Wrath of the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

  Adeline moved around the bed until she could make out the gap. A cleverly concealed entrance. She felt down it, then across, and her fingers soon found the opposite edge. With no handle and no sign of a keyhole, how would she open it? She felt down the crack and heard a click. The panel gave beneath her fingers and she pulled it open. A puff of cold, stale air made her nose wrinkle. It smelled like mouse droppings.

  She peered hard, and the light from the room was sufficient to make out the top of a staircase. It had to be an alternative route to the basement. Adeline went over to the mantelpiece and took down the kerosene lamp she had spotted earlier. A box of matches had been placed next to it and she used one to light the wick before carefully replacing the glass shade.

  She made her way down the stone steps, identical to those in the library entrance. This time she had two floors to descend and when she reached the bottom, a much shorter corridor awaited her.

  Adeline took care not to let her shoes clatter on the stone floor. She wanted to be able to hear the slightest noise. At the moment, nothing. She hoped it would stay that way.

  At the end of the short corridor, her lamp shone on a door identical to the one she had reached through the library. It too was shut. She turned the handle and it opened smoothly. A noxious smell hit her—a stench of lilies and something long dead. Rotten. The urge to turn back almost defeated her but she had come this far, she had to find out what lay on the other side.

  At first glance, the room looked much like the one which housed the picture. But, when Adeline moved the lamp around, she saw a figure seated at the table. She let out a cry and almost dropped the lamp.

  He had his back toward her. Dressed in a long, dark purple, velvet jacket, his dark hair fanned his shoulders and on his head was the trademark stovepipe hat that gave away his identity. Dr. Emeryk Quintillus sat like a statue, apparently unaware of her presence.

  Adeline moved closer, swallowing her fear. “Dr. Quintillus?” Her voice wavered. She tried again, moving around the table to face him, scared of what she might see, but knowing she had to.

  “Dr. Quintillus, my name is Adeline Ogilvy and I…oh my God.” The lamplight lit up the doctor’s face. Now she could see why he hadn’t reacted when she entered the room.

  His beard remained attached to a face that was gray, dry, mummified. His eyes were empty, black hollows as if someone had scooped out the contents. His mouth was closed and his parched hands lay, curled on the table in front of him, the skin cracked and flaky, like plaster that had been heated too much. If those hands moved, a shower of dust would coat every surface they touched.

  If they were to move… Adeline stared at the corpse. A sigh echoed around the walls.

  Then the scratching began. Her lamp flickered. A woman’s voice whispered in her ear. Words she didn’t understand, in a language she had never heard before. Adeline clamped her hands to her ears, too terrified even to run.

  The door slammed shut, opened, slammed shut again. Still, Adeline couldn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t obey her. She had become rooted to the spot. In the flickering light of the lamp, shadows danced on the walls. A bizarre creature with an animal head, long snout, and unnaturally rectangular ears stood on human legs and held a staff in one hand. It must be behind her but she couldn’t turn to look. Its shadow shimmered and faded.

  The woman’s voice grew stronger, louder. She had a commanding tone, but Adeline couldn’t understand one word. The door opened and slammed shut again. Once. Twice. Time and again. Adeline felt light-headed. Dizzy. On the verge of fainting.

  Don’t give into it. Fight. Fight!

  More visions swam in front of her eyes. Real, but as if glimpsed through glass. Desert sands whipped into a storm that swirled around her, then vanished. An ancient queen in a golden chariot, drawn by two black horses. Cleopatra. Her eye caught Adeline’s, then looked away as if what she saw displeased her. Adeline shielded her eyes against the intense light and heat of the sun as the scene changed again. A jackal’s head, its eyes flaming red, reared up in front of her, its distinctive ears and human body emerging as if out of the shadows.

  Adeline became aware of another movement. At the table. Slowly, deliberately, Quintillus uncurled the fingers of his right hand. Adeline stared as his yellowed, horny nails scraped along the table’s surface, gouging out deep scratches.

  The creature raised its staff, as if to strike her.

  Adeline closed her eyes. “No!” She heard her own voice, strong and commanding.

  Everything stopped.

  Adeline opened her eyes.

  She was back in Quintillus’s room, staring at the wall. The entrance was closed. Barely distinguishable. In her hand, she held the lamp, still alight.

  Adeline extinguished the flame, set the lamp down on the dresser and dashed out into the corridor. Up in her room, she turned the key in the lock.

  Could she have imagined what happened? But she knew it was all too real. Quintillus was in this house, in his own basement, impossibly mummified. Or somehow still alive. And he wasn’t alone.

  * * * *

  The next morning, after a sleepless night, Adeline stood and waited for Butters to bring her breakfast tray to the library. He came in at eight thirty prompt, wearing his usual dour expression. He laid the tray down on the desk. Adeline ignored it.

  “Butters, I made a very disturbing discovery yesterday, in this house, and I need you to accompany me.”

  His eyes shot open. “May I ask why, madam?”

  “I’ll show you. Then you’ll know why. Please come with me.”

  Butters stomped behind her, up to the first floor, where he snapped at her. “You have no business snooping around on this floor.”

  “I think you’ll change your mind when you see what I found.” She stopped outside Quintillus’s room.

  Butters’s face turned red. His hands shook with rage. “Madam, I must protest. You are not allowed to enter here.”

  “Too late, Butters.”

  She marched over to the far wall. The butler stood in the entrance, his hands behind his back. Adeline didn’t need to see them to guess that he was clenching his fists. He could probably have willingly thrown her out of the house, and might still do so for her transgression in daring to violate his late master’s inner sanctum, but she didn’t care.

  “Did you know about this?” she asked. She found the catch and the door swung open.

  “Of course. I know every inch of this house.”

  “So you are familiar with the basement rooms then?” Adeline went over to the dresser, lit the lamp and picked it up.

  Butters nodded. “Naturally.”

  “When were you last down there?”

  Butters hesitated. “I really couldn’t say. I have very little reason to go to the rooms under this part of the house since Dr. Quintillus died.”

  “But you have been down there in the past three years?”

  “Probably. I can’t remember, and it really is no business of yours.”

  “Come with me.” Adeline led the way.

  The basement door was closed. Adeline turned the handle and it opened. This time, no smell of death and decay greeted them. Adeline took a deep breath, dreading the sight she knew awaited them.

  “Perhaps you have an explanation for this?” She gave Butters a gentle push into the room.

  “For what, madam?”

  Adeline stared in disbelief at the table and chair. No sign of Quintillus. No gouges on the table’s wooden surface. She shone the lamp around the otherwise empty room. Tangled emotions of anger and disbelief swam through her mind.

  She lifted the lamp so that it lit up Butters’s face. She wanted to see his expression when she accused him. “You moved him, didn’t you?”

  The immediate look of incredulity proclaimed the butler to either be innocent or an exceptionally fine actor. “Moved
who, madam?”

  “Dr. Quintillus. Yesterday he was seated at that table. He looked as if he had been mummified, his eyes had been removed and he had clearly been dead a long time. Except…” No, she wouldn’t tell Butters about that moving hand. The butler was already staring at her as if she had lost her wits. “Now he’s gone. Where did you take him?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about and I really must protest at this unfounded and quite disgraceful accusation.”

  He sounded genuinely shocked and offended. A doubt crept into Adeline’s mind. What if he was telling the truth? She knew what she had seen, but if Butters hadn’t moved the body, who had? Could Quintillus really be alive? And as for everything else…

  “Do you swear that you have not moved Dr. Quintillus’s body and that he is definitely not alive and living in this house?”

  “Of course I swear! The whole idea is preposterous. The doctor was buried three years ago.”

  “Yet you refuse to tell me where. Why is that, Butters? I don’t believe it’s simply because your employer wanted to keep it secret once news of his discovery got out.”

  “I don’t know where he is buried. We were never told.”

  “And you didn’t think that was odd?”

  Butters shook his head. “Dr. Quintillus was a most unusual man. No one knew much about his personal life, where he came from, who his family were. Deciding to keep the location of his burial secret was all part of his nature. It seemed perfectly normal to those of us who knew him or had worked for him. Now, if you’ve quite finished concocting outlandish theories and throwing false accusations around, I have work to do. As indeed do you.”

  “Where does my work come from, Butters? Where do you pick up the manuscript every day and where do you take my completed typescript?”

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “Oh, but it is my concern. It became my concern the first time I started hearing strange noises, seeing things that couldn’t be there. It became my concern when I found Dr. Quintillus’s body down here yesterday.”

  “Oh not that again! You couldn’t possibly have found his body down here. Where is it? He could hardly have stood up and walked away.”

  Adeline was sorely tempted to throw doubt on that but resisted. “Kindly answer my question.”

  Butters hesitated. Maybe trying to decide whether he was at liberty to reveal the answer.

  “If you must know, the papers are sent to me, with clear instructions, by Dr. Quintillus’s legal firm in London.”

  “And you are instructed how many sheets should be given to me each day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you do with my completed work?”

  “At the end of each week, I package it up and send it to London. To the legal firm.”

  “How bizarre. You would think I could have stayed at home and typed it up there.”

  “Possibly. But then you wouldn’t be in this house, would you? And Dr. Quintillus wanted you to be in this house.”

  Butters looked as if he wished he could take his last words back.

  “Why is it so important that I be here?”

  Butters shrugged. “I have no idea. I only know my late employer wanted it that way.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “Then who did?”

  “It was in the first set of instructions I received from the lawyers. Dr. Quintillus had made his wishes explicit and clear. He had charged the legal firm with ensuring everything was done precisely as he wanted.” Butters folded his arms. “That’s quite enough. I’m not answering any more questions. I repeat, I have work to do, and so do you.”

  Reluctantly, Adeline led the way.

  * * * *

  Today’s pages were more interesting than the last few days’ had been. Dr. Quintillus had chosen to reveal little snippets of information about his feelings for this project.

  I am sure we are getting much closer to my queen. I can almost feel her life-force beckoning to me, although I know that is impossible. She has been dead for nearly two thousand years, but her spirit is still so strong, so vital. When I behold her I shall be transported…

  The narrative returned to the more formal, dry, academic account of earlier pages but a few sheets later, he again chose to share an interesting reflection.

  Cleopatra is always associated with the goddess Isis, but little if anything is known of her affinity to Set, the god of darkness and death. I believe I shall find the small gold statue close to her. He was to be her protector in the next world. Contrary to the threats expressed in the scroll, I believe anyone possessing this statue would be imbued with its power. The power to thwart death itself. With this statue, I will gain this strength. I must have it, as much as I must have her…

  A chill froze Adeline’s blood as she typed those words. Dr. Quintillus had been dabbling in dark arts. Maybe that’s why she heard those voices, that scratching. If he had found the statue, it certainly hadn’t helped him cheat death. She’d seen the evidence of that with her own eyes. But those words, I must have it, as much as I must have her… played again and again in her head. What if he had cheated death, but not for him—for her? Gustav Klimt had said that if Quintillus had told him he had brought the real Cleopatra to sit for him, he would have been inclined to believe him. But what if he had?

  Fantastic and incredible it might be. But it was hardly any more incredible than what she had already experienced.

  Adeline typed like an automaton for the rest of the day, her mind full of swirling, impossible ideas. By five o’clock she had decided. She needed advice from someone who knew far more about Egyptology than she did. Professor Jakob Mayer. She would write to him that evening. Maybe within a week or so, she might have a few more answers. In the meantime, she must remain calm. Outwardly at least.

  * * * *

  She mailed her letter to Professor Mayer the next morning and her working days once more fell into a routine. She had grown wary of the library after dark so, once she had eaten dinner, she made her way upstairs and spent her evenings reading in her room—thankfully undisturbed by any banging noises or the reappearance of that picture.

  The weekend arrived and Adeline stayed out for most of the day. She took her meals out. No doubt Frau Lederer would welcome the rest.

  Adeline explored the city her grandfather had loved so much. She strolled in the Schlosspark and even caught a glimpse of the elderly Emperor with his distinctive white beard and bushy whiskers, dressed in his military uniform and escorted by a middle-aged lady, clothed from head to foot in navy. Frau Schratt, no doubt, accompanying her friend on his daily walk.

  Adeline visited the Art History museum and marveled at the wealth of exhibits, including murals and paintings by her newfound acquaintance, Gustav Klimt.

  She took coffee and cake at the Café Central, but this time Dr. Trotsky and his friend were absent. She contented herself with sipping the delicious mélange and watching the world go by outside.

  Butters was barely civil to her. He seemed unwilling to engage in any kind of dialogue. Adeline responded with a polite “Thank you,” but avoided making any requests of him. By contrast, the manuscript continued to grow more interesting with each passing day.

  Today, the workers have uncovered a shaft, precisely at the point where I knew it to be from the scroll. The sun was already setting when they made this discovery, so we shall begin again at first light tomorrow. I felt her move through my spirit. Soon I shall behold her…

  That scroll. It had to be somewhere in this house. If not in his room, then maybe in the basement. After all, she had barely searched down there. Maybe there were more rooms waiting to be discovered. But, after what she had seen, she couldn’t bring herself to go down there alone again. The mere thought of it sent her body shuddering and her teeth chattering. No, she wo
uld wait and see what Professor Mayer advised before she investigated any farther.

  The ensuing days’ manuscripts concerned aspects of the dig; precise measurements, detailed descriptions of artifacts discovered as the army of workers labored away, shifting heavy buckets full of stone and carefully sifted sand. Coins depicting the legendary queen, a small alabaster statue. All were faithfully recorded in Dr. Quintillus’s neat hand.

  Every day, Adeline hoped to see the small silver salver in Butters’s hand that would indicate a letter from home—a reply from Professor Mayer, or so she hoped.

  Two weeks went by and, finally, Butters handed her the salver. She recognized Professor Mayer’s spidery scrawl immediately but was surprised to read the postmark. “Wien.” Once the butler had left the room, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of notepaper.

  My dear Adeline,

  I am most intrigued by your letter—so intrigued in fact that I dropped all my commitments and headed post haste for Vienna, where I am staying at the Hotel König von Ungarn, near the cathedral. I shall be pleased if you would join me for coffee there on Saturday of this week at 10:30 in the morning. If this is not convenient, please telephone the hotel on….

  Saturday. Just two days away. Nothing would stop her from keeping that appointment.

  An almost palpable sense of relief refreshed her and washed away the perpetual lump of fear that had settled in the pit of her stomach. On more than one occasion, over the past couple of weeks, she had considered quitting this assignment and returning to London, but the thought of how she would explain her reasons to Miss Sinclair and the belief she would find herself without any more work if she reneged on such a lucrative contract, stopped her. She couldn’t afford to throw this job up. Somehow she had to see it through. Until that point she hadn’t realized how scared she had become. Now, at last, she would have an ally to help her solve the mystery that surrounded Dr. Quintillus. Professor Mayer would get to the heart of it.