Secret Circles yrj-2

by F. Paul Wilson

  “No sign of Narnia,” he said.

  “I wish.”

  He glanced at her. “Big enough for two.”

  She shook her head. “I couldn"t stay in there. It"s too …”

  “I thought Eddie was the claustrophobic one.”

  “He is. But hiding in there in a dark cellar in the Lodge of all places … I don"t think I can. I need to be someplace where I can hear and see.”

  Urgency propelled Jack as he flashed his beam around. Behind the armoire sat a low, wide, sturdy-looking table with what appeared to be Chinese lettering along its edges. It was backed against a leather couch and its other side rested against the rear of a bureau, leaving only one side open.

  He focused his beam on the space beneath. “How about under there? If we scrunch up way toward the rear we should be really hard to find.”

  Weezy stared for a heartbeat or two, then nodded.

  “Okay. But you first.”

  Swell.

  But he understood: ladies first—unless there might be spiders.

  He knelt and did a quick inspection. No black widows hanging out, just a thick layer of dust and some cobwebs. He crawled under, and Weezy followed. Jack turned out his flashlight and Weezy did the same. Side by side, with the pyramid sitting between them, they crouched in the cramped, cool darkness.

  Weezy whispered, “How will we know—?”

  The lights came on.

  Weezy grabbed his hand and squeezed.

  9

  They waited. And waited. It was becoming excruciating—physically as well as

  emotionally.

  Physically because Weezy was squeezing his hand so hard his fingers were going numb.

  Emotionally because the light had come on and stayed on and no one had come downstairs.

  Was Eggers or Mr. Drexler standing at the top and listening? Jack wanted to whisper to Weezy to ease up on his hand but didn"t dare. Didn"t want even to breathe, but had no choice in that.

  Finally it came: footsteps on the stairs.

  Someone with a heavy tread—had to be Eggers—stomped down to the basement and began

  stalking its aisles. Weezy squeezed even harder as the footsteps approached. Jack saw black shoes and black pants cuffs appear and stop right in front of their table.

  Eggers. Mr. Drexler was wearing his usual white suit when Jack had last seen him … not quite an hour ago.

  Not daring to move his head, Jack glanced at Weezy out of the corner of his eye. Her face was ashen and her eyes were squeezed shut. She wasn"t breathing. But then, neither was Jack. He could feel the sweat gathering in his armpits.

  The shoes moved on but Jack didn"t dare let out the breath he"d been holding, not until they"d faded to the other side of the room. And then he let it out really, really slowly. He noticed Weezy doing the same. She looked at him with a terrified expression.

  Did she really think the Order would harm them if they were found here?

  Apparently so.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the footsteps headed back upstairs. The light went out and the door slammed.

  Jack felt Weezy relax and begin to move. He quickly touched her face in the dark, found her lips, and put a finger against them. When he felt her nod that she understood, he began extricating his hand from hers. That done, he put his lips against her ear and spoke in the softest voice possible.

  “Don"t speak, don"t move.”

  She nodded again.

  After another eternity—probably ten minutes—he dared a whisper.

  “Okay. I guess he"s really gone.”

  He felt her stiffen. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if it had been me, I would have turned out the light and closed the door from the inside.

  Then I would have waited on the landing and listened to see if anyone moved down here.”

  She let out a breath. “I"m glad whoever that was isn"t like you. But what do we do now?”

  “We wait.”

  “How long? How will we know when he goes?”

  Jack almost said, You mean , if he goes, but thought better of it.

  “We"ll be real quiet and listen for the back door slamming.”

  He didn"t know if that was possible. These walls were thick—he could barely hear the thunder.

  He kept that to himself. She was already scared enough.

  10

  Jack guessed that twenty minutes more had passed. If not for the tense circumstances, it might have been nice being squeezed next to Weezy like this.

  He"d heard more footsteps on the other side of the ceiling, and then, maybe ten minutes ago, a sound like the back door slamming. After that, all sounds ceased. He hadn"t heard the car start, but that didn"t mean anything, considering what lay between them and the rear driveway. Only one thing to do.

  He turned on his flashlight.

  “Wait here. I"m going to check upstairs.”

  “No, Jack. He could still be up there.”

  “Yeah, he could. But we can"t stay here forever.” He crawled out from under the table and reached a hand toward her. “Might as well come out.”

  She turned on her flashlight and shook her head. “I"ll stay here till you come back.”

  “Okay. I"ll put the lights on when I pass the switch.”

  “Do you think you should?”

  He shrugged. “No windows down here, so no one outside"s gonna notice. Neither will anyone up there. Be back in a few minutes.”

  I hope.

  He found the light switch at the top of the stairs, but didn"t flip it on. Not yet. He needed to peek onto the first floor before that.

  He bent until his line of sight was at floor level. No light filtered beneath the door. Dark out there.

  Good.

  Grasping the knob, he twisted it as slowly as he could until it would turn no more. Then, praying the hinges wouldn"t squeak, he began to push the door open—also slowly—until the edge cleared the frame.

  Still no sign of light, so—

  He jumped as a flickering flash of white lit up an area to his left, quickly followed by a roar of thunder. He turned on the basement lights before slipping out the door and easing it closed behind him. Bad enough leaving Weezy alone and afraid down there; at least she wouldn"t be in the dark.

  He looked around. No sign of life or man-made light here on the first floor, although the lightning flashes were frequent. Rain blew in torrents against the windows. The storm had hit full force.

  But an empty first floor didn"t guarantee an empty second. He peered up the dark stairwell. No noise or light from up there either.

  He took off his sneakers and glided in his socks to the back door. He sagged with relief when he saw no sign of the Bentley.

  Mr. Drexler and Eggers had gone.

  But just to be sure … just to be absolutely sure, Jack eased up the steps and made a quick, nerve-wracking pass through the second floor. As he wandered the lightning-strobed hallway, a parade of horror film scenes—especially someone or something jumping out of a darkened doorway—flickered through his mind. But his search came up empty—just the way he"d hoped.

  No longer afraid of making noise, he hurried down to the first floor and opened the basement door.

  “Hey, Weez!” he called. “All clear!”

  She didn"t answer.

  “Weez?”

  Still no answer.

  Oh, jeez. Oh, no.

  With his blood feeling as if it were congealing in his veins, he slipped back into his sneakers and crept down to the brightly lit basement.

  “Weez?”

  He ran to the table where they"d hidden and looked under it. He found her flashlight and the pyramid, but not a trace of her.

  “Oh, God—Weez!”

  “I"m right here,” said a voice behind him.

  He whirled and saw her head sticking out from under the table opposite theirs.

  “Don"t do that to me!”

  She puzzled. “I didn"t do anything.” She crawl
ed out, dusting off her hands. When she regained her feet she pointed to the space she"d just left. “Look what I found.”

  Jack dropped to his knees and saw a thick semicircle of braided steel protruding from the concrete.

  “What is it?”

  “I noticed it when I was waiting for you. It looks like a handle.”

  He looked up at her. “A handle? What—?”

  “Help me move the table.”

  He rose and together they moved it off the spot and down the aisle. Once the area was clear, Jack saw a rectangular groove in the floor. He brushed and blew the dust out of the seam on the far side from the handle and found sunken hinges. Pretty clear what they had here.

  “A trapdoor.”

  Weezy nodded. “Just what I thought. Especially when I tapped on it.”

  Jack rapped his knuckles on the surface and heard a deep, hollow, gonging sound.

  “Steel.”

  “Yes,” Weezy said, her voice vibrating with excitement. “Made to look like concrete.”

  Jack bent for a closer look. Based on the amount of dust and dirty sand in the grooves, the trapdoor or what ever it was hadn"t been opened for a long time.

  He grabbed the ring and tugged. The door wouldn"t budge. He put his back into it with the same result.

  “Give me a hand.”

  Weezy added her strength to the pull but to no avail.

  “I think it"s locked,” she said.

  Jack inspected the dirty surface. “If so, it must be from the other side, because there"s no keyhole.”

  “We"ve got to get it open, Jack. It"s obviously a secret compartment that"s been locked for who knows how long. Just think what could be hidden inside. Ancient books, infernal devices,

  secrets!”

  Jack stared at her shining eyes, her intent expression. “Okay … how?”

  “I don"t know, but—hey, here"s something.”

  She began brushing the dirt from a shallow depression in the trapdoor surface. Only it wasn"t so shallow. The dirt kept coming. And as she brushed it free, the edges of the depression became visible.

  “Jack, it"s got six sides! And it tapers down to a point, I think!”

  Her hands began to shake, so Jack lent his to the task and …

  “You"re right … the same size and shape as … you think … ?”

  Weezy was already under the other table, grabbing the pyramid.

  “Yes! It"ll fit! It has to!”

  Jack brushed-blew out the remaining debris from the hexagonal depression and took the pyramid from her. He placed it point-down into the cavity and leaned back.

  “Near perfect fit.”

  “Jack …” He could barely hear her. “I think it"s the key.”

  The top three-quarters of the pyramid were settled into the opening, leaving the hexagonal base protruding. Jack leaned closer and noticed a circular groove running around the cavity, like it was set in the end of a cylinder.

  “I think you"re right.”

  He gripped the base and tried to rotate it, but it wouldn"t budge—clockwise or

  counterclockwise, no luck, not even with Weezy"s help.

  “It"s jammed.” He looked around. “Maybe we"d better go. We"re stretching our luck by staying here and—”

  “Are you kidding?” she said, her voice jumping an octave. “They"re gone, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then we"re not going anywhere until we get that door open.”

  He realized argument was futile.

  “Okay, but—”

  “Wait a minute,” she said, grabbing a flashlight. “I thought I saw something inside when I was cleaning it out.” She removed the pyramid and trained the beam on the cavity. The light wavered in her trembling hand as it revealed little rough spots on each of its six facets. “Don"t those look familiar?”

  Jack leaned closer and immediately recognized them.

  “The symbols on the pyramid. So it does belong in there.”

  “Right, but maybe it"s got to be in there a certain way—with the glyphs matched up.”

  So that was what they did: Matched up the glyphs on the six sides of the pyramid with those on the facets of the cavity.

  But when Jack tried it again it still wouldn"t turn.

  “It"s got to!” Weezy cried, her tone frantic. “It"s jammed!”

  She rose and stomped on the base of the pyramid with a sneakered foot.

  “Hey!” Jack said as she kept kicking it. “What are you doing?”

  “This is what my dad does when something is jammed. He whacks it. So …”

  Another kick or two and then she knelt beside him and they both tried rotating the pyramid.

  It budged counterclockwise.

  “Did you feel it?” Weezy cried.

  Jack nodded and increased his efforts. He felt another budge. And then another. He and Weezy were grunting, their breath rasping though their teeth.

  With a crunch, something broke free within the mechanism and the pyramid made a quick quarter turn. And then another quarter. And after that it made steady progress until it completed a full turn.

  “I think that does it,” Jack said. “What now? Open it?”

  Weezy nodded, eyes shining. “Are you kidding?”

  Jack thought about the mound, and all the trouble digging into that had caused. And now this.

  What secrets had the Order hidden behind the trapdoor that only it, as possessor of the pyramid, could open?

  Jack wasn"t sure he wanted to know. He was also sure that no way could he walk away from this door without seeing what lay behind it.

  “Okay. On my count of three.” Together they grabbed the ring handle. “One … two … three!”

  11

  “I can"t believe it.” Jack didn"t know how long they"d stood in silence and stared at the dark hole before Weezy spoke.

  He sighed. “Yeah. All that crazy lock business for a hole in the ground.” He squatted for a closer look at the rectangle of empty blackness. “Or maybe not.”

  He grabbed one of the flashlights and aimed its beam into the opening. About ten feet down he saw a flat expanse of what looked like wet stone and mud. Weezy was at his side, craning her neck for a look.

  “Looks like a subcellar,” she said. “But no stairs.”

  Still beaming his flashlight into the opening, Jack moved around to the other side and found something.

  “Hey. Steps. Sort of.”

  A stone wall sat under Weezy"s side. Deep horizontal grooves had been cut into the surface, allowing it to function as a ladder of sorts.

  “I"m going down for a look,” Jack said.

  “You think it"s safe?”

  He looked at her. “You mean, is there anyone or anything down there? You saw that door. It hasn"t been opened for ages.”

  She shrugged. “I guess you"re right. It"s just that it"s so … dark.”

  He smiled and held up the flashlight. “That"s why we have these.”

  He wasn"t sure why he wanted to descend into the space. Maybe simply because it was there.

  Or maybe because he didn"t think he"d ever get another chance like this.

  What ever the reason, he felt a tug from the darkness.

  He stuck the flashlight in his back pocket and eased himself over the edge until his sneaker found one of the grooves. Then it was almost like climbing a ladder.

  When he reached the bottom his sneakers splashed a little. More water down here than he"d originally thought. He was glad he"d worn his old Converses.

  “See anything?”

  Weezy knelt at the edge of the opening, staring down at him. He glanced around: stone wall in front of him, stone wall behind, and blackness left and right.

  “Looks like I"m in a passage of some sort.”

  Pulling out the flashlight, he turned it on and moved to his right. He didn"t go far before he ran into a third stone wall. This was cracked and flaky, with water seeping around its edges and through the cracks.

  H
e closed his eyes and oriented himself within the Lodge and realized he was below and beyond its west wall. Which put this wall right near the bank of the lake. He gauged that it would normally sit just above surface level. But now, with the lake so high, it had to be underwater.

  This was the lake seeping through.

  He backtracked and found Weezy where he"d left her, peering down at him.

  “Empty dead end back there. I"ll check this way.”

  He"d walked perhaps twenty feet when his beam picked out something leaning against a wall. It took him a moment to recognize its shape, and when he did, he knew he had to show Weezy.

  He made his way back to the shaft of light shining from the Lodge"s basement.

  “Weez! I found something!”

  “What? A book, a scroll? What?”

  “You"ve got to see it to believe it. Trust me.”

  She hesitated barely a second. “I do.” She held out her flashlight. “Catch.”

  He did just that, then watched her scamper down the wall like she"d done it a thousand times.

  “You"re pretty good at that.”

  She smiled. “Queen of the monkey bars—remember?”

  He nodded. She"d been pretty limber and agile as a kid. A lot of the boys had been unable to keep up with her.

  She took her flashlight and turned it on.

  “Now. Where"s this thing I"ve got to see?”

  “Follow me.”

  Aiming his light far ahead, he led her down the passage. His beam soon found the object.

  “There. How soon can you figure out what it is?”

  Jack had been practically on top of it before he recognized it.

  Weezy slowed her pace, then stopped a few feet from it.

  “It looks like the Septimus seal.”

  “Right. It"s the sigil. But I"ve never seen one like this.”

  All the others had been either sculpted or molded in relief on a circular base. This was just the figure itself—six feet high, Jack guessed—and not made of the usual stone or plaster.

  Weezy stepped forward and ran a finger over its dust-laden surface. “It

  feels like …”

  Jack did the same and knew what she was thinking. Under the grime the surface was a smooth, shiny black.