by Sean Russell
At the door they stopped, both wary. She thought they circled each other, unsure if they would fight or embrace.
Erasmus bowed stiffly. “Lady Chilton.”
“Mr. Flattery,” she said the last syllable disappearing from her lips unexpectedly. An awkward second, then Erasmus reached for the door, but she snatched his hand away and did not release it.
“If you ask me not to repeat what you have told me, I will swear to keep it to myself.” She realized she stood close to him now, holding his hand in both of hers, almost clasping it to her.
“It . . . it does not matter,” Erasmus said.
She searched his eyes unself-consciously. “Then I will keep this secret, at least. I know you can read what was written on the painting. No. Do not deny it. I know. And I know there is more to your story of Eldrich. But that, too, I will not tell.”
Erasmus held her hand tightly now, almost causing her pain. And he stared at her, his look unreadable. She thought he would either explode in fury or take her in his arms, she could not tell which.
He managed to open the door a crack with his free hand. Then she stood on tiptoe and bussed his cheek before he went out the door, saying only her name as he took his leave.
She watched him make his way to the gate, not looking back, and then he turned onto the street and was lost from sight. Still the countess did not close the door, but stayed drinking in great draughts of the cool highland air.
“What has come over me?” she said aloud but could find no answer in the confusion of feelings that seemed to be whirling inside her. Why had she suddenly felt such guilt at the way she used this man? It was not the first time she had applied her charm for some specific end—nor was it the hundredth.
Because now I know how it feels, she thought.
“Poor man,” she whispered to the street, though she was not entirely sure which man she meant.
Seventeen
Erasmus sat at a table on the terrace on the warmest morning that had been seen yet that year. His mind was on his meeting with the countess, which troubled him more than he had expected. Had she not warned him that her interest was his knowledge? Why then did he feel such a sense of dejection and emptiness?
Erasmus had also begun to wonder what had happened to Hayes. On his way out that morning he’d left the young man a note saying that he had been briefly called away and would find Hayes here at noon. They were to meet Kehler within the hour.
Erasmus was hoping they would get some explanation for Kehler’s flight to this place—more than he had heard from Hayes, at any rate.
What had Kehler learned in the archives of Wooton? Could he have made the same discovery as Baumgere? If so, were the priests pursuing Kehler to offer him money for his silence, as, apparently, some thought they had Baumgere?
Erasmus took his timepiece from his pocket and cursed silently. Almost one! Was this Hayes’ idea of a reasonable hour to rise? Erasmus could not be more patient. Draining his coffee he jogged up the steps to Hayes’ room and pounded ungently on the door.
Nothing. No sound of movement within. No voice calling out. Again he hammered on the door so that it shook on its hinges. Nothing. He went back down the steps two at a time, looking for the manager.
In five minutes they returned with a key for the room, finding it empty, the bed made as though it had never been slept in, and most of Hayes’ belongings gone.
“I do not care for this,” Erasmus muttered.
“The young are impetuous, not to mention intemperate, Mr. Flattery,” the manager said soothingly. “I’m sure nothing dire has befallen your charge.”
“You are, are you?” Erasmus said, annoyed by the man’s tone. “Ah. . . .” A folded note was pinned to the wardrobe door.
“There will be your explanation,” the manager said, as though proven right.
Erasmus jerked the note free and opened it.
My dear Erasmus:
I have gone with Kehler to look into the cavern called the Mirror Lake Cave. He believes that it was here that Baumgere searched and failed. Perhaps it is mere optimism, but Kehler believes there is still a great discovery to be made there. I have been sworn to secrecy, but only a fool would go into such a place without alerting others. Do not come after us immediately, but if we are not returned five days hence, you might confidently mount a search. It is our intention to look beyond the Fairy Galleries. I will mark our way with the letter H. Apologies for this, but Kehler would take no others.
Your servant,
Samual Hayes
“All is right with the world, I take it?” the manager asked.
Erasmus glared at the fool of a man and then swept out the door without a word.
* * *
* * *
Clarendon unrolled the survey across the table, placing weights on each corner.
“There you are, Mr. Flattery,” Clarendon said, “just as I told you.”
Erasmus had never seen anything like it. He was looking at a “map” of a cave system, and it was truly labyrinthine. Passages crossed over and under each other, or even paralleled each other only feet apart. He tried to compare the plan view and side view and was soon confused. The complexity was staggering.
“There must be miles of passages here,” Erasmus said, dismayed.
“More than thirty, apparently, and likely even more that have not been explored or yet discovered. There might be a more current survey than this. I will find out.” Clarendon put his finger on a chamber. “Here are the Fairy Galleries, so called. I have not been in this section myself, though I know men who have. We can certainly speak with them, but perhaps we should wait the five days the letter suggests before we gather the men for a search.”
“I don’t want to gather men for a search. I want no one to know of this at all—at least not until we are absolutely certain they are lost. No, I will take this map, or the more recent one if it exists, and go immediately to the cave entrance. If they have not emerged in a day or two, I will go in after them.”
“Yourself, alone?”
Erasmus nodded.
“Well, I cannot allow that. It is more treacherous than this map might indicate. You must take me, at least, Mr. Flattery. You would be imprudent not to.”
Erasmus began to protest, but Clarendon raised his hand, his mustache bobbing oddly; a sign of determination, Erasmus thought. “I am far more vital than you guess, and in a cave, where passages can often grow very tight, the smaller man may perform the greater deeds. And you forget—I have been in the caves before.” He paused to consider. “We should not go unprepared, that would be dangerous, Mr. Flattery. But preparations take time. Let us plan to leave the day after tomorrow.” He looked down at the survey, then raised his head and met Erasmus’ eye, a sly smile appearing. “Tonight there is little we can do and I have promised to deliver Erasmus Flattery to a gathering of devotees of the grape. Tomorrow I will put my staff to work on the preparations, and the next day we shall set out well rested. I will tell you honestly, Mr. Flattery, that we stand little chance of catching up with these young men even if we were only hours behind them. They are younger than we and have the fires of both youth and curiosity. We will not catch them up until they have slowed their pace, and that will be in the Fairy Galleries—two days’ hard push into the cave. They are young but hardly foolhardy, I think, so I do not worry that they will come to grief; at least it would be very unlikely. Be of good heart, sir, we will find them safe, I’m sure.”
* * *
* * *
Erasmus and Clarendon walked to the meeting, for Castlebough was small and the evening pleasant. This night the gathering was to take place at the home of a man who, like most of the Society’s fellows, did not reside year round in the town.
As a result of all the comings and goings, the society had a constantly changing membership, and one never knew who might be present,
though Clarendon assured him that several men Erasmus knew at least by reputation would be there. Erasmus had agreed to speak briefly about his own work, and to answer questions.
The two men made their way through the streets and down stairways by the light of stars, the glow of the occasional street-lamp, and what illumination leaked from unshuttered windows. They were like two shadows moving, one elongated by a low source of light, the other made short by light from above.
The house they went to was very pleasant, built in the general style of the town with much dark wood inside, all carefully polished. The gentlemen were welcoming and gracious to Erasmus, and if he did not feel he’d found his place in the world here with these men, he at least felt highly appreciated. Odd that so many people he had never met held him in such high esteem.
Clarendon introduced him to the man who had surveyed the great cave, who had brought along the current survey at Clarendon’s request. Although the man had reached an age where he no longer went into the cave himself, he consoled himself by meticulously recording the advances of others.
“I once thought I should complete the picture, Mr. Flattery,” the man said. “Explore every last tunnel and chamber, but it was bigger than me, I fear. Nature’s energies far exceeded my own. Sometimes I look at the still-growing plan and think we must be near the end, but then remember that I thought the same thing twenty years ago when only half what we now know had been discovered.
“Layel, the famous geologist, walked over miles of hillside around the cave, examining the drainage patterns and finding any number of sink holes, most of them choked closed, and he told me he would not be surprised if we eventually found ourselves linking to another system of caves as large again as this. Can you imagine? It would be one of the natural wonders of the world, I should think. As it stands now, there is much to admire inside. Stalactites and columns, curtains, and delicate crystal straws hollow in their cores and as thin as the stems of fine wineglasses. I know where there are ceilings covered in them, and they are astonishingly beautiful. And there are helectites as well—crystal straws, but twisted about as though gravity had changed as they formed, for they do not hang downward as the other formations do but contort into the most astounding shapes.”
“Can one still become lost inside? Surely this map has eliminated that problem?” Erasmus asked.
“I wish that were so, Mr. Flattery, but I fear it is nothing like the truth. I sometimes think our efforts to chart the passages have done more harm than good in that matter. People who venture in armed with the survey are too confident, I think. They don’t realize the real dangers, for there are some very precipitous climbs and descents required to get into the less frequented regions. Those who seek to open up new areas are the most often injured. But you can become lost even in the more frequented areas. It is more confusing than you might imagine. And I venture there are still many undiscovered passages, even in the parts that are fairly well known.” He put his finger on the drawing. “You see this passage here? People walked by it for twenty years before it was discovered, for it is high up and difficult to see. I’m still not sure what caused anyone to notice it. But look! It opens up fully one quarter of the cave and eventually led us to find the third entrance: a tight little squeeze high up on a cliff. Twenty years that went undiscovered. Who knows how many such passages exist? No, if you go into the cave, Mr. Flattery, don’t assume this survey will keep you safe. Only common sense will do that, though I am certain you have no lack of that.”
Erasmus continued to examine the survey. Every so often there were ancillary drawings with lines pointing to a passage. “What are these?”
“Cross sections of the cave at that point.” The man looked at Randall. “It is a bit early yet to go far into the cave. It will likely be wet in places. Take good oiled cotton bags, Randall, and try to keep as much dry as you can. It is dangerous to go wet in the cave for long. I have seen men begin to lose their reason from this. They become lethargic and refuse to go on. I’m sure they would have died, too, had we not warmed them with our own heat.”
“But surely the cave is not cold?” Erasmus said.
“No, Mr. Flattery, not overly, though the water is quite chill, especially this time of year. But the cave is not what you would call warm either and a man soaked through, unless he is very hardy, soon loses the natural heat of his body. Take my advice and keep as dry as you can. But perhaps it will not be so bad, and Randall has been in before and knows what to expect. You will be in good hands. Have no fear.”
The meeting proper was convened then, Clarendon taking up the speaker’s place at the front of a large room that had been fitted out with chairs for all the company.
“As many of you have already heard,” the small man began, “the illustrious Erasmus Flattery, Fellow of the Empiricist Society, is among us this evening and has consented to speak on the subject of grafting to wild root stocks. I would venture to say that there is no greater authority on the subject. We are also fortunate to have visiting us Delford Simon, proprietor of Simon and Dean Wineries—a man well known to many of us, I’m sure. I would also welcome Deacon Rose of Wooton, a grower of great skill. Mr. Flattery, if you are ready. . . .”
Erasmus was so taken aback by the discovery that Deacon Rose was there that he did not start well. He found the priest seated in the middle of the audience, apparently in the company of two gentlemen not of the cloth.
It took a few moments for Erasmus to get over his surprise and warm to his subject, but then he managed to gain the attention of his audience, and held it for the duration of his speech. Discussion followed, and Erasmus had seldom found such a knowledgeable audience, even within the Society itself. Two hours went quickly by, and then the meeting broke up for the evening’s real activity—the tasting of wines.
Erasmus was just swirling a particularly fine claret around in his mouth when the Farrellite priest found him.
“Well, Mr. Flattery, I did not imagine meeting you in Castlebough. I assume we have come pursuing the same matter?”
“You have come to take the waters as well?” Erasmus asked innocently.
“I was referring to our mutual friend, young Mr. Kehler,” the priest said, his look of pious concern never slipping.
“Why would you think he was in Castlebough, Deacon Rose?”
The priest looked away for a moment, as though controlling his temper—not something Erasmus had seen in the man before.
“Perhaps we might speak more privately, Mr. Flattery?”
Erasmus took a second sip of his claret, considered a moment, and then nodded for the priest to lead the way. They went out into a walled garden awash in the fecund scents of early spring.
“Have you spoken to Mr. Kehler?” Rose asked. “Is he here?”
Erasmus looked at the man for a moment. “Since our last conversation, Deacon, I have learned that Mr. Kehler is not particularly destitute, as you suggested.” Erasmus was about to ask how long Rose had watched his town home waiting for Kehler to appear but held back, to see what the priest would say.
Rose turned away stiffly, his eyes unfocused in the light streaming from the windows. “I will confess, Mr. Flattery, that I was less than forthcoming when last we spoke, but I assure you my concern for Mr. Kehler is quite genuine. He has taken something from our archives at Wooton that is of . . . great concern to us. I would even say that he is in some danger.”
“From whom, Deacon?”
The priest hesitated, then turned his intelligent gaze on Erasmus. “You do not trust me, Mr. Flattery.”
“I do not, that is true. Until you are willing to tell me more, I don’t think that will change.”
The priest stared down at the dark ground and nodded. “You were making inquiries this evening about the Cave of the Mirror Lake. . . . I assume that Mr. Kehler is seeking something there?”
Erasmus did not react—not even a shrug.
<
br /> “If I camp before the entrance, I assume I will be able to speak with Mr. Kehler, for speak with him is all I wish to do.”
Erasmus did not offer to confirm this.
The priest’s manner changed, becoming suddenly very earnest. “You will not help me, then? Even though the young man’s safety might depend upon my intervention?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Erasmus said quietly, suddenly afraid that the man might be speaking the truth. Who had invaded Hayes’ rooms and chased him through the streets? Could these men have been agents of the church? Or even of Eldrich himself? Could Eldrich know about Kehler’s discovery?
“Are you going into the cave after Kehler? Tell me that, at least.”
“I’m sorry, Deacon, but I will tell you nothing until you give me reason to.”
The man reached out and put his hand gently on Erasmus’ arm. “Let me accompany you, and then you can see yourself that I mean him no harm.” Rose looked out over the garden wall to the stars and the hills. “I will tell you my fear, Mr. Flattery; I fear that I am already too late.” He turned his gaze back to Erasmus. “When you spoke with Kehler, did he ask you about a man named Teller?”
Erasmus must not have hidden his surprise well.
“I see that he did. Perhaps he then told you what he found? If that is so, you realize why I must speak with him. It is true that I was not entirely candid with you on our first interview. I confess it, but certainly you can see that I could not be. You must see that? You lived in the house of Eldrich. I do not know what that might mean, but the mages and the church have long had an uneasy truce. We fear them, Mr. Flattery—even Eldrich in his waning years.” Rose stopped, clearly unsettled to be saying these things aloud to someone outside the church. “Let me assure you, Mr. Flattery, in case you still have commerce with the mage, what happened was not of our doing. As soon as we became aware, we moved quickly to . . . cleanse our house of the disease. We have kept our pact all these long years and will continue to do so at any cost.” The priest searched Erasmus’ face, perhaps looking for some sign of understanding, but Erasmus was not willing to accept the position of emissary to Eldrich, or to refuse it. Better to let the priest wonder.