A Whisper in the Dark

by TD Bauer

  Chapter V

  “It didn’t take them long to realize we didn’t continue following the blood trail back to the inn,” Navarr said.

  “Then it’s a fight,” Gaston replied somberly. “I wish we had brought our saddle bags with us or at least the powder and shot to reload our pistols.”

  “You don’t have your pistol. You threw it at one of those wererats shortly after you fired it.”

  “Damn, your right.”

  Then both men noticed the light from the lamp became a little less bright. The oil that fueled it was starting to burn low. Both men shared a knowing glance, understanding that their situation just went from bad to worse. However low their chances of survival were against the wererats fast approaching, without light on their side to see and fight they were certainly doomed.

  Navarr stepped back towards the passageway and readied both his rapier and dagger by performing a few slashing and thrusting moves. He was certain they both faced death in the near emanate future, but he planned to take as many of the wererats to the grave as he possibly could.

  “Come,” Navarr said. “By the sounds of it they’re getting close. We should face them well inside the passageway to nullify their numbers they can press against us. The tunnel will also help focus what little light we’ll have left. Let’s hope enough of their numbers are carrying torches and we can get our hands on one.”

  “Wait a moment, what’s that there?” Gaston pointed to the ceiling above one of the sarcophagi at the center of the gallery.

  The ceiling, like the walls of the chamber, was obscured in spider webs that in turn were full of dust. The ceiling in particular was nearly covered from the dusty webbing and hidden, but Navarr could make out the square outline of something that was there beyond the webs.

  “It could be a trapdoor,” Navarr reasoned. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

  Navarr ran over to the sarcophagi directly below the hidden shape and jumped up onto it. He quickly sheathed both of his weapons. Gaston was there in an instant and sheathed his blade as well. Navarr leaned down and offered the other man a hand and pulled him up beside him. Even on top of the stone coffin the ceiling was four feet out of their reach.

  The wererat horde drew nearer. By the sounds of it they were in the next burial chamber over.

  “Sit yourself up on my shoulder’s,” Gaston said as he dropped down to one knee.

  Navarr did as instructed, and as soon as he was in place Gaston stood back up with a grunt. The Duke had strong legs and offered a solid perch for Navarr, who was now able to reach the ceiling with arms only half way stretched out above him. With haste Navarr started brushing away the cobwebs and found what did in fact look like a trapdoor. It was made of thick looking oak planks, old and tarnished, and appeared to open upwards into whatever space there was above.

  “It’s a door alright,” Navarr exclaimed. He gave the door a shove and it cracked open slightly but then slammed back shut. “We’re in luck. It’s not locked but it opens upward and something heavy seems to be holding it closed.”

  “Can you force it open?”

  “Best brace yourself, I’m about to try.”

  Navarr pushed up with all his might and could feel Gaston underneath him tense up from the added weight being exerting down onto him. Gaston managed to stand firm, and Navarr was able to push the trapdoor up and open. The hinges on the other side of the door could be heard squeaking loudly, and then there was a loud crash as whatever was sitting on the door above was pushed over. The open door above looked ominously dark, and from Navarr’s vantage point he couldn’t see anything beyond.

  “I need the lamp,” Navarr said.

  Gaston handed it up to him, though a bit reluctant at first to do so. The gallery became much darker as Navarr took the lamp and held it aloft. Navarr still couldn’t see any better what was on the other side of the trapdoor. He was going to need to climb up to investigate.

  “We need to hurry!” Gaston grimaced under Navarr’s weight, as the sounds from the approaching wererat horde grew suddenly louder. “They’re coming down the passageway!”

  Navarr reached up through the trapdoor and set the lantern down inside the room above. The gallery of the skeletons got very dark at that moment, with just a sliver of light filtering down from above. Gaston sucked in an audible breath as the icy grip of fear wrapped around his heart. Then suddenly the weight from Navarr on his shoulders shifted slightly and was gone. Looking up, Gaston could see that Navarr had pulled himself up through the trapdoor.

  Navarr disappeared from sight for just a moment then reappeared in the trapdoor opening, reaching down with both arms. Just then the gallery became brighter as the host of wererats came running into the room, some carrying torches.

  “Jump!” Navarr shouted, as he saw the wererats rushing forward with their swords and claws ready to kill.

  Gaston did just that, with arms reaching up, and both men grabbed on to the other by the arms. As soon as Navarr had a solid grip he wasted no time and starting to pull with all his might. The dead weight of Gaston was a lot for Navarr to lift straight up, and he let go of one of Gaston’s arms to grip the other with both of his hands. He began to pull with all his might as he twisted and rolled his torso over, trying to get as much leverage as he could to lift the Duke up towards the trapdoor. It wasn’t easy, as his sheathed rapier hilt was in the way and digging into his side.

  The wererats were climbing atop the sarcophagi just as Gaston was lifted high enough where his arms were inside the edge of the trapdoor. Gaston was holding himself aloft when Navarr let go of his one arm and reached over to grab him by the doublet. With another hard pull, Navarr was able to pull Gaston’s torso through the opening. Once the bulk of his frame was through the trapdoor, Gaston was able to pull and crawl himself forward and all the way through.

  They managed to escape the burial gallery below at the last possible instant, and as Navarr looked down through the trapdoor he could see a score of the wererats swarming madly with red hate-filled eyes looking up at him. A few of the creatures were on top of the sarcophagi with weapons jabbing and slashing upwards, but their reach even with their rapiers came at least a foot short.

  Navarr slammed the trapdoor shut then got to his feet and started dusting himself off. Gaston was doing the same when he looked at Navarr with a smile.

  “It doesn’t come much closer than that, eh?” Gaston said euphorically. He was glad to still be alive.

  “I thought the mysterious voice had led us astray when it led us into the room below.”

  “I did as well. But the trapdoor was our escape. I’m glad I spotted it, else things could be very different for us right now.”

  Navarr nodded in agreement, then picked up the lantern and held it up to get a better look around the room they were in. The place looked like a cellar or storage room. The walls were made of large fieldstones and mortar, and were mostly lined with wooden shelves holding crates of bottles and small wooden casks. It looked like several crates had been stacked atop the trapdoor and that was what had been knocked over when Navarr forced it open. Along one wall was a wooden staircase that led up to a narrow wooden landing and a large wood door. The door looked very heavy and strong, with metal bands across it to help reinforce its construction. The frame the door was set into was stone.

  Navarr pulled one of the bottles from a crate and examined it. “Chateau LaFleur Twenty-two,” he read aloud. It was tightly corked and sealed with wax. Then, holding the base of the bottle Navarr struck the head and neck against a section of the wall, shattering the top. Carefully he took a few sips, careful to not let the broken glass touch his lips, which of course caused some of the wine to dribble down his chin.

  “What do you have there?” asked Gaston, as he walked over to Navarr.

  “A merlot.”

  Gaston took the bottle as Navarr offered it and took a drink in much the same way as Navarr had done to a
void cutting his lips. He paused between a few swallows and frowned darkly.

  “This tastes terrible,” Gaston lamented. Then he took a few more sips and paused again, then took a few more even longer sips.

  At that moment the trapdoor suddenly opened halfway and both companions turned and saw a wererat head peaking up through the opening directly at them. Navarr grabbed another bottle of wine and threw it at the wererat’s head, hitting him soundly with a thump followed by a load squeak. The wererat disappeared back down and the trapdoor slammed closed.

  “You better stand atop that door,” Navarr suggested as he turned and walked towards the stairway.

  “What you are going to do?”

  “I’m going to see if we can get out through that metal banded door.”

  As Gaston stood on top of the trapdoor Navarr climbed the stairs and examined the door. There was no knob or handle, and no locking mechanism that Navarr could see. He tried first to push it open with his hands, then, when it didn’t budge, he put his shoulder into it and pushed harder but still without any luck.

  Gaston gasped loudly as the trapdoor pushed up abruptly just a few inches then slammed back shut under his weight. He didn’t loose his balance, but was surprised by the sudden jolt of force. Then it happened once again with a lot more force, sending Gaston stumbling back and off the door. The trapdoor was open several inches, but Gaston wasn’t on the open side of the door so he couldn’t see what exactly was going on in the opening below. He jumped back atop the trapdoor with all his weight with both feet at once, slamming it shut once again, which was followed by another angry squeak from the other side.

  Then the lantern light started to dim every so slowly and the room began to grow darker by the second. Navarr gave the lantern a little shake but it didn’t help any. The lantern was finally running out of oil and soon they would be in total darkness. He turned and pounded on the heavy door with his gloved fist repeatedly.

  “Some help here, if you please,” Gaston called with a shaky tone.

  Navarr turned and saw in the fading light that the other man was on his hands and knees atop the trapdoor. Every few seconds the door would push open few inches only to slam back down instantly from Gaston’s weight. Navarr rushed back down the stairs and set the quickly fading lantern down next to Gaston and the trap door. Then he went and started pulling crates off the shelves. His intent was to try and stack as many of the crates atop the door as was possible before the lamp completely died out. He hoped with enough crates on top the weight would be enough to keep the wererats from opening the trapdoor.

  The lantern suddenly went out just as Navarr was setting another crate into place next to Gaston and the door. The darkness was so thick he couldn’t see his hands in front of his face. It wasn’t as bad as it had felt down in the catacombs, however, when they had voluntarily extinguished their lights to hide from their would-be attackers. But neither were they surrounded by the dead like they were before, which would make anybody feel out of sorts.

  Both men kept completely still, and for several moments there was nothing but complete darkness and silence in the wine cellar. Then suddenly there was pounding on the other side of the trap door and it began to rise and slam back shut again. Every time it rose up a few inches some torch light from the room below would briefly and every so vaguely illuminate the immediate area of the cellar. Then suddenly the trapdoor lurched up with a great deal of force and twice as high as before, nearly sending Gaston reeling backwards and away. But then it slammed back down again and this time Navarr joined Gaston atop it, both of them on their hands and knees.

  “Sacrebleu!” Gaston exclaimed. “This is intolerable! Are we to die like this?”

  There was more pounding at the trap door and a few more attempts to push it open, but then it suddenly stopped. Once again Navarr and Gaston were surrounded by the darkness and silence. They held perfectly still yet incredibly tense waiting for the next jolt, hoping it wouldn’t be enough to send them scattering away.

  Then there was a loud chorus of squeaks and commotion that suddenly sounded from the other side of the trapdoor. Navarr and Gaston kept still and listened with interest, unsure of what was happening. It sounded like the wererats had turned on themselves, as the sounds of high pitched squeaks and squeals, accompanied by loud crashes and clanking rapiers rose up from below in a loud cacophony. It had all the sounds of a terrible melee. Then it started to slowly subside, and then moments later other sounds could be heard, like that of subtle clicks and muted rattles. Then too those sounds faded away and all was once again silent.

  “What do you think just happened down there?” Gaston whispered.

  “No doubt it was the sounds of a skirmish,” Navarr whispered back. “The place is probably littered with the shattered remains of those skeletons.”

  Both men listened for several more moments but there were no other sounds that broke the silence. The trapdoor no longer jumped up below them, but all the same they remained firmly in place and kept waiting, and listening.

  “We should open this door and take a look below,” Navarr said at last, feeling a little curious.

  “I’d rather not,” Gaston replied hesitantly. “But we’ve come this far, so we may as well see things through.”

  Both men moved to the side and off the trapdoor. Then Navarr lifted the door, and flickering torchlight from below gently illuminated up. Looking down into the gallery below, Navarr and Gaston could see that wererat corpses littered the entire area. Red pools of blood were starting to collect around many of the bodies, and there was also red stains smeared along the tops of many sarcophagi. It was a scene depicting a massacre, and it looked like a thorough one at that, as Navarr counted no less than twenty-four wererat bodies littered around the room.

  The most bizarre thing however, considering the amount of commotion that was overheard just minutes before, and the way the wererat bodies were strewn about the place, was that none of the skeletons lined up about the room were damaged or altered from their positions. They all stood, as they were last seen by Navarr and Gaston, still and silent.

  “Do you believe me now?” Gaston asked confidently, as he pointed to the scene below.

  “Believe what?” Navarr countered coyly, as he already knew what his companion was getting at.

  “I told you earlier I saw one of those skeletons move, and I bet if we went down there and examined those wererat corpses we would find their wounds oddly peculiar.”

  “Perhaps you should go down and check then.”

  Gaston blanched at the suggestion. “I think not,” he replied, hoping the other man was joking.

  Just then there was a low pitched scrapping and rumbling sound that was coming from the corner of the room, where the stairs and the other door were located. Navarr and Gaston, still kneeling at the side of the trapdoor, turned to face the noise, their hands going to their sword hilts. The far side of the room was pitch-black, as not enough light from the opened trapdoor was coming through to illuminate the room.

  Then the door at the top of the stairs opened wide and light from beyond softly filled the room. Seconds later two men stepped inside and stood at the top of the stairs holding lanterns. They immediately spotted Navarr and Gaston. Then their eyes noted many of the crates in the cellar had been moved about, and more importantly they noticed the crates that had been knocked over with broken bottles of wine. Neither of the men was armed with swords or pistols, but they both gripped short cudgels and appeared ready to use them. They eyed Navarr and Gaston suspiciously.

  “I take it this is your cellar?” Navarr asked, as both he and Gaston got to their feet.

  “That it is,” said one of the two men. He looked to be in his later years, perhaps past sixty, but still robust in voice and stature. He had the look of authority that came with ownership, while the younger man at his side was probably a lackey or manservant.

  “This is my vineyard’s warehouse and
storage cellar. What are you doing down here,” asked the older man.

  “We mean no harm,” Navarr replied. “We happened upon the catacombs below and used this trapdoor here as a means to escape.”

  Both men seamed to relax as the explanation made sense when they considered the scene before them. After all, there was no other way into the cellar besides through the main door, which had been securely barred from the other side. They both walked down the stairs and approached the two companions.

  “I haven’t had that trapdoor open for a dozen years or more,” the older man said as he came to stand before Navarr and Gaston. “Always kept its existence to myself. As far as I know it was one of just a few entrances to the tombs underneath the town.”

  “I’d suggest you keep it closed,” Gaston replied dryly.

  “Agreed,” Navarr said, as he bent down and gently closed the trapdoor, affectively blocking the view below from the two men. “I’d say you have a bit of a rat problem in this town,” he added, standing back up.

  Gaston couldn’t help but chuckle at his companion’s remark.

  “Rats? Not in this cellar,” replied the old man. “My humble vineyard may not produce a large vintage but I keep it clear from rodents and other vermin.”

  “Not to change the subject,” Gaston said, “but do you know the innkeeper at the Blue Sparrow Inn?”

  “That I do,” the old vineyard owner replied with a frown as he shared a knowing look with the younger man at his side. “He’s a foul individual, not to be trusted. If you have business with him be advised to do so carefully. I refuse to sell him any of my wine. I’ll not have anything to do with that man.”

  “We’ll certainly take that into consideration,” Navarr replied. “In fact we should be going. It just so happens that we have an appointment with him that he doesn’t even know about, but one that I would hate to miss.”

  Navarr’s comment drew confused looks from both of the other men.

  “Here let me pay you something for your troubles,” Gaston said nonchalantly, as he stepped forward while opening his coin purse. He counted out five gold pistole and placed them all in the older man’s hand.

  “Thank you, monsieur,” the vineyard owner replied sincerely, as he looked down smiling at the gold coins he held in his open hand.

  Navarr and Gaston began to walk towards the stairs when suddenly Gaston stopped and looked about curiously. Then he turned back to the vineyard owner, who continued to look at his palm full of coins.

  “Does all of this wine in your cellar have the Chateau LaFleur Twenty-two label?” Gaston asked.

  “Yes, it does.”

  Gaston promptly reached over and plucked two of the five coins from the man’s hand, much to the shock of the vineyard owner, who looked at Gaston with a confused expression.

  “Let’s be honest, now,” Gaston said matter-of-factly, “your wine is not that good.”

  Then Gaston went to the stairs and with a brisk pace trotted up them and through the door. He found Navarr standing just on the other side waiting for him. There was a lantern hanging from a hook that extended out from a large floor post. Navarr was standing near the light with his rapier in hand as he examined up and down the length of the blade. Gaston gave his younger companion a warm smile, feeling much like his old self before the night events. He was glad for the warm glow of the lantern light and that he wasn’t stuck on the dark cellar, or even worse, the blackness of the catacombs.

  Navarr nodded towards a large open doorway across the warehouse that was large enough for a few horse and carts to pass through. Outside the large doors there was the faint light of sunrise. Gaston knew the sun wasn’t up past the horizon just yet, but soon would be.

  “We’ve unfinished business with the innkeeper,” Navarr said evenly as he sheathed his sword.

  Gaston couldn’t disagree, as he wanted some answers from the innkeeper just as much as Navarr did. He had to admit to himself, he was looking forward to seeing the innkeepers face when both he and Navarr walked into the inn through the front door. Much would be told by the innkeeper’s reaction at that moment, and Gaston didn’t want to miss it for anything.

  “When we’re through with the innkeeper and before we leave town there is something we must do,” Gaston said. He knew that Navarr was probably going to want to leave town and get back on the road as soon as possible. The Queen was waiting for their arrival a few days hence, after all.

  “What’s that?” Navarr asked as he started walking for the large door.

  “We need to stop by the local church and tell them of the bone pile we found. Those poor souls deserve some sort of proper burial.”

  Navarr stopped and turned back to face Gaston. He nodded his head in agreement. “The Queen can wait.” Then he turned and began walking for the exit once more.

  Gaston stood there and watched the younger man go. He recalled his mounting hope, just a few days prior, for a little excitement in his otherwise boring life of being a nobleman and the brother to the Queen. The evening’s excitement really wasn’t what he had in mind, but Gaston had to admit to himself it was going to give him a very interesting story to tell.

  He smiled to himself then jogged to catch up with Navarr.