The Clockwork Dungeon: An Inspector Ambrose Story (The Inspector Ambrose Mysteries Book 4)

by I H Laking

  As he picked up the bottle, Ambrose cocked his head to once side. In the distance, he was sure he heard it.

  A cry for help, then nothing.

  Percy was looking at Ambrose with a deathly expression.

  “We’re dealing with a mischievous suitor, Percy, not some murderer. It’s safe to assume that whatever game is afoot, Ethan is waiting for us back in the Mansion.”

  I hope.

  Ambrose was saying these things more for Percy's benefit than his own. The entire evening was taking a dark turn, and the last thing anyone needed was panic. Pushing aside his concerns for Felicity, Ambrose did his best to focus on the first puzzle. There would be a time for fear; now he had to use his energy to escape. Wherever Felicity was, he just hoped she was alright.

  Picking up the note, Ambrose read it aloud.

  “To proceed, you’ll master logic.

  And avoid a fate most tragic

  From the bottle the coin bring forth,

  But you may not extract the cork

  Break the bottle and you fail;

  You must let logic prevail.”

  A hush fell in the chamber, interrupted by an occasional muffled cry. Ambrose did his best to block it out; here was the immediate need - a puzzle that had to have a simple solution.

  “How could we possibly retrieve the coin without breaking the bottle or taking the cork out?” Ambrose picked up the bottle. It was light in his hand, as if it would never fall to the ground. Letting it go again, Ambrose watched as the bottle floated effortlessly in place.

  “Any idea how it’s doing that?” Percy’s eyes looked up at Ambrose through the bottle as he peered inside it.

  “Based on what we’ve seen in this house already, whatever keeps the bottle floating is some sort of foreign contraption.” Ambrose pushed the bottle with his finger, and it bumped into Percy’s nose. “It’s not important how it’s staying up, anyway,” said Ambrose. “What matters is how we get the coin out.” He eyed the coin with suspicion.

  “How about we throw it against the wall?” Percy grabbed the bottle by the neck, forcing Ambrose to dive for his partner’s forearm as he wound up to hurl the bottle.

  “No, that would be breaking it.” Ambrose gave Percy a warning glare. “Think, Percy. The puzzle isn’t hard; it’s merely a matter of logic. No hidden tricks in this one, just a simple explanation.”

  Ambrose turned the bottle round in his hands, clanking the coin inside it. The light glinted off the bottle, and momentarily, he was far away, floating alongside the bottle over an unknown sea.

  “Yes!”

  Percy’s shout almost knocked Ambrose backwards. The portly detective leapt at the bottle and raised his fist.

  “Wait, we can’t break-”

  It was too late. Percy’s fist flew down onto the bottle, stabbing his pencil into the cork. He pressed down with immense effort, reddening his face to the point that he resembled a cross between a blueberry and a raspberry. Then it happened - a pop, and a cry.

  The cork shot inside the bottle, Percy upended it, and the coin dropped into his hand. All around the room, the gears roared to life; a cacophony of clicking and ticking that stirred the air inside, setting clouds of dust whirling. Ambrose covered his face until the noise died down. When it finally did, the opposite side of the room had opened, revealing a small corridor and another Plinth Mech.

  Ambrose looked to the smiling figure of Percy, who was triumphantly holding onto the coin. “The note said we couldn’t extract the cork,” he said, “so I just knocked it inside.”

  Ambrose had barely got his congratulations out when the screaming resumed - louder now the corridor had opened.

  Felicity.

  “She sounds scared, but if it helps, it doesn’t sound like she’s in pain.” Percy tried his best to convey some comfort, and Ambrose thanked him for that. They made their way over to the Plinth Mech, Percy limping as fast as he could.

  “Congratulations!” The Plinth Mech clapped its hands together. “You have mastered logic, now you must conquer strength.”

  “And what might conquering strength entail?” asked Percy.

  “Only stepping into the chamber will reveal that!” the Mech announced with glee.

  “Terrific,” said Percy, as Ambrose led the way forward again.

  This time, there were no gaslights. Ambrose and Percy took two steps into the room, and the doors slammed shut, obstructing all light and causing a shout to erupt from Percy.

  “That’s not fair! How can we solve a puzzle we can’t see?”

  No sooner than Percy had yelled his question, Ambrose found himself wishing his partner had never asked. The room rattled, and the sound of grinding gears returned. As a rumble resounded, Ambrose thrust his hands out in front of him.

  “Let’s find the edge of the room.” Ambrose paced across the shaking floor with his hands outstretched. After ten paces, he bumped into the far wall. This time, it was flat, and no gears were moving despite the noise. “What’ve you found?” he called out.

  “I’ve got the left wall here,” Percy called back. “But I can’t feel anything on it.” His voice drew near, and soon he was standing by Ambrose, who was fumbling around for any switches or levers.

  “So if it’s a test of strength, what do we have to do?” Ambrose couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, and he was about to call out to the Plinth Mech when it happened, and all reason escaped him.

  The object crunched into Ambrose’s hand first, almost crushing it. He jerked his arm back, throwing his elbow into Percy’s face and eliciting a pained yell from his partner.

  “What’s that in aid of?” he cried.

  “There’s something moving in the chamber!” Ambrose put his hand back and touched the solid object once more. Then his heart dropped. “Something isn’t moving in the room,” he said, as the rumbling grew.

  “The room is moving!”

  Throwing both hands in front of him, Ambrose felt the wall closing in. Here it was; the test of strength.

  “The wall, Percy!” Ambrose almost bowled Percy over as the encroaching mass pushed him backwards. He sensed Percy move in next to him, sticking a sweaty palm up beside his.

  “How long until we hit the far wall?” Ambrose asked.

  Percy shuffled away, returning a few seconds later.

  “We’re ten paces away, Inspector,” he said.

  “No.” There was a hoarseness in Ambrose’s throat. If they didn’t stop the wall, they would be flattened.

  What a cruel fate.

  Over the top of the rumbling, Ambrose heard the screams once again. He steeled his mind as best he could. There had to be a way to stop this wall from flattening them.

  “Look for a switch, there has to be something we can push!”

  Soon, Ambrose and Percy were scrambling in the dark, hands wandering up and down the solid stone as it moved to crush them. Before long, their efforts had confirmed the worst: there was no switch to stop the madness.

  “It doesn’t make sense!” Percy said, as they were pushed further towards their deaths. “What could be strong enough to stop a wall of stone?”

  Ambrose didn’t say a word. His feet, spread out in front of him to try and slow the stone’s advance, had hit the far wall.

  It was only a matter of time now.

  “We can’t give up!” Ambrose shouted, feeling his resolve rising. “Maybe it responds to force!” He pummelled a fist against the stone, but nothing happened. His knees were getting forced back now, and Percy was releasing his fear in a bellow.

  “My shoulders! I can’t last much longer, Inspector!”

  Ambrose felt the crushing, too. The wall was slowing, seeming to savour the moment. There was no stopping it.

  Wait.

  There’s no stopping it.

  “Percy!” Ambrose shouted. Over the rumbling, he could hear Percy starting to weep. “Detective Percy, it’s alright!”

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S ALRIGHT?! WE’RE ABOUT TO DIE!”


  “No we’re not! It’s not testing our physical strength! It’s testing the strength of our will!”

  “WHAT!”

  Percy’s shout was like a peal of thunder. The rumbling had suddenly ceased, leaving only the sound of a gaslight flickering to life overhead. To Percy’s left, a hole in the wall sprang open, revealing a Plinth Mech.

  “Well done!” it shouted, “You’ve passed once more!”

  Percy looked from the Mech to Ambrose, his cheeks wet with tears. The expression on his face ran the gamut from confusion to relief, then on to happiness before finally settling on rage. A shot of red flushed his cheeks as the walls began to recede.

  “I’LL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF, YOU STUPID, SMUG MECH!” he screamed, all thoughts of decorum lost.

  “Address all complaints to the Dungeon owner!” the Mech stuttered, disappearing again just as Percy broke free from where he'd been sandwiched between the walls. He stumbled his way to the spot where the Plinth Mech had disappeared, beating on the stone with his fist.

  “You get back here! I’ve got some complaints for you first!”

  There was no response. Percy slumped to the floor, exhaustion taking him.

  “I don’t think I can face another chamber, Inspector.” Percy looked up at Ambrose with a pained expression. “It’s not right, putting a man through something like this. Why would Ethan's uncle even build a place like this? Did he enjoy torturing others?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ambrose, “but so far this place feels more like the fancy of a prosperous man with too much wealth and imagination. I don’t think anyone’s meant to die down here.”

  The wall had rumbled back into place, revealing a new corridor filled with gears. In the quiet of the dungeon, the distressed cries reemerged.

  “Come on,” Ambrose held out his hand to Percy. “My sister’s the one who’s in real danger.”

  By the time they had talked with the next Plinth Mech, Ambrose felt like he’d seen enough Mechs for one day. Percy had managed to restrain himself, and as they stepped into the final room, Ambrose could feel his pulse racing. The screams were constant now, and close. The Plinth Mech’s final words caught Ambrose’s ears as he stepped inside the last chamber.

  “Remember: this is a test of wit. All the best!”

  Doors slammed, lights flickered, and cries rose and fell.

  Then the final room took Ambrose completely by surprise.

  VI

  Whereas the first two rooms had been barren and simple, the final chamber was a discordant symphony of movement and sound.

  Every surface of the circular room was covered in gears. The wall, the floor, and the ceiling all shifted in a graceful dance; grinding and moving to a rhythm that flowed along with a pendulum on the far side of the room. On the floor, hovering a short way above four gigantic gears, were two long iron rods, one half the length of the other.

  “It’s a clock.”

  Percy pointed to the ceiling, where a small iron rod was counting seconds with an audible rhythm. The clock hands on the ground were meandering along, and one final feature caught Ambrose’s eye. He trotted to the centre of the room as another cry sounded.

  On the fulcrum in the centre of the room sat a pile of lace flowers. Moving them aside, Ambrose could make out an inscription in the brass below.

  Today I faced a challenge that brought me to my doom,

  But then I rearranged fifteen withered lace tulips

  To solemner noon.

  “More riddles.”

  As Ambrose struggled to take in the sound, movement, and confusion of everything around him, anxiety gripped his mind. Felicity was there, crying in his ear. Why hadn’t Ethan taken her away? What was he doing to her?

  If anything were to happen to my sister…

  “Shall we move the tulips, Inspector?”

  Ambrose looked up to find Percy holding a pile of the lace flowers.

  “I expect we should put them at the noon point on the floor.”

  Ambrose nodded. Somehow, Percy was now the calm one. He limped over to the high point of the clock and laid the lace there. The gears whirred, and the clocked ticked on.

  Tick, tock, the racing clock.

  “Can’t be that then, try each quarter hour - there aren’t any numbers marked, anyway.” Ambrose stared at the words as Percy muddled around with the flowers.

  Solemner noon.

  Walking to the far edge of the room, Ambrose watched the seconds tick by. The cries stopped momentarily, and Ambrose found panic gripping him.

  Tick tock, the racing clock.

  “I KNOW!”

  As his temperament finally broke, Ambrose slapped his palm against the wall. All around him, gears whirled and swirled in a whir of activity. The giant clocked ticked on, and the cries above resumed; fear and failure washed over Ambrose as he closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he solve the riddle? It was all so simple at the start, and now his sister could be harmed due to his inaction.

  Or worse.

  The clock ticked on, and Ambrose felt the fear overtaking his rational thoughts. He fell to his knees and closed his eyes.

  How did it come to this?

  Trying to calm himself, Ambrose thought over his first encounter with Ethan. He reflected on the incredible mansion above, and the hidden trapdoor that lay within reach of the Plinth Mech. He visualised the three paintings, and the piles of oddities that littered the mansion's hallways. Finally, he thought of the writing above the entrance to the study.

  The Clockwork Dungeon.

  And that was it.

  Total clarity.

  “Percy, it’s a trick!”

  Ambrose shot to his feet, ran over to his partner, and grabbed his notebook.

  “It’s not about the flowers. It’s about the words.” Heading to the centre of the room, Ambrose looked at the message. “The dungeon is telling us what to do: rearrange the letters contained in fifteen withered lace tulips to solemner noon.”

  FFENM ORDOA EUISOP OENN WITET EELCT LLTSI NHRE

  The letters leapt off the page as Ambrose found his mind racing ahead.

  OPEN, DOOR, WILL.

  FFENM A EUIS ON TET EELCT TSI NHRE

  Percy was perched beside Ambrose now, pointing out SILENCE and AFTER.

  FM EU ON ET T TSI NHE

  Ambrose looked at the final letters, and he knew.

  The Clockwork Dungeon’s final trick was obvious. Ambrose held his finger to his lips, and Percy nodded his understanding.

  As the minutes ticked by, the torturous cries came and went. Ambrose fought with his fear; wrestled against the instinct to cry out. Percy, too, was staring at the floor, peering into the twirling gears and gadgets. And then, as abruptly as it had shut, the room burst open, revealing a door and a small silver plaque.

  “Ten minutes silence,” Ambrose said. “Right on time.”

  As they ran for the door, Ambrose found anxiety attempting to overrun his keenly logical mind once more. What if Felicity was dead, or lying unconscious somewhere nearby, never to recover? The screams had stopped with the whirring of the gears, and nothing pierced the stillness save the detectives’ hurried footsteps.

  “We have to get to Felicity,” Ambrose said breathlessly. “We have to save her.”

  But as Ambrose’s hand reached for the door it swung open, and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Who said I needed saving?” A miffed Felicity, her dress covered in dust and dirt, stood beyond the door, hand on hip. Ambrose let out a gasp, and did something completely beyond his usually composed nature; he threw himself into a huge hug with his sister.

  Stepping back, Ambrose brought himself back from his emotional state. “How can you be unharmed?” he asked. “We heard the screams all the way through the dungeon - it sounded like you were in intolerable pain!”

  “Come to think of it, how did you even get out of the dungeon so swiftly?”

  “Ambrose Aramis!” Felicity pushed her brother back, a frown creasing her brow. “First of
f, it’s not as if every woman’s screams sounds the same! I spent the past hour getting myself through those ludicrous puzzles. Did you honestly think you and Percy were the only ones capable of putting together a few clues?”

  Ambrose was turning red; he immediately recognised the folly of underestimating his sister.

  “Sorry,” he muttered deferentially.

  “I think you really need to spend more time in the company of women, Ambrose.” Felicity turned to the room behind her and Ambrose followed, with a glance back to the grinning Percy, who made no attempt to hide his amusement at Ambrose’s gaffes.

  Stepping out into the room behind Felicity, Ambrose was taken by the blue moonlight that streamed in through a series of windows that had been carved into the cliffside.

  Felicity’s face was half-bathed in the yellow light flooding in from the dungeon. “Whoever you heard screaming must still be in trouble, Amby,” she said, turning to the view outside. “I only made it to this room recently, and I haven’t found a way out yet. It’s the final test, and I’m missing something.”

  Ambrose scanned the room. It was the far corner that caught his eye, along with a sound that was out of place in the scheme of things.

  The fourth window that looked out over the northern plains was smaller than the others. As Ambrose walked closer, he confirmed what he thought he’d heard - the rush of water tumbling past the open hole. The torrent was splashing hard against the rock, and as Ambrose stepped up close to it, an unusual sense took him.

  A few drops of water hit Ambrose’s suit jacket, and a warm flush shot through his whole body. Everything else melted away; he was alone, and the water was drawing him nearer, beckoning him somehow. As Ambrose’s face reached the window, he peered through the deluge.

  Ambrose saw an unfamiliar sight in the distance; a city sprawled on a mountainside, staggering down from a lofty peak that jutted up violently beyond it. Between rows of walls and houses, hundreds of gigantic red flags and banners flicked in a soft breeze. The moon was hanging in an upside-down crescent above the city, low and lazy in the sky, and a piercing cry echoed around the plains; inhuman, alive with fear.