“Oh no reason,” she said. “Shall we head down?”
The men nodded so Clara took point. There was no sense in putting the brains of this outfit at risk.
* * * *
The place was cold, humid, and had the faint odour of mould hanging on her every breath; in the distance Clara heard running water. Given the construction, she assumed this place had originally served as a well. There were pitch covered torches found at regular intervals, that were lit as they progressed. At first, the walls were reinforced with brick, followed by stone slabs, and eventually gave way to natural rock.
Father Allen and Professor Jones were busy discussing how this discovery would change their understanding of the world. Clara had expected some form of resistance, unless this was meant to be an escape route. After all, that slab by the door would have taken ten men to move out of the way, or one motivated vampire.
After five minutes of descent, they came across a large chamber. This place was so large that the light was swallowed up before it reached the opposing side. The walls were smooth, carved by years of erosion. Had it not been for the cobbled floor, Clara would have assumed they were exploring a natural cave system.
“Wait here,” Clara said and after ten minutes, the large chamber was dimly lit by torchlight.
There was another tunnel opposing them, blocked by rock and rubble. She guessed that the other entrance once led directly to the gate. The direction seemed about right, but Clara had to admit that spiralling down like they had, made it difficult to be certain.
There was a natural beauty to the place, but everyone could feel the chill touch of the grave. Clara knew that no one else had been here in a very long time.
“So what now?” Clara asked.
Jonesy and Father Allen both shrugged. For now, this appeared to be a dead end which effectively ended this expedition.
“Why have Georgian construct to protect an empty room?” Clara asked.
“They might have cleared the contents when they abandoned the site,” Jonesy said.
“There are no drag or scuff marks to indicate that anything has been moved,” Father Allen said.
Father Allen moved towards the centre to sketch. Once he was within ten feet of the centre, they heard a loud click that echoed throughout the room. Everyone paused and held their breath.
“What did you do?” Jonesy and Clara asked.
“Nothing,” Father Allen said. “Just stepped on this area of the floor.”
Clara moved towards the centre but kept her eyes peeled. From this vantage point, she saw a well-defined circular seam in the floor.
Once she stood opposing Father Allen, Clara pressed down hard with one foot. That was enough for the platform to give way and send Father Allen on his ass.
While Clara kept a straight face, Professor Jones began to laugh maniacally. Hopefully that would not sour their team cohesion; the last thing she needed was to mollycoddle these two.
“Our first trap,” Jonesy said. “How did you know?”
“I assumed most people would be travelling through the centre directly to the exit behind us,” Clara said.
“So I forced the platform back onto its seat?” Father Allen asked.
“Precisely,” Clara said. “Now would you please wedge something under the platform Father?
Clara waited patiently as Father Allen ripped his pack apart. Item after item came out of that bag, but nothing seemed suitable. Eventually he thought of using his walking stick, which he used to keep the platform from falling into place.
The sound of water was more pronounced now. On Clara’s side, the supporting rock had been carved away so the slab would give way. This trap had been clearly designed to catch people travelling in a certain direction.
Clara hammered a climbing piton into the floor. She then used a length of rope to grapple and force the platform at its apex.
With the platform out of the way, the walking stick fell through the opening and made a racket below. Clara illuminated the area using her lantern and saw a slew of rusty spikes. The area was littered with bones, skulls and dried blood. Even after all these years, the stone was still stained red.
Clara grabbed the remaining rope and draped it over the edge. Using the light of her lantern, she had no trouble manoeuvring around the obstacles. Clara then lit the torches and within minutes, was able to shed some light on the macabre scene.
“I’m going to explore,” Clara said.
Without waiting for a response, she ventured through an archway. Visible were two entrances, one that led up presumably towards the chamber above, while the other led down to the source of that running water sound.
Clara pulled out her sidearm and moved closer to the stairs going up. She called out in that direction and eventually heard the men come down.
“Another Georgian illusion then,” Clara said.
“Precisely,” Jonesy said. “It even provided some resistance to prevent accidental discovery.”
* * * *
After a couple hours, the two floors had been explored, documented, photographed and sketched. That still left them with several hours of daylight so Clara was not worried.
They ventured down the steps until their feet were submerged in water. The running water was cool and refreshing, so it must have travelled underground for some time. From the light of their lanterns, there were a few points of interest.
Fifty feet from the entrance, there was a stone archway that contained two heavy doors on rails. While Clara could not see the other side, they seemed designed to redirect the flow once dropped into place.
Clara saw a series of rusty chains leading away from those doors. Her eyes followed the chains until she spotted a wooden ratcheting mechanism that was covered in cobwebs. A shame it was just out of reach; not even her grappling hook would do.
“Do you happen to have some whiskey, Father?” Clara asked.
The Father glared at her. The look on his face implied there would be no further discussion. Nonetheless, he produced a bottle of whiskey that was nearly full.
“Here, child,” Father Allen said.
Clara took out some linen from a pack and cut it into strips. She was careful not to show the men the remnants of her knickers. A gal was entitled to her secrets after all. She pulled the cork and soaked the linen before stuffing it into the bottle’s mouth.
She then produced something that looked like a pistol with two triggers. It reeked of naphtha and quickly produced a bright bluish flame. She lit the wick attached to the bottle and made sure there was a solid flame before tossing it underhand.
The flame’s wick illuminated the rock face as it glided through the air. On impact, the fire engulfed the contraption and within moments, was licking every part of it.
“Now we just need to wait,” Clara said.
“For what, ch—?” Father Allen asked.
“Who taught you that?” Professor Jones inquired.
Clara beamed her shit-eating grin before she said, “Sister Magdalen.”
“A Franciscan nun taught you improvised weaponry, child?” Father Allen asked.
“No, Father,” Clara said. “She instructed us on makeshift lighting methods.”
Clara was not sure if that would be sufficient for the Father. Fortunately, by that time, the wood had cracked and released the heavy chains. For a moment, they hung loosely from the overhead loops. The doors should have dropped, but nothing happened.
“What a waste of whisk—,” Jonesy said.
Before Jonesy could finish ribbing the Father, one of the doors creaked loudly and dropped a foot. The shift had shaken loose some rust from the rails, which sent the other crashing down. In turn, the intense shaking forced the remaining door into place.
Immediately, the water levels began to ebb, revealing another twenty steps and a walkway. Now, they had a path to follow down a mild grade. Where would it lead? No one knew.
* * * *
They walked along the slippery path for about
two hundred feet before they came across an opening. This entry had been carved into the rock and as judged by the tool marks, the excavation had been done recently.
When Clara wandered on through, she saw the many layers that made up this formidable fortress. Beyond the natural rock and sediment there was pitch, brick, and an inch of rotted iron plating followed by more pitch and brick. This section had been built to keep something out. Or was it to keep something in?
Once they entered the chamber, they saw how the walls had once been covered in ornate symbols. Alas, water had rushed in after the excavation, rendering the writings illegible.
The room was in shambles. Broken pottery littered the ground and boxes that had been lined with gold were shattered. In the centre there was a large gold coffin that reminded Clara of a sarcophagus. The lid had been broken into three pieces and was empty.
When she looked above, Clara noticed two large slabs of rock that had been used to seal in whatever was inside. Whoever had been interred here was never meant to come out.
“Where do you think we are, Clara?” Father Allen asked.
His use of her given name surprised Clara. She thought over the convoluted route they had taken and despite the uncertainty, she knew where this was going.
“Roughly underneath the step pyramid, Father,” Clara said.
“I would wager that this room is precisely under the centre of the pyramid,” Father Allen said. “This chamber had been used to hide a vampire of unimaginable power.”
Clara vaguely remembered Professor Stephens giving lectures on such structures. Some of their kind were so powerful that they could control others even while in a state of deep sleep. They could run entire empires from the safety of these tombs. These were the eternal puppet masters who pulled society’s strings and never got their hands dirty. Peons rarely realised that they were being controlled, save for a trusted few.
“I recommend we be quick about it then,” Clara said and proceeded to take some snapshots.
* * * *
Everyone left the chamber feeling soiled. There was something to be said about being in the same room that housed evil for so long. Clara found it hard to describe, but it reminded her of an abandoned sanatorium. A place where souls were still lurking about, tortured and eternally detached from reality.
Despite leaving the crypt, wherever they were approaching sent a shiver down Clara’s spine. Was this a real world example of jumping out of the frying pan and landing in the fire?
In response Clara asked, “Can anyone feel that?”
Father Allen turned to ask, “Feel what, child?”
“You mean that feeling of walking on a mass grave?” Jonesy asked.
“Yeah,” Clara said.
Father Allen shrugged and carried on. The man had spent the majority of his life in the Tower. He never had to rely on his instincts to survive nor did he know what to do when a shiver ran down his spine.
“Any idea what we are going to encounter?” Clara asked.
“Not sure,” Jonesy said. “Not sure I want to.”
Clara could relate. The same emotions were swirling around in her mind. Hunters were trained to keep their emotions in check, but she found it hard to ignore that sense of dread growing within.
Within a couple of minutes, they came across a new chamber. This one had a large staircase carved into the rock itself. The path beyond the chamber was flooded; it seemed that the river’s alternate path met up just beyond the chamber. Clara was impressed. It was impossible to reach this particular point from any other route.
Despite their growing sense of unease, the group scaled the steps. Clara kept an eye out for any trouble but saw no obvious threats. Atop, there was a cobblestone floor with an ornate altar that dominated the chamber. Immediately after the altar, she noticed a large pit or well.
Father Allen and Professor Jones lit the torches while Clara ventured closer to the well. It was built in a perfect circle and had no visible bottom. Nonetheless, the glow from her lantern was enough to make a startling discovery. The walls were stained with blood.
“Deep,” Jonesy said.
“Really,” Clara remarked sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Father Allen chuckled nervously, a sign that he too was beginning to feel that something was dreadfully wrong here.
“The altar is stained with blood,” Father Allen said grimly.
Clara tied a rope to the end of her lantern and lowered it down the shaft. The red stained rocks glowed like hellfire as it descended. No matter how far it travelled, the bottom would not show.
“So either it’s infinitely deep or—,” Jonesy said.
The lantern’s light went out without explanation. In response, Clara tried to bring it up so she could light it, but something was fighting her every pull.
“Must have gone—,” Clara said.
Just like that, the light appeared, just as bright as before. The men looked at her, then down the pit, just in time to witness the light being enveloped another time.
“Here,” Clara said as she handed the rope to Jonesy. “And make it fast,” she added with a hint of urgency.
While Professor Jones pulled up the lantern, they noticed that the darkness was trying to overtake the lantern. Whatever was down there was interested in the flame.
Clara dropped her pack to the ground, then rummaged through until she found a potato shaped Bakelite contraption fitted with a metal spoon and pin. She had no interest in talking things over with whatever was down there.
Clara pulled the pin and watched the spoon fly off as it was dropped. The grenade began its descent, just as the lantern was recovered.
“Get back!” Clara exclaimed.
The floor shook, but the expected flash of light did not materialise. Instead, she heard a shrill shriek. Clara was done with her experiment; she backed away with her pistol drawn.
“Gentleman,” Clara said.
Her voice roused them out of their stupor and they followed her lead. Just then, a series of shadowy tendrils emerged from the well, probing the area in search of something. Clara had no desire to find out what.
“Holy water, Father?” Clara asked.
“Left it behind in favour of the whiskey,” Father Allen replied.
“That will be worth a laugh if we ever ma—,” Jonesy said.
Clara raised her hand to silence the group while the tendrils continued to probe. So far there was no sign that it could hear, but she had no desire to taunt fate.
Slowly, they backed away while keeping an eye on the creature and for a moment, it appeared as if they were free and clear. Alas, the end of tendrils changed into spearheads and shot out in every direction.
The attack may have been blind, but nonetheless proved to be effective. Clara saw that Father Allen had been struck in the shoulder by a tendril.
The tip blunted immediately after penetration, making it impossible to extract. Clearly, he was in shock, since she could see there was no one home in Father Allen’s eyes.
She fired several rounds into the tendrils with no effect. Without warning, Father Allen was whisked away into the well, leaving only his bag behind.
“Run!” Clara exclaimed sharply while grabbing the extra pack.
* * * *
Clara and Jonesy ran without pause. Even when their lungs felt as though they were on fire, they ran on. When they passed by the tomb, Jonesy tripped on a slippery surface and without missing a beat, was dragged back onto his feet by Clara.
When they finally reached the light of day, they both dropped to their knees. After the experience they had, it was great to feel the warmth of the sun’s glow, a sure-fire sign they were safe.
“Well that explains the lack of traps,” Clara said.
“No kidding,” Jonesy said.
The locals were quick to notice that someone was missing. If the tables had been turned, Clara would have pressed them for information, but they already knew. There must have been local legends on what lurk
ed below.
“Professor Jones,” Clara said. “I thought they had been instructed to set up camp.”
Jonesy looked around and came to the same conclusion. His face was still flushed from the exertion and would need time to recover his mental faculties.
There was still a solid hour of daylight left. That meant they had time to get away from here and never return. Jonesy was certainly thinking the same thing, so he passed on new instructions.
The Van Helsing Paradox Page 15
