“Yeah, it wasn't great...maybe she should have been better at choosing what old people to abduct?” Purdue cut in sharply, prying Amaro's attention away from Nina and providing Nina with some backup in the conversation. Purdue steered the discussion in another direction. “At least we know that we are in the right place now, aye? If this bastard's here, then we are getting close to the Nostradamus scrolls, aren't we?”
“It does seem to be so,” Julian said with a smirk, turning his attention to Amaro. “I know you to be the Old Lady's lapdog, but you are going to get out of our way or I will make it really, really hurt.”
“Ah, yes,” Amaro said excitedly. “The wicked Julian Corvus. I recall reading your profile...quite gruesome. Scary in parts, even, if I'm being honest.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Julian said. “So I take it this was where you found the parts of the Nostradamus scrolls that the Old Lady already has? So...you couldn't find the rest of it down here, is that it? I can't imagine it would be easy...given the size of this place and just how far these tunnels go in the dark.”
“You are correct,” Amaro said with a respectful nod. “We did find portions of Nostradamus's unpublished works down here, and since then we have been excavating this place as best as we can for the rest of it. The location has proven to be rather challenging, I'm afraid, but I get the feeling that we have been making some real progress of late. We will have it in no time. I'm afraid it is a private operation being carried out, so I am going to have to ask you all to leave. This is a restricted part of the catacombs. I believe you all are looking for the visitor's section way back at the beginning. You'll do much better there. Much safer.”
“We're not going anywhere,” Nina said. “You think that you're just going to be able to tell us off and we'll listen?”
“I would hope so,” Amaro said. “Because you are already lucky enough to be alive, as is. We could have killed you all back at the park. I would have hoped after that close encounter, you would have kept your distance from us...but no, you all are just gluttons for pain and death it seems.”
“Aye,” Purdue said. “Something like that. Usually, I don't agree with Julian's methods, but you heard him, move or he is going to make you move, and it won't be painless. Believe me, if that sadistic bastard has a chance to inflict pain, he is going to take it.”
Amaro looked from Purdue to Julian but didn't move a muscle. He just laced his fingers together and stood even taller than before, as an obstacle in their path. He wasn't going to budge, no matter what threats they threw in his direction.
“As scary as all of that is, and I'm sure to most people it is simply horrifying, I can't let you proceed. The Order of the Black Sun doesn't get to stroll in and take what we have spent so much time looking for. The entitlement of your pathetic group never ceases to astound me.”
“Now you're just being petty,” Purdue said, throwing a sudden punch that caught Amaro completely off guard. The detective stumbled backward a few steps, holding his jaw, but didn't fall to the ground and was still in their way.
“Is that the best you can throw?” Julian asked. “Really? That's it?”
“That's enough, Donatello,” a voice said from the darkness of the tunnel that Amaro was standing in front of. An old woman slowly appeared from the darkness, her walking stick tapping the floor as she came forward. “We don't need to make a scene down here. All of the dead are watching. Let's not all embarrass ourselves.”
It was the Old Lady—at least, Purdue thought it was—but he wouldn't let himself be tricked by a decoy again. He glanced to his side to Nina who was looking at the woman with clear recognition. She looked back at Purdue and nodded her head. Sure enough, it was her. This was the real deal. She was even older than Constance, and her expression was far colder. That was something that her decoy lacked; the fake Old Lady didn't carry any sense of danger or intimidation, but that didn't apply to the real thing. The Old Lady was so frail, but Purdue knew she could probably kill them with a snap of her fingers.
“I had a feeling you would come, and I would have a chance to see you and for you to see me this time.”
“Did the Nostradamus pages tell you that?” Sam asked. “Or was it Mama May?”
“Neither,” the Old Lady cooed. “It was just obvious. I've known many stubborn fools in my time, and David Purdue has proven to be one of the most irritating ones. I don't need any prophecy to tell me that I haven't gotten rid of an annoying cockroach yet.”
“Cockroach, aye?” Purdue laughed. “Wow. You're a real sweetheart.”
“Speaking of my dear friend, May...” The Old Lady pointed her walking stick at them. “What is it you have done with her? Tell me!”
“Why do you ask?” Purdue said cheekily. “Because she has been helping you keep tabs on us for months? Because you two are practically sisters? Or because you're a little scared because your psychic best friend isn't here to hold your hand and reassure you that all of your plans are going to happen just as you hoped? Without her and the other Nostradamus pages, you're practically blind, aren't you? And down here, it's already especially hard to see.”
The Old Lady ignored him, obviously done with his prodding. She turned back toward the tunnel that Amaro was guarding and glanced back at them. “The Nostradamus scrolls are somewhere in these catacombs. That much is certain. You are welcome to try to find them yourselves if you can.”
Amaro looked at his leader with confusion. “Are you certain?”
“Oh, pish posh,” the Old Lady said and sounded like a grandmother for once. “That's what they've come for. Let them give it a try.”
Purdue was initially as taken aback as Amaro was but then realized why she would ever allow them to have a chance to find it.
“You know we're better at this than you are...” Purdue said, and the Old Lady stopped and turned back. “You know that we have a much higher chance of finding it than any of your lackeys do because Sam, Nina, and I have found countless things of this nature. You can't find it on your own so you are just going to let us do it for you...and then what, aye? Kill us and take the scrolls for yourselves?”
“Naturally,” the Old Lady said with an amused chuckle. “You're not as dense as you sometimes seem, David Purdue. Let's all race to find that prophet's writing, and may the victor go the spoils...”
“Until you kill the winner,” Nina said with a roll of her eyes.
“I did always quite like games in my younger years,” the Old Lady said. “And what's a good game without a little bit of risk? Come, Donatello, let's give them a chance to try and find it and see if they have any better luck than we do.”
Amaro looked like he wanted to say something but refrained, choosing to turn up his nose at the Order of the Black Sun members and follow the Old Lady instead. They both disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels, like they had never been there at all. Purdue and the others stood there for a moment, gobsmacked about the turn of events. This wasn't the fight that Purdue was expecting, at least not yet. That fight wouldn't start until someone found the scrolls.
“That was strange,” Remy said. “Does anyone want to tell me just what is going on? Those people should not be down here. Especially without a guide!”
“They're fine,” Gerald said, pointing his camera in different directions. “I don't know what all of this is about either, but it seems like that went better than everyone expected, right?”
“Much better,” Nina said with a long sigh of relief. “I thought that was the end of the line.”
“What a stupid mistake to make...” Julian muttered.
“They need us,” Sam said. “We would be dead otherwise, and we will probably be dead if we do manage to find the scrolls.”
Purdue couldn't deny any of that. The Old Lady had turned this conflict into something of a sporting match between excavators, but in reality, she had manipulated the situation so now they would be nothing more than tools for the Old Lady to use to get her to the scrolls faster.
INTERLUDE: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
Agatha had learned early on that gaining power meant that others would try and take it from you. It was just something that unfortunately came with the territory. She learned how best to deal with people trying to steal what was hers, and that was to be swift and direct about it. It usually meant that those thieves and peasants were never heard from again. If they were foolish enough to try to take from her, then they deserved what they got.
Unfortunately, the older she got, the more people thought that they had a chance to rob her. There was a time when no one would dare, and most still wouldn't, but there were the few that mistakenly thought that her more fragile body meant that she would be an easier target. They were wrong. If anything, her many years had just made her more cautious and given her much more time to be inventive with her punishments.
Still, some people never learned, especially once she had something of value like the first few Nostradamus pages. Some people wanted those pages and were more than willing to kill for it. Even people in the inner circle she was creating. There were people she could trust like Inspector Donatello Amaro—but then there were people like Tristan Kilton. He was rich beyond measure, but that was all he was really good for and all she needed from him. She was usually willing to play up to his ego and make him feel special if it meant he would continue backing her operations. She needed people like him if she was going to continue her hard work. Unfortunately, his inflated view of his importance that she provided him might have gotten to his head.
She sat in her rocking chair as she so often did, using the gentle sway to help formulate her thoughts and plans. It was a perfect meditation routine for her, and her mind had always benefited from the routine. Most of the people she worked with knew better than to disturb her during that time. If they could hear the chair squeaking, then they usually knew to keep away unless it was something incredibly important. Tristan wasn't the kind of man to care about that little known fact. If he wanted to do something, he was going to make it happen, no matter what was convenient for anyone else.
He nearly kicked the door down and stood there expectantly, as always looking like he had spent half a day in front of his mirror. Every part of his appearance had been considered and groomed to perfection. With as much money as he had, he didn't need to do anything else during the day besides make sure that he looked great. All of that pomposity never impressed Agatha, though. All she saw was a little boy trying to convince everyone that he was something to be admired when he was anything but.
“How are you this evening, ma'am?”
He approached her as he always did, like he was some doting grandson visiting his grandmother. He always spoke down to her like she was some senile fool that needed to be babied, like she was one step away from the retirement home. He didn't quite fathom that she wasn't like all of the other women her age. She didn't need to be coddled or taken care of. She could more than handle herself, and she could run circles around a silver spoon-fed trust fund baby like Tristan.
Still, if that money was going to keep coming, she couldn't push him too hard. She sometimes had to just deal with him being a mosquito that just wouldn't go away.
“What do you want, Tristan?”
Tristan looked like he wanted to sit down for a meeting, but her rocking chair was the only piece of furniture in the room. To account for this, he always liked to crouch down in front of her like he was speaking to a misbehaving child. When he crouched, he rubbed his hands together thoughtfully.
“We really should invest in some more chairs for this room,” Tristan said. “There is a severe lack of social customs in here, isn't there?”
Tristan always thought he was the funniest man on the planet. She never remembered making her smile even once. In fact, she rather relished not reacting to jokes that he probably thought were amazing. Nothing was better than seeing that smug smile falter.
She continued to rock in her chair, not even looking him in the eye.
He still hadn't answered her question.
“I said, what do you want?”
“Why is it you always think that I want something? I have just about everything that I could ever want. So why do you think I'm just dying to take something from you?”
“Because you usually are,” Agatha said. “Do you think I don't know, Tristan? I know you very well.”
“That is true. You're like the great-grandmother I never had. Without you, I never would have found anything to do with the resources I was lucky enough to be born with. I could be like so many of my friends and just spend everything I have on thrill-seeking exploits. I could be bungee jumping off a cliff or scuba diving in Bora Bora, but instead, I am here with you, helping you.”
“I said, what do you want?” she repeated. “We both know that this isn't a social call.”
“Is it not?” Tristan asked coyly. “And why do you think that?”
She stopped rocking in her seat and stared at him. He knew she was serious now, and she saw his confidence flounder a little, but only a little. “Because you do not have any social skills to speak of, boy. So spit it out. What are you here for?”
“Have you read the pages that you found?” Tristan's envy was apparent just from the way he asked the question. He looked anxious, like he hated that she knew something that he didn't. He was asking a question that he already knew the answer to, and he already hated the answer.
“I have,” Agatha said.
Tristan's face tightened and he pursed his lips, trying to figure out how to proceed. To Agatha, he looked like a pouting little boy who didn't like that things weren't going the way that he wanted them to go. That was exactly what he was, and no amount of grooming products or nice clothing could hide that fact.
“Don't you think we should all have a chance to read the lost work of Nostradamus, especially if it pertains to the future? Wouldn't that be prudent?”
“No, I don't think so,” Agatha said. “I think it's prudent that not everyone has knowledge of what's going to happen. It raises the possibility of that future never happening.”
“We don't know that...” Tristan said bitterly. “But of course, you get to read it, though. Why only you? Why not let the rest of us see what you've seen?”
“Because I found it,” Agatha said. “I earned the right to do with it as I please. I know earning things isn't something that someone with your upbringing and lifestyle understands very well.”
Tristan looked like he had just been punched in the gut and had all of the hot air knocked out of him. His fragile ego was deflating, and all that was left was anger and insecurity. “How dare you? I have earned the right! I have poured a great deal of money into your operation on the pretense that we are partners in this, and that we would be sharing in all of our accomplishments.”
“Our accomplishments?” Agatha couldn't help but laugh. “Were you down in those catacombs with us? I can't remember. Maybe you were there and I just missed you. It was dark and so very hard to see after all. I could have sworn that you stayed behind, nice and cozy and comfortable like you always are, writing a check and believing that you have any real authority over the people that do the heavy lifting. Your donations are, of course, appreciated, but we don't work for you, young man. I don't work for you.”
“You think that you're untouchable,” Tristan snarled. “You have this big scary reputation, so no one would dare make a move against you. But you're just a senile and feeble old fool that thinks she's going to change the world. You are how old?” Before she could respond, he answered for her. “Ancient.”
She hadn't felt so angry in quite a long time, probably because no one had been so outwardly and directly aggressive toward her. It was more than aggressive, it was hostile; it was just this speck of a man trying his best to mark his territory and assert his own perceived dominance. This was all a show Tristan was putting on for himself to convince his own mind that he had a spine.
To an onlooker, it would just look
like a young man harassing an old woman in her rocking chair. She would probably seem so defenseless. In some ways, it was like that, but she was far from helpless.
“You want to know what I read about, Tristan? I read about a rich boy that thought his inheritance made him able to command legions and even sway the favor of people far smarter and more influential than he was. It turns out that the boy was wrong and was killed on the third day of March of this year.”
Tristan's eyes widened and his superiority complex crumbled apart. “But that's...that's today?”
“Today,” Agatha said. “So tread carefully if you want to change the fates.”
Of course, Nostradamus had never written anything about that. He wouldn't have bothered writing down the death of an insecure man-child like Tristan, but Tristan was narcissistic enough to buy it. Or, at the very least, the threat was clear enough for him to stop him from trying to pry into the future after that. He never demanded anything from her again, especially knowing that she had the words of Nostradamus in her possession. There wasn't much that scared that arrogant boy except risking his future success.
Agatha didn't need anyone telling her how to get what she wanted. The scrolls—and the future—would be hers in due time.
14
THE DESCENT
It was strange not to be getting into a brawl with the Old Lady and her minions and instead just be working in the same space as they were. There was an awkward feeling hanging in the musty air of the catacombs as everyone seemed to be waiting for the moment when they would all start fighting. Instead, Purdue awkwardly weaved around some of the Old Lady's men that were examining the walls closely. It was more like the two teams had just accidentally been scheduled to do work in the same area rather than what it was: the calm before the inevitable storm.
The Nostradamus Scrolls Page 12