by R. L. King
Her arm went around him, and she snuggled her head into his shoulder. “None of this is your fault, you know.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t make it much easier, does it?” He realized with no real surprise that his legendary curiosity had all but deserted him. He didn’t want to know what was in that box. He didn’t want to see what was in the chamber below the house, even if the echoes were to allow him access. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he ever wanted to enter that house again.
“We should go back,” Verity said gently.
“Why?” He gave a bitter snort. “So I can find out even more horrible truths about my family?”
She squeezed him again. “It sucks, I know it does. But…not finding out isn’t going to change anything. At least this way, you’ll know exactly what you’re working with. You won’t be able to deal with those echoes if you don’t know more about them.”
“Who says I want to deal with them?” he snapped, pulling away from her.
“What do you mean?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Never mind, Verity. Never mind. You’re right. I’ve got to have the whole story. That much is true, at least. I can’t make decisions based on partial data. Come on—let’s go back.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and set off with long strides back toward the garage. Regret gripped him—he shouldn’t treat Verity like that, especially since all she wanted to do was help—but it didn’t change the fact that what he truly wanted to do right now, if he couldn’t simply go somewhere far away, drink himself into oblivion, and forget about the whole thing, was to gather up all of the items his friends had brought back, take them somewhere, and examine them on his own.
At least that way, the people who respected and cared about him wouldn’t have to see any more of his family’s shame.
But he couldn’t do that either. Ten years ago, he would have. Hell, five years ago he probably would have. But maybe he’d grown—just a little—in those ten years.
It was one small thing to hold on to, at least.
He found Eddie, Ward, Ian, and Aubrey back in the garage, milling around in various attitudes of discomfort. None of them were anywhere near the table. They all looked up when he came in.
“All right, mate?” Eddie asked softly.
“No. But let’s get on with this anyway.” He nodded toward the items on the table. “I assume those chunks are what’s left of the door blocking the south hallway.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “And a few pieces of the coffin or whatever, but there weren’t any markings or carvings on that.”
Stone picked up one of the larger chunks, forcing himself to compartmentalize his whirling thoughts. If he let the guilt and shame overwhelm him, he’d never accomplish anything. If nothing else, he owed the people who’d died beneath his home some kind of closure, and he wouldn’t get that without figuring out how to deal with their echoes.
He addressed Eddie and Ward. “Did you make anything of the carvings on the door, or the inscriptions inside the chamber?”
Eddie flipped to a page in his notebook and turned it so Stone could see the series of sketches. “We think the inscriptions are protective—or more precisely, imprisoning. The language is bloody old—some of this structure goes back thousands of years. I’d have to take the sketches back to the library to do some research, but my initial thought is that whoever sealed that thing in that room, they were very concerned about it getting out.”
“I still don’t get it, though,” Jason said. “If that was a coffin, doesn’t that mean whatever it was, it was dead?”
“Not necessarily,” Ward said. “As we’ve seen with the bricked alcoves, it wasn’t unheard of to seal living beings away. It’s possible the chamber could have been another form of that same thing.”
“So they shut him, or her, or whatever, up inside a stone coffin and then sealed them behind protective enchantments in that room?” Verity asked. “That sounds like whoever they were, they weren’t some poor mundane homeless person or prostitute.”
“And where are they now?” Jason demanded. “This is starting to sound like some kind of bad vampire story. You know, they lock Count Dracula up but he gets out and starts causing trouble? Do you think the ghosts—sorry, I can’t get used to calling them ‘echoes’—are connected with whatever was locked in that room? Hell, could it be Dracula? Are there vampires?”
“Can’t say there aren’t,” Eddie said. “I’ve personally never encountered any, but I’ve heard stories. We all have. But,” he added when Jason started to reply, “even if there are creatures who drink human blood to survive, that doesn’t mean that’s what we’re dealing with here.”
“Then what are we dealing with?” Verity asked. “And what, if anything, is its connection with the echoes? Where is it now?”
Once again, all of them looked around as if expecting it to be lurking nearby.
“We can’t say at present,” Ward said. “We don’t have enough data. All we know for certain is that at least one person was likely interred alive in the crypt, that something either broke out of that sealed room itself or had inside help, and that some number of echoes have a vendetta against Stone’s family to the point where they won’t allow any of them to set foot inside the house. What we don’t know is if any of those three things are connected.”
“Maybe we should look in the box,” Ian said. He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, I just thought of something.”
“What’s that?” Eddie asked.
He pointed at it. “Arthur, you said the bricks just sort of popped out of that alcove when you got near it?”
“Yes. Eddie is probably correct—the mortar was—”
“But what if that isn’t what happened?” Ian interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Verity asked.
He gripped the box’s edges. “The echoes obviously don’t like our family, right? And we’re assuming for now that the reason people were bricked up down there was for some ritual purpose, and it was done by our ancestors. Right?”
“Yes…” Eddie said slowly. “What are you gettin’ at?”
Ian began to pace, looking eerily like his father when he was working something out in his mind. “Echoes can move things around—we know that. It’s not all just illusion. They can affect the physical world.”
“Right…” Verity said. She looked as confused as Eddie did.
But Stone didn’t. “Yes!” he snapped, raising a hand in triumph. Some of the shame burned away, replaced by a new energy as he caught on to Ian’s train of thought. “Ian, you’re thinking perhaps the echoes wanted this lot to find that box. That they knocked the bricks out just as Ward passed by, trying to catch his attention.”
“Yeah. Especially if the echoes don’t know these guys are connected with our family—or maybe they don’t even care. You said echoes are pretty single-minded, right, Dad?”
“Yes, generally they are.”
“That could make sense, then. If their obsession is with punishing the Stones, maybe they don’t even care that these guys are working with us. What if they just wanted somebody who isn’t connected with the family to find out the truth of what happened? If it’s in that box…”
“Then they took their shot, bringing it to the attention of somebody who isn’t a Stone,” Verity said with enthusiasm. “You might be on to something, Ian.”
“I only see one problem with that hypothesis,” Ward said. He’d pulled the chair over and was now sitting in it, leaning in close to the box as he examined it with a magnifying glass he’d removed from his bag.
“What’s that?” Stone asked.
“This box has a mundane lock on it, which should be easy to deal with. But it also has a magical one. And unless I’m reading these sigils wrong, only a Stone can open it.”
15
All seven of the observers stood around the table, looking down at the metal box.
“Do you want to try opening it, Stone?” Eddie asked. “Or do you think Ward or
I should give it a go?”
“Why would the echoes point it out to us, if we couldn’t open it?” Jason asked.
Stone pondered. “I think it’s that single-minded thing again, honestly. If Ian’s on to something and they do want it found, maybe they haven’t worked out the rest of their plan yet.” He leaned forward, studying the sigils. “In any case, from the look of these protective sigils, Ward’s right—only a Stone can safely open this.”
“What does that mean, ‘safely’?” Verity asked. “If somebody else tries, will it explode, or turn them into a frog, or just destroy what’s inside?”
“No way to tell. I think that’s on purpose.” He pointed at some of the symbols near the mundane lock. “Aha…oh, this is bloody tricky.”
“What is?” Eddie asked, leaning in for a closer look.
Stone lifted the lock, holding a light spell so he could see its rear side. It, too, was covered in tiny, precisely carved sigils. “Good thing you didn’t try opening this.”
“Bloody hell…”
“What is it?” Jason demanded. “What’s going on?”
Stone pointed at the lock. “The mundane lock is a trap. A diversion. If anyone—even a Stone—tried to force it open…well, I’m honestly not sure what might happen. It doesn’t say here, precisely, except to imply it’s not pleasant. And given what my ancestors have obviously gotten up to, ‘not pleasant’ probably doesn’t mean a little flag with ‘Bang!’ on it will pop out.”
“So how do we open it?” Verity asked. “Does it say anything else on the back of the lock?”
Eddie tilted his head to get a better angle on the upside-down inscription. “This isn’t nearly as old as the writing inside the chamber. Fairly bog-standard old-style magical script. Something about ‘Only one with the true blood of a Stone can gain safe entry. All others beware.’”
“But Al, you said even you couldn’t break the lock,” Jason said. “Do you have to do some kind of magical ritual to—”
Stone was only half-listening to him as he continued to study the inscription. Then, in spite of the gravity of their situation, he couldn’t help but flash a manic smile. “Of course…” he murmured. “Tricky indeed, my horrible old ancestors were.” He glanced around at his friends. “One of you lot got a pocket knife?”
Ian, Aubrey, and Jason all pulled one from their pockets at once and offered them. “What are you gonna do with it?” Jason asked.
Stone took Ian’s knife and popped it open. He summoned a small jet of blue flame from his fingertip, held the blade in it for a few seconds, and then made a small slice across his finger.
Jason, Verity, Ian, and Aubrey gaped at him in astonishment, but Eddie and Ward nodded in sudden understanding as he lifted the lock, turned his hand over, and dripped several drops of blood into the lock’s large keyhole. As he did so, he muttered an incantation under his breath.
The lock emitted a faint sizzling sound. An acrid odor wafted out over the table, and a moment later a small puff of red smoke issued from the keyhole. With a pop, the lock burst open.
“Holy shit…” Jason breathed.
“True blood of a Stone, indeed.” Stone paused to heal the cut on his finger, then pulled the lock free from the hasp and tossed it aside. “Handy little thing.”
“I’ve heard of blood locks,” Eddie said, looking at it in wonder. “Haven’t seen many, though. I think Desmond had a couple old ones buried in his stuff up at Caventhorne, but we couldn’t get ’em open because the lines have died out.” He waved at the box. “Go on, then—open it.”
Stone stood facing the box and summoned a shield around himself. “Stand back, all of you, just in case we’ve missed something.”
The others drew a few steps back, all of them as focused on the metal box as Stone himself was.
Stone drew a deep breath, his heart hammering. What would he find inside the box? Valuables? Body parts? Potent magical items? Or, more likely, more records of the terrible deeds his family had committed. As he’d discovered from previous documents, they were nothing if not meticulous in their record-keeping.
Do I even want to know?
The others watched him in silence. He wondered if they were giving him space, allowing him to do this at his own pace, or if they were as concerned as he was about what might be inside.
Just do it, damn you. Leaving it in there won’t change anything, and you don’t have the right to hide from this.
With a flick of magic, he pulled the heavy metal hasp free and lifted the box’s lid.
Neither the hasp nor the hinges made any noise. The lid came free without sticking, once again showing remarkably good preservation despite its age. Stone moved forward with tentative steps, peering into the revealed space.
“What is it?” Eddie asked, but didn’t approach the table.
The box wasn’t full. In fact, it contained only a few items: a leatherbound ledger, a thick journal, and two large, rolled sheaves of vellum lay in the bottom. Placed neatly alongside them was a bundle of soft leather, wrapped in several loops of twine.
Stone studied the space with magical sight, checking for any lingering traps. He didn’t find any, though, and didn’t expect to. The blood lock and the powerful enchantment on it had ensured only those of the Stone line could gain access, so it didn’t make sense to include additional hazards for any who did.
“What’s in the box, mate?” Eddie asked again, softly.
Stone still didn’t answer. He set aside the wrapped leather bundle, picked up one of the rolled vellum sheaves, and unrolled it on the table in front of the box, using Ian’s knife and three beer bottles to hold down its edges.
The others moved closer. “That looks like an old building plan,” Jason said. “Like whatever they had before blueprints.”
“Yes, sir,” Aubrey said, peering at it. “If I don’t miss my guess, it appears to be the plan for this very house.”
“It does indeed,” Stone said. He pulled up the topmost page, which displayed the structure’s third floor and attic. As he expected, the other pages contained detailed plans for the second and ground floors, with the bottom-most one showing the basement level. He moved this one to the top and examined it more closely. “Look—it even includes the hidden areas where the library and workroom are.”
Ward had come forward too, and was looking at the legend at the bottom of the ground-floor plan. He pointed at the date there. “Is that around when the house was constructed, Stone?”
“Far as I know, yes. That sounds about right.”
“What about the other rolled paper?” Jason asked. “More plans?”
Stone left the first set where they were and unrolled the second. This one was as large as the other, but included only a single sheet. The sketching on this one looked cruder than the house plan, drawn with a heavy black pen but without the mathematical precision of the other. Someone had obviously treated all of them with the technique mages used to keep ancient paper supple and free of decay.
“It’s the underground chamber,” Verity said. “It’s got to be.” She pointed. “Look, there’s the circular ritual room, and the hallways branching out in four directions.”
“I don’t see the other room, though,” Jason said. “The one with the coffin. It should be to the south, but it isn’t.”
“Look,” Eddie said. He pulled out a capped pen and pointed at one of the hallways. “Each one of those alcoves is labeled with a number.”
“So they are.” Stone examined them until he located the alcove labeled 1, then followed them around, tracing each one in turn with his finger. “Forty-one in all.”
“The chamber where we found the box isn’t labeled,” Eddie said. “See there it is at the end of the ’all. Aside from no number, it doesn’t look any different.”
“What’s it mean?” Verity asked. “Why are they numbered? And why isn’t the sealed chamber here?”
“Maybe they hadn’t built it yet,” Ian said. “Look at the date on this one.”
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It took a moment to find it, scrawled near the bottom right corner of the map. “That’s a year before the date on the other one,” Ward said. “So this was built first. I suppose it makes sense—if you want to include a secret, hidden network of passages under a house, the best time to excavate it is before the other parts are built.”
“Why the numbers, though?” Verity asked. “Just so they could keep track of the individual alcoves?”
Stone had barely been listening to his friends’ speculations. As they continued to pore over the plans, he had withdrawn the ledger from the box and begun flipping through it. “No,” he said dully in response to Verity’s question. “It’s not the alcoves they were keeping track of.”
He opened it to a random page and laid it on the table on top of the plans, and everyone crowded around for a closer look.
At the top of the page, encircled, was the number 15. Beneath it, filling approximately half the page, were several lines of old-fashioned script written in black ink. Like the plans, the page appeared as fresh and new as if it had been written yesterday.
“That’s not English,” Jason said, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of it. “Is it more of the magical language?”
“And…what are those at the top?” Verity pointed to a pair of shorter lines just beneath the circled number.
“It’s a name,” Stone said. “And a location. ‘Thomas D.,’ I think it says. ‘Spitalfield.’”
“Where’s that?” Jason asked.
“It’s part of London,” Eddie told him. He looked grim. “Back ’round the time when this ’ouse was built, it was one o’ the more notorious slum areas.”
“Wait…” Verity said, pulling the map from under the ledger. She levitated the box to the floor and spread the map out on the table in its place. “Doc, how many numbered entries are there in that ledger?”
“Forty-one,” Stone said softly. “Yes, Verity, I think you’ve worked it out.”
She pointed at the alcove marked 15. “So…that’s Thomas D.” Her voice shook a little.
“Quite likely.” He examined the text below the name and location. “Apparently he was a beggar, encountered outside a pub late one night in August of 1716 and given a promise of work.”