by A D Davies
Dan grumbled but didn’t argue. He knelt by the desktop bridge and added his grip to both corners.
Bridget stood at the edge.
“Spread your weight,” Charlie said. “Hands and knees.”
Without speaking for fear of bursting into tears or running away screaming, Bridget knelt on the solid section. She leaned over. Her hands curled around the edges, preventing her body from pitching sideways into the void.
“You can do it,” Dan said firmly.
She didn’t want anyone speaking to her, just needed to work this out in her own way, so set her brain into the mode that had gotten her through roller coasters and skinny-dipping in the River Thames for a dare during her university days.
I have to do it.
She moved one hand forward, then her corresponding knee so it stood over the hole. Next hand, next knee.
She was now hovering over a seemingly endless chasm with only four inches of wood for support.
If I don’t do this, they’ll think less of me.
She recalled a time at Disneyland, her dad urging her to go on one fast-paced train or another, a goldmine, she recalled; she survived that. And the River Thames, freezing at night, her classmates fearless through freshers-week alcohol, screaming for her to join them... if she hadn’t done so, her years there might have been different.
She inched forward another cycle: right hand, right knee; left hand, left knee.
This wasn’t ego or a dare or letting her dad down after hyping up the visit for months. It was her life.
She reached farther this time, her knees moving faster, the blackness unavoidable in her peripheral vision.
The wood creaked and bowed minutely in the middle.
Three intakes of breath from behind did nothing to stop the tremble in all four limbs.
Bridget closed her eyes, pleading with the universe to spare her, with God, with whoever was up there watching over the people he/she/it created.
Please...
She opened her eyes and, in the absence of divine intervention, kept on going. Hand, knee, hand, knee.
Repeat.
She reached the other side and lay on the ledge between the partially open door and the gaping fissure. Her head spun, arms and legs jelly, as adrenaline surged back inside her.
A shuffle sounded, and before Bridget fully recovered, Harpal matched her route and technique. She sat up to watch. Then, with no idea how much it would help, she put her weight on her side, as Dan was doing the other.
Harpal made it to the middle in three shuffles, where—again—the wood protested under the weight of a human, but unlike Bridget, he carried on without hesitation.
The wiser option.
Bridget shifted aside to let him off, and he, too, lay on his back a moment.
“So, that was scary,” he said.
Charlie didn’t hesitate. She was already moving. She kept her eyes forward, boring into Bridget. She smiled as Bridget pressed down again at her side. Probably did nothing for the integrity of the link between there and here, but it made Bridget feel less useless.
As Charlie reached the middle, the wood cracked. Her face slackened momentarily, then her pace increased.
A louder creak, a longer rent of wood splitting.
Charlie cried out as she shifted from her knees to her feet and pushed forward. She landed on the ledge where Harpal and Bridget secured her with grabbing arms. When they looked back, the desktop still spanned the gap, but the middle had buckled, forming an elongated V.
“My turn?” Dan said.
Dan’s confidence was high, and to be honest, he preferred it this way. He was less nervous about traversing the gap than if he’d had to use the desk’s surface.
“Don’t be stupid, Dan.” Bridget pointed unnecessarily at the snaggletooth of a crossing.
“It’s only six feet. I jumped farther than that in tenth grade.”
“But—”
Dan cut her off by heaving the wood to one side and letting it drop.
The broken slab turned end over end, spinning until it was lost to the darkness. All listened for the crash. Sure, small rocks might not have resonated, but surely this—
The impact, when it came, was as quiet as a car door closing.
Dan shrugged. “At least it’ll be a gnarly ride down.”
“That’s supposed to be my line,” Harpal said.
Charlie glanced around at their perch, the two feet of floor before the solid door and its gap beneath. “We haven’t got enough room to catch you.”
Yeah, Dan had worked that out already.
He picked up the lantern and tossed it across, the shadows dancing and shimmering. Charlie caught it. Dan said, “Leave that by the edge so I can see. Everyone get under the door. It’s my best chance of making it.”
Bridget rubbed the back of her neck and stuttered at first but managed, “Dan—”
“No more debate,” Dan said. “I gotta play Superman.”
Charlie guided Bridget back. “I think I know what he has in mind.”
He had to argue a few seconds more to persuade Bridget to leave him, but Charlie took charge and shepherded her under, both women fast-crawling on their bellies. Harpal stayed.
“You too,” Dan said, backing up.
“Nah, I’m watching this.” He took out his cell phone and fiddled with it. “You make that jump, it’s going viral. And not because it’s a long way, but cause it’s gonna look hilarious. I’ll get Charlie to make sure—”
“No more talk.” Dan set off running.
His legs pounded, his eyes focused on the lip of the void, unsure which foot he’d be pushing off with, but that question was soon answered: his right.
He leaped in a straight line, throwing himself flat—like Superman. Landing feet first on sand might not be a problem, but one error in his balance on the edge of that drop and he was toast.
He slapped onto the smooth surface head-first, arms ahead of him, momentum carrying him on and under the door, where he rolled to a stop in a dark passageway. Charlie and Bridget pawed all over him.
“I lost visual,” Toby said.
“It’s dark.” Dan sat up and brushed off the attention. He checked the camera. “Sorry, I busted the lens too.”
Harpal followed him under with the lantern. “Can you do that again? I didn’t hit ‘Start.’”
“Maybe on the way back. Right now...” Dan pointed along the short corridor where it ended in a more a conventional set of doors. “We’re beyond the barrier that the bangles unlock. I wonder what’s behind there.”
Although they thought he was only joking around about video, something about it really hacked Harpal off. Probably a hangover from his “gnarly” sporting exploits. Whenever someone performed a stunt that was video-worthy but no one captured it, they called those events “unauthentic,” a variation on “photos, please, or it didn’t happen.”
Missing what Dan did shouldn’t irk him so much. No way Toby would allow it out there, but for personal use, it’d be a gold mine of entertainment. The centerpiece of Harpal’s planned Christmas party montage. That’s probably why he was so intent with his phone right now.
His thumb hit the “Record” button, hoping to capture someone’s reaction as these doors opened.
First, the approach: the doors towered two stories over their heads yet possessed static handles.
Second, the examination: metal frames—“Probably iron,” Charlie speculated—with rock inlaid as the main body. A faint light lined the point where the two met as well as the bottom join.
Third, the debate: all their lights had to go out, including Harpal’s phone, but he just set it to manual and flicked the LED off. Dan then tried the door. Presumably the booby-trapped slab back there was considered sufficient security since the huge barrier eased open. Harpal aimed his phone through the gap.
Fourth, the twist: outside this door, a militiaman was standing with his back to them. He must have heard or sensed something because he turne
d and reached for his gun. But Dan sprang on him, silenced his voice with a jab to the windpipe, and flipped the man over his hip. On the floor, he thumped the man’s head with the heel of his hand, knocking him unconscious.
Fifth... fifth was the slow, steady realization that anything Harpal had ever witnessed paled into insignificance compared to the scene that unfolded beneath.
A sprawling complex of buildings, statues, and any number of regular shapes cut in massive relief all seemingly blazed away. On closer look, like many of the monolithic carvings, the flames seemed to form a regular pattern too, stemming from a single point that must have been the source—a pool of flammable liquid feeding the channels.
From their elevated position, all stared out for several seconds, maybe minutes; it was hard to tell.
Dan pointed out similar aeries on which guards were positioned. He ushered his charges to crouch by the ornately carved barrier to hide their presence.
It was Bridget who voiced the reason why they weren’t spotted. From all their positions, with dozens of stairs leading to the lower level, they all focused on the central structure where five men went about their business: two more militiamen, plus Horse and... was that Valerio undressing? And Jules watched on, hands in his pockets.
Valerio shouted, “I’m serious. Take off your shirt!”
Chapter Fifty
Jules reluctantly pulled his shirt over his head, folded it, and handed it to Horse. “Look after that, yeah?”
Horse frowned and dropped the garment on the floor.
“Mature.” Jules placed the bangles on the T-shirt and approached the now-topless Valerio.
It was impossible to tell in the flickering orange light, but the man seemed a deeper yellow now and far skinnier than when he was wearing clothes. His chest was pretty much concave, and blueish veins spiderwebbed his torso. Skin hung from his arms as if the muscles had shrunk rapidly.
“I know,” Valerio said. “Beautiful, right?”
Jules said nothing.
Carrying the tablet he referred to as the “instruction manual,” Valerio stepped into the pool up to his ankle. He shrieked. “Ooh, that’s fresh.”
Jules watched.
Valerio said, “Come on in. It’s lovely.”
“Sure I can’t just watch?”
Valerio held out his hand. “Positive.”
Jules forewent the hand and stepped in, disturbing the insects and spiders. It was thicker than water. Viscous. Not quite like oil. More like cream. But still clear like water.
Dirty water.
“Ready?” Valerio asked.
“No.”
Valerio stepped down again, and Jules followed suit, the icy liquid now up to his knees. Then again up to his thighs. A final step saw them standing waist deep.
“Put on the bangles,” Valerio said.
Horse waded knee deep and handed them over. Again, Jules obeyed.
If this was the big show, the reason for Valerio’s crusade, his murders, Jules’s own mom’s killing, he had the front-row tickets he needed. The only thing that might ruin it was watching from the top of one of the staircases leading to the back wall: LORI.
Jules spotted movement up there seconds earlier but hadn’t looked for fear of alerting Horse or Valerio. Someone was actually filming using a cell phone, their hand held over a barrier, and now someone else—presumably Dan—stood to attention, the pseudo army jacket, presumably (again) taken from the original sentry.
The presence was concerning but not unwelcome. Jules just hoped they waited for his signal before interfering.
“Hold this.” Valerio gave him the tablet.
Holding it at the top, the lettering glowed green gently, a toy with weak batteries.
Valerio kept hold of the bottom end and locked eyes with Jules. “I’m just guessing mostly, by the way. If this doesn’t work, we’ll try something else. But our supercomputer thinks that’s what the text said. An equation: the bangles plus the tablet and the pool can only be activated by a chosen one.”
“A chosen one?” Jules said. “Not the chosen one?”
“I guess it pays to have spares.”
“And this is your big moment?”
Valerio guided the tablet toward the pool’s surface. “The biggest.”
As the stone touched the fluid, it glowed brighter. A fizz around the edges. Some sort of reaction, a compound like the bangles that reacted with this substance. But little else.
“Burst your bubble a bit there?” Jules said.
“Now is where we try the alternate scenario. Have faith. And trust me.”
And Valerio hugged Jules to him, both their skins pressed against the tablet.
“Cozy.” Jules glanced at Horse. “Don’t get jealous, big guy, I ain’t enjoyin’ this.”
Valerio laughed and pitched himself backward, taking both of them under.
By the time the water began bubbling and spitting, Bridget had worked out that the complex was a repository of knowledge. The books, the various artworks, the architecture...
She relayed it in a whisper to Toby and asked whether the hill was smoking.
“Like a low-powered volcano,” Toby replied, Charlie’s boosters working well. “I wish I could be there.”
“You will be,” Bridget said. “But right now, I don’t have a clue what Jules is doing with Valerio.”
With Dan in place, posing as the guard, he’d been able to see more than the snatched images the others made do with, popping up for moments at a time to observe. He confirmed there was a lower entrance, probably where they would have come out on the original route, the explosive-lined passage being a downhill gradient. Now, though, they gave no thought to staying hidden. Their heads—and Harpal’s phone—spectating live as Jules’s situation distracted them from the myriad questions posed by the discovery.
Who built this?
Why?
How did they build it?
How old is it?
Is that a chimney or an entrance?
All questions to answer later when they could sift through the knowledge base, maybe keep it hidden from the likes of Colin Waterston. Perhaps it’d be worth letting Valerio Conchin go to do whatever if it meant Bridget and Toby could feast upon this place even for a short time.
It was too much for their small institute, but they could get a head start, maybe learn that language and make themselves useful to whoever took possession of the tomb. The Indian government, no doubt. The Americans would want in, naturally, and the Brits would be apoplectic if excluded. She guessed the Indians would get final say, but for now, only this select few even knew of its existence.
Then the two men down below surfaced, and a whole host of new questions burst into being.
The waters bubbled and hissed as if they were boiling. The heat intensified, emanating from the stone slab between Jules’s body and Valerio’s. Jules’s lungs reached capacity, but thrashing about in this washing machine resulted only in Valerio’s grip strengthening—a crocodile trying to drown an antelope. Then, when Jules thought he might pass out, Valerio pushed him away.
Jules stood, gulping at air, coughing and spluttering and trying to orient himself. Staggering to the edge, he sat on the steps and searched for Valerio. He didn’t have to wait long.
Valerio rose up out of the filthy pool, brushing the dead creatures from his skin. And it was a skin transformed. White, not yellow. Even under the glow of fire, his sunken eyes were now strong and bright, his chest firm, the sagging skin now taut.
“Hoo, yeah!” Valerio held out his arms to the sides, embracing something unseen. “That was amazing!”
“Amazing” undersold what Jules thought. Despite the feats so far—the sparks from the bangles, the wave, the glowing doors—he hadn’t seriously expected this to work. Those other events were explainable using current scientific theory. To regenerate diseased matter, to heal completely, was beyond the scope of serious scientists.
It was impossible.
Valerio
waded to the side and strode up out of the water. No hobbling, no hesitation. Just a strong, committed gait.
Jules stood and lifted himself out, joining Valerio, both dripping onto the pavilion.
The Ravi brothers covered Jules from opposing angles. Horse pointed a gun at him. “We done here, boss? Can we kill him now?”
“Horse, Horse, Horse,” Valerio said. “I gave this young man my word.” He scooped Jules’s T-shirt off the ground, strutted over with his back straight and head held high, and passed it to Jules. “Go now. Take your precious bangle and enjoy your life.”
“Seriously?” Horse said. “I thought we were just joking around.”
Valerio remained focused on Jules. “Now you know what your mom was protecting. More importantly, you know magic really exists.”
Recovered from the submersion, Jules accepted the shirt and allowed his gaze to start at one end of the structure. He turned a full circle, not only to assess LORI’s position without giving them away, but also to give him time to think, to work out whether his second epiphany rumbling to life was paranoia or terrifyingly real.
He stopped and faced Valerio, pulled on his T-shirt, and spoke as loud as he dared. Enough to carry the hundreds of yards to Bridget and the others, but not so much that Valerio or Horse would suspect. Very simply, he said, “I ain’t going anywhere.”
Chapter Fifty-One
“People have called me ‘special’ for a long time,” Jules said, his voice carrying up to the nest where Bridget continued to crouch—a balcony fit for a Roman emperor spectating as gladiators fought their bout. “I never was, not really. I just worked damn hard. Maybe on some level, I gotta concede, it could be my brain’s wired different. I learn quick. I don’t forget stuff that might be useful.”
He paced, monologuing, and Bridget got the impression that he wasn’t only speaking to those in his immediate vicinity.
Had he spotted them?
“But I work hard,” he repeated, the guns following his path. “Ain’t no pool of crap and light ever healed me or rebooted my cells to their optimum state or whatever the hell happened here. I studied history, psychology, language. I trained with masters of burglary, parkour, aikido, firearms. And don’t get me started on diet and gym work.”
