by I H Laking
Ambrose began to keep an eye out for any detail that would tie these Mechs to possession of the missing Lightstone.
In between further explanations of who built the temple (followers of The Way) and how much maintenance was required to keep the temple in working order (a lot), Ambrose managed to ask questions about how the Mechs had afforded the ongoing maintenance.
“Gold,” was Gasquet’s simple answer.
“Gold?” Percy quizzed.
“Yes, this temple was once lined with gold throughout its walls and ceilings. In order for us to maintain the overall building, sacrifices had to be made,” said Gasquet. After a minute, he added, “Our last purchase was particularly expensive.”
On they walked; closer to what Ambrose was sure would be the answer. He did have one other burning question, though.
“You say no one has been here on a tour… have you ever had other people come searching for this place?” he asked.
A dark shadow passed over the happy Mech’s face. “Yes, recently we have had some unwelcome visitors,” he replied. “People have come looking here, searching for our secrets. At first, only one man came, and he meant us no harm. But recently, small groups of bad men have started exploring the temple. We sense great evil in their intent, and so we hide whenever they arrive.”
Ambrose wondered who these men could be. Had Francis come down here? “What do these men look like?” Ambrose asked.
“We only catch glimpses of them when they pass through,” said Gasquet. “They dress in black; that is the common feature between them.”
The answer wasn’t much use, so Ambrose simply nodded, and continued to look for the evidence he needed.
Soon they reached the entrance to the temple. One moment they were walking through the tunnels, and the next minute they stepped out into an enormous cave. Before them stood a beautiful structure, carved into the far wall twenty metres away. The temple entrance stood like an open mouth, flanked on either side by giant balconies halfway up the walls. Windows dotted the long façade, standing open without shutters, looking like they were still in use. The front of each window was lined with marble, and inlaid with intricate designs. Finally, the main entrance doors, both over four metres across, were made from solid hardwood inlaid with gems. It was, in a word, breathtaking.
And it had been hidden beneath Traville all this time.
Gasquet led the detectives inside, through a beautiful entrance hall that was lined with slabs of pink and blue marble. They followed a corridor around to the right, visiting small chambers and peering down long corridors. There were few words to describe the scene, so the detectives mostly walked in silence as Gasquet talked of architects and artisans, and noted points of interest. Eventually, they passed into a large room with walls featuring murals of faraway lands. These were not the centrepiece of the room, however, because its eastern wall opened out into a room that was larger and more stunning than anything Ambrose had seen in his life. Gasquet led them through an archway, clearly aware of how the detectives were feeling.
“And this,” he announced proudly, “Is the Great Hall.”
Ambrose and Percy both let out gasps as they stepped into the hall. It was a moment that Ambrose would never forget; setting eyes on a wonder that had been hidden from the Empire for over a hundred years. Percy simply stood with his mouth hanging open as he gazed in awe at his surroundings.
The Great Hall was circular, measuring one hundred metres wide across its floor, which was covered in polished white marble. The colour of the floor stood in contrast to the walls, which were at least thirty metres high, and covered in pink marble that flickered in the light of seven giant chandeliers that hung low from the ceiling. The chandeliers were powered by gas, and as a hundred small flames burnt gently in each one, they caused shadows to dance all around the hall. In the middle of the room, seven immense pillars stood in a widely spaced circle, around twenty metres apart. They were made from pure Lightstone, and seemed to amplify the light from the chandeliers immensely. But despite all this beauty, the ceiling was by far the most impressive feature of the room.
At first glance, Ambrose couldn’t make out what the ceiling was made of. The chandeliers caused everything in the room to appear as if it was in motion, but after staring closely for a moment, Ambrose realised that the ceiling was not only in motion; it was alive. Seven mighty tree trunks stuck out from the roof, each supporting boughs of branches that gently moved in the breeze. Leaves gently rustled, though there was no sign of a breeze coming into the hall. The trees were an amazing palette of colour, with leaves that seemed to be at times green, and at times red – as if time itself were flicking back and forth in the room. Percy gaped. Ambrose stared. And for the longest time, nobody uttered a word.
Gasquet broke the silence with yet another cherry description of the room and its history. He was describing the inlaid beauty of the Lightstone, and Ambrose was sure he was about to find the evidence he needed.
Until he heard heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway outside.
There was little time to think about who was coming, because Gasquet immediately leapt into action. His carefree manner was suddenly replaced by a mild panic. “Oh no. Not now,” he whispered.
Before Ambrose had time to enquire about what was wrong, and just as Percy (whose face had just drained of all colour once more) began to utter the word ghost, the Dwarf Mech grabbed them both and yanked them towards the wall to the right of the entrance. Ambrose followed, sensing that whoever was coming was unlikely to be a ghost, but could well be a group of criminals. Underground gangs were well known throughout the Empire, and normally they consisted of smugglers, thieves, and lowlifes – hardly the kind of crowd that Ambrose was ready to confront without the necessary backup.
Gasquet and the detectives reached the wall in a matter of seconds, as the pounding of fast-moving footsteps grew louder. Voices began to echo in the Great Hall as Gasquet pressed on a loose panel at the base of a large marble slab. There was a loud click and the slab swung open.
“Quickly!”
Gasquet hustled the detectives into a small, dark space behind the wall that was just big enough for the three of them. They stepped in, and Gasquet tried to close the panel with the aid of a low handle on its rear side. The panel swung slowly – the voices had almost reached the Great hall. The panel finally closed with another click just as three men entered the hall.
Thankfully, there was a long, narrow crack running down through the marble, which allowed the detectives to see the hall. Ambrose and Percy stuck their eyes close to the crack in order to get a good view. As they observed the characters that had walked through the door, Ambrose was relieved they hadn’t stayed in the Great Hall any longer than they had.
All three of the men wore tight pants covered by long tunics. The first man walked silently at the front of the group and was dressed entirely in white, while the other two were completely clothed in black. Both men in black had their hair tied back in ponytails, and one had a neatly trimmed silver beard and was doing most of the talking. All three men carried long, thin swords sheathed across their backs. Ambrose recognised the style of dress immediately; they were members of the Assassins Guild, some of the most dangerous people in all the Empire. Ambrose couldn’t help but think that he would rather have faced a gaggle of ghosts than this group; to interfere in the affairs of the Assassin’s Guild was to invite trouble of the highest degree. They had secrets that were best kept secret, and methods that were better left unknown.
Ambrose pulled back from the wall and looked over at Percy, who did likewise – their faces were divided by the sliver of light that leaked in through the cracked marble. Percy mouthed the word “assassins” silently, and raised his eyebrows. Ambrose simply nodded in reply, and turned his attention back to the Great Hall as Percy gulped loudly. The assassins had walked into the middle of the room and now stood talking in hushed tones around fifty metres from where the detectives were hidden. The body language
of the men told the story of who they were, and the situation was clearly tense. The man in white was the leader of the group, and stood with his back to the detectives, observing the far wall and the trees above, while the man with the beard appeared to be showing him around the temple and explaining something about the Great Hall. The third man was younger than the other two – he was tall and wiry, and appeared to be quite nervous; his eyes would constantly glance towards the face of the man in white, and then he would stare at the ground, trying to pretend he hadn’t been looking. Ambrose frowned. Whoever this man in white was, he was unsettling the young assassin.
The conversation was impossible to make out, but it mostly consisted of the older man talking and gesturing, and the man in white nodding his head or shaking his hand. He never turned around, so it was impossible for Ambrose or Percy to make out his face. The younger man said little and simply looked disturbed by the white assassin’s presence. After several moments it looked like the group were about to move on, as the older man gestured towards the main entrance. Then, without warning, the situation took a dangerous turn.
The white assassin had seemed mellow and relaxed, until his head jerked around towards the detective’s hiding spot. Percy subdued a gasp, and Ambrose felt a lump form in his throat. The man’s face was completely covered with white cloth, and no facial features were visible. The only marking on the assassin’s cloth mask was a straight red line that ran across where his eyes should have been. The white assassin held up his hand and the older assassin stopped talking.
The white assassin appeared to be sniffing the air, as if trying to pick up a scent. He moved forward, beckoning the others to follow as he walked over to the area where the detectives and Gasquet had been standing moments earlier. When they reached the spot, the white assassin dropped to his knees and sniffed the ground intently, then rose again and walked towards the point in the wall where Ambrose, Percy, and Gasquet were hidden from view. The other assassins followed; they had drawn their swords and walked with caution, observing the hall around them. The white assassin stopped about a metre away from the wall and stood there, staring. Ambrose felt a pain similar to a headache starting to push at the side of his head. Why had it started so suddenly?
“Is everything alright, Commander?” asked the older assassin as he scanned the room around him.
The white assassin didn’t answer. He peered at the wall, and Ambrose felt certain that he was looking directly at them. The man jumped forward and put his face up to the crack in the marble. Ambrose and Percy both pulled back from the wall immediately and hugged the edge of the small room as a sudden stench filled the space where the detectives were hiding. It smelt like rotten eggs, sour milk, and old cheese mixed together, and as the smell hit them, Ambrose and Percy had to use all their willpower not to gag. The sound of sniffing echoed around the space for the next few minutes. It felt to Ambrose as if time was at a standstill, and he was simply suspended there, surrounded by his senses; the darkness of the room, the stench and the sound of sniffing that was coming from the white assassin, and the pounding headache that now seemed to be consuming his mind. Any second now, he knew they would be found. His heart was beating like a machine, louder and louder.
As the intense atmosphere was reaching a crescendo, the white assassin drew back from the wall. The pressure in Ambrose’s head stopped as suddenly as it had began, and the smell began to dissipate. He could hear the white assassin talking outside – his voice sounded like water hissing on hot coals. Ambrose carefully edged over and looked back into the room.
“All iss well, captain,” the white assassin said, pointing to the wall. “When you return, ssee that you ffix all these crackss. Nassty thingss can creep through them.”
The older assassin nodded, and the three men walked towards the main entrance. As they passed beyond the archway, Ambrose felt the voice of the white assassin piercing his thoughts.
“I ssee you.”
And with that, the assassins were gone.
Ambrose looked down at Gasquet. “I take it that these were the type of unexpected visitors you were talking about earlier?” he enquired.
Gasquet nodded. “Yes, but never have I see one like the white man. Many others dressed in black have been through – each one taking notes, looking at the structure. They do not always leave swiftly – we must wait until one of the others tells us they have gone.”
And so Gasquet and the detectives stood in the cramped space, alone with their thoughts. Ambrose reflected on what they had found so far: the absence of any debris in the villa’s compound, the upset neighbours, and the insurance salesman were just a few of the points of interest. There was also the runaway Mech from the market, and the troupe of Dwarf Mechs that had maintained this underground temple for so long. The assassins were an unexpected and dangerous inconvenience – and he intended to avoid any further close encounters with the white assassin. Ambrose looked out the crack one more time, gazing at the nearest Lightstone pillar.
There had to be a link in all of this somehow.
Ambrose watched the dim reflections of the gaslights dancing on the Lightstone, and found himself lost in his thoughts.
Gasquet VI arrived soon after to let them out, reporting that the assassins were last seen heading towards the train station. The other Mechs were now at their posts, and staying alert for any signs of movement. Now that the danger had passed, Ambrose decided it was time to push for answers.
“The first man that you mentioned came to visit; who was he, and what did he want?” Ambrose asked Gasquet as they walked back towards the entrance.
“I don’t recall his name, as Gasquet XII was the only one of us he would talk with. I do recall that he was very interested in the Temple,” Gasquet said as he peered into the open corridor. He turned around and faced the detectives. “Even though the man wasn’t interested in taking the tour, he was very interested in our Lightstone pillars.” Gasquet pointed to the tall columns that stood in the middle of the Great Hall. “The pillars had deteriorated in recent past decades, and were in need of maintenance. He told us he had a large supply of Lightstone, and that he would be happy to sell it to us in exchange for a sum of gold.”
“And you decided to take up his offer?” Ambrose asked.
“Yes. With Lightstone being so rare these days, it was the logical thing to do.” The Mech had a note of sadness in his voice as he looked up at the ceiling, past the trees to the grey roof beyond. “Until just recently, the domes were coated with gold. Soon, the glory of this place will fade even further into memory,” he looked down again, and beckoned the detectives to follow him. “Come, I will show you how we used the supply of stone to repair this place.
Gasquet led them to the nearest pillar. As they approached, Ambrose noted that what had appeared to be a well maintained piece of stone at a distance was in fact fractured and damaged. Thin cracks ran throughout the Lightstone, giving it the appearance of a giant jigsaw puzzle. Ambrose and Percy followed the Dwarf Mech around to the far side of the pillar, and he indicated some of the places the new stone had been used. “This part here was particularly damaged, so we used a larger piece of stone to fix it.” Gasquet said as he pointed to a spot about a metre above Ambrose’s eye level.
Ambrose squinted at the Lightstone – there was something unusual about the pattern of the crack in that spot. And then it dawned on Ambrose: he wasn’t looking at a crack.
He was looking at an engraving in the shape of an elephant’s trunk.
Ambrose couldn’t believe it – they had found the missing link. But before he could accuse the Mechs of anything, he had to be sure. He turned to Gasquet and asked where the rest of the Lightstone was.
“It’s just on the far side of the hall; there’s still quite a lot we haven’t used,” he replied, gesturing towards a rather empty-looking part of the Great Hall. Ambrose stared – he couldn’t see a thing in the dim gaslight. Gasquet muttered a quiet, “Oh, sorry,” and waved his hand. Percy let out a ga
sp, and Ambrose found himself rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
It was as if a massive curtain had been drawn aside. Just a few steps away lay a huge pile of Lightstone bricks. Hundreds of them lay stacked neatly in rows, and against them leant four pillars, covered with engraved elephants.
It was Francis Finney’s villa.
Percy just stood there saying, “I don’t believe it,” over and over again. Ambrose found himself wondering how these Mechs had managed to get the Villa down here in the first place. He turned to Gasquet, who seemed surprised that the detectives were so interested in the pile of stone.
“How did you get all this stone underground?” Ambrose asked, his mind racing.
And how on earth could I not see it until a moment ago?
Gasquet shrugged. “We bought it down the staircase,” he said, pointing to the ceiling of the hall. Through the trees, a balcony jutted out from the wall. “Would you like me to show you?” Gasquet asked, “it will mean cutting the tour a little short, I’m afraid,” he sounded a touch sad at the prospect.
Ambrose knelt down beside the tiny Mech. “We’ll finish the tour another time, but your help with finding this staircase will prove invaluable,” he said.
And it may lead to your arrest.
Gasquet said nothing, but gestured for the detectives to follow him. They headed towards the entrance again.
As they stepped out into the hallway, a loud clink rang out along the passage, followed by the sound of steel sliding against steel. Ambrose swung around and peered toward the far end of the passage. The young assassin was standing there with his long sword swinging gently in his left hand, and a cruel smile smeared across his face. His calm manner did little to hide the evil in his intent, and Ambrose realised discussion was not an option. This man had not stayed back to talk. He had stayed back to kill.
“Go!” Ambrose shouted, turning and charging in the opposite direction. Even as he turned, Ambrose glimpsed the assassin speeding towards them. What followed was a blur of motion as Ambrose, Percy and Gasquet ran as fast as they could towards the point where the corridor curved to the left.
