by E. C. Jarvis
“I spotted the building on the approach to the town. I hoped I might get a chance to visit, though I didn’t expect you had allowed recreation time in your plan.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. Sorry, Cid. Do you think we could walk around here freely?”
“Unlikely,” Holt said.
“We may be able to disguise ourselves as priests, though. That way we wouldn’t look so suspicious elsewhere in town,” Cid suggested.
“Fine. I’ll go and grab three men and a woman, knock them out and tie them up, we’ll take their clothes—”
“Gods, no!” Cid interrupted Holt. “You’ll curse us all.”
“Curse?”
“You might not be a believer, but I am, and I won’t have you going around like some common thug, bashing priests over the head and stripping them naked.”
“Cid, keep your voice down,” Larissa chided. “I agree that it’s not the best plan. As soon as our captured men and woman are found, we’ll have people looking for us.”
“They won’t be found quickly if we dump them in the sewer,” Holt said.
“Gods! I’ll have no part in this.”
“So come up with a better solution.” Holt folded his arms across his chest. The small room fell silent and their faces turned blank.
“I could...” Cid started, “see if I can, um, find their sleeping quarters. They must keep spare robes about.”
“You think you can manage to stumble across sleeping quarters, find robes, and come all the way back here without being detected?” Holt asked with one eyebrow raised.
“I can find the rooms easily enough.”
“How?”
“All Dolanite buildings have the same layout,” Cid said, “and there will be references to each of the nineteen Gods in the architecture, carved into the doors and suchlike. The Goddess of Harmony will be depicted in the resting areas. How do you not know all this? Are you all unbelievers?”
“Well, my mother would take me to the festivities each year, and I had some classes in school. Sadly, other than that...” Larissa shrugged at Cid. Goodson hung his head in silence and Holt simply continued his icy glare.
“Well, at least let me try. Give me some time before you go assassinating everyone in sight, would you, Holt?”
Holt looked at Larissa and this time her eyebrows rose. Was he asking her to make the final choice? She chewed on her tongue for a minute, mulling it over. While Holt’s plan would certainly be quicker, it would give them less time in the long run, if—or when—the kidnapped priests were found. Not to mention she’d likely lose Cid’s support by agreeing to such a plan.
“All right, Cid, we’ll wait. Please hurry back. I’m not sure how long we can stay in here undetected, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold onto the contents of my stomach being this close to that smell.”
“Will do, Captain.” Cid nodded and Larissa couldn’t help but smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Doctor Orother leaned back in his favorite wingback chair and laid his fingertips on the patchy, grey material of the armrests. He scratched at the fabric three times, admiring the grooves he worked into the material and padding beneath. It looked as though some wild cat had dragged its claws down the sides.
He leaned forward and grasped a jar on the desk in front of him, turning it around slowly. Inside the jar the liquid contents stirred, and as it turned a pair of eyeballs rolled around within the liquid. Beside the jar lay a collection of discarded medical syringes. Leaning back once more, Orother turned his head slightly to admire his other, most recent, piece of work.
The Professor stood still, staring at the jutting edges along the cave’s ceiling. He was barefoot and his toes repeatedly curled and uncurled, dragging along the sharp edges of stone beneath his feet. He had given Orother enough information for now, and the Doctor had released him from the table and moved him into his personal work area, still within the cave confines. It was a spacious room with various tables, machines, and artifacts, none of which the Professor could reach. He was bound by a thick metal collar around his neck, which was linked to a chain firmly secured at one end to a wall. The chain was short, preventing him from reaching anything in the area, and so he was left to stand or sit at his leisure and do nothing more.
The Professor looked as though some part of his broken mind tried to grasp the edges of reality—to piece back together his soul, like attempting to fix a priceless vase that had shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. But he had neither a reference image to work with, nor an adhesive to make the pieces stick. Orother decided the Professor looked well and truly fucked up, and that was a most satisfying result.
“Maximillian,” Orother called out, and the Professor curled his neck down and around to look at him, his eyes sunken into their sockets. Orother gave him a broad smile, baring his teeth. “I’ve had a letter about you. I thought you might like me to read it to you.”
Orother picked up the thick, expensive, watermarked paper from his desk and ran his thumb through the red wax seal that had somewhat reattached itself. He ambled down the sloping cave floor toward the Professor, stopping just in front of him. With a smirk, he waved the letter in the air. The Professor tracked it with his eyes, a look of mild intrigue on his face. Orother opened it and read the letter out loud.
“Doctor Orother,
I was very encouraged by your latest missive on the progress of our mutual friend, Professor Watts. It has been frustrating for me these past few years to know that the gentleman was in possession of such powerful knowledge. Yet he was foolish enough to request permission to build it as a private enterprise, with the short-sighted intention of harnessing its capabilities for power production.
I am still dealing with the destruction he brought upon us by secretly building that thing in the Hub. Now that you have the knowledge, I wish to know how quickly you can build a new Machine with the adjustments we discussed. Our Eptoran enemies are growing restless, and the shores of Daltonia are threatened with war. I must have a working weapon ready, post haste, though we have still not located the source of Anthonium. Please continue to update me on your progress at regular intervals.
Your good friend,
President Henry Hague Junior.”
Orother stood looking at the Professor, trying to gauge his reaction. There seemed to be no reaction at all; the man’s face was a dull blank, and he mindlessly scratched at the white linen fabric of his trousers. Orother scrunched the letter in his hand and threw it at the Professor, the paper bouncing off the man’s shoulder and landing between his feet. Though the point had been to mold the man into a compliant instrument, he had so enjoyed tormenting him, and now it was frustrating to see the poor creature so utterly destroyed. It felt like he’d broken his new favorite toy. Orother stood tapping his index finger against his lip, the two of them staring at one another in silence.
“You know, Hans will return soon, perhaps today or tomorrow. He’ll be bringing Cid with him, and that girl of yours.” Orother watched as the Professor's eye twitched ever so slightly. He chided himself for not thinking of this approach first, and continued on with the torment, in truth he had no interest in the girl, save for wanting to get at the information in her head.
“I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with her. Perhaps I’ll simply attach her to my device and extract the information I require that way. I doubt she’ll fight as hard as you did. She’s such a flimsy little thing.” The Professor’s hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched. Orother laughed at him.
“Of course, once I’m done with her, perhaps I’ll get to enjoy her. Pick up where you left off, so to speak. Perhaps I’ll make you watch as I take her over and over again, make the little wretch scream and beg for me to stop.”
The Professor launched forward, his teeth bared, growling like a feral animal. The chain reached its limit, wrenching his neck back as he tried in vain to lash out at Orother.
“Ha, Professor, you are entertaining. Th
ough as much as I’ve enjoyed your company this morning, I have other things to do today.”
. . .
Once Orother left the room the Professor collapsed to the ground. He sat for some time, rocking back and forth, his shoulders shaking violently though no tears fell. When he calmed down, he resigned himself to the fact that he was stuck there and could do nothing about it.
He reached up to scratch at his head. He had discovered four distinct, small holes in his skull—one above each ear and two further back, each one edged with a metallic rim and all put there by the Doctor for direct access to his brain and memories. He pulled at his long, white-blond hair around the edges of the holes; it was shaved off in patches, though the remainder was still as long as ever. He resolved to cut it short if ever he escaped this hellish existence.
Vivid images flashed through his mind of Larissa pinned to the table, having holes drilled into her head just like his own. Orother forcing her memories to replay for him, raping her mind and laughing through the torment. Worse still, he couldn’t stand to see her broken body destroyed by whatever means Orother could concoct.
The Professor buried his head in his palms, squashing the heels of his hands into his eyeballs until they burned in complaint. As he released the pressure and opened his eyes, it somehow seemed to work. Dark and sparkling spots danced across his vision until they dissipated and he returned to the room, his mind calmed.
The Professor looked down at the scrunched-up paper Orother had thrown at him. He picked it up and unfolded it, smoothing the paper out with his fingers. The letter was handwritten, the President’s signature clear as day. It was incredibly incriminating, to the point where the Professor almost laughed out loud at the audacity of it. He stuffed it into the shallow pocket in his trousers just as the sound of high heels clacking against the rock floor towards the room reached him.
A guard entered, followed by a tall, dark-skinned woman. The Professor regarded her through squinted eyes; it took a moment to register who she was.
“The Doctor was here a moment ago,” the guard said. “Wait here. I will find him. Don’t touch anything and stay away from that.” The guard pointed at the Professor.
When the guard disappeared, the woman stepped forwards, thick curls of hair pinned to the top of her head in a fancy manner. She wore a short black dress with puffed-out ruffle skirts that revealed her ebony legs, and her shoes were shiny patent black with ridiculously high heels.
“Well, hello, Professor.” She smiled crookedly at him.
“Serenia.”
It was all he could manage to say the mercenary’s name. His mind raced with a thousand things. He wanted to shout at her and curse her to hell for selling him out, now that he knew she’d been involved with Orother all along. His mind flashed with images of her splayed out beneath him, his pale white hands gripped around her dark brown throat, watching the blood rush to the whites of her eyes as he choked the life out of her body. He felt his eye twitch as she stepped a little closer.
Almost, just a few inches more.
“I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t know he’d do this to you. You must understand it was just business, and he paid a far larger sum.” Her eyes widened as she looked him up and down. If he didn’t know better he might have actually believed she felt remorse. Still, he was unable to speak, his mind locked away by Orother’s cruelty.
Serenia leaned in slightly and the Professor’s palm twitched. The chain attached to his collar was no longer stretched out fully. If he could move swiftly enough he could lash out, grab hold of that obscene mop of hair and yank her to the ground. His heart raced at the thought.
“Ah, Serenia!” Orother returned to the room and she stepped back out of reach. The Professor’s heart sank.
“Doctor.”
“Do you have some news for me?”
“Yes, although it’s not quite as you’d hoped. Do you want to discuss it in private?” She nodded towards the Professor.
“No, it’s fine. I have him under control, my dear. Besides, he may like to hear your news. Do tell.”
“We have located the pirate ship Hans chartered.”
“Oh?”
“A guard spotted it approaching over the mountains. It’s landed and the occupants have entered the town.”
“They entered the town?” Orother asked, frowning. “Hans was supposed to have them land here. I arranged clearance.”
“That’s the problem. I sent some men to retrieve the ship, and they’re bringing it here as we speak. We won’t be able to ascertain what has transpired until the ship is brought in. Perhaps the pirates have broken their word.”
“Fucking barbarians. Tell the men to kill every pirate on board when they arrive...no, wait. You said some occupants have entered the town?”
“Yes, that’s what the guard saw, though he said he lost their trail.”
“How many did he see?”
“Three men and a woman.”
Orother looked at the Professor, who had been watching the conversation in silence and with a blank face, hiding the seething pit of fury and fear that bubbled beneath his skin. Orother smiled, that sickly, toothy grin the Professor had come to know was a bad sign.
“Secure the ship and bring it onto my grounds. Bring any remaining occupants directly to me. I shall discover what has happened and what their devious little plans are. Either way, I do believe I’m about to meet your young lady, Professor. What a delight!” Orother placed his arm around Serenia’s shoulder and guided her out, leaving the Professor alone with his darkening thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Cid poked his head around the door to look about. Outside was a long hallway, their room opposite a junction where the hall split into three directions. The ceilings were excessively high and a line of small stained-glass windows ran along the highest point of the ceiling in all directions. The various pictures on the glass were painted with blues, greens, and yellows. The walls had been cut from the mountain stone in which the building was embedded. The stone had been carefully smoothed back, which left the walls with an eerie shine.
To the right and the left, the corridor curved around a bend, reliefs of the Mountain Goddess—a buxom, nude woman with a bald head—cut into the stone at periodic intervals. Straight ahead, the corridor stretched on, sloping upwards and obscuring the view beyond. Pictures in the stained glass above showed the Spirit of Beasts, a creature with one head of a bull and one head of a fish, the legs of a horse, and the tail of a peacock.
Cid turned back to glance at the others one last time.
They looked like a dishevelled bunch of misfits. Even Holt, who usually managed to not get a speck of dirt on him, had bags under his eyes and his unshaven stubble was fast growing into a beard. If they were discovered, the priests and priestesses would doubtlessly raise the alarm immediately rather than taking pity. Cid tried to suppress the thought of Holt mercilessly slaughtering anyone unlucky enough to come across their hiding place; the man still made him nervous and he hated leaving Larissa with him.
She looked up at Cid with anticipation, as always. Once again he felt the need to do his best to live up to her expectations. He’d spent the majority of his working life working for the Professor. They’d become so accustomed to each other while building the Machine that they’d gone for days without talking, and Cid hadn’t felt the need to impress anyone with his skills. He wondered how Larissa had managed to bring about such a change in him so quickly.
He nodded tersely, slipping out into the corridor, and headed down the hall straight ahead. Each Dolanite place of worship was designed with a specific section dedicated to each of the nineteen separate Gods, Goddesses, and Spirits. Every section had either a central hall or chamber for the specific worship of the Deity to which it was dedicated. Often, in the smaller places of worship, several Gods were crammed together into one room, which was then split into sections for the sake of efficiency. Cid was used to those much smaller places; they felt homely and comf
ortable, and most importantly he could get all his praying done in a few hours.
The far larger buildings were always more daunting and people were expected to spend a significant amount of time in each section to justify the extravagant rooms. This particular building was far larger and more opulent than any Cid had ever visited before. It would probably take an entire day, maybe even two, to get around the whole place. Ordinarily, that would have made him feel apprehensive, but this time he was incredibly grateful as he wound his way through long corridors without bumping into a single soul.
The pictures of the Spirit of Beasts in the glass windows above turned ever darker in theme as he walked along—images of animals ripping apart human bones and feasting on young babes as they were wrenched from their mothers’ arms. The glass coloring turned to red, casting an eerie light down the corridor. Cid hung his head, avoiding looking at them. Usually the images were just symbolic, to bring the worshiper into the correct state of mind, to respect the animalistic nature of beasts. Yet there was something about the walls turning to deep red around him that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Eventually the upwards slope evened out and he came to a large, black, metal gate that stood partially open. Cid stopped and looked between the bars. On the other side of the gate was a large room with plain wood benches around the sides, the ceiling even higher here than in the hall. The room appeared to be empty. Cid scrunched his nose up and tapped mindlessly on the gate, trying to figure out what it was that stopped him from just entering, especially as the sleeping quarters should be the next section along.
“Lost your way, my son?”
Cid spun around and stumbled backwards, his shoulders crashing into the gate which rattled on its hinges. The sound echoed throughout the chamber and down the corridor. A priest had crept up behind him, dressed in a long, grey robe. The plump, elderly man stared at Cid with an odd grin on his face, though the smile was almost obscured by a frizzy, greying beard that covered the lower half of his face.