by I H Laking
Ambrose swallowed hard, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. “Come on,” he said, grabbing a torch, “Let’s find out where Gasquet was heading in such a hurry this morning.”
Percy pulled the second torch from the wall, and soon he and Ambrose disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, leaving a trail of river water behind them as they walked.
The tunnel was even longer than it appeared. The detectives were walking for ten minutes before they reached the first torch, which burned quietly on the packed clay wall. There was no way to tell exactly where they were, but Ambrose was fairly certain the passage was heading north, back under the slums. Occasionally, the tunnel would widen and a side passage would fade off into the distance. No other tunnels were lit, and they simply disappeared from view. Since the main tunnel appeared to be leading them towards Traville’s centre, Ambrose made the decision that they wouldn’t veer off course.
For the most part Ambrose and Percy trudged on in silence, though occasionally they would discuss aspects of the case so far, and Percy would expound on various theories about what might have caused the villa to vanish. Slowly they found their clothes drying out in the warm underground air.
Around an hour into their walk, Ambrose began to get the sense that they might not be alone. Behind them, the cave had well and truly disappeared from view, and now the tunnel was starting to curve gently to the left. Whenever they passed a dark tunnel, Ambrose would make a quick check behind them. At one stage, he was sure he saw a flicker in the distance behind them.
“Percy,” Ambrose whispered, “How many torches were alight behind us?”
Percy’s face drained of all blood immediately. “I don’t know, I haven’t been counting… don’t tell me something’s been putting them out. It has, hasn’t it? I knew there were ghosts down here! We’re in so much trouble, Inspector!” he stammered.
Ambrose put a hand on Percy’s shoulder to reassure him. “It’s alright, Percy. I was simply asking because I wanted to figure out how far we had walked.”
Percy relaxed a little. “Oh, I see. No, sorry, I haven’t got a clue.”
Ambrose smiled and nodded, and they continued on their way. He didn’t share with his partner that he was sure a torch had just gone out behind them. Trying his best not to worry, Ambrose made sure they picked up their pace, and ensured he looked back occasionally for any signs of motion. Nothing appeared, but Ambrose remained sure that they were being watched. A horrible feeling was growing within him as they began to climb slightly uphill, following the meandering curves of the tunnel.
Eventually the tunnel levelled out and straightened towards the north again. Ambrose and Percy kept passing small offshoots, gaping holes against the brown walls of the tunnel. They walked on for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the tunnel appeared to be coming to a large intersection – Ambrose could see a bright opening approaching, and a fresh breeze started cutting through the heavy atmosphere of the tunnel.
Ambrose breathed in deeply. The clean air felt like life after the past hours of walking through a dead atmosphere. Finally, he and Percy passed under a stone arch and into a wide circular opening that rose into a dome above them. Seven gated archways of differing sizes surrounded them, including the one they had just walked out from, which was by far the smallest. The walls in the room were brightly lit with gaslights, and the shadows danced on the high ceiling, which was made from a dazzling array of blue marble. Hanging down from the dome were seven chandeliers, but no light came from them. Beneath them, the floor was paved with cobblestones, and a set of train tracks ran across the middle of the room between the two largest arches.
“Incredible,” Percy breathed out.
Incredible indeed.
Ambrose’s thoughts were racing now. The majesty of the dome was unbelievable; how could something this beautiful remain hidden for so long? There were no debris or dust to be seen, and the gaslights indicated that someone was keeping this place clean. But for whom? And why? The train tracks running along the ground meant that there had to be a large entry somewhere as well. Ambrose could feel his head spinning – there were too many questions to consider at once. Besides, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was still watching them. He peered through the arches, but nothing moved in the darkness. All was still, save the gentle breeze that was flowing from the archway opposite them.
Percy was now wandering around the area, and proceeded to pull his notebook out to take notes – this was a futile plan, however, as the river had thoroughly soaked the paper through, and it hadn’t dried in the ensuing walk. So instead of taking notes, Percy simply walked around gaping in amazement.
Just as Percy crossed the railway tracks, the silence was broken by a sound coming from the archway Ambrose and Percy had entered through. Both of the detectives froze – now it was certain they weren’t alone.
A thud came echoing down the tunnel. Ambrose walked over to the archway and peered into the dim light. In the distance, he could count six torches burning on the walls. Narrowing his eyes, he strained to see what had made the noise. Percy, on the other hand, had frozen in fear in the middle of the floor by the train tracks. The blood once again drained from his normally rosy cheeks, and he whispered hoarsely to no one in particular:
“Ghosts!”
Ambrose was ignoring his partner’s petrified state, because he could make out movement in the darkness. Without warning, the furthest torch stopped burning with a loud thud. Ambrose watched in horror as the next torch flickered out.
Thud.
And the next.
Thud.
There were now only three left, and whatever was down there was gathering speed. Ambrose could now make out footsteps in the gathering gloom.
Thud.
Two torches to go.
“In… inspector!” Percy’s voice was shaky and hoarse, “Ambrose, I… I’m terrified of ghosts!”
Ambrose tried to ignore his partner, shaking his hand in a sign for him to be quiet.
Thud.
Only one torch to go.
Ambrose could now make out a small figure… could it be Gasquet? There was no telling what the Dwarf Mech might do, now that they had discovered this place.
Thud.
Darkness fell throughout the underground chamber, save the burning torches of Detective Percy and Inspector Ambrose.
“INSPECTOR!”
Percy’s horrified scream echoed off the dome. He had reached his breaking point.
In a complete state of panic, Percy began running in a large circle around the dome until he reached the train tracks, completely mistimed his steps, and ended up sprawled on the ground as his torch went flying and burnt out on the cobblestones. Ambrose ran over to his partner as quickly as he could. He helped Percy roll off the tracks and lifted him onto his feet.
“Are you alright?” Ambrose asked the portly detective.
Percy shook his head violently. “We’re not alone!” he whispered. Fearing that his partner was beginning to lose his mind completely, Ambrose was about to give him a lecture regarding the silliness of ghost stories when a tiny voice pierced the darkness.
“Welcome!”
At the sound of the voice, Percy’s eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out onto the floor with a dull thud. Ambrose whirled his torch around in the direction of the voice.
Standing only a few metres away from the detectives was a small Mech made of solid bronze. It stood no taller than knee height, and wore a broad smile. Ambrose’s torchlight flickered in the Mech’s bulbous black eyes.
It was Gasquet, the Dwarf Mech from the market.
Ambrose wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but if the little Mech decided to cause trouble, there was little he could do about it, especially with his partner out cold on the cobblestones. Ambrose cleared his throat and tentatively greeted the Dwarf Mech. “Hello, your name is Gasquet, isn’t it?”
The Mech beamed. “Yes! Hello! It’s amazing that you’re here!” Gasqu
et was awfully welcoming for a Mech that had been doing his best to avoid getting caught earlier that day, Ambrose thought. An awkward silence fell around the dome, only broken by the sound of Percy moaning quietly on the ground. Ambrose decided there was no point in beating around the bush.
“Why did run away from us in the slums this morning?” he asked the Mech.
Gasquet looked confused. He cocked his head to the side and gave Ambrose a quizzical look. “The slums? I haven’t been to the slums in decades, I’m afraid,” he said.
Ambrose couldn’t believe the audacity of the Mech, lying to his face like that. “Yes you have,” he insisted, “You were there this morning selling Lightstone – we chased you down to the river!”
Gasquet looked perplexed. “Why would I sell Lightstone?” he asked, “I’m not a merchant. I’m a guide.”
Ambrose stared at the Mech. It seemed like Gasquet had no idea what was going on. Behind Ambrose, Percy had come around and gathered himself to his feet. Ambrose turned to face him, and received a reassuring half-smile in response, before turning his attention back to Gasquet. It was time to get to the bottom of this. “You’re a guide? What kind of guide?” he asked.
“A tour guide!” Gasquet said, his metallic mouth breaking into a wide grin.
Ambrose blinked and paused for a minute. “A… tour guide?” he said sceptically.
“Yes, that’s right! Am I correct in assuming that you are here for the tour?” Gasquet looked extremely enthusiastic, and was brimming with anticipation as he asked the question.
Before Ambrose was able to tell the Dwarf Mech that there weren’t going to be any tours, and that he really was in a lot of trouble for running away, he heard Percy blurt out in an exasperated tone, “Yes, yes the tour. That’s why we’re here, now get on with it!”
Gasquet looked like he was about to burst with joy. He turned around and yelled out, “They’re here for the tour!”
With a roar, the gaslights and chandeliers burst into life, and standing before Ambrose and Percy were eleven identical Dwarf Mechs. As the detectives squinted in the bright light, the Mechs exploded with a joyous, high pitched shout.
“THE TOUR!”
Ambrose just stared, before realising that his mouth was hanging wide open. “Wait, wait!” he shouted, as the Dwarf Mechs exploded into a chorus of cheering, “What tour are you on about?” he directed his question at Gasquet, as the others were all whooping rather loudly.
In unison, the Mechs shouted back, “THE TEMPLE TOUR!”
Ambrose turned to Percy, who look just as surprised at was happening. The Mechs were now joyously shouting and hugging and congratulating one another for apparently no reason at all. Raising his voice, Ambrose shouted, “ENOUGH!”
The shouting and carrying on stopped immediately, and the Dwarf Mechs stood still, staring in complete silence as the last echoes of their celebration bounced away down the tunnels.
“Right then, who’s the leader here?” Ambrose began.
In perfect union, every Mech’s hand shot up. Ambrose shook his head. “You can’t all be the leader!” he said in frustration. With all the commotion, he had lost track of which one was Gasquet. Finding him would be a good start.
“Which one of you is Gasquet?” Ambrose asked. Once again, every hand shot up. Ambrose slapped his palm into his forehead.
Unbelievable.
Through gritted teeth, Ambrose said, “Please don’t tell me… you’re all named Gasquet?”
“Gasquet! Gasquet! Gasquet!” a chorus of high pitched shouting (accompanied by copious amounts of excited bouncing and laughter) erupted from the Mechs as they pointed to one another and raised their hands, obviously enjoying the situation. Their excitement, however, didn’t answer Ambrose’s question.
“Who is Gasquet?” Ambrose repeated, once the excited chatter had died down.
“WE ARE GASQUET!” came the reply, in perfect union.
“So every single one of you is named Gasquet?”
Another excited round of chanting, “Gasquet, Gasquet!” erupted.
“And you’re all tour guides for the Temple Tour?”
Nodding and smiles greeted the question this time.
“And you would like to take us on this tour now?”
More nodding.
Ambrose figured they weren’t going to get much further dealing with the group as a whole. One of these Mechs was had to be the Gasquet they had chased through the slums, but they would need to work hard to find out which one he was. Going on the tour would help them find out what this “temple” was as well.
“Very well,” Ambrose said. “We would love to go on your tour,” just as cheering was starting to erupt, Ambrose quickly held his hand up to ask for silence. “But only on the condition that one of you answers three questions before we begin.”
The Mechs seemed to consider this for a minute, and then quickly huddled together and starting whispering. Percy stepped up next to Ambrose and they exchanged a bemused look. Whatever they had been expecting to find down this tunnel, these Mechs were certainly a surprise. The huddle had now ended, and one of the Mechs stepped forward.
“My name is Gasquet, and I will answer your questions,” he announced proudly.
“Very well,” said Ambrose. “Is there any way that we can tell you all apart?”
Gasquet nodded excitedly. “Yes! We are all numbered in the order we were created! I am Gasquet,” he pointed at himself proudly. “And this is Gasquet II,” he pointed to the Mech standing on his left, who waved enthusiastically. Gasquet then proceeded to number each of the Dwarf Mechs, until number XI. “We number twelve in total, but Gasquet XII is special,” he said. Ambrose raised an eyebrow – this could be the clue they needed. “We call him the emissary,” said Gasquet, “he conducts our everyday business in Traville.”
Ambrose couldn’t help but smile – they were finally getting somewhere. “And is Gasquet XII underground at the moment?” he asked.
Gasquet shook his head. “No, we haven’t seen him since this morning. If he has returned, he’s likely to be somewhere within the temple,” Gasquet stopped and waited for the next question.
Ambrose calmed himself – they were getting closer to finding the Gasquet they needed, and it seemed likely they would run into him on the tour anyway. The Mechs were an unknown quantity, however. Even though they seemed calm enough, pushing them about Gasquet XII’s whereabouts might upset them, and he and Percy were outnumbered. He decided to move onto another topic.
“How long has it been since you last had tourists down here?” he asked. If other people were regularly visiting this place, they might be onto a stronger lead as to where Mr. Finney’s house had vanished to.
Gasquet seemed to think for a moment. “One hundred years!” he said, clearly feeling proud about figuring the answer out.
Ambrose and Percy couldn’t believe it. “One Hundred Years!?” Percy exclaimed.
Gasquet looked surprised. “Is that another question?” he asked. Ambrose shot Percy an annoyed look and assured the Mech that it was simply an observation. Inside himself, however, he couldn’t believe it either. They had somehow stumbled upon a place that had been abandoned by humans for decades. It was enough to make him feel quite dizzy, but it was time for his final question before the tour. They would keep what they were searching for under wraps until they figured out where Gasquet XII was, and if he was the Mech they were looking for. Now the initial enquiries were over, only one question remained; the most important question, really.
“Where are we?”
Gasquet was delighted. “That question relates to the tour!” he exclaimed, as a Mech at the rear echoed, “The tour!” before realising now wasn’t the time. Gasquet swept a hand around the dome, and declared, “You are standing in the underground station for the Great Central Temple of Light.”
It took a moment for either Ambrose or Percy to speak. Thoughts raced through Ambrose’s mind. Every person in Traville knew the legend of the Great C
entral Temple of Light; its existence had been lost in time, banished to the realm of old wives’ tales. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Francis had mentioned having a lead on its location the previous night. Had he known it was here, of all places?
The Mechs were clearly keen to get the tour started. Ambrose was sure that it would be easier to investigate (and to think) with only one Mech guiding them. After much back-and-forth wrangling, he managed to convince the Mechs to just let Gasquet guide them around alone.
As all the remaining Dwarf Mechs marched off to continue their duties, Gasquet began the tour, enthusiastically talking the detectives through the laying of foundations and the building of the temple. Percy, unable to take notes due to their plunge in the river, was fidgeting constantly as they began walking through the main archway, and up a tall flight of white marble stairs. The stairs had been well looked after, but occasional cracks were visible alongside other signs of wear. They climbed the stairs and entered a well-lit, much wider corridor that was also lined with marble.
“I’m sorry; I just need to clarify something,” Percy said to Gasquet, who was energetically leading them along the corridor as it climbed its way upwards. “If you haven’t had tourists down here for so long, what on earth have you been doing?” he was very red in the face from the exertion of climbing now, and his words tumbled out between heavy breaths.
“We have maintained this building in its original condition,” Gasquet replied. “We each take it in turns to work through the rooms of the temple, and do our best to keep its materials in top-notch order,” a touch of sadness entered his voice. “Recently, many of the materials used in the temple have become increasingly hard to find. Marble, hardwood, and Lightstone were the primary materials used in the construction of this temple. Lightstone has been in especially short supply for the past few decades.”
Ambrose and Percy exchanged glances – they certainly seemed to be in the right place. A group of Mechs who loved preserving history had both the knowledge and motive to use the Lightstone from Francis’ villa.
All we need is proof that they used it here.
