by Ray Smithies
The crane operator prodded away at the very spot on which the three men had previously stood. The task was proving difficult. Deciding instead to try and excavate the removal of further stone, he persevered with the collection of two or three bluestone with each attempt. It was a slow and tedious operation. Following around ten tries, it was time to prod away at the base again in hope the seal would finally give way.
With maximum downward thrust, the bucket had done its work. An avalanche of rocks broke free and rolled downward into the depths below. A thunderous noise greeted the ground level observers. A round of applause followed and the crane operator bowed in acknowledgement. Their perseverance had finally paid off. It was now time to re-enter the hole to see what had emerged.
Again with the security of waist-tied ropes, the same three men descended into the immediate hollow. An excited anticipation was evident as they made their approach toward the extended cavity. Standing to one side of this newly created hole, the realisation of their discovery was suddenly an overwhelming spectacle.
The long-time fictional and legendary subterranean passageway stood before them in all its wonder and dubious glory. It was a sight to behold. The ancient relic had suddenly manifested itself and did not disappoint the three police officers. They felt somewhat humbled and privileged by its mere presence. With their three torches illuminating the darkened cavity an extraordinarily wide passageway could be seen descending its path to a landing some ten metres below. The ceiling was curved and generous in size. The structure was entirely made from bluestone and the architecture was reminiscent of some medieval design that would have been commonplace many centuries ago. The stone craftsmanship allegedly constructed by convict labour was exceptional. Neither expense nor labour had been spared for this monumental project.
The first immediate landing was immense. A metal handrail, possibly made from brass or bronze, was erected to one side only, but time had brought about deterioration whereby only half the railing stood today. Candleholders inserted to thinly applied mortar were plentiful. The light source could just detect a further descending passageway from this immediate platform. It was anybody’s guess as to what depth the underground network would reach. A musty air could be detected with possibly the presence of water or mildew nearby.
This initial sighting conjured up a multitude of probabilities, in addition to the search for Scorpio’s southern operation and the infamous Piedpiper. The constabulary’s eventual entry into this underworld oddity would be an experience unmatched by any previous excursion.
As if on a mission, possessed with an unrelenting passion to catch these criminals, Forbes smiled inwardly with the realisation that he was now extremely close to these imminent arrests.
~ * ~
Within the confines of the cellar walls behind the RSL Club, thirteen people were congregated in anticipation of stepping forth into the underground network. For some, the long-awaited journey into the unknown was about to become reality.
In an attempt to speed up proceedings, the sledgehammer was proving to be a formable tool. Darren had been pounding away at the depressed bluestone for at least ten minutes. Most of the rock directly incurring the impact had moved, primarily caused by the weakening of mortar surround. The cellar floor had been neglected for decades and having had no periodical maintenance the immediate area was rapidly crumbling away. The notable burden was not so much the loosening of rock, but rather the noise generated by the sledgehammer. In a confined space this constant pulverization was recipe for a bumper headache. With each downward stroke I could see most of the faces grimace in anticipation.
Indigo suddenly stepped forward and ordered a three-minute rest. Like everyone else he too had grown tired of the repetitive sound. He then issued instructions that following the break Stephen Buchanan would resume the next ten-minute session. Despite being a pen pusher, the bank manager had a sizeable frame and would most likely make short work of this stoned floor.
Within the space of five minutes he had successfully dislodged most of the bluestone. Requesting a short break, he gathered his breath before the final onslaught. Resuming the task and with the energy similar to that of some bygone gladiator, Buchanan grunted and groaned as he repeatedly swung the heavy sledgehammer. Finally, and to the relief of the next scheduled person - Ashley Collins - the floor broke away in the central depressed area. Choosing to ignore a tempting peep, Buchanan continued to blast away at the surrounds to enlarge the overall size. The sound of stone could be heard plundering far below. Almost out of breath, he had increased the cavity to be large enough to accommodate two adults. With one task remaining, the banker then removed the odd loose stone or two that precariously hovered on the edge. His job was now complete, enabling all the bystanders to each view the long-awaited site.
Invariably it was Indigo who first stepped forward to gaze into this mystery from the past. After all he carried authority and it was his privilege to make the initial inspection. Unbeknown to Indigo and the remainder of the group, the sight to behold was in stark contrast to that of Broadbent’s introduction.
His torchlight revealed a relatively narrow and steeply descending staircase, which took a sharp right-hand turn some ten metres further down. The pathway would take no more than two abreast and the height of the curvature ceiling was not constructed with six-foot people in mind. This immediate corridor was entirely surrounded by bluestone and a mixture of stale air and dampness could be detected. The image from below projected a dingy and uninviting entry into the world of subterranean passageways.
With no time for pre-entry glances, the Traffik leader, who was still brandishing his gun, immediately ordered randomly selected pairs to make the short jump onto the landing below. With Indigo and Richard Smyth the last to leap, the party of thirteen finally assembled on to the initial platform.
We stood and waited for his next directive. Two of the captors, bearing the names Ivan and Martin, proceeded to the front of the group with their torches blazing ahead. Some irritating fool called Dave, another named Larry together with Indigo retreated to the rear, shining their annoying crisscross lighting on us and the surrounding architecture. With instructions to move forward, our journey into the unknown depths had commenced.
Forever descending in pairs and being watchful of the low and obtrusive ceiling, the stench of mildew and a further smell I couldn’t quite detect was beginning to make me dry retch. I marveled at the mere thought that our expedition was beneath Pedley, but this deplorable environment was not what I had expected. We had travelled downward some thirty metres or so when quite unexpectedly we reached a second landing. For what appeared to be at least the foreseeable distance, the steps had given way to a flat and wide passageway.
The transformation was instantaneous. The corridor before us continued to broaden and the height of the ceiling was considerably more generous. Passageways from both sides of the main arterial beckoned a diversion, but the Traffik quintet gave explicit instructions to remain on course with the wider and more prominent walkway.
I was intrigued how something on such a vast scale could have been lit throughout the centuries. Unless our predecessors had the ability to see in the dark, this subterranean network must somehow have been illuminated. I continued to glance with regularity toward the ceiling and could only conclude that flaming torches had not been used, for these curvatures above our heads had not been blackened from residual smoke. I had read somewhere once that the ancient Greeks and Romans preferred the use of phenomenal lamps, since the light they projected supposedly lasted for hundreds of years without the replenishment of fuel. With impeccable timing, the Traffik leader suddenly stopped to inspect a light source coming from a side chamber.
The party halted while he carried out his inspection. Curiosity, I was beginning to suspect, was a telling Indigo attribute. He entered the chamber to our left and approached the illuminated light coming from a tube resting on a recessed bluestone. Interestingly, the closer he converged the brighter
the light source shone, but as he reached out to touch the tube, the light immediately disappeared. Indigo tried in vain to get the tube to glow again, but it was useless. It would no longer provide light. He returned with the tube to the passageway and placed it on the stone floor. He then instructed one of the lackeys to shine his torch directly on the object while he examined the contents.
Breaking open the tube the immediate observation was that of a whitish-yellow liquid that ran quickly around the bluestone and disappeared between the cracks. The remaining contents bled beads of silver about the size of pinheads. If I wasn’t mistaken, the light source derived from mercury combined with some clever liquid that accentuated the glowing effect. I couldn’t help but admire the ingenuity of our ancestors. Who needed electricity down here?
Despite his swollen cheek and dented pride, the publican was growing impatient with all this sudden interest in light source. This was fast becoming a Sunday walk in the local park. The group had been informed of Indigo’s vendetta against Scorpio, but at this rate their southern headquarters would never be discovered. The sooner this Traffik leader could get back on track, the sooner they could all leave this godforsaken place. He decided to question Indigo’s navigational skills.
‘Do you have any idea where you’re leading us?’
The drug leader simply glared at Johnson, paused and then let fly with an extraordinary reply. In particular, Darren seemed astounded by this sudden newfound knowledge.
‘If time had been more favourable these subterranean passageways would have been infiltrated long before now. For what I detect as being sheer ignorance on your behalf, Mr Johnson, technology today provides us with two means to locate places such as these. First there is detection by way of sophisticated seismograph and ground-penetrating equipment that can accurately pinpoint a precise location. Should these tools prove difficult to acquire, then do what the Egyptians have been using for the past few years, employ the services of a probe -’
‘What do you mean?’ interrupted Johnson.
‘Egypt, for example, has successfully been using satellites to identify burial sites beneath Giza. Let me tell you these tracking systems have located numerous unexcavated sites over the years. We’re talking about space surveillance that is so powerful it identifies tunnels, chambers and even the entrances to these sites. Unfortunately I’ve only been privy to these passageways over the past few days and therefore time has not allowed me to conduct my research in a more sophisticated manner. To answer your question, Mr Johnson, the correct path is to be determined by instinct alone. By keeping to the main corridors I’m sure something will unfold eventually,’ claimed Indigo.
Ivan and Martin proceeded to lead the way Further network tunnels emerged from either side of the main thoroughfare. It was reminiscent of latticework on a grand scale. Unbeknown to the remainder of the party, Indigo had been chalking the stone walls with every notable corner turn. He had no intention of losing his way amidst this maze of bluestone obscurity. A hovering stench in the air was now more apparent, forcing many to reach for their handkerchiefs. Side chambers were now becoming commonplace, each bearing some ornamental relic that aroused little interest.
The constant smell in this particular vicinity was proving difficult to take. The stale air coupled with mildew and seeping water droplets contributed to the stench. It was hoped the dampness and unpleasant odor would quickly disperse. Unexpectedly two short, startled cries could be heard from both women.
‘Oh my god!’ called Martha.
‘What on earth ...’ Helen said.
The group was totally unprepared from what emerged around the next passageway corner. The sudden appearance of a subterranean cemetery had caught everybody by surprise. Recessed within a series of larger than normal side chambers were the remains of human skulls. Each had been carefully stacked on the other to form a pyramid shape. The accumulation of skulls must have tallied many hundreds and within each chamber were three such piles of perfectly structured mounds. Behind these skulls were further mercury-filled tubes, illuminating the immediate area in a somewhat eerie mise en scéne.
Indigo stepped forward to take a closer look at this catacomb arrangement. He prodded and felt the skulls without disturbing the formation. Throughout his absorbing cranium study I noticed each of the mounds were dated by year, but lacking in any uniform sequence. The chamber I happened to be looking at reflected the years 1802, 1805 and 1807. I could only envisage this period in history to be that of the convict years Arthur had spoken about and these poor buggers were indeed the slave remains from that era.
In a further chamber a tomb had been erected from what appeared to be of sandstone base. The poorly attempted markings were of unknown origin and the colours reflected a mixture of dirty brown terracotta and a dark hue. I imagined the burial of this individual possibly held rank or position back in those days. Pleased to see the drug leader had finally satisfied his curiosity, the party could now recommence their expedition.
Deeper into the subterranean network we travelled. Our pace remained fairly constant, with Indigo occasionally stopping to peruse some past relic. The network continued to enlarge with the introduction of multiple prominent arterials. Intersecting passageways and chambers were now in abundance and I had the absurd thought that a detailed map wouldn’t go astray.
Excluding Johnson, I sensed the rest of the committee members were becoming a bit nervous. There had been little discussion between the group to break the monotony and I was beginning to wonder what might become of us if we should confront the Scorpio operation.
~ * ~
Looking at her watch, which signaled eleven-fifteen pm, Emily Harrison was becoming worried about Tom’s return. Normally his meetings would conclude around ten and with more than an hour having transpired, her intuition told her that something was wrong. It was unlike Tom not to phone and explain the reason for his delay. She was also aware both Martha Kellett and Helen O’Neill served on this committee and the thought had crossed her mind if either or both women had returned home.
Somewhat restless, she decided to venture outside and look across toward Martha’s place. A now clear sky and near-full moon threw sufficient light on the row of houses perched beside the cliff edge, but no sign of life could be detected. Not a single light could be seen to indicate that someone was still up. Growing anxious she wondered what next to do. In her flustered state Emily decided a call to the RSL Club seemed the next logical step. Venturing back indoors, she fumbled through the office teledex in search of the number and then commenced dialing.
A rather forceful voice answered her call. ‘RSL Club, Tracy speaking. Can I help you?’
‘My name is Emily Harrison. My husband Tom was attending a community meeting at your club this evening and has yet to arrive home. Could you tell me if their meeting has finished?’
‘One moment.’
A wait of around a minute had transpired when the same voice responded with the anticipated answer. ‘One of our staff checked the conference room around ten-fifteen and found all the committee members had already left,’ she advised and then added, ‘But something odd was observed at the time.’
‘Oh, and what was that?’ questioned Emily.
‘All their personnel belongings were left behind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Briefcases, mobile phones, committee notes, pens and five sets of keys remain on the table.’
‘Have they since been collected?’
‘No, I checked just before. It’s quite weird.’
‘Well, car keys left behind can only mean one thing. Could you please check the car park while I hang on,’ asked Emily.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Harrison, but it would be a waste of time because no one here would recognise their vehicles, and besides, we still have a number of patrons at this late hour,’ Tracy claimed.
‘Thank you for your time. I’ll drive down shortly to check the car park myself,’ Emily informed her and then hung up.
‘Brigit, it’s Emily Harrison speaking. I’m sorry to phone you at this hour, but I’m rather worried about Tom. He hasn’t arrived home from tonight’s meeting at the RSL. Have you by any chance seen Helen?’
‘No, Emily. I’m also becoming a bit uptight.’
‘I’m about to phone Hamish and have him take me to the RSL. Do you want to be picked up on our way through?’
‘Yes, Em. I won’t rest until this matter’s over,’ responded Brigit.
Emily had awoken Hamish from a deep sleep. Concern for Tom and Helen’s wellbeing had replaced any respect she would normally have for the Irishman’s slumber. Whilst not jumping to conclusions, this was no time for courtesy and politeness given the obscurity of the matter. Emily came straight to the point. As to be expected, Hamish s reaction was one of full cooperation. His mate and Brigit’s stepmother had momentarily disappeared and he felt duty-bound to assist.
