The Place of Dead Kings

by Geoffrey Wilson

  He went through an opening to his right and sneaked down a further hall. He was leaving the route Sonali had described to him, but he had no choice at the moment. The light was so dim now he could barely make out the way ahead.

  A dense chirping sound grew louder, drowning out the rumble of machinery and the clatter of the footsteps. It became more shrill the further along the passage he walked.

  He stopped for a second. The trilling was all around him, seeming to come from the walls only inches away.

  He stared into the darkness. He sensed slight changes in the air, as if several small fans were fluttering.

  Christ. What was that?

  He noticed a light ahead and stumbled towards it. As the glow brightened, he began to make out the walls, which were plastered with the usual contorted metal. As before, the pipes seemed to move. Only now they were shivering rapidly. This wasn’t the shifting he’d noticed earlier, it was flickers and ripples, like branches and leaves moving in the wind.

  The sizzling noise was so loud now it made his ears ring.

  An arch opened to his left – the light was spilling out from the room beyond. He stumbled through the entrance and froze instantly. The hair shot up on the back of his neck.

  He was in a small, octagonal chamber, the walls of which were smothered by a quivering mass of steel creatures.

  Avatars.

  Some of the beasts looked like fish, others like crustaceans, still others like bloated insects. They shuffled wings, wriggled antennae and scraped legs against the stone. At first he thought they were clinging to the pipes, but then he realised they were in fact part of the metalwork itself. It was as though they’d been impaled on the tubes and left writhing in agony.

  On the far wall hung a circular metal plaque, on which was engraved the image of a turbaned figure holding aloft a shape that looked like an animal foetus.

  Jack’s skin crawled. He recognised the design. He’d seen it once before – in an abandoned mill near London. The picture had been on a plate on the base of a device he believed was used to create avatars. He recalled the machine now – it had looked like a five-foot-wide claw of wire and steel, with the plate in the centre.

  His breathing was shallow and pain flickered in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised Mahajan had been creating avatars – the whole castle was something like a mill, after all. At least these beasts seemed harmless. They were trapped within the piping and were more part of the castle’s machinery than separate beings. But still, he wasn’t going to stay where he was any longer.

  He stepped out into the dark corridor and made his way back the way he’d come. He was going to return to Sonali’s route – there was no knowing what he’d find in the maze if he wandered off any further.

  The whine of the avatars decreased as he neared the end of the passage.

  Finally, he paused. He could see the way out to the main hall ahead of him. His heart was beating fast, but it was slowing now that he’d left the avatars behind. He listened but could no longer hear the footsteps. He crept closer to the opening and pressed himself against the warm, wet pipes. He still heard nothing.

  Whoever had been there seemed to have gone.

  He stuck his head out into the corridor and looked both ways. There was no one in sight.

  He slipped out the entryway and stole down the hall. He listened carefully for the sound of footsteps but no one came. Eventually he reached the end of the hall and entered a small, gloomy chamber thick with huge tubes. The sattva was so strong it felt like sand floating in the air. His lungs hurt when he breathed and he had to fight back the darkness creeping up from the corners of his vision.

  On the other side of the room stood an archway. Sonali had told him the door to Mahajan’s workshop was just beyond this. But she’d been adamant there would be guards on duty there.

  He crept around the edge of the room, reached the arch and inched his head around the side. Beyond lay a hall that was more than twice the width of the corridors he’d passed along so far. Sinewy pipes glinted in the silver light and sattva buffeted him as it spiralled up the passage. His eyes stung and he had to keep blinking in order to see clearly.

  At the end of the hall stood a circular pair of steel double doors. Outside these were six Cattans carrying knife-muskets and longswords. Some were slouching against the wall, others were talking idly amongst themselves, but all looked sober and alert.

  Six armed men. There was no easy way around them. Even if Jack had a weapon it would be difficult to fight against so many. And even if he could get past the Cattans, there were still the doors to deal with. Sonali had said they were sealed by Mahajan’s powers. What chance did Jack have of getting through all that?

  And yet, it would be hard to turn away when he was so close. Somewhere behind those doors lay the Brahmastra.

  If he could just get in there.

  But what would he do even if he did get in there? Destroy the Brahmastra? Take it and try to use it himself?

  A wave of blackness swept over him. He edged back from the archway, bent over and fought to stay conscious. He muttered a Hail Mary and after about a minute the swell passed over him.

  He stood up straight again. There was no point staying where he was. If the workshop were key to Mahajan’s experiments, it was unlikely the guards would leave during the night. He would have to come up with a plan to get past them later.

  Now, he had to find Saleem.

  Following Sonali’s instructions, he left the workshop and wound his way through the warren of tunnels. There were few Cattans about and he could move with relative ease. Occasionally he heard voices and footsteps, but he slunk into the shadows and hid each time. Sometimes he spotted guards but he always managed to avoid them.

  After around twenty minutes, he reached stone steps that led up to ground level. According to Sonali, the route would now pass through areas where there were more guards. He would have to be cautious.

  A pool of darkness spread across his eyes. He put his hand on the wall to steady himself and finally the faintness passed. He gulped down some air, crept up the stairs and came out in a small, empty passage with a trace of light spilling in from an opening a few feet away. He stole up to the exit and looked around the side.

  Before him stretched the inner bailey, lit by a hint of moonlight and the orange glow from windows in the surrounding towers. The ground was compacted earth, but across the centre lay a circular expanse of paving stones. Straight across from him rose the wall that separated the inner bailey from the outer courtyard where Mahajan had spoken to the crowd. At various points along the ramparts, pipes and tubes reared up out of the stone like great misshapen fingers. A few Cattans stood guard between these, but most were looking away from the bailey and out towards the valley.

  Far above, glowing ash circled in the sky. A few flakes spun down and vanished within the castle walls, but most were swept away by the wind, glinting against the turbulent clouds.

  To his left loomed the tower housing the dungeon. It was only fifty feet away, but he would have to cross the bailey to get to it and the guards might spot him as he did that.

  He heard voices and shrank back into the passage. A pair of Cattans wandered past, arms about each other and singing. Once they’d gone, he poked his head out again. A few men stood talking far off to his right, a guard strolled along the wall to his left, but otherwise there was no one about.

  In the dark, in his cloak, he could pass for a Cattan. It was time to move on.

  He slipped out into the bailey and strode towards the tower. His heart sped and he tensed, thinking someone would surely see he was an impostor.

  But no one reacted and he reached the door.

  He paused. Sonali had told him the tower was ordinarily full of guards, but the dungeon was in the base of the building. He had to go in.

  He opened the door and found himself in a small, torch-lit room. A peat fire, which had almost died, glowed in the hearth, and a few stools stood
in a corner. The walls and ceiling were free from the pipes that infested other parts of the castle.

  He jumped slightly when he made out a Cattan lying on the floor. He was about to dash back out the door, but stopped when he noticed the man wasn’t moving. The Cattan’s eyes were closed and he was snoring.

  Jack breathed out and crossed himself. Luck was still on his side.

  Men’s voices sailed through from an adjoining room. He sneaked across the chamber and stuck his head gingerly through a doorway. He saw steps leading down to the dungeon, just as Sonali had described. The voices were rising up the stairwell.

  He glanced around. Apart from the sleeping guard, there was no one in this part of the building. For the moment he was safe, but he had to get down those stairs if he were going to find Saleem.

  There was nothing else for it.

  He took a few steps and listened. The men below continued talking, neither getting closer nor further away. He crept on, placing each foot carefully, listening intently for any sign that one of the men had come to the stairwell.

  There was no change in the sound. The men spoke and laughed a few times, but stayed where they were.

  Finally, light filtered up the stairs. The wavering light of torches. He could see a stone floor ahead where the steps came to an end. The dungeon was just a few feet away.

  Sonali had been convinced he wouldn’t even make it this far, but here he was.

  He stole to the bottom of the stairs and stood still, straining to hear the guards. He made out eight or nine separate voices. Wooden chairs scraped and rocked against the floor.

  He had to look around the corner. He couldn’t delay any longer. But he was taking a huge risk.

  He held his breath as he slipped his head around the side. In less than a second he took in the whole scene. Before him was a chamber with rough stone walls. Nine Cattans sat hunched about a table, a few sipping from tankards. Beyond them stood a small, barred cell, inside which sat Saleem, Parihar and the two Saxon soldiers. To the side of the cell, an archway opened on to steps leading down into the depths of the dungeon.

  Jack slipped back before he was seen. He’d been lucky not to have been spotted – the Cattans were no more than thirty feet away from him. Any of them could have turned at any time.

  He shut his eyes for a second. Saleem’s face was emblazoned in his mind. The lad had looked gaunt, his skin smeared with dirt. He’d been sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chin and a look of complete dejection on his face.

  What had he been through? What had they done to him?

  At least he was alive. Jack whispered a Hail Mary. Thank God the lad was alive.

  A few chairs squeaked against the stone floor and Jack heard footsteps approaching the stairway.

  Damn. He would be seen if he stayed where he was.

  He shot back up the steps, wincing at every slight sound his feet made. Footsteps and Cattan voices pursued him. The men were walking quickly and would soon catch up to him.

  A film of sweat spread over his face. He ran, taking two steps at a time, throwing all caution aside in his rush to avoid being seen.

  Panting hard, he reached ground level.

  Which way now?

  He went to move towards the exit to the bailey, but halted as the door began to creak open. Someone was coming in.

  Christ. His escape route was cut off and the men behind him would soon be at the top of the stairs.

  Without thinking, he charged on up the stairway and paused when he reached the next level. The scuffle of footsteps rose up from below. The men were still following him. For a moment he suspected they’d seen him, but then he realised that, as they weren’t running or shouting, he was probably still safe.

  He pressed on to the next storey and waited again. Surely the Cattans would stop and leave the staircase soon.

  But as he stood listening – chest crackling with pain, breathing shallow and the darkness threatening from the corner of his eyes – he heard the men continue up the steps.

  Damn. He was trapped in the tower now and running out of luck. He scurried up a further four flights, but the guards continued to follow. Should he carry on up the stairs? Wouldn’t he be more trapped the higher he went?

  Whatever he did he had to move soon. The Cattans were only a few feet below him and would soon emerge from the darkness.

  He left the stairs and charged down a plain hallway where most of the torches had gone out. He stopped at the first door he came to and pressed his ear against the wood. He heard nothing. But that didn’t mean there was no one on the other side. Someone could be sitting quietly beside a fire. Or standing on guard.

  He tensed his hand. The sound of the footsteps floated down the hall. Any moment now the Cattans would reach the top of the stairs and would be able to see him.

  Damn it. He had to go in.

  Should he rush in and surprise anyone inside? Should he creep in?

  In the end he just pushed the door and strode through as if he were calmly entering his own home.

  26

  Jack found himself in a small, dark chamber. In the flickering light of the torches behind him, he saw six straw beds strewn across the floor. On two of these lay sleeping Cattans.

  His heart pounded. If he stepped back into the hall now he would be spotted immediately. He would have to stay in the room.

  Holding his breath, he turned and gently eased the door shut. One of the sleeping men spluttered and turned over, but didn’t wake.

  Jack pressed his ear to the door. He was sure the men coming up the stairs would carry on to the top of the tower.

  But they didn’t. Instead, he heard their steps scratching the floor outside in the hall.

  Christ. His luck had definitely run out now.

  The footsteps drew closer. The Cattans were talking loudly – their voices were loud enough to wake the sleeping men.

  Jack looked around the room. A further door stood slightly ajar in the far wall. If he could get across to that perhaps he would find somewhere to hide, or a way to escape. Whatever he did, he couldn’t risk staying where he was.

  He crept across to the door, avoiding the straw. One of the men grunted but neither woke.

  He reached the far side of the chamber, but then heard the handle in the door behind him creak and the latch lift. Christ. The men were coming into the room.

  Heart bashing, he shot through the second door and edged it closed. He was in a tiny storeroom lined with shelves. It was almost completely dark in the room, the only light filtering in through the gaps in the boards of a window shutter.

  He leant against the door, listening. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He heard the Cattans enter the room and the sleeping men wake. Now all the guards spoke to each other. Were they searching for him? He tried to detect any hint of agitation in their voices, but as far as he could tell they were relaxed. Perhaps they hadn’t seen him.

  He noticed light slipping under the bottom of the door. The Cattans must have lit torches or candles. What did that mean? That none of them were going to sleep?

  He stood listening for what seemed a long time, but must have only been around ten minutes.

  The men continued talking and moving around the room. Once, someone left to go out into the hall and then came back again. They didn’t seem to be searching for an intruder. They seemed to be talking idly, passing the time, perhaps drinking ale.

  How long would they stay awake for? He’d lost track of time but he was certain it must be well after midnight.

  What to do? He could stay in the storeroom and wait for the men to leave or fall asleep. But what if one of them came in to get something from the store? What if they didn’t leave the other room until morning? It would be difficult for him to get out of the tower during daylight.

  The window. It was the only escape route.

  He felt around the side of the shutter and found the latch. Should he risk opening it? Would someone notice him looking out and alert the gua
rds?

  He had to take a chance.

  He crouched, inched the shutter open and peered over the window sill. The cold night air clasped his face and a breeze ruffled his hair. The sky was still pitch black, but speckled with shining ash. Immediately below him ran the castle’s outer wall, with battlements to one side and prongs of twisted metal rising at regular intervals along the other. A handful of guns poked out from the ramparts, but no Cattans patrolled this part of the wall. In the distance he made out the edge of the outer bailey.

  He was only one storey above the walkway along the top of the wall. He could easily jump down. He stuck his head out further to check the distance and spied a single guard standing right beneath the window, leaning against the wall of the tower.

  Damn.

  He ducked back inside.

  He was still trapped.

  Perhaps there was something in the storeroom that could help. With the window shutter ajar, enough moonlight shone inside for him to see the shelves properly. Mostly, they were empty. A few spare blankets lay folded on one shelf, and a set of earthenware mugs lined another. Higher up he saw a stack of bows but no arrows. And then his eyes fell on something he recognised.

  He stood up, stretched and took down an ammunition pouch – European Army issue. It must have been one of those taken from the dead Saxons. He lifted the lid and found about twenty musket cartridges inside. He reached up again, felt around and grasped a small satchel. When he opened it, he found a bag of pistol balls – the satchel must have belonged to an officer.

  All these bullets would be useful – if he had a firearm.

  He hunted around further, checking every inch of the shelves. But he found no pistol or musket or any other kind of weapon.

  Damn.

  He stuck the cartridges in the satchel with the pistol balls and then slung the bag over his shoulder. The bullets would come in handy if he ever got out of the storeroom. It was no easy feat to lay your hands on ammunition in Scotland.

  He went back to the door. He heard a series of clicks, interspersed with cheers from the men. It only took him a second to realise they were playing a game of dice.