The Stone of Madness

by Nick Baker

  It was now almost impossible to make out the faces of those scattered about the cavern, but as Frankl looked down, he whispered to himself, ‘Cyanosis!’

  The cavernous space amplified and echoed the single word so that no one could mistake what he had said.

  ‘Cyanosis?’ said Lex inanely. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘My fingernails have turned blue!’ Frankl replied, still staring intently at his hands.

  ‘Cyanosis is a, er, medical term,’ Strange explained, ‘that relates to the condition known as hypoxia.’

  ‘Would someone please speak in plain terms?’ said Styx, who was becoming increasingly agitated.

  ‘That’s a fine request coming from you, Mr Cryptologist,’ said Aurelia in a sudden fit of pique, still reeling from Styx’s recent exposition.

  ‘Now’s not the time for bickering. Please, just be quiet for a moment,’ said Frankl.

  ‘An interesting philosophy coming from you, Josef,’ said Aurelia, unable to contain herself.

  ‘Silence!’ called out Frankl. ‘Now listen. For those of you who don’t know, hypoxia refers to the condition that arises from a lack of oxygen. Its onset is insidious and leads to confusion and irritability, something that’s been in clear evidence during these past few minutes. I fear the oxygen is running low, just as Abel predicted. There’s nothing more for us to do than to sit quietly and hope that the tide recedes before we all succumb.’

  Having spoken, Frankl sat down on the cool, stone floor, and flexed his amorphous legs so that they came to rest against his chest. He clasped his fat fingers around his knees and tucked his head into the void between his thighs, giving a clear indication that the time for conversation was over.

  An eerie silence descended upon the cavern as they all followed Frankl’s lead. It was not long before the remaining candles gradually dimmed as a prelude to their final demise, leaving the cavern in a darkness that was absolute.

  In the ensuing silence, Frankl closed his eyes and cleared his mind. What he was about to attempt required a combination of great mental fortitude and absolute silence. It had always been possible for the most talented alchemists to communicate silently by tapping into subtle changes in the ether that occur in response to the nanoscopic quanta of electrical activity the brain produces with mental exertion. Frankl had utilised this technique for many years, enjoying considerable success by silently colluding with Pearly while in the company of others. Like most things, however, this was never enough for Frankl, and by poring over ancient alchemical texts in search of forgotten lore, he slowly acquired the ability to hack into people’s minds and read their thoughts.

  Armed with the knowledge of what he was about to do, now was the perfect opportunity to utilise this skill. He cleared his mind of all extraneous thoughts until his mind was an empty void. Then, he cast his mind about him in the perfect silence of the secluded cavern to search, probe and ultimately distil the thoughts circulating around him.

  *

  Lex did not move. He was not threatened by the precarious situation he suddenly found himself in, having been in far worse plights in the past. An occupational hazard, he mused. As a professional criminal, he had masterminded many successful ventures in his insalubrious past, but even with the meticulous preparation he always employed in the pursuit of his misdemeanours, he remained wise enough to realise that even the most scrupulously laid plans could be overtaken by unforeseen circumstances.

  To his friends, Lex had always displayed an easy-going manner, but his carefree exterior hid a sharp mind with an eye for detail that often went unnoticed. From the moment he had entered the cavern, he had keenly observed every aspect of their predicament, assimilating and analysing almost at a subconscious level.

  Now, with a complete loss of sensory input, he was able to recall and regurgitate this information. He did not intend to sit idly by and wait for events to overtake him, and in his mind’s eye, he had already pictured where each of his co-conspirators was positioned. The lack of sound following Frankl’s words told him that no one had moved, and the voluminous cavern that echoed and amplified every noise was unlikely to stretch his keen sense of hearing. No one could move without him knowing, and while everyone else was focusing on the threat of impending suffocation, he was intent on making sure that he was ready to act the instant circumstances changed.

  While Styx had been droning on about ciphers, Lex had been staring at the water in the sump. He had watched the water slowly rise, level off, and then recede with the ebbing tide. Thus, it would not be long before the water fell below the uppermost limit of the cave, allowing air to rush in and replenish the dwindling oxygen. He sat back, relaxed, and carried on with the silent vigil, maintaining his concentration just in case the situation suddenly changed.

  *

  Aurelia was not thinking about imminent suffocation. No. She was far too angry for that. She had objected to almost everything that had happened from the moment they arrived, particularly when she discovered that Frankl was pulling the strings. She could not deny that the black pearl had sparked her curiosity, and it had made her wonder whether it was the signal to finally end the misery she had endured following Pearly’s death.

  After the Order had fallen, it was easy for Pearly’s faceless supporters to slip back into their previous lives without fear of recrimination, but Aurelia was not so fortunate. At the outset, as news of the Order spread, she had inevitably been at Pearly’s side, revelling in the publicity that followed wherever he went. When Pearly died, his true exploits were revealed, and she was branded a common criminal. It was all right for Lex, who had always lived his life that way, and even Abel had somehow managed to continue his life as if nothing had happened, maintaining a relationship with Price and retaining his position at the Academy despite his known fraternisation with the Order.

  Alas, the same could not be said of her. She had never managed to shake off her bitterness at how events had transpired. She was hunted mercilessly in the aftermath of Pearly’s death, and it had taken all of her cunning to avoid capture on numerous occasions. It had also engendered a gnawing resentment for the many years she had been forced to live as a fugitive, forever fearful that she would be recognised and hunted down. She deserved better and longed for the time when she had been admired for her beauty, enjoying the notoriety from her association with Pearly and the decadence that inexorably went with it.

  She reflected on how circumstances had forced her into obscurity and isolation. Sitting here now, she also realised that much of her anger stemmed from the resentment she felt for Frankl. It galled her to think that he was responsible for this meeting, and it was no surprise she had been antagonistic towards his suggestions, but as she pondered all he had revealed, she began to wonder whether there might be something to this manuscript after all. She had never been party to Pearly’s darkest secrets, and although this had not bothered her at the time, it made her wonder what he had been up to in the months before his death. As she contemplated this, she gradually came round to the idea that, perhaps, for the time being, she would go along with Frankl’s plans.

  *

  Abel Strange sat impassively while cogitating the prospect of impending suffocation. Something did not add up, and he intended to get to the bottom of it in his usual analytical manner. He began by recalling his first observations of the cavern after his arrival and recalled that a typical sea cave was formed by the repetitive action of the sea acting at the interface between dissimilar rock types in a cliff face. The entrance to the cave was a small fissure opening into a much wider vestibule, and the penetrating force of the waves he had witnessed on the way in could easily account for the distance the cave extended into the bedrock, but it did not explain why the cave suddenly turned upwards through a smaller channel that led to a vast enclosure. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether an inherent fault could extend all the way back from the cliff face to account for the formation of the vaulted cavern. If that were tr
ue, then it seemed plausible that the cave not only communicated with the outside via the entrance, but also through a fault somewhere high above his head; if so, then oxygen should be seeping in by that route.

  This revelation led to something else that was bothering him, and as he mulled it over, he realised why. The candlelight had gradually dwindled to nothing, yet if there was insufficient oxygen for the candles to burn, then how could he still be considering the problem so lucidly? These two processes were mutually exclusive, because, after all, his brain needed oxygen just like the candles. The only solution was that Frankl had orchestrated the whole charade, but why would he go to such elaborate lengths to fool them? He sat back mulling this over and waited patiently to find out.

  *

  Michael Styx was feeling increasingly uncomfortable due to the oppressive atmosphere and the all-enveloping darkness. Frankl had coerced him into coming here, and his resentment towards him was rising in direct correlation with his agitation.

  He asked himself how he had come to be trapped in this god-forsaken place with these criminals before ruefully reflecting on the circumstances that had led him to this, the lowest point in his life.

  It had all started so well working for Internal Security, hand-picked to do a job that he would gladly have done for nothing. At first, he could not believe his luck, but when the bills to pay for his ailing mother’s medical care started to pile up, the situation spiralled rapidly out of control. He recalled his increasing desperation and his struggle to stay afloat, borrowing more and more money from the bank. Eventually, when the bank called in the debt, he foolishly approached a disreputable moneylender, who accepted him with relish. The interest alone was crippling, and it was not long before he was unable to meet the ever-increasing repayments. When the threats began, he finally realised the gravity of his predicament.

  With the appearance of Josef Frankl, it seemed as if his prayers had been answered. A chance meeting in a bar, or so it appeared at the time, was a prelude to Frankl surreptitiously wheedling his way into his affairs, gaining his confidence by revealing interests that miraculously mirrored his own. It was only a matter of time before he was completely entranced, and after a night spent drinking far too much wine, it seemed the perfect opportunity to unburden some of his problems onto his new-found friend. Naturally, it only seemed reasonable to accept Frankl’s generous offer of financial help in return for a simple favour, which was little more than deciphering a simple piece of text, after all.

  He felt sure that his troubles were over, but when a chance message passed across his desk at work, he instantly recognised a description of the recently stolen manuscript as the very same item Frankl had shown to him. At first, he refused to believe that Frankl could be implicated in such a crime, but after confronting him in the vain hope that there had been a misunderstanding, he would never forget the look of disdain on his face when Frankl said, ‘What did you expect, you fool?’

  From that moment on, he knew he had been duped, and he was well aware of what would happen if his employers learnt of how he had been compromised. There was no choice but to co-operate, and he had reluctantly agreed to make the journey to Riddlescombe. After arriving at the cave, he immediately realised just how much trouble he was in.

  As time dragged interminably, he began to feel like a rat trapped in a cage. All he wanted was to get away, and now, with the oxygen running out, he could feel his throat closing up. He wondered whether anyone else had already suffocated, and briefly thought of calling out. As he felt his terror rising, he realised he had to escape.

  *

  Josef Frankl smiled to himself as he allowed his mind to recede from those around him. It was working out just as he had planned, even down to piquing Aurelia’s interest. Now, with the atmosphere more stifling than ever, it merely added to the credence that the air was running out. It would not be long before the ebbing tide allowed them to escape, but there was still one outstanding problem. He could sense the meeting building into an overwhelming climax, which only added to his exhilaration. The grand finale was fast approaching, and all he had to do was to wait for Fox’s poor, young lackey to act.

  Almost on cue, Styx leapt to his feet. In his rising panic, he realised he no longer had a choice—stay put and suffocate or take a chance and swim. As he lurched blindly towards the exit, his trousers snagged on a jagged piece of rock. He toppled over, striking his head on the cavern floor with a sickening thud. He staggered to his feet, blood trickling into his eyes, but as he fought to keep his balance, the sound of a voice he had grown to despise rang out behind him.

  ‘Going somewhere, Michael?’ boomed Frankl, his words echoing menacingly around the cavern. ‘Tut, tut. Surely you’d prefer to sit it out with us here?’ he added, pointing ominously at Styx.

  Styx looked confused. ‘I—’ he began before his words were cut short by a coruscation of blinding white light and an earsplitting thunderclap.

  Frankl felt a surge of ecstasy, revelling in the power that erupted from his fingertips. The bolt crashed into Styx like a tsunami, tossing him like a rag doll into the air, such that he was dead before he struck the ground.

  Paradoxically, there was neither flame nor heat following the blast, but when the darkness returned, the murderous cataclysm remained etched on his retina until the macabre image slowly faded.

  ‘Josef, I, er, think you should, er, at least allow us the consideration of some candlelight,’ said Strange finally, his voice unable to mask a slight tremor of fear.

  Frankl extended a finger, and one by one, the candles reignited, illuminating the cavern in defiance of the darkness they had endured for so long.

  Frankl got up and walked leisurely towards the inert figure lying adjacent to the exit. ‘Well, that solves one problem,’ he said coldly, rolling over the lifeless form with a judicious boot. ‘Styx was always going to be a threat. I couldn’t allow him to leave here alive. The information he has divulged will suffice our needs. All we need now is the manuscript. What say you, Lex?’

  Lex did not immediately reply. He looked startled by what he had just witnessed. ‘You stage-managed the whole charade, didn’t you? I may be used to stealing things, Josef, but murder? Never.’

  ‘Rest assured, Lex. No one will ever know. Once again, we are all in this together … just like the old days. So, Lex. The book?’ said Frankl.

  Lex shivered involuntarily before composing himself. ‘One thing, Josef. What about Price? Surely the theft of this book will warn him that something’s afoot?’

  ‘Perhaps … and yet … perhaps not,’ replied Frankl contemplatively. ‘True, gaining access to his house is beyond mere ordinary mortals, but don’t forget, I’m not the only one who could have carried out the theft. The manuscript was lying dormant in Price’s library for many years, and if he couldn’t work out its significance when it was sitting under his nose, I don’t suppose he will now.’

  ‘I wish I shared your confidence,’ replied Lex with an imperceptible shake of his head, ‘but look, we’re no longer trapped!’ he said excitedly, jumping to his feet and pointing towards the exit.

  Aurelia got up and joined him to peer into the void. ‘You’re right, Lex. I for one don’t intend to spend any more time than I have to in the company of a corpse. There’s much to discuss, but now is neither the time nor the place,’ she said, and with that she clambered into the tunnel and disappeared from view.

  Frankl smiled. ‘It seems Aurelia has just given her tacit approval to my plan or at least as close as it gets. Price is sharp, but even if he does realise the significance of the theft, I don’t suppose he’ll suspect we’re planning a raid elsewhere. Even so, there’s no time to lose. I take it you’re with me, Lex?’

  Lex returned Frankl’s disturbing grimace with his own natural smile. ‘Despite your duplicity, I’m surprised you have to ask. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’ve made the necessary preparations. Leave it with me, you’ll have your book,’ he said, and with that, he turned on his h
eels and followed Aurelia into the tunnel.

  The cavern was silent for some moments, but when Strange spoke, the hesitant manner in his voice was gone. ‘Was that really necessary, Josef?’ he said, staring intently at Frankl through the thick lenses perched on the end of his nose.

  ‘Was what necessary?’ retorted Frankl with feigned nonchalance.

  ‘You know exactly what I mean,’ Strange replied, keeping his eyes fixed on Frankl.

  ‘Oh, come now, Abel, I’ve never had you down as a sentimentalist before. You of all people should realise the importance of tying up loose ends. Styx has given us everything we need. We could never leave him free to return to Internal Security. Surely you understand what’s at stake?’

  ‘I’m not sure I do, but more importantly, do you?’

  ‘Trust me, Abel, I’ve no doubt that what I’m planning will be worth our while. Just you wait and see. Come on, it’s about time we made our way out of here. I don’t think Michael Styx will be greatly missed, and in any case, the crabs will cover our tracks,’ he said impassively.

  Abel Strange did not reply as he made ready to leave. The expression on his face had barely changed, and although he had not voiced it, it was still blatantly obvious that trust was not something he was prepared to share with the man he followed from the cave.

  9

  THE STONE OF MADNESS

  Perca Fluviatilis

  LILY’S LESSONS WERE OVER for the day. She had spent the previous two hours debating the philosophical aspects of modern alchemical practice with her tutor, Victor Mirkstone. She realised that her father’s influence lay behind the discussion as it related to a topic she had recently been studying with him, and although the argument was challenging, the debate failed to hold her attention. Eventually, Lily lost interest, which was quite apparent to her tutor, who became irritated at her chaotic and ill-conceived reasoning. When they reached yet another impasse, Mirkstone suddenly announced that he was terminating the lesson early, and while Lily was delighted at this turn of events, she knew that the news would filter back to her father, fuelling yet another discussion about her attitude towards her studies.