The Imperial Alchemist

by A. H. Wang

  Five metres away from the rock, Georgia comes across a small hole in the ground.

  “Help me,” she says to Charlie, who has already returned with their rucksacks. He hands her a trowel.

  Quickly skimming off the topsoil, they uncover an area of roughly two by two metres covered with flat stones. The soft whistle of airflow emerges from the hole where some of the rocks have fallen away.

  “This must be where the bats came from,” she says, wincing as she attempts to remove one of the stones.

  “Rest, Georgia, let me do this,” Charlie suggests.

  She nods, taking shallow breaths as she watches him remove the obstructions one by one. Soon, a square opening is revealed. A cool draft wafts up to them, carrying the distinctive scent of bat guano. Georgia shines a torch down the cavity, the light hardly penetrating its palpable darkness, as she listens to the thunder of her own heart in her ears. The air smells damp, and the beam of light reveals a series of stone steps leading down into the darkness.

  “I think this is it, Georgia.” Charlie’s voice comes out at barely a whisper.

  She nods, at a loss for words as she gazes into the void. Suddenly, a lone bat surges out of the shadows, seeking escape. Georgia cries out with shock as she stumbles back, its wings fluttering in her face. The abrupt movement sends stabbing pain through her chest, drawing tears to her eyes as she groans.

  Charlie tends to her, concern etched in his features. “Maybe we should go back,” he suggests. “You are obviously in a lot of pain.”

  “No.” She looks at him with disbelief. “We just found the cave. We have to go down there. I’m not walking away now.”

  Charlie begins to protest, but seeing the expression on her face, he says, “You stay here and rest for a while. I will go down first to make sure it is safe.”

  “Okay,” she agrees. “Be careful, the steps might be slippery.”

  Charlie pulls out his torch and, testing the first few steps tentatively, begins to slowly descend into the entrance. As his head disappears underground, Georgia leans over the opening, anxious as she watches him being swallowed up by the inky abyss.

  64

  “Charlie?” Georgia calls out, hearing her voice echoing through the darkness. She sees the faint beam of his torchlight swinging about in the distance. He looks to be a long way down. “What do you see?”

  “A giant cavern,” he replies, his voice barely audible. “It’s… indescribable. Come down slowly, the steps are safe.”

  Georgia puts her legs through the hole, and begins to carefully descend the stony stairs with her torch in hand. Passing through the portal between light and darkness, she enters a subterranean world where damp, earthy scents and the din of squeaking bats envelop her in the eerie gloom. To the right and far below her, she can see Charlie switching on a small, battery-powered lantern. The light helps to illuminate some of the space, but is swallowed up by the deep dark further beyond.

  Onward she descends, the perfectly carved-out steps continuing down a long way. She steadies herself with a hand against the rocky wall on her left. The treads are worn to a shiny patina from frequent use, and with the moisture lingering on every surface, she is careful to not slip on them.

  When she finally reaches the bottom, Charlie calls to her, shining his light on the wall beside the stairs. She moves to him, gazing up at the myriad of carvings decorating the rock surface, depicting figures, faces, animals, and other abstract concepts.

  Charlie lets out a soft whistle. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She nods, her eyes unable to leave the intricate designs. “Looks like Naaya’s people really venerated this cave.”

  She moves the torchlight along the wall and stops a few metres down. Looming high over her, a giant symbol, inlaid with jade, is carved deep into the surface:

  Charlie inhales sharply at the sight of the carving. “Isn’t this the same design as on that pendant from the Truku cultural centre?”

  “Yeah,” she says, bringing out the necklace tucked in her shirt. “The old woman told me it is the symbol of the god Zai.”

  “The mountain god to the north,” Charlie mutters. “The giver of life.”

  Georgia turns, sweeping her torchlight across the cave, walking around to take it all in for the first time. The giant, natural chamber is about four storeys tall at its highest point, and at least a hundred metres across. She finds a large, round hearth in the centre of the cavern, and she imagines the rituals and ceremonies that would have been held here, celebrations of healing and eternal life. Long strands of fibrous tree roots extend down from the ceiling, seeking nourishment. Like the roots, though, she finds no presence of water here.

  “I don’t see any pools, Georgia,” Charlie comments, walking up to join her beside the hearth.

  She furrows her brow.

  It must be here, she knows it in her bones. “Maybe there’s another chamber,” she suggests, tracing the distant walls of the cave with her torch. She squints in the dim light. “See if you can find another opening. I’ll start from over there.”

  She walks to the farthest end of the cave and traces her path next to the rocky surface, encountering more carvings as she walks along. In her mind, Georgia pictures this cavern thriving with people, giving their tributes to the gods and paying their respects to this sacred site.

  Some hundred metres down, the wall opens up into another chamber.

  “Charlie, over here,” she calls, her voice echoing through the space.

  He quickly joins her as Georgia ventures a few paces into the secondary cave, encountering a pair of tunnels. Directing her torch down one of the openings, she sees in the distance that it divides into yet another three different pathways.

  “There must be an entire cave system down here,” Georgia says.

  Charlie shakes his head. “How are we going to explore them all?”

  She lowers her rucksack to the ground, rummaging through its contents to produce a handful of glow sticks. Handing some to Charlie and stuffing the rest into her pocket, she says, “Use these so that you don’t get lost. I’ll take the tunnel to the left, and you can take the other. Yell out if you find anything.”

  He nods in agreement as she straightens with the pack on her back. Walking into the first tunnel, she sees that it splits into two. Instinctively, Georgia decide to take the left. She reaches into her pocket to retrieve a glow stick, snaps and shakes it to activate the chemicals, and drops it on the ground near the entrance.

  65

  Sarah sits with her legs hanging outside the open doors of the ambulance, watching the scene unfold before her. The lights of the police cars flash red and blue, bathing the woods in alternating colours. The sun set only moments before, and in the absence of daylight, the shadowy forest has taken on a sinister aura.

  She gives an involuntary shiver, the reverberations of her encounters now hitting her with full force. Suddenly, the evening air feels unbearably cold.

  “You okay, Sarah?” Constable Benjamin Peterson hovers over her. “Would you like a blanket? Another sandwich and a hot drink, maybe?”

  “Yes, please.” Sarah’s teeth chatter as she replies.

  The young policeman opens the boot of a nearby sedan, returning with a thick woollen blanket, a thermos flask of hot tea, and sandwiches in plastic packaging. Sarah accepts all of them gratefully, devouring the food and drink, slowly feeling warmth seep back into her body.

  Feeling somewhat herself again, she reaches for the phone that Constable Peterson has lent her, trying Georgia’s number for the fifteenth time that day.

  “Hi, this is Georgia,” her familiar voice says on the line. “Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Damn it. Sarah’s brows crease with worry as she hangs up the phone. Where are you, Georgia?

  The paramedic attending to her finishes his examination, speaking to the uniform close by. “It’s just a minor case of malnourishment and dehydration; everything else seems o
kay. She’s strong for her age. There’s no external injuries, but I’d still like to do some blood tests at the hospital, just to make sure the drugs haven’t done any internal damage.”

  Sarah shakes her head. She says loudly, “Not until I’ve spoken to the officer in charge.”

  Not when her kidnapper—that sick, perverted freak—is out there, probably going after Georgia right now.

  Hours before, after she finally waved down a Canadian tourist driving through the country—who informed her that they were somewhere in the Blue Mountains—the authorities were alerted. Within an hour, the police from the local Katoomba station had sealed off a few hundred square metres around the shed. But after Constable Peterson took down her preliminary statement and her description of the crook, Sarah detected a palpable shift in all the uniforms’ demeanour. Then, half an hour ago, a senior officer from the Australian Federal Police showed up, taking control of the entire investigation.

  Shit is serious. From her limited knowledge of the way things work, the elite AFP unit only investigates important cases that involve terrorism or international crimes.

  Looking up at the sound of footsteps, she sees the officer in question trudging through the bushes on his return from examining the crime scene. Decades older than Peterson, Sergeant Turner is a solid specimen of a man, in his bearing as well as physique. He is at least a head taller than the younger constable walking up to join him, and twice as wide. Just one of Turner’s powerful thighs seems to be of the same girth as Peterson’s entire torso. The junior policeman looks like a twig next to his superior.

  “Sarah,” Turner says as he reaches her, his voice a low rumble. He pulls out a small notebook from his back pocket. “I know you’ve told your story to Constable Peterson a few times, but I’d like to hear it in your own words. We’ll do a full statement when we get back to the headquarters, but for now, can you describe to me again what your kidnapper looked like?”

  She shakes her head at his question, voicing the more urgent concern on her mind. “I’m worried about Georgia. Have you had any luck tracking her down?”

  “No. We’ll contact the local officials in Taiwan to assist us, but it’s going to take some time to locate her, since we don’t have much to go on at all. Are there any family you can reach for Georgia—a husband, a next of kin, or a sibling?”

  Sarah purses her lips. “I think the emergency contact she listed at the university is her grandmother, who lives in Taiwan. Georgia’s an only child, and her parents live somewhere in Australia, but she never talks about either of them.”

  “Her grandmother or her parents—do you know their names?”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t remember. Georgia’s always just refers to her grandmother as ‘Amah.’ I’ll have to look it up at the office.”

  “I see.” Turner jots down some notes. “Now, can you please describe to me what your kidnapper looked like?”

  “He’s stocky, built like an ox. About one sixty, one sixty-five centimetres. Asian… In his late twenties, maybe? His head is shaved clean, and he’s got a goatee.”

  Turner writes everything down in his notebook. “Did he have any distinctive features at all?”

  Sarah squints her eyes, trying to recall. Her memory seems very cloudy all of a sudden. When she spoke with the Canadian tourist, who was the only one kind enough to stop for her, she discovered she’d been in captivity for six days. During that time, she was in and out of consciousness, and everything now seems like a blur. She’s been trying to piece together the chronology of events ever since.

  “He has a scar,” she says, suddenly remembering.

  “A scar?”

  “Yeah,” she confirms. “It was long and nasty, and it ran all the way down the side of his face like this.” Sarah gestures to her ear, then traces her finger to the chin.

  Turner is silent as he absorbs this, the lines between his brows deepening.

  “What?” Sarah asks at his troubled expression.

  The sergeant stares at her, as if assessing how much to reveal. He exhales a long sigh. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it, Sarah. That basement you were kept in is a purpose-built bunker. Based on the MO, and the description you’ve just given me, I’m pretty sure the offender is experienced. He’s probably been planning this for a while.”

  She narrows her eyes, reading his shuttered face to decipher his unspoken words. “Are you saying that the creep has done this before, but you haven’t been able to catch him?”

  Sergeant Turner lowers his gaze. “I’m saying I have reasons to believe that your case may be linked to others.” He rakes a hand over his military crew cut. “I’d like to show you some surveillance footage from our other investigations to see if you can identify him.”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  “Good,” Turner says, returning to his notes. “Now, you told Constable Peterson that the kidnapper left you alone for quite a while before you escaped.”

  “Yeah, I got real hungry,” she complains.

  “And you managed to unlock the door by…?”

  Sarah sighs. Peterson has already made her repeat this part of the story several times. It’s pretty obvious he doesn’t believe her at all. None of them do.

  “MacGyver,” she utters the single word, as if it would explain everything. Then she clarifies, “The light bulb episode.”

  Turner serious face breaks into a grin, an expression that looks almost odd on his rough features. “I know that episode,” he says, then shakes his head. “Never thought it was actually doable, ‘til MythBusters tried it themselves. That’s pretty impressive what you did there, Sarah.”

  She blinks, surprised at his reaction and at the unexpected compliment. Clearing her throat, she says, “Thanks.”

  Turner’s smile fades as quickly as it appeared. He looks down at his notes again. Frowning, he asks, “You said that the suspect interrogated you. What were the interrogations about?”

  She shakes her head. “I honestly can’t remember. The drugs… they screwed with my head. But I know it had something to do with Georgia.”

  “Because of her photograph on the wall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Those photographs—do you know what they’re for?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “But it sure as hell gives me the creeps.”

  “And your kidnapper didn’t return again after your last session with him,” Turner confirms again.

  She nods, watching him scribble quickly on his notepad. Frowning, she asks, “Do you think it’s because he finally got the answer he was looking for?”

  The sergeant looks up from his notes, fixing her with his gaze. “Maybe. Or maybe he just gave up because he couldn’t find the answers he needed.”

  Next to Turner, Constable Peterson speaks up for the first time. “It’s a miracle you managed to get out on your own. You’re very lucky. In cases like these, often the suspect comes back to finish the victim off, or sometimes they just never return, to—” he breaks off as Turner throws him a sharp look.

  “To leave me to die down there, alone.” Sarah finishes Peterson’s sentence for him. She shakes her head and grips the blanket around her tightly.

  Turner’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Taking it out and glancing at the screen, he says, “Excuse me a moment, I need to take this.” He gives the constable a stern, pointed look before walking away.

  Sarah watches Sergeant Turner with keen interest as he takes the call several metres away, trying to make out what’s being said. When he finally returns, his expression has changed from grave to ashen.

  “I don’t like that look,” she observes.

  “Sarah.” He crouches down next to her, looking at her intently. “I got my guys back at the office to run a search on the ownership of this land. I figured that’d be a helpful lead.”

  “And? Who does it belong to?”

  “Mark Lambert, the billionaire.”

  66

  Georgia makes another turn, walking several mi
nutes into the narrowing shaft before reaching a dead end. It appears the tunnel has previously collapsed in on itself, and the passage is blocked with rubble. She spins around, retrieving the trail of glow sticks and returns to the last junction. Starting down the next entrance, she continues to explore the dark labyrinth whilst marking each turn with the little fluorescent tubes.

  The glow sticks have been invaluable in helping her to explore this complex cave system. But they’ve been searching for almost an hour now in the maze of tunnels, and so far, they’ve found nothing.

  She makes a right turn, and the passage opens up into a larger chamber, which splits off into even more tunnels. These myriad underground shafts must have been formed by water burrowing through the earth for over millions of years. At this rate, they’ll never be able to find what they are looking for.

  At that moment, the ground beneath her trembles, shifting abruptly from side to side, and she lunges for the nearest surface to keep her balance. The walls shudder, sending fine dust and sand down from the roof of the chamber. It lasts for several seconds, then settles again as if nothing had happened.

  Heart racing, Georgia exhales a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. Abandoning her search to retrace her way back to the main cavern, she runs into Charlie emerging out of the last tunnel.

  “Did you feel that?” asks Charlie. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like this,” Georgia says. “With all the recent seismic activity in the area, there’s no telling if it’s building up to an even bigger event. The last tunnel I came across had collapsed in on itself, probably from a previous quake.”

  Charlie nods in agreement. “We had better make this quick. Did you find anything?”

  She shakes her head.