“I am not a beast,” Blackall murmured from across the room. “I merely... That is... Daveye knows nothing.”
Her bitterness abated and she listened hungrily. Perhaps she was about to understand all this.
“And because he is ignorant,” Blackall continued, “He would risk things of which he knows naught. He would make choices for others. Choices that are not his to make.”
Annabelle puzzled over his words. They hadn’t made any of this clearer. In fact, she felt more confused now. She studied Blackall’s profile by the light of the fire. His stubbled throat moved as he swallowed, and his eyes stared deep into the fire.
“It is not for young women or school girls to know of such things,” He continued. “But there are many dangers awaiting anyone who finds my protection then leaves it. Once you have learned of the Barathrum, you cannot unlearn of it. And you will find... enemies. Or rather, they will find you.”
After sitting for some time in silence, he stood and turned to her.
“I shall give you one last chance,” He said. “Tell me what he said to you, for your own good.”
Annabelle’s mouth dropped open. The note Daveye left for her burned in her pocket like flaming iron. But she found herself saying nothing. Blackall’s eyelids lowered slightly as he observed her.
“Excuse me.”
He turned and left the room. She heard the door lock behind him and his brisk stride move down the corridor. Soon there was no sound but the crackling of the fire. She sat on the bed, her feelings strangely disturbed and agitated. Why did she feel so poorly? Her heart skipped and her cheeks flushed as she replayed the recent events over in her mind. She found, to her surprise, that she felt disappointed in herself. She felt guilty for not telling him about the note. As if he’d known of it. But how could he? And why should she care? Eventually, her thoughts turned back to Daveye and his mysterious disappearance.
“Mr...Mr. Daveye?” She called quietly to the empty room.
She didn’t know what she expected to happen. That he would step out from behind a curtain, or from under the bed? Blackall was no fool, and had certainly checked every inch of this room. Not surprisingly, no one answered back. She stood up slowly, her limbs bruised, and tip-toed to the fireplace. On the floor of the hearth, just before the secret door, she saw only her own ashy footsteps; no others. No one else had crossed this threshold for quite sometime. It seemed possible that Daveye could have made a wide, careful step over the bottom of the fireplace. But why should he have attempted such a maneuver at such a time, and in a such a state? Why would he have thought it necessary? No, surely he wouldn’t have done such a ridiculous thing.
She pushed the door slightly to test another theory. The hinges squeaked when the door was moved even a little. And she’d heard no such noise at the time of Daveye’s disappearance. She didn’t know what to think of it. Plopping down in an armchair, she mulled over the possibilities of where Daveye could’ve disappeared to. Then she recalled the note. Reaching down into her skirt pocket, she prayed it hadn’t fallen out during the scuffle with Blackall. Her hand touched on paper, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Pulling it out, she turned it over in her hands.
CHAPTER 10
Tinted Light
Miss Morton was written on the top of the note in a fine, quick scrawl. Inside was a name and address.
M. V. N. Gurza
37 Portugal Street
She’d hoped for something more like a mapped-out escape route, or a time and place for a rendez-vous. Or even just the name of someone she could trust. Locked up in a cell deep underground, this name and address did her no good.
Whatever the meaning of the note, she felt inclined to take Daveye’s advice and leave as soon as possible. Blackall frightened her. His men frightened her. She didn’t know who she could trust. Even if she could trust Blackall, she’d no desire to spend her days locked up here, rattled and shaken. And that’s what would happen if she stayed.
She dared not go through the secret door again. She simply couldn’t. Those tunnels seemed to go on forever into profound darkness. They led only downwards into depths that chilled her soul. They were un-navigable. She didn’t like admitting it to herself. But after the stories she’d been told by the old woman, Daveye and Blackall, she was far too afraid to try them again. Even with company.
Whatever she tried, she would need a map or someone to guide her. She could attempt to sneak out of her cell. But she didn’t know the way back through the winding hallways that’d brought her here. And she would likely meet with trouble on the way. Blackall’s men were everywhere, and fierce as dogs.
Blackall’s words still struck her. She replayed them in her mind as she stared into the fire, considering her options. The flames were hypnotic to her tired mind. They swirled before her in warm, orange patterns until her eyes felt heavy. Behind her eyelids she wandered through fields of static color. Dark, warm colors like the ones in the room. Her mind drifted deeper into a passive state.
Then suddenly, as if she’d been jerked awake, her eyes opened. But she was no longer in her cell room. She was outside. Everything was dark. The dampness of foggy air touched her face. Her feet sunk into wet earth. Her hands touched myrtle leaves. And she was running. The maze was massive. Terrifying by night. She was already lost. But there was something she had to find. Something deep in the maze. She ran into the dark. Corners were dark, promising monsters and madmen. But she must continue on. She must outrun them. She slipped against the cold ground. Her fine slippers were caked with mud. She ran and ran. Turned and climbed. It went on forever. Then finally, she was out of the maze. At the outer edge. The grass dipped down into a gully, a hidden gully covered by tree branches. She was frightened to enter. The trees blocked out the moon’s light. But she must enter the darkness. She stepped, light-footed, down the grassy bank. Then into the shadows. She walked beneath the overhanging branches. Down the wide tunnel they created. Tiny slivers of moonlight peered through. The terrain grew rough. Unkept. Overtaken by nature. Finally, she reached the banks of a stream. Sparkles of moonlight bounced off it’s surface. A dark figure stood upon the bank. He leaned against a tree, holding a pipe. Her dearest and oldest friend. Her whole body relaxed at the sight of him. He was more trusted than any parent. He was like her father. Her mentor. Their friendship stretched back longer than she could remember, bringing the warmest sense of comfort. His dark silhouette smoked from a pipe. His outline flinched. He’d seen her. The moon reflected gently off of the surface of the water, lighting her features. But his remained masked in the shadows. She approached him. They embraced. Her feet wobbled unevenly on rugged ground. He spoke of things that frightened her, in a language she forgot just after hearing it. He spoke of things she’d already sensed were happening. An old enemy drew near. A creature she’d long feared. It pursued them, it pursued her. Again, growing closer. The news filled her with dread. Something must be done. But he didn’t say what. In the gray moonlight, distorted by moving shadows, his face looked harried. Drawn. She touched his shoulder and smiled compassionately.
Then a loud noise. Something tripping through branches. It was a short distance away. She turned. A dark silhouette stormed away. Someone had followed her here. Someone had been watching. She wondered who. Then suddenly, she knew, like an icy fist hitting her chest. Him. He’d followed her here. She felt she was choking. He’d seen her embrace another man. In the woods at night. He didn’t know about her mentor. She’d never told him. Nor that they had to meet in secret.
A strong gale blew up. The skies grew stormy. She ran after him. Called his name. Her ankles jerked painfully over the terrain. Thunder rumbled angrily across the sky. She tripped and fell. Scrambled desperately to catch up with him. Her ankles twisted and her hands scraped as she fell. She crawled up the side of the gully. Her fingers smashed into wet earth. She called his name. But she couldn’t hear his steps anymore. The maze swallowed her. She ran in every direction. Where was he? She was lost. She grew dizzy.
The labyrinth walls were tall. Everything was distorted by their shadows. Fog settled in. Her attempts grew more fruitless. She was out of breath. Her throat was hoarse from screaming. She despaired to go on. She’d lost him. He was gone. Long gone. She couldn’t feel him anymore. She stopped against a hedge. Her face scratched myrtle leaves as the wind howled around her.
A hand on her shoulder woke her with a start. She looked up and saw the ghostly boy standing above her. He watched as she rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up. Then he bent down to her ear and whispered through her hair.
“Follow me.”
Daveye must’ve sent him. She still wasn’t sure if she could trust Daveye. But since she wanted the same things as he did, she felt comfortable following his orders. So she rose from her chair, still in a drowsy state of partial sleep. The boy’s hand lingered in the air, offered to her. She took it and allowed herself to be led.
“Where do you mean to take me?” She whispered as her booted feet tip-toed over the wooden floor. He stopped and turned to her. His striking eyes were wider than usual, as if his senses were on high alert. As if he was trying to see every speck and hear every creak.
“Come,” he said, “We have our chance to get you out.”
He pulled her in the direction of the door, but she jerked against him.
“Wait!” She exclaimed, tearing her hand from his and turning back to retrieve her possessions.
“We haven’t time,” the boy hissed.
But she’d already broken free and tip-toed back to her pile of meager belongings. Her old dress was ruined. She’d have to leave it. She’d never liked it anyway. So, she swung her cape around her shoulders, then tied it at her neck. She knotted her boot laces tight and felt in her dress pocket for the black candle. She didn’t savor the thought of it banging against her leg while she dashed for freedom. So she plucked it from her pocket and made to stash it elsewhere on her person. Out of nowhere, the boy gasped. She looked up to see him staring at the candle, wide-eyed; slowly moving towards it with his gaze fixed. He reached out to touch it, then shied away, pointing instead. His voice came out in a frightened-sounding, almost inaudible whisper that sent a chill through her.
“Where did you get that.”
She wasn’t sure what to say, or how to describe the one who’d given it to her. But the look on his face made her feel she was holding a poisonous dart.
“From... an old woman,” she said. “She lived beyond the door. The one you showed me.”
At this, his gaze shot up to her face, his eyes wider than ever.
“It didn’t take you home?” he asked in shock.
“Home?” she replied, “How on earth would it do that? It took me out into the tunnels.”
The boy said nothing for a moment, marveling at her before walking straight over to the secret door and throwing it wide. Annabelle was nearly struck dumb when she saw nothing but a bricked up wall behind the door, bricks blackened with age. The boy slapped them with his hand, they were quite solid. She tripped and collapsed into the nearest armchair, her face falling into her hands. She felt dizzy and light-headed.
“What.. I...” she muttered questions, starting several but never finishing any.
“Wherever it took you,” he said. “It were not anywhere beyond this wall. The door is a gateway as only works once. I found it long ago and went through myself...”
His eyes glazed over. He stared silently for a moment.
“It... took me home.”
His voice cracked over the word. She approached and touched his shoulder gently.
“Why didn’t you stay there?” she asked.
He looked up.
“It weren’t really my home,” he said. “Well, it were. But, my home long ago, like. Before the folk in it came to ruin. It weren’t real. It were some kind of dream. So I couldn’t stay. It just felt... wrong.”
“But,” she said. “If it didn’t take me into the tunnels, where did it take me?”
The boy inspected her with wide eyes, as if to ask the same question. She shot a suspicious glance back at the door, and when she looked back, the boy was staring at the candle again. He reached out his hand to touch it, then quickly, as if thinking better of it, pulled away. A look of intense solemnity filled his eyes.
“What do you know of this candle?” she asked.
“Light it,” he said with such gravity that it made her nervous.
She walked to the fire and dipped the wick in the flames, the boy following close behind, watching her every move. As it sputtered into life, the candle’s telltale blue glow filled the room, like the light of a tinted oil lamp. The boy watched the still, blue flame as if in a trance; his awe-struck features eerie in the strange light. Then he mumbled something under his breath. All that she could make out were a few phrases.
“...Must be...”
“What?” she asked. “What do you know?”
The boy shook his head as if to rouse himself and reached out his hand to her once more.
“Come,” he said. “We’ve no time for this.”
He pulled her over the dusty, matted rugs and toward the door. To her dismay, he pulled it open carelessly, paying no heed to the noise he made, nor to check for guards. She held her breath as he did so, her body tensing with panic; certain the guard nearby would see them.
“Wait!” She snapped in an animated whisper, pulling against him.
The boy looked back, but continued to pull her through the door. She cringed and held her breath, sure he’d just sabotaged their escape efforts. The guard sat where she remembered - on a stool, his head slumped forward as if sleeping. They passed close by him, the green tinted lamp lighting his face in harsh shapes. His fingers twitched where they rested on his chest. Perhaps he was dreaming of a card game.
His dozing boded well for their escape. But she couldn’t help but notice that the boy made no attempts to muffle his sound. His feet slapped on the dingy wooden floor like he hadn’t a care in the world. And he yanked her along fecklessly, so that she couldn’t help but be noisy too. She didn’t dare speak to point this out to him. Any additional noise might rouse the napping guard. She merely wondered whether the boy had lost his mind. She was sure she would be inconvenienced or punished for attempting escape. But surely, his own consequences would be much more dire. Likely they would be grave and long-lasting. Perhaps even the kind he wouldn’t survive. She mentally derided herself for having trusted him and questioned Daveye’s good sense for having sent him.
The hallway stretched out before them into the dark, but the boy seemed confident in his direction, propelling her with a tight grip upon her wrist. His greasy hair bouncing as he pulled her through the dark. And she studied the ragged shoulders of his jacket between jittering steps.
The hallway ended, forking into two other corridors, but also offering a third option - a narrow passage that carried the corridor straight on. It was so narrow that it looked like the inside of a wall. They crept into the thin passage, moving quickly. At the end was a rickety-looking, enclosed staircase that spiraled downward, which the boy pulled her down without hesitation. She nearly slipped on several of the stairs, but the boy hadn’t time for her protestations, keeping a steady pace. At the bottom of the stairs, he jerked her into another passage to the right. It led down a narrow, low hallway with creaky floorboards; one so low she almost felt entombed. At the end of that hallway was a single option - another crooked staircase leading downward. The steps were very steep and small. She touched the walls for balance, their dust caked her palm. The boy pulled her down the stairs, again without a moment’s hesitation. Their feet clunked skillfully, speedily down. To her cautious mind, they sounded like a herd of elephants.
“Don’t you think we should try to be quiet?” She asked anxiously. “What if they hear us?”
The boy slowed briefly, looking back at her with a confused, surprised expression.
“Don’t concern yourself with that,” he replied, as if such a sentiment was irr
elevant, then jerked her onward without ceremony. She became increasingly aware of how little she knew of his intentions.
The passage zig-zagged to the left, then to the right. It was dark and filthy. After many dark turns, it finally opened out onto a hallway with many doors. The walls were made of warped, dingy old wood that bowed in places. After a few more turns, the boy pulled her into another wide corridor. It felt like a heavily travelled place, for there was less dust layering the ground, and the middle of the floor was carved out with scuff marks. The light began to increase. She was excited at the prospect of lamp light, or perhaps even sunlight. But she felt suddenly conspicuous, as if she’d stepped under a spotlight. If many people travelled through here, they might run into Blackall or one of his ragged troupe.
Voices sounded from down the corridor. They were growing louder. But the boy wouldn’t stop. Her fear increased as their bawdy, crass accents became more vivid. A particularly loud exclamation sounded from among them, and she pulled back on the boy’s hand in hesitation. One of them must have told a joke. She flinched and yanked against his grip, halting their progress entirely. He turned back to her impatiently.
“What?” he exclaimed.
His volume seemed much too loud to go unnoticed. She was shocked. Didn’t he realize what was going on?
“Don’t you hear them?” She whispered ferociously. “They’re so close by, they’ll hear us, that’s for sure! Even if they don’t see us coming!”
The boy’s eyelids drooped in annoyance.
“Trust me. They won’t find us.”
But she didn’t trust him. His plan defied all logic. How could these criminals not see or hear them bumbling down empty hallway, their feet pounding carelessly like a toddler’s running after a puppy? She had little faith in his assurance. But at this point, what choice did she have?
Beyond the Blue Light Page 10
