by Gaelen Foley
He nodded but was visibly uncomfortable. “We should be there shortly.”
Drake glanced at the remote location. “Hard to believe there’s a structure as large as you say somewhere close by.”
James smiled. “It’s just beneath our feet. Its isolation is part of what makes it preferable. We’re generally left to ourselves out here.” He squinted against the sunlight as he studied the nearby meadows out the carriage window. “The site was donated by one of our members a hundred years ago. Owner of a mining company. The caves you’ll see were originally part of his operation. Gold, silver, coal.”
“Really?” Drake said in surprise.
James nodded. “The riches of the Alps. Many minerals have been found in these mountains. When the gold and silver ran out, and the coal had been mined as deeply as his engineers were able to go, he donated the space to us. There are quartz crystals in the walls that were of no interest to him as a merchant but have long been revered by those with an interest in occult science.”
“I see.”
The carriage rolled to a bumpy halt. Drake glanced out the window. The mountain road had ended, but from its terminus, a footpath continued on, climbing toward the peak. When they got out of the coach, James pointed with his walking stick toward the footpath. Drake offered his arm for the old man to lean on.
They proceeded up the path.
“By the way,” James murmured as he hobbled along the steep dirt path beside him, “I’d like you to lead the team who’ll be sent to France to kill Malcolm. You can choose whom you want to take with you from among Jacques’s men.”
Drake glanced at him in surprise.
“You will do this for us?” the old man said.
“Gladly.”
He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll have details for you on how to penetrate his chateau in the Loire Valley. Security is very high. But if you go, even if the others are cut down, I know I can rest assured that at least you will finish the job.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“It won’t be too long before I send you. We can’t risk Malcolm’s catching wind of what’s occurred, or you’ll never get near him.”
“Just say the word.”
James patted his arm in a grandfatherly fashion as he leaned on him. “Good lad. A bit of a fly in the ointment the other Council members and I have to work out first, though, before we send you off.”
“What’s that?”
“The bastard’s hidden the Council’s operating funds. He’s moved the accounts around without telling anyone.”
Drake snorted. “Sounds like him.”
“We need to know where he’s hidden the money before we dispose of him.”
“I could always go and capture him, sir. Bring him here and make him talk.”
James shook his head. “I had thought of that, but I’d rather not bring him here. He’s ruled the Council with an iron fist for so long, I’m concerned he might intimidate the others into backing down if they have to face him in person. If they go wobbly and crawl back to him, you can imagine what that will mean for me.”
“I understand, sir.”
James winced, leaning harder on him, while the path ended a few yards ahead at a wall of naked rock surrounded by massive boulders and overgrown brambles. “Better to have him dispatched in France before he knows what’s coming.”
Drake nodded. “I agree. My only concern is who will be protecting you while I am away?”
James patted his arm fondly. “I am touched by your concern, my boy, but I shall be quite safe once you’ve rid the world of Malcolm Banks. Ah, here we are! It should be . . . right through there.” James pointed with his walking stick to the mounds of wild shrubbery and great stones that looked like they had been tossed there by a giant.
“I’ll go and have a look.” Drake left the old man to rest his bones against a large rock, jogging the rest of the way up the trail.
Cautiously stepping into a natural break in the thick screen of thorny brambles and the huge rhododendrons in bloom, he pushed the branches aside and saw the rounded entrance to a small, dark cave.
He advanced, pressing through the bushes and, walking behind them, ventured into the cave. It was quite dark but did not go very deep, perhaps ten feet, before he came to the back wall and found a smooth door of stone or some form of cement. It appeared to be no more than the place where the spent mine had been sealed, but James had said it was the entrance to the Prometheans’ lair within.
Intrigued, Drake ran his hands along the cool, rectangular frame of the door, but he had no idea how to get it open. Either they would need explosives, or James had some new trick up his sleeve, as usual.
Drake went back out and called the all clear.
Jacques assisted Falkirk up to the place where Drake waited.
“We’ll need light in there,” the old man advised as he crossed the cave, pushing his spectacles up higher onto his nose.
The Frenchman gestured to one of his subordinates, who lit a lantern and brought it over to James. Indeed, they had been instructed to bring along an odd assortment of things in the carriage, tools for cleaning and repair, whatever might be needed for their task of putting the underground temple back in order after long disuse.
“Now, then.” When James lifted the lantern before a spot on the back wall of the cave, the light played over something flat, with a dark gold hue.
James rubbed the spot with his gloved hand, and Drake moved closer, fascinated as the old man’s efforts revealed a small brass plaque set into the back wall of the cave.
It had a dial in the center, which in turn was surrounded by a circle of engraved markings that James’s attentions presently revealed.
“Greek letters,” Drake murmured, glancing at him in question.
James cast him a smile askance with a glint of schoolboy mischief in his eyes. “Send the men out.”
“Move back,” Drake ordered them at once.
The others retreated, but he remained. Then James began turning the dial back and forth, pointing it to a series of letters in succession.
Some sort of code.
“It’s a combination lock?” Drake exclaimed.
James chuckled. “Indeed. And now . . .” As he turned the dial to what was apparently the final letter in the code, a deep, grating rumble of stone scraping stone shook the little cave.
To Drake’s amazement, the solid stone wall before them rolled aside, sending up a puff of dust. When it stopped, the hidden opening was revealed, leading into the mountain.
James smiled matter-of-factly and handed him the lantern.
Drake moved closer, thrusting the light into the pitch-black darkness beyond. He saw stairs carved into the rock wall, curving down into a vast, hollow cavern.
“That’s a long way down,” he commented. “Take my arm, sir. Jacques, bring up the supplies.”
The hired mercenaries were peering curiously into the cave, but Jacques sent them off to fetch the necessary items. Then Drake stepped into the cave, turning back to assist the old man.
James accepted his offered forearm, but they made slow progress, climbing down the long, curving steps that had been carved right into the living rock.
The earthy smell combined with the damp chill that clung to subterranean stone, and Drake shivered with unbidden memories of the dungeon. He thrust them out of his mind, as usual, and regarded the few bats flapping through the dark vault instead.
James made a sound of discomfort, wincing.
“Mind your footing, sir,” he advised, still privately marveling from some detached region of his battered psyche, that he, a former team leader for one of the Order’s cells, should be helping the new head of the Promethean Council into one of the evil cult’s most sacred sites.
As far as he knew, no Order agent had ever got so far inside the enemy’s organization.
At least that made all that had happened to him worth it.
“What’s that?” he asked, pausing and ready to reach
for his weapon as the lanternlight hinted at two large, human shapes waiting at the bottom of the steps.
“That’s Prometheus and his protégé,” James said wryly.
“Oh.” They continued, and, drawing closer, the lantern’s feeble glow revealed the details of two large figures carved from stone. He could make them out better as they neared the bottom of the staircase, which the looming statues framed.
Steadying James with one arm, Drake raised the lantern to stare at the giant idol of Prometheus, with his menacing narrowed eyes and small, goatish or perhaps satanic horns; this sinister towering figure was depicted passing a torch to a smaller but still-Herculean figure of a man.
Drake and his supposed master passed under the archway formed by the statues’ outstretched arms, each with a hand gripping the same handle of the torch.
Then he stepped down onto the cavern floor, helped James down, and nodded to the others, who were following them into the great chamber, bringing supplies as well as more light, both torches and lanterns.
As James bent to rub his sore knee, Jacques arrived. The French sergeant met Drake’s gaze with an uneasy question in his eyes.
Drake looked back at him matter-of-factly.
Jacques dismissed his nonanswer with a very Gallic shrug, then beckoned his men on: Some of the French soldiers were making a swift sign of the Cross as they saw the place ahead.
Drake smirked. If any of them thought God heard or cared, they were deluded, but he returned his attention to the old man. James was gesturing impatiently for the lantern. “Give me that. We’ll let some daylight in so we can see what we’re doing.”
Drake followed James over to one of the raw stone walls of the great cavern. “Here it is,” James muttered, padding his brow from his exertions. “You will have to turn this crank.”
“What’s it do?” he responded as he stepped over to man a wood-handled crank anchored to the stone.
“You’ll see.” James nodded.
Drake threw his shoulder into the crank, which hadn’t been touched in decades. As he worked it back and forth, chains running up from it began to grind and clank, clattering over the pulleys above.
He glanced up warily as the handle’s reciprocating motion was turned into circular motion. The mechanism above began to open a round gap in the cavern’s ceiling, exposing the blue sky.
Massive wooden doors reinforced with iron slowly parted and lowered inward; these widened as he worked the wooden arm. When it would go no more, he locked the handle into place and let go of it, dusting off his hands.
James was beaming. “The observatory! These mountains put us so much closer to the stars . . .”
Drake said nothing, glancing up at the sky doors overhead. A few bats swooped out, disturbed by the intrusion.
“From here, we shall have a perfect view of the lunar eclipse on the night of Valerian’s ritual.” James clapped him on the back and walked back toward the center of the cavern. “Now let’s get this place cleaned up! There is much to be done to make everything ready.”
As James hurried off to put the men to work and examine his revered Promethean temple for the ravages of time, Drake turned around and scanned the cavern by the dusty rays of light that had broken through the subterranean darkness.
The upper arches of the cave’s natural roof bristled with dramatic stalactites that sparkled with quartz and dripped now and then with the water running down their tips. Quite beautiful, but the man-made features of the temple cave chilled him. Carvings crouched around the space, nightmare figures writhing in the stone, demons, idols. Gargoyles? It was hard to say. Some of the poses were obscene.
Drake sauntered toward the altar at the center of the temple. It was surrounded by a large circle engraved into the smooth stone floor. The Wheel of Time—a favorite Promethean symbol—adorned with astrological and alchemical symbols. Four freestanding pillars rising from the circle marked the cardinal directions.
James was busily snapping orders at the guards to sweep away the bat guano that soiled their sacred space.
Drake drifted closer, staring at the main structure, a sinister raised dais in the center of the Wheel of Time.
With a few steps leading up to it, the floor of the dais was about chest high on him and decorated with a pentagram. Drake somehow refrained from shaking his head.
In the center of the raised platform stood a stone altar about the length of a person. His stomach turned at the sight of leather restraints waiting to strap down the victim’s hands and feet.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed James watching him intently. At once, he chased any sign of horror off his face. “What do you think?” the old man inquired.
“Beautiful,” Drake replied.
James smiled in approval of his answer, then pointed to a black-painted metal door a few feet across from the bottom of the steps that led up to the dais. “Get that open for me, would you? There’s a good lad. I’ll need those hinges oiled. We can’t have it squeaking at the most solemn moment of the ceremony. Be careful of any wild animals that might have found their way into the tunnel.”
“Tunnel, sir?”
“The sacrifice is brought in through that doorway. Once you open it, you’ll find a tunnel that leads to another entrance into the mountain, different from the one we used. He or she is taken into the tunnel and joins us through that door.”
“I see,” he forced out. He was horrified by James’s cool and businesslike explanation and his utter seriousness, as if he saw nothing at all wrong with it, but Drake did not have the luxury of letting his emotions show.
He managed a nod, dropped his gaze, and did as he was told.
James stood by, watching him muscle the rusty door open, but secretly, Drake was reeling.
In a sense, he felt as though he was seeing James’s true face for the first time, and he did not know what to make of it.
Nevertheless, the reality of his precarious situation struck him all over again. So he masked his shock and pulled the door open, peering into the dark tunnel, through which an unknown number of terrified victims had been brought in to face an unspeakable death.
If he had not gone mad already, this moment might well be the straw that broke the camel’s back, he thought wryly.
Meanwhile, Jacques and his men were earning their unusually high wages by questioning nothing and simply following James’s commands. In the presence of pure evil, they scurried about, nervously tidying the temple as if this were the most mundane of tasks.
Drake’s own heart was pounding with a degree of fear he had not felt in a long time.
“Are you all right?” James murmured, studying him with a keen and penetrating eye.
“Of course, sir,” Drake said with an equally businesslike nod. “What else would you have me do? Shall I have a look into the tunnel, then?” He hooked his thumb idly over his shoulder at the dark space through the door.
“Yes, make sure no wild animals have taken up residence in there. For that matter, the whole space here could use a look round.”
“Very good, sir. Light?” He beckoned to the nearest Frenchman, who dutifully handed him a torch.
Drake grasped the torch in his left hand and pulled his rifle into position under his right arm, snug against his side, then he ducked through the door and advanced into what he soon realized had originally been a coal-mining tunnel.
He followed the tunnel for a few hundred yards without incident. If any small animals had ever found their way into this shelter, the spring season must have drawn them back out into the world again. At the far end of the tunnel, he encountered a heavy metal door, which he forced open.
Squinting against the light, he stepped out and turned, surveying his surroundings. He was in a meadow, a few acres away from the tree line of the woods.
The light breeze stirred his hair, and, for two seconds, he allowed the sun to warm his face. He took a deep breath.
Bracing himself to return, he slipped back into the darkness, pu
lled the door shut behind him, and marched back to the temple. He informed James that the tunnel was clear, then proceeded to walk the perimeter of the interior, searching every nook and cranny of the sprawling mountain cavern, on the watch for whatever he might find.
When he came to a dark alcove at the other end of the cavern, he thrust his torch in to have a look, and to his surprise, it flared without warning.
He cursed and pulled back, taken off guard and nearly singed. He avoided dropping the torch but held it out farther from his body, wondering why it had blazed with such sudden ferocity.
As he backed out of the alcove, the flame returned to its normal height.
Drake furrowed his brow, his eyes smarting from the smoke. As his vision adjusted again after the unexpected bright burst of light, he spotted the round wooden cap on the alcove floor.
It reminded him of the boards Emily had fallen through so long ago, the ones covering up the abandoned well.
Realization dawned. The cap must cover one of the old mine shafts, he thought. More cautiously, he moved into the alcove once again, stretching out his arm and letting the torch go first.
Again, the flame flared.
Firedamp.
Obviously, the seal on the mine shaft must be leaking, he realized. The highly flammable gas could not be seen or smelled, but his torch told him loud and clear that, indeed, firedamp was in the air.
His memory was not so befuddled that he had forgotten the current science in the newspapers James made him read.
This natural gas was often found by mining operations. The leading scientists of the day were still figuring out how best to use its highly combustible vapors.
Back in England, he had seen the new gas-burning streetlamps that had recently been installed on a few of London’s most notable avenues, especially those that were well trafficked at night.
But the new gaslights had a hazardous reputation.
Half the populace wouldn’t go near them for fear of the explosions they caused every once in a while, sending panic in the streets.
Drake stared at the wooden cap.