ‘– we have the Tablet of Breaking.’
Blodklutt gives a rare smile. ‘You found it! Thank God for that. Now all that remains is to see if we can survive this mess and destroy the artefact.’
‘As I said, we are safe for the moment,’ Francesca says. ‘And I very much doubt any of the undead survived the impact of that wave. Hopefully we can rest here for a few minutes, during which we can work out our next course of action.’
‘I won’t say no to that,’ von Konigsmarck says, wincing in pain as Armand applies a strip of cloth to the wound across his chest.
‘You’ve certainly earned it,’ I say in open admiration. ‘But how did you ever survive against the undead? I honestly didn’t believe I was going to see any of you again.’
‘Well, it’s nice to see you have such faith in us,’ Armand smirks. His expression turns serious as he recalls the fight that took place outside the Hall of Records. ‘For some reason, the trap did not reset itself this time, and the undead just kept coming at us. It wasn’t long before it was packed wall to wall with the dead. And then Friedrich Geist and Diego pushed through the ranks of the undead to enter the fi
ght. By that time we were exhausted, and we had no choice but to withdraw into the final, narrow passageway. Whilst von Konigsmarck and the Captain held off the undead, I entered the correct sequence into the combination lock and we escaped. Little did we know, however, that we were going to lead the undead into the Hall of Records.’
‘But how did you know the correct sequence to unlock the door?’ Francesca asks.
‘What can I say – I’m just talented.’ Armand grins and winks at Francesca, who rolls her eyes in return. ‘I’m lucky that I overheard Jakob call out to you, announcing that the symbols represented the traps we had encountered.’
‘And now we are in this fine mess.’ Von Konigsmarck winces, raising himself onto an elbow to look over at the great wall of water plunging down the side of the chamber.
‘Well, if there’s any consolation, we are aboard Noah’s Ark,’ Francesca says, her words greeted by astonished looks on the faces of our companions. ‘It once saved God’s chosen few from the Great Flood. I don’t know about you, but I find that reassuring. The Ark will save us, just as it did Noah. And like Noah, we are responsible for saving the human race. Granted, we haven’t collected two of every animal, but we have obtained the Tablet of Breaking. I can’t but help feel that providence is at work here.’
I take comfort from Francesca’s words, feeling almost as if we are resting in the palm of our Lord, but it doesn’t change the fact that the Dead Sea will eventually flood the chamber. Unlike Noah, who was allowed to freely roam the vast oceans of the world until land appeared, we are going to be stuck in the hall, with no means of reaching the surface of the Dead Sea.
The Hall of Records will become our flooded tomb.
‘How are we going to get to the surface?’ I ask, voicing my fears. ‘It will only be a matter of time before the Hall of Records is completely full of water. What will we do then? We can hardly sail this vessel up through the bottom of the Dead Sea.’
‘That’s what we need to work out,’ Francesca says, rubbing her chin in thought.
But Captain Blodklutt, having moved over to the side rail and observed the movement of water below, draws our attention to a far more pressing concern. ‘I don’t know if anyone else has noticed this, but a current has formed in the water, caused by the sucking effect of the waterfall. And we are being drawn towards it.’ He turns to look at us, his eyes wide with alarm. ‘If we don’t work out some way of turning this boat around, we are going to be pulled into the waterfall and crushed to death!’
I look fearfully across at the terrifying wall of water, which is drawing closer with each passing second, and still growing in thickness as the roof is pulled back further. Not even the Ark – a vessel over several hundred feet long, and which not even the Great Flood could destroy – will be able to withstand the sheer force of the falling water, which is over twice the length of the Ark. It will smash the Ark into a thousand pieces, and I dread to think what it will do to flesh and bone.
While I stand mute, my hands trembling in terror, Francesca drains the water from her lantern and refits it with a fresh wick and oil she produces from her pack. Having lit the lantern and waited for Blodklutt – the only other remaining member of our company to still have a lantern – to do likewise, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me after her. ‘We won’t stand a chance out here on the deck. We need to find the safest part of the ship. And it’s not going to be here – in the open, where the waterfall will hit us with the force of an avalanche. We need to get inside the Ark and find somewhere safe. So let’s move!’ she says.
Blodklutt and Armand help von Konigsmarck to his feet before following our lead. We move around the side of the Ark, searching for a means of entry into the three-storey high building set atop the deck of the vessel like some great wooden hall. Not long passes before we come across a massive wooden door, approximately halfway down the length of the building. Putting our shoulders against it, we manage to push it open. With a terrified glance over my shoulder at the thundering waterfall – which is now no more than fifteen yards away – I race after my companions into the Ark, slamming the door behind me.
In the eerie glow cast by our lanterns, we sprint along a small corridor that runs perpendicular to a larger, central corridor, which appears to run the entire length of the Ark and is bordered by hundreds of stables and pens. Reaching this larger corridor, we turn right and follow Francesca towards a central junction, where smaller corridors span off to the left and right. There is also a central stairwell with separate ascending and descending flights of stairs that give access to the upper and lower levels of the Ark.
‘We need to get down to the lower levels,’ Francesca says, making for the descending stairs.
‘Down? Don’t you mean up?’ von Konigsmarck asks, clutching his wounded chest and struggling to keep pace with the tomb-robber.
‘No, we need to go down,’ Francesca calls over her shoulder, reaching the stairs and bounding down them five at a time. ‘If the Ark capsizes, then the bottom of this ship is going to become the top. Where we are currently standing will be flooded, but air will be caught in the hold. If we can get to the bottom of the Ark before it flips, we should be safe.’
‘I feel as though I’m descending into the belly of a whale again,’ Armand moans, pulling up sharply at the top of the stairs. His eyes dart around the stables and pens spanning off the central corridor as he searches for some other way out; the Frenchman evidently scarred by his experience aboard the Drebbel.
‘Like it or not, this is our only way out of this,’ Francesca says. ‘Stay here and you will surely die.’
‘Francesca’s right,’ I say, grabbing Armand by the sleeve, and pulling him down the stairs. ‘Think of a cup that you invert and submerge in water. Air remains trapped inside it. This will be no different.’
‘I have a very bad feeling about this,’ Armand says, his voice heavy with foreboding.
Just as I’m about to give Armand greater encouragement we are almost knocked off our feet as the Ark, caught in the waterfall, is pulled sharply to the left. Knowing that it will only be a matter of seconds before we are sucked into the wall of water, we grab hold of the supporting stair-rail and brace ourselves. Our ears ringing in the deafening roar, we stare expectantly at one another, waiting for the inevitable impact.
There’s a tremendous crash as the full force of the Dead Sea hammers down on the left-hand side of the vessel – the first section of the Ark to be dragged in – which shudders violently, forcing us to cling on for dear life. Unable to remain stable in such extreme conditions, the Ark lurches sharply again to the left, pushed down by the force of the water. With each passing second, the waterfall forces the left-hand side of the Ark to sink deeper and deeper into the water, until we are clinging on to the stairwell in an almost vertical position. Then, as a terrified scream is caught in my throat, the Ark capsizes.
All hell breaks loose as our world is turned upside down.
The Ark rolls so suddenly that von Konigsmarck, already struggling to maintain his hold on the stair-rail due to his wounded chest, loses his grip. Before he can reach out to grab hold of Armand’s outstretched hand, he falls down the staircase and lands heavily on his back on the inverted ceiling below. The rest of us, somehow managing to maintain our hold, scramble atop the now upturned staircase.
But then we experience a sudden falling sensation, almost as if the Ark is being pushed deep under the water. My stomach rises and I become light-headed, beset by a sudden feeling of nausea. The sensation only lasts a few seconds before the vessel is pushed sharply to the right. We hold on desperately lest we are thrown from the staircase. Fortunately, after a minute or so the speed subsides, slowing to a gradual drift, and the Ark starts to rise.
‘What just happened?’ Armand asks, looking fearfully about the vessel as if he expects it to fall apart at any moment.
‘The Ark was pushe
d under the waterfall, as we expected,’ Francesca says. ‘That would explain the falling sensation we experienced. Then I think the Ark was pushed aside and carried away in the current. I assume we are now floating over to the far side of the chamber.’
‘So we’re safe for the moment?’ Armand asks.
‘For the moment,’ Francesca confirms, receiving a sigh of relief from the Frenchman. ‘We should use this time to help von Konigsmarck.’
Before we can even contemplate organising a rescue operation for von Konigsmarck, we hear a sound that makes our blood turn to ice – the sound of rushing water as the Dead Sea spills into the Ark.
We stare back up the corridor, fearful of the advancing water. The sound gathers in intensity, like the wind of an approaching gale. But as we climb desperately up the upturned staircase to escape from the raging torrent – it sounds as if the rushing water will hit us at any moment – we realise that we have been mistaken, for the water has not flooded our level. Instead, it is rushing along the level directly below us – where von Konisgmarck, dazed from his fall, still lies on his back.
Our stricken companion reaches out to us in a futile gesture. Then he is hit by the wall of water and swept away.
The sound of splintering wood and a terrible crash forces us to stare into the darkness at the end of the corridor, back to where we had gained entrance into the building constructed atop the Ark. Now, with the vessel capsized, it lies completely submerged in the flooding chamber.
‘That’s not good,’ Armand mutters. ‘I think the doorway into the Ark was just smashed open.’
No sooner have these words left his mouth than we hear a second wall of rushing water, getting closer with each passing heartbeat.
‘The Devil take us! I told you this was a bad idea,’ Armand curses, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me up the staircase. ‘We’ll be drowned like rats in a flooded sewer!’
