by Jayne Castle
“Your . . . your wife? Miss Smith?”
“She’s Mrs. London now, Benny.”
Benny froze. “Yes, sir. But what makes you think I know where she is?”
“She had a tour at five o’clock. A bunch of Greenies.”
“Sure. Right. The special tour. I remember.”
“When did she leave?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Benny spoke quickly. “I was busy supervising the loading of the sarcophagus, you see. That’s why the alarm system is shut down. Had to turn it off so that I could open the loading-dock doors.”
“My wife left a message at my office telling me that the sarcophagus wasn’t going to be moved until Monday and that she had the Greenie tour instead.”
“There was some sort of mix-up,” Benny said, talking a little more steadily now as if he was on more certain ground. “Miss Smith, I mean, Mrs. London was busy with the tour group when the moving van arrived. So I handled the transfer. I figured Mr. Shrimpton would appreciate me showing initiative.”
“Is that what you call it?”
Benny looked offended. “All the paperwork was in order. I’ve got it in my office. See for yourself.”
Emmett looked at the broken glass on the floor. “What happened in here, Benny?”
Benny followed his gaze with a jerky movement of his head. “The movers are responsible, sir. When they picked up the coffin and its lid, they accidentally banged one corner into that display case. Nothing’s missing, though. I checked.”
Emmett took his foot down off the rim of the pool and crossed to the broken display case. Several tomb mirrors were clustered inside.
“I told you, nothing was stolen.” Benny grabbed the edge of the pool and hauled himself to his feet. He started to put one foot over the side but stopped when Verwood moved toward him. “The sarcophagus was an authorized transfer. The museum got a lot of money for it.”
Emmett glanced down at the pile of glittering glass shards that Benny had succeeded in assembling with his broom. Here and there in the sparkling slivers he caught the unmistakable gleam of polished amber.
He took one of the tomb mirrors out of the display case and used the handle to stir the chunks of glass. Two oval-shaped beads appeared. He picked them up and examined them in the light.
“They were made for a necklace,” he said to Verwood.
“Whoever busted the case must have broken a string of beads at the same time.” Verwood pointed toward the foot of a nearby pedestal. “There’s another one. And I see a couple more over there by that table.”
“That’s one possible explanation.” Emmett rose to his feet and turned toward Benny. “The other is that the necklace was broken in the course of a struggle.”
Benny blanched. “No,” he whispered. “Nothing like that happened, I swear it.”
Verwood picked up the headphones that the guard had ripped off a few minutes earlier. A long cord connected them to an audio player. He held the right phone up to his ear.
Emmett watched him. “Music?”
“Nope.” Verwood lowered the headphones, his expression grim. “Don’t think you’re gonna like this, Boss. It sounds like one of those Thirteen Steps to Bliss lectures. Lot of stuff about that Amatheon guy.”
“No.” Benny gave a choked cry and leaped out of the quartz pool.
He dashed toward the entrance of the gallery.
Emmett stuck out a foot and grabbed his arm as he went flying past. Benny stumbled and went down heavily. Verwood moved in to anchor him to the floor.
Benny thrashed violently. Verwood was obliged to use some force. In the course of the struggle, the buttons of the guard’s uniform gave way.
A string of amber beads gleamed on Benny’s hairy chest.
Emmett walked forward and stood looking down at him. “Let’s try this again from the top, Benny. I’ll run through it. You tell me if I get anything wrong. Those Greenies kidnapped Lydia this evening, didn’t they? Took her out of here in that damn sarcophagus.”
Benny’s eyes darted from side to side. He twitched a few times but he held his silence.
“You were the inside man, weren’t you, Benny?” Emmett continued gently. “You turned off the alarms. The paperwork that authorized the transfer of the coffin was supposed to let you off the hook if anyone got suspicious, wasn’t it? Your alibi was going to be that you were busy supervising the loading of the relic when Lydia disappeared.”
“It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t like that,” Benny squeaked.
“But something went wrong. Lydia wouldn’t have gone without a fight. In the process, the case got broken and somebody lost his amber necklace.”
Benny just stared at Emmett, mouth open, bottom lip trembling.
Verwood was staring, too. “Well, damn,” he declared. “If that don’t beat all. Only other hunter I’ve seen pull a ghost this far outside the Wall is Mr. Wyatt.”
Emmett became aware of the tiny wisps of psi energy snapping and cracking in the air around him. A small ghost had coalesced. It promptly disintegrated only to re-form and fall apart over and over again. He was standing in the center of a light shower of green fireworks.
Benny finally pulled himself together. “It’s a trick.”
Emmett glanced at the small ghost hovering off to his left, exerted enough concentration to keep it together for a moment, and sent it floating toward Benny.
“No, please.” Benny tried to scuttle backward but Verwood pinned him. Sweat bathed his forehead. “Stop it. Stop it. Don’t let it touch me.”
Emmett tightened the grip on the urgency and rage that was fueling his para-rez abilities. There was no point terrorizing Benny. The guard was barely out of his teens, a young man who somewhere along the line had been emotionally or physically damaged to such an extent that he had become easy prey for a cult.
It was unlikely that Benny knew anything helpful, anyway. He was obviously a low-ranking member of the organization. No one would have entrusted him with hard information.
Annoyed with himself, Emmett de-rezzed the ghost.
Verwood tilted his head slightly, angling his gaze up at Emmett. “Guess we go talk to that guy who runs the Greenies, right, Boss?”
“That’s one approach,” Emmett said, thinking about other possibilities.
Benny shook his head. “You can’t just go barging in on Master Herbert. He spends most of his time meditating and communicating with the spirit of Amatheon. It requires a tremendous amount of his time and an enormous degree of psychic energy. He needs rest between his sessions with the Philosopher. Nobody gets to see Master Herbert without an appointment.”
Emmett closed his fist around the amber beads. “Don’t worry, Benny. Got a hunch Master Herbert will see me this evening.”
25
LYDIA OPENED HER eyes to the familiar green light of the catacombs. Relief swept through her. A moment ago, when awareness had begun to creep back, she had been terrified that she was coming awake inside a closed coffin. In those first few seconds all she could think about was how long it would take her to go mad.
She had a feeling that the image of the lid of the sarcophagus descending downward, blotting out the light and sealing her into the quartz burial box, would provide her with an ample supply of nightmares for the rest of her life.
As if she didn’t have enough weird dreams already.
She sat up cautiously. Her stomach swam and her head spun. Whatever they had used to put her out had some unpleasant side effects. Just like last time.
After a moment she decided that she was not going to throw up. Her head cleared a little. She started to shift positions again and discovered that she was on a pallet, not the hard quartz floor of the small chamber.
The space in which they had confined her was about the size of her office at Shrimpton’s. But given that it was a lot bigger than the sarcophagus she decided that she would not complain too loudly about the accommodations. At least not yet.
There was a comforting familiarity
about the chamber. She had spent a lot of her professional life underground in these catacombs. The walls, ceiling, and floor were oddly proportioned to the human eye but they were not uncomfortable. Every surface in the space glowed with a soft green radiance just like all of the other passages and chambers and hallways that the aliens had built below ground. As with the proportions, the light took some getting used to but after a while it felt natural, like sunlight or moonlight.
The experts had never been able to figure out the source of the luminous glow. It seemed to be a property of the particular type of green quartz that had been used to construct the catacombs. So far as anyone knew, the illumination had never so much as flickered or dimmed anywhere in the endless miles of underground corridors that had been explored thus far. Nevertheless, para-archaeologists, hunters, ruin rats, and everyone else who went down into the tunnels always carried spare flashlights, just as they carried spare amber and spare water.
The eerie light and the design of the room weren’t the only things she found comforting, she thought, pushing herself to her feet. Psi energy pulsed heavily everywhere down here in the catacombs. It was invigorating.
Her stomach settled and her mind cleared. She looked toward the entrance of the chamber and saw a row of human-engineered steel bars and a lock. The aliens had not used doors or gates to seal their rooms. They had relied on various types of illusion traps to ensure privacy and security. But someone had obviously decided to go low-tech here to make sure that she did not escape. A smart move, given that she had never met a trap she couldn’t untangle.
That thought made her glance at her wrist. She was relieved to see that her kidnappers had left her with her bracelet.
There was a tiny room off the main chamber, its entrance closed by a curtain. She pulled the drape aside and found that someone had thoughtfully installed a portable rest room, complete with commode, shower and basin. It was the same make and model as those that were standard equipment on most professionally run excavation sites.
She made use of the facilities and felt even steadier after she washed her face.
When she was finished, she went to stand at the bars of her cell and looked out into the corridor. A short distance away down the hall three people with shaved heads and green robes were seated at a long folding table. There was a stack of sandwiches and several cans of Curtain Cola in the middle of the table.
One of the Greenies, a woman, noticed her and quickly pushed back her chair.
“She’s awake,” the woman announced excitedly. “Acolyte Martin, go and tell the assistants. They said that Master Herbert wanted to see her as soon as she was alert.”
“I’m on it.” Martin took off, sandwich in hand, and disappeared around a bend in the corridor.
The third Greenie, another woman, peered at Lydia. “How do you feel?”
“Like I could dance until dawn.” Lydia leaned heavily on the bars and tried to look as wan as possible. “Too bad I didn’t bring my new dress.”
“Hey, don’t get smart mouthed with us,” the first woman snapped. “We’re just doing our job.”
“Are you going to tell me why you went to all this trouble to grab me?”
“We don’t know why the Master wants you here,” the second woman said.
Lydia nodded. “Well, that’s a real conversation stopper, isn’t it?”
The first woman hesitated. “My name is Acolyte Frances. You want something to eat?”
Lydia did a quick status check on her stomach. Things appeared to be under control in that department. Maybe it would be a good idea to take some nourishment. She might need energy later.
“Got any rez-tea?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“I’ll take a large cup and one of those sandwiches, please.”
By the time Acolyte Martin returned to inform everyone that she was to be escorted into the “Master’s Chamber” Lydia felt almost normal, assuming she ignored the fact that she was both very mad and very scared.
Frances told Lydia to stick her hands out between two of the cell bars. The Greenie bound her wrists with some tape and then unlocked the door.
Lydia concentrated on orienting herself silently, using the amber in her bracelet to draw a mental map of the route to the Master’s Chamber. She’d had a great deal of experience navigating underground and a professional’s feel for alien architecture.
Her three escorts guided her through a short series of halls and intersections. They passed a number of chambers that had been converted into offices, complete with desks and files. There were no phones, of course. For some reason, a property of the illuminated quartz no doubt, most communications systems did not work underground.
One passage caught her attention. It was blocked with a gate of illusion shadow. Two burly-looking Greenies were stationed on either side of the darkened entrance.
“What’s in there?” she asked her escorts.
“That’s classified,” Acolyte Martin intoned. “Only those with a need to know go in there.”
“Need to know, huh?” Lydia glanced back over her shoulder as she was led past.
There was a small sign propped on one side of the passage. It read AREA 51.
The next hallway contained a row of small chambers that had been outfitted as offices. Each was staffed with a Greenie or two. If it hadn’t been for their bizarre robes and shaved heads, they would have looked like normal clerks.
“What are all these people doing?” Lydia asked.
“They handle the financial and business affairs of the Order,” Frances explained. “The contributions and donations we receive amount to a great deal of money. The funds have to be invested and managed wisely according to the instructions Master Herbert receives from Amatheon if we are to prosper and grow.”
“You guys make a lot of money off those Thirteen Steps to Bliss books?”
“The books are one of our sources of income,” Frances said. “There are others.”
“Such as?”
“Save your questions for Master Herbert,” Martin said.
They halted at a doorway that was cloaked in illusion shadow. Another pair of Greenies with broad shoulders and tough-looking features greeted Lydia’s escorts.
“The Master is ready to see her,” one of them said. “You are instructed to take her to the Philosopher’s Chamber.”
Lydia watched intently to see which of the two guards de-rezzed the trap that shuttered the entrance. It was the one on the right. The other was probably a hunter, she decided.
She felt psi energy shiver in the air for a few seconds and a moment later the illusion shadow evaporated. She and her escorts walked into a large, imposing green hall. Behind them, the shadow reappeared. The guard had reset the trap.
She surveyed the grand hall and almost laughed, in spite of the fear that was snaking through her. Hysteria, she thought. Get a grip.
But that was easier said than done. The room was really quite amazing. Human furnishings invariably seemed very much out of place when they were moved into the ruins and the catacombs. The clash of perspectives and proportions was simply too great to allow for any harmonious blending of styles. When people did bring furniture into the catacombs, as was sometimes necessary, they generally stuck to simple, utilitarian pieces.
But whoever had done this space had clearly felt compelled to go for drama. The walls were hung with great swaths of red and gold velvet draperies. Intricately patterned carpets were spread out on the floors. The furnishings were large, heavy pieces in the style that had been popular at the time of the Era of Discord. The sofas, chairs, and tables were hand carved and gilded to a fare-thee-well.
In addition to looking distinctly odd in the ancient, nonhuman setting, the thick carpets and heavy wall hangings cut down the natural light that emanated from the quartz. The result was an over-furnished, dimly lit room that was probably supposed to appear aristocratic and imposing.
Lydia looked at Frances and raised her brows. “Who was your d
ecorator? It looks like a stage set for a low-budget horror movie.”
Frances and the other two were obviously stunned by her lack of good taste but before they could lecture her on issues of artistic design, a short, plump figure in a green robe bustled forth from another shadowed room. Amber beads clinked.
“I am Acolyte Rich,” he announced.
“Okay, that settles it,” Lydia said. “You’re of the masculine persuasion. I wasn’t sure. Those unisex robes complicate things, you know.”
“My Master considers you an honored guest,” Rich stated. He sounded offended by her failure to immediately recognize his sex.
“Yeah?” Lydia held up her bound wrists. “If this is the way you treat your guests, I’d sure hate to see how you handle folks you don’t like very much.”
Rich looked at Frances and the other two.
Frances shrugged. “She’s been real chatty ever since she woke up. Probably a side effect of the drug they used to bring her in.”
“Chatty?” Lydia frowned. “You call this chatty? You haven’t seen anything yet. Five will get you ten that I can talk any of you right into the ground. Come on, let’s see your money.”
Rich’s eyes glinted angrily beneath the hood but when he spoke he kept his voice calm and polite. “Please come with me, Miss Smith. The Master is expecting you.”
“Gee, I sure hope he isn’t expecting too much.” Lydia walked forward. “I’m not. Let’s go talk to the murdering bastard.”
There was a horrified silence from the Greenies.
“What are you saying?” Frances whispered. “That’s a lie.”
“Master Herbert would never hurt anyone,” Rich growled. “He is the First Acolyte of Amatheon. The Philosopher teaches that Bliss can only be achieved through peaceful means.”
“How dare you accuse the Master of murder?” Martin took an ominous step toward her. “You owe him an apology.”
The velvet curtains shifted again and another figure appeared. Like the others he wore green robes but his gown was trimmed at the sleeves and hem with lots of intricately worked letter As stitched in gold thread.