They scanned the chapel while they listened to the continued scratching and thumping of the Templars and their minions.
“Well, you certainly can not just walk out the front door.”
Ray, afraid Aimee was losing her nerve again, raised what he hoped was a calming hand. “No. Not without a diversion.”
“What diversion?” the reporter demanded, having taken the hand as a command she 'shut up'. “These things are only interested in blood. Nobody has any to spare.”
“Je peux vous aider.”
Startled, they turned to find Luis carrying in another case. “Luis,” Brandy barked, “one day your sneaking around is going to catch up with you.”
He laughed at the translation. Then Aimee passed on the rest. “He does not know if you can get to the cemetery or what you will do once you are there. But, Luis says, he can get you outside without being seen. And without risking someone as, eh, appâts, what is your word… bait.”
“We're all ears”
“He says, I know a short cut.”
Eighteen
The verbal tennis match, French and English balls flying at once, Luis to Aimee, Aimee to Brandy and Ray, and back, with an occasional word from Father Trevelyan and a rare word from Felix, tending Eve, was something to hear and follow.
“Using the Templar history, and their curse, previous owners intended to restore the castle and grounds for tourists after World War II,” Luis said. “There is a well on the far side of the castle, beyond the wall, part of that construction. Eh bien, the well was as far as they got. The project was abandoned, the property sold, the well forgotten.”
“What has this to do with anything?”
“There is a tunnel from the dungeon to the well. This is how I escaped from the Templars… that first night. Down the well and into the dungeon where I hid.”
“The Templars don't know about it?”
“It did not exist when the Templars were alive. I told you this was my playground. I know everything there is to know about Castle Freedom.”
“This is fascinating,” Ray said. “But how does it help us? The castle is on the other side of the courtyard.”
Aimee, frustrated with Ray, passed the question on with attitude of her own. Luis signaled it was all right. “There is another tunnel that runs between the chapel and the castle. An ancient tunnel not part of the renovation.”
Ray's shoulders dropped, and the ire disappeared from his eyes, as he flatly asked, “Where is it?”
Brandy laughed and slapped Ray's arm. “Let me guess.” She did; correctly. The tunnel from the chapel to the castle started - in the ossuary.
“No,” Ray said, shaking his head with finality. “No damned way!”
There's nothing like someone else's discomfort to bring real humor to a tense situation. So it was that Ray's dread of returning to the ossuary enlivened the mood of all as they gathered around the trap door entrance to prepare.
Aimee offered to assist Brandy in filling her many pockets, and handed her a bottle of holy water, asking, “Would you care for a nice claret?”
“Not a claret,” Brandy said as she slid the bottle into the pocket of her borrowed apron. “With any luck, it'll be a clear out.”
Both girls laughed… and a goofy game was born.
“A pinhead noir?” Giggles. And a bottle went into a jacket pocket.
“How about a heady Mar-a-lot.” General groan. Into Brandy's bag o' plenty it went with the others.
“Char today?” A dead silence then riotous laughter. Father Trevelyan entered, in shirt sleeves, carrying a white bundle, curious about the boisterous activity near the altar. He soon caught on and, despite himself, began laughing too. Even Luis was laughing; probably because they were.
“Hey, beer drinker,” Brandy chided Ray, “why don't you join the fun?”
Lacking their 'culture', the biker wasn't getting the joke. Not only wasn't it funny, it wasn't in good taste. With an occasional guilty glance at Felix and Eve in the corner, Ray loaded his pockets in silence.
Trevelyan unrolled the item he carried, his linen alb, and displayed it upside down. The neck and sleeves had been tied closed. He laid his braided cincture over it and approached Ray. “If your hands are going to be free, I thought this might make a fairly workable sack – if you don't over load it.”
“You sure, Clive?”
“Not in the slightest, heaven forgive me. But half measures now are not the answer. I just hope it works.”
Not counting her stuffed bag, Brandy had nine wine bottles in her layered clothes; one in her shirt, three in the pockets of Aimee's dress, three in the apron pocket, and two in Aimee's jacket. Not counting his, now filled, handmade alb bag, Ray had twelve bottles secreted on his person; two tucked inside his shirt, two in the pockets of Loup's sweat jacket, two in Luis' athletic jacket, four in the pockets of Luis' pants, and the remainder in the priest's cassock. Trouble was, while each layer increased their carrying capacity, it also constricted their movements exponentially.
Brandy nodded, ready to go, then asked for the torches she'd fashioned earlier. Luis objected and Aimee delivered the news. “You can not take them… the torches.”
“Why?” they demanded.
“Were you to get through, the light, the smell of the burning torches would have the Templars on you in a second. But, Luis says, you would not get through. The tunnels are small. Ray will be fortunate to fit. There is no room for the torches.”
“It isn't our playground,” Ray said angrily. “We can't make the trip in the dark. We'd break our damned necks.”
“Luis says you can take a candle. But cover the flame and extinguish it in the dungeon before you enter the well.”
They reluctantly agreed. Accepting the candle Aimee offered, Brandy told the reporter, “Keep an eye on everyone until we get back.”
Ray handed Luis his worn little black book and told Aimee. “It was in the pocket of his pants. In case he gets bored while we're gone.” When she passed it on, Luis nodded. “Merci.”
Brandy hugged the Father. Ray shook his hand and thanked him. Trevelyan promised to pray for them.
Fighting back tears, Brandy told them all, “Take care of yourselves.”
“We'll see them again, Brandy,” Ray said with determination. He pointed at Luis, then at the trap door, and told Aimee, “Have Luis secure it tightly behind us.”
“What if you need to come back?”
“If we can come back, they can follow. Just secure it, will you?”
Luis hesitated.
For some reason the chopping at the doors and windows, the howling of the gendarme vampires, the chanting of the Templars, which had gone on ceaselessly, now sounded especially loud and frantic. Perhaps, Ray thought, it was him and not them. “Look,” he told Aimee, “I can't argue for something I don't want to do. Just tell him to block the door, huh? If we need back in, we'll knock.”
He rapped twice, twice again, and twice - a third time - on the altar. Aimee nodded her understanding. Luis did too.
Ray shouldered his handmade 'bag' and, chinking and clinking, followed Brandy down into the ossuary. As the couple disappeared below the floor, Luis closed the trap. Then, with Aimee's help, he shimmied the heavy communion table over it.
Trevelyan, frowning at the necessary desecration, didn't get to disapprove long. Felix's shouts from the corner housing Eve's table bed demanded the priest's attention.
“Father! Father!”
Even at that distance, the terror was evident in Felix's eyes.
“Want to light my fire?” Brandy asked in the pitch black.
“Heck of a time to ask.” Ray lit Brandy's candle. For the second time that night (and the second time in a generation), a flame burned and shadows danced among the seemingly endless skulls and bones in the ossuary. A shiver ran down Ray's spine.
“I thought you weren't coming down here again,” Brandy teased.
“Rub it in. Have a blast.”
Brandy mo
ved, candle flickering, bottles chinking in her clothes and shoulder bag, toward the undiscovered side of the ossuary.
“Go slow,” Ray said as he followed. “Be careful.”
“Well, if they break, all we have are pockets full of water.”
“Yes; and broken glass.”
Brandy slowed and the chinking of the bottles softened. “Be careful.”
“Good advice. Besides, they're our only defense.”
“Careful. You sound like you actually believe.”
On the far side of the chamber, they found the tunnel door as Luis described. Unlike the sturdy replica at the front of the chapel, this door was eaten by time, moisture and wear. And it led to… what.
Rusted hinges groaned as Brandy eased it open. Moisture and mold assaulted her senses. She slipped her candle in, like sticking a toe into a pool, and the flame flickered wildly. More skulls lined the sides of the tunnel as far into the darkness as either could see. The air was heavy, wet and evil, and mold clung to the stone and lay on the bones.
Brandy and Ray turned to each other – breathing rapidly. In the candlelight, her eyes glistened with danger and excitement; his glowed with resolve.
“Well,” Ray said, “here goes nothing.” He crouched to make an entrance.
“I'll go first,” Brandy said, laying a hand on his arm.
“Why should you go first?”
“It's my idea. Besides, I'm smaller. You could get stuck.”
“That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”
“This whole idea is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”
“It's your idea. You just said so.”
“Yeah,” Brandy said.
“I love you, Brandy.”
She slapped him hard across the face. “If you loved me… you wouldn't have been trying to buy another tattoo.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Raymond. God, I just hate you sometimes.”
“You hate me because I wanted another tattoo?”
“No. I like your tattoos. I was going to get you one myself… after our wedding… if there was ever going to be a wedding.”
“If? I'm not getting this…”
“You said you wouldn't buy any more without talking to me first.”
“Tattoos?”
“What were we talking about? You promised you wouldn't buy any more without talking with me.”
He looked back into the ossuary, forward into the tunnel; at the remains of hundreds of corpses. He thought of the Templars above. He thought of their friends trapped in the chapel. Then he stared at Brandy. “You're bringing up the tattoo now?”
“When should I bring it up? After we're dead?”
“No, hell, no. Bring it up now.”
She ducked and followed her torch. Ray laughed. “It's not funny,” she said over her shoulder. Hunched low, knees bent, still laughing, Ray followed Brandy deep into the musty tunnel.
Nineteen
Life and death, as far as Father Trevelyan was concerned, was in the hands of the Almighty. We puny humans had little control over death and no knowledge of the day or hour of its arrival. That said, the priest knew Eve's hour had come. He didn't take the time to don vestments. Trevelyan kissed his stole and draped it about his neck without the usual prayer.
He separated the couples' hands, pulled Felix gently aside, and took Eve's in his own. He whispered in her ear. “Are you truly sorry for each of the sins you have committed?” He repeated the question - and felt a feeble pressure as Eve squeezed back.
Aimee held Felix. Luis (in the gallery) watched from the rail. Both silent; helpless.
“God the Father of mercies,” Trevelyan said, “through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Trevelyan pulled a vial of blessed olive oil from his pocket and anointed her head and hands.
He tipped a flask gently against Eve's lips. “The blood of Christ,” he said solemnly, and helped her sip.
“The host!” Felix pulled away from Aimee and grabbed the priest. “What about the host? She can't eat. Is her soul in danger if she can't eat?”
“It's all right, Felix,” Trevelyan assured him. “Where the blood is, the body must be. The communicant who receives either receives Christ entirely.”
Felix relaxed and Trevelyan pulled his hand free. He leaned over Eve and said, “May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life.”
No preacher's word, no line of scripture, could so completely convince someone of the existence of the soul as the act of watching it leave the body. Eve Molyneux was there, a beautiful young woman, wounded, wracked with pain; and then she was gone. Felix held her - and watched her go.
Aimee looked on, feeling helpless. Luis, at the rail above, turned away. Father Trevelyan took Eve from his arms and completed the anointing. Felix watched without seeing, shaking and heartbroken.
Trevelyan placed the vial of holy water at the feet. He folded a crucifix into her hands, rested them atop her stomach, and covered her (and her flaming red hair) with the pall that had been her blanket. He put a comforting hand on Felix, but the young man pulled away. Not from anger; there was no emotion at all. He simply pulled away, silent and alone, and disappeared into the vestibule.
The priest let him go.
“Nnnnnoooooo!!!”
Felix's hysterical scream reverberated through the chapel.
Trevelyan ran for the vestibule and reached it in time to see the desperate young man pulling the batten off of the chapel door. “Felix,” Trevelyan yelled, “Don't!”
With madness in his eyes, Felix swung the wooden slat. The priest blocked it with his arm, cried out in pain, and fell. He heard the heavy door open, heard Felix scream and, through a blur of tears, saw him disappear outside.
Felix raced down the steps and came to a stop in the courtyard in front of the chapel – seething. His chest heaved. His hands were clenched, trembling fists. Tears ran down his cheeks. Then Felix seemed to wake; the insanity passing.
He heard labored breathing, the hisses and growls of predatory animals, the wet smack of salivating lips. He stared over his shoulder at several gendarme vampires, and one of the Templar knights, clinging to the exterior of the chapel, at the windows, on the bell tower, like bats on a cave wall. The other Templars, and the rest of their evil progeny, were spread about the courtyard. Fifteen feet away, the leader of the Templars glared. An otherworldly silence enveloped all.
Felix realized where his rage had led him. Then realized he didn't care. With a scream of hate and despair, he ran at the Templar's leader.
The knight drew his sword as Felix threw a shoulder into him. He lifted the creature off his feet; drove him backward and down. The sword flew, hit the ground, and sang – steel on stone - as it sailed across the courtyard. Felix came to rest on top of him and scrambled onto his knees to straddle the creature. He drove a fist into the knight's chest, using the red cross on the mantle as a target. Again and again. The rotted garment tore, rusted chain mail exploded into the air and fell like metal rain. The creature's mummified skin yawned gray-blue beneath. The skin tore, the dusty ribs snapped and broke. Felix's fists disappeared into his chest. The Templar's skeletal mouth fell open - and a hideous, guttural laugh emerged.
Felix looked up from the laughing horror. The others had moved in; a crowd of dead and moldering knights with fiery red eyes, their tunics splashed in blood, bearing ancient weapons. Behind them, like hyenas waiting for the lions to finish, the gendarme vampire-things hovered and hissed. Felix saw the horrors but couldn't register them. His mind, having taken in all the terror it could hold, shut down.
Beyond the circle, the Templar chaplain lifted their leader's sword from the ground. He stepped into the group of undead knights as they renewed their
chant. Their blasphemy grew to a fever pitch. The knight threw back his cloak and raised the sword.
Felix screamed!
The chaplain brought the sword around with relish.
“It doesn't have anything to do with a tattoo.”
Ray followed Brandy, and her candle, unable to believe what he was hearing, shaking his head in surrender. He envied the skulls lining the tunnel walls around them. Just now he wished he was dead too. “You just said…”
“If you loved me you wouldn't lie to me. If your word doesn't mean anything to you how can it mean anything to me?”
“You're right.”
“Shut up. I don't want you to agree so I'll stop talking. I have a right to talk.”
“Of course you have a right to talk. I said you're right. Brandy, you're right! My word has to mean something. I'm sorry.”
“No more lying? About anything?” Brandy stopped in her track. “My God,” she whispered. She reached back to Ray. “What was that? Did you hear that?”
'That', Ray knew, had been a scream.
The journey through the tunnel, from the chapel to the castle cellar, was slow going at best. With the exception of Luis Socrates, rats and spiders appeared to have been the only living things to have traveled this space in centuries. Great orb webs filled the passage (some torn away where Luis had recently passed). In various spots, the ancient piled bones and skulls had toppled and fallen in heaps. And Brandy had been chewing him out the whole way. (Not that he didn't deserve it.)
Then came a muffled scream above their heads. He saw Brandy's terror in the candlelight and did his best to hide his own.
“Was that a scream?”
“I'm not sure what it was,” he lied.
Yes, it was a scream and Ray knew it. But he didn't know whose. He didn't know why. He was too frightened to guess.
The Devil's Bed Page 25