The Dark Temple

by The Dark Temple (retail) (epub)

  ‘Some off the stories we heard were just so intriguing that we decided to travel there and it wasn’t until our third trip that all our research, bribery and hard work paid off – because we found them. Marceau licked his lips and took the book back from Harker, returning it to the shelf. ‘This tribe don’t even have a name, for they refer to themselves only by a series of sounds or calls and, Professor, they have never left the Congo since the dawn of modern humans. And it was the why which turned out to be the interesting part.’

  He now reached for the top shelf now and pulled out an A4 cardboard envelope, from which he tipped out a number of photographs into Harker’s hands. ‘It took almost a month for them just to allow us near their camp, but after another three we were well enough accepted to be allowed access to their most important and sacred sites – like here.’

  Marceau selected one of the photographs and Harker began to examine it. At first it looked like just another cave painting but as he examined it more closely it began to dawn on him that there was nothing familiar about this image all. It showed a group of humans gazing up towards a sky portraying white clouds and the orange glow of the sun in the corner. The image had used the natural curvature of the bumps in the wall it was painted on to produce an almost 3D image. And although that in itself was not unique, what Harker now saw in the depiction was.

  For in the sky directly above the group of people there was a large black hole, like a gap torn into space, while inside dark wispy shapes appeared to be approaching from within it.

  ‘They tell tales of something they refer to as the “happening”,’ Marceau said, sounding more excited with every word he spoke. ‘We took a small chip from the cave painting itself and carbon dating couldn’t even date it because it must be older than fifty thousand years old, which is as far back as carbon dating can go.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Harker asked with surprise because, as far as he knew, the oldest cave painting ever found was thought to be about forty thousand years old.

  ‘No doubt,’ Marceau crowed and he turned his attention back to the picture of the ominous cave painting and tapped at the image of a large black hole in the sky. ‘The events of this particular day were passed down in an oral tradition to five of the tribe in each generation, in case one should die suddenly, and what they eventually described to us was chilling.’

  Harker picked up the book and began to examine the photograph in detail as Marceau revealed more of what he had discovered.

  ‘This event they called “the Happening” was like a collision of realities when a rip in the sky opened up and a dark force descended upon the earth and became trapped, only to wander the confines of the planet causing great pain and misery wherever it went. This force could inhabit and enslave the minds of man… but then something occurred, not recorded, and that same dark force was banished to the peripheries of the world… until now.’

  Harker now stared at the doctor with a look of deep concern. ‘Dr Marceau, you seem like a nice man but I have to suggest you’re not just wacky… but maybe clinically insane because what you’re saying is just—’

  ‘I am not. So listen, and listen up good,’ Marceau replied defiantly. ‘Mathematicians and physicists now believe that our universe is just one of many alternate realities, each with its own laws of physics completely different from our own. So everything Father Davies and I discovered leads me to believe that this “happening” the tribe described… well, maybe it was real. But, instead of something spiritual, it was actually another reality that collided with ours and left these beings – demons, spirits, whatever you want to call them stranded on our planet. Over thousands of years, stories of these same spirits have inhabited every culture on the planet and eventually when Catholicism rose to prominence, those very tangible notions were repackaged as the Devil and his army of demon spirits. A spiritual set of ideas was therefore based on a very real occurrence. The Bible is littered with stories or analogies that show us certain truths about us as human beings and our history, so why couldn’t the same thing have happened with those beings that eventually got rebranded as the Devil and the kingdom of Hell?’

  Harker closed his eyes momentarily and stifled a laugh but it was not one born from humour but rather frustration, because this tale was just too much to swallow. ‘So let me get this straight. You think that spirit-like beings from an alternate universe got stranded here during some cosmic event, in a colliding of realties creating…what? A doorway to this world? And they’ve been stuck here ever since, causing mayhem?

  Dr Marceau eyed him now with a look of complete conviction. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that but essentially… yes.’

  ‘And how about the pulsating artefact, where did you find those things?’

  ‘That for me became the game changer,’ Marceau replied and roaring along without even a hint of hesitation. ‘We found it in the possession of the same tribe. It had been protected and passed down through countless generations, along with stories of their arrival, since the dawn of time as they themselves explained. I don’t know if the artefact arrived on Earth at the same time as the “demons”,’ Marceau said wiggling his fingers in up the air, ‘but apparently these objects are the only things that can send them back, or destroy them… who knows. But the pair of us made a big mistake.’

  Harker didn’t know how much of this stuff arose solely as the result of Dr Marceau’s obviously troubled mind but he did realise where the story was going. ‘You stole the artefact, didn’t you?’

  Marceau looked guilty as charged, and nodded his head ashamedly. ‘At the time we thought such a monumentally important item needed above all to be protected, but now I see we were unfathomably wrong. There are people, servants to these things that want it badly, because it is these spirits’ only weakness, and the very reason the tribe kept the artefact hidden for of thousands of years.’ He looked in complete awe of the idea. ‘For all that time, these people stayed hidden away in the darkest most primordial spot on planet Earth, just so as to keep this artefact concealed and thus stop it falling into the hands of those that might seek to use it for their own twisted aims. And, in a matter of only months, we two managed to screw everything up royally.’

  ‘Woah, woah, there Doctor,’ Harker gasped and barley keeping up with Marceau’s ramblings, ‘What the hell are you talking about? What people? What servants?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’m jumping ahead; I tend to do that.’ Marceau said fretfully, only just registering Harker’s confusion of his tall tale. ‘Once we got back from the Congo someone, one of these people I mentioned, turned up on Father Davies’s doorstep, asking questions. ‘She was aware of the artefact’s existence and knew we had stolen it. Crazier still, she and her partners were convinced it signalled the arrival of the Antichrist, if you can believe that. Of course that’s just total rubbish. The Devil, Antichrist, spirits – whatever you want to call them, have always been here. Biding their time until things were just right.’

  ‘Oh, right, because dimension-jumping beings seem plausible to you but the Antichrist is just plain crazy,’ Harker replied with a shake of his head. ‘And what exactly is the reason they were biding their time?’

  ‘To use your jargon, to open the gates of Hell or, to use my own wording, to open a link between realities.’

  It was clear that Marceau felt like he was on shaky ground in this part of his explanation, which was ironic considering the tall story so far, but he immediately sought to sum it all up for Harker. ‘I don’t know… maybe they want to bring all their brethren into our universe and claim it for their own. Or maybe they just want to go back to their universe. All I know is that these things are as real as you or I and so I believe it was they who possessed Father Davies and caused him to do the things he did. He was controlled by the very hand of the so-called Devil himself.’

  Harker watched his host nervously fidgeting with his fingers and he realised that, even though he himself was wholly unconvinced by the man’s truly n
utty explanation, it was something that Marceau believed without question. It would be plainly wrong to play on the doctor’s delusions but perhaps there were some truths wrapped up amidst this whopper of a tale. ‘There’s a woman I ran into back in Athens who seemed dead set on getting her hands on the missing artefact. So dead set that she killed the man Father Davies had entrusted it to.’

  The very mention of this had Marceau gulping, and the blood began to drain from his face. ‘Was she a black woman with dreadlocks?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Harker replied in surprise, ‘with a thick Jamaican accent.’

  The man’s teeth began to chatter slightly and his eyes darted back and forth as he pondered. ‘There’s a group I belong to which I think you should meet.’

  ‘A group? Who exactly?’ Harker asked apprehensively, finding that his host’s panicky demeanour was beginning to rub off on him.

  Marceau was already tapping a number into his phone as he replied. ‘A group set up a long time ago to act as guardians for just this reason.’

  As the doctor waited for the phone to reply, Harker found his head spinning from all this craziness and he couldn’t help thinking that this group might have been more appropriately a mental health support group than the supposed guardians of Marceau’s dimension theory.

  ‘This group… er, they don’t sit around in a circle and perhaps indulge in some kind of medication, or maybe herbal remedies, do they?’

  ‘Oh, shut up, you condescending idiot,’ Marceau snarled as his call was now answered. ‘It’s Gérald. We have to meet… I know, but it’s serious. I’m here with someone who knows where the stone, is and I think the Red Death does as well.’

  ‘The Red Death!’ Harker mouthed in alarm but Marceau ignored his concern with a grimace and instead concentrated on his phone call.

  ‘He calls himself Professor Alex Harker… Bring him with me? Are you sure? Very well, we’ll see you there in one hour on the dot.’ Marceau hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘You’re in luck as they’ll meet with us, but listen here, Professor – if that’s truly your identity – I’ll have no more of your contempt, do you hear me?’

  Marceau’s demand was made with total and absolute seriousness and, even though Harker wanted nothing more than to just grab a taxi and subsequently drop the good doctor off at the nearest mental health clinic for some well-needed R&R, he instead decided to give this man the benefit of the doubt. He steadied himself and offered a compliant nod of his head.

  ‘Good,’ Marceau said, with his beady eyes bulging behind those thick-lensed horn-rim glasses of his. ‘Because if you want to live past today, you’ll now do everything I tell you and without question, understand? Everything I say from here on in must be treated with complete and unwavering seriousness. You have found yourself in the midst of a war, Professor Harker, where even the slightest mistake can lead to certain doom.’ He said this in a raised voice that was now quivering with a rage. ‘Now tell me… How do you feel about hot buttered toasted teacakes?’

  Chapter 18

  ‘Told you they were good,’ Marceau said with a satisfied smile as he wolfed another generous portion of buttered teacake into his mouth and chomped away happily. ‘Better than in the UK, that’s for sure.’

  Harker glanced down at his own untouched plate of teacakes and also managed a smile. ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I’m not a fan.’

  Marceau shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your loss.’

  The short five-minute walk to Cafe Ribe brasserie had been uneventful and Harker had since been counting down the minutes until the meeting Marceau had organised for them both earlier. The small cafe was surprisingly quiet for the time of day but for any customer it seemed a perfect place to watch the world go by. For Harker on the other hand it was rapidly becoming torture. In all the time they had been seated here the doctor had seemed unwilling to explain who was due or why this meeting was necessary. Even though he believed it possible that the recent murders and also the death of his friend Father Davies may have caused a nervous breakdown in Marceau, his sheer curiosity had convinced him to at the very least, give the fellow an hour.

  Harker glanced down at his watch to check the time. ‘Well, that’s an hour gone.’ he declared, getting to his feet. ‘Dr Marceau, I’m very sorry to have troubled you but I really must be going now.’ He picked up his own untouched teacakes and placed it on the doctor’s now empty plate. ‘Please have mine and I must bid you adieu, sir.’

  At first Marceau looked rather shocked but seconds later his expression changed and a smug smile appeared on his face as behind them the bell on the door chimed. Before Harker had time to turn around, he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder.

  ‘You must be Professor Harker?’ a voice inquired in English with a resolutely thick French accent.

  Harker turned around to find himself looking into the face of a man in his sixties with a short white beard, steel-framed reading glasses and the kindly expression one would expect from a lifelong friend.

  ‘Thank you for meeting with us,’ the newcomer continued.

  Harker glanced over the man’s shoulder to see two more people with equally affable expressions. One was a younger man with a clean-shaven face, short light-blond hair and wearing a smart suit with a tan mackintosh draped over his forearm, and the other a woman in her mid-twenties with short black hair. She wore a colourful summer frock with distinctive purple and red zigzag patterns, and carried a slender dark-brown Louis Vuitton satchel clasped in one hand.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you… I think,’ Harker replied, slightly taken aback because he had decided all of twenty minutes earlier that no one was likely to show up.

  I apologise for the wait but this meeting was so last-minute,’ the bearded man explained politely. ‘My name is Henri Berger and with me here are Pierre Beaumont and Monique Couture.’

  Harker dispensed with any handshakes and offered a nod of his head to each of the new arrivals in turn. ‘Forgive me for looking shocked but I wasn’t expecting you to actually turn up.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Henri continued to smile, ‘we were just as surprised when we got the call an hour ago. Hi, Gérald.’

  Marceau pushed his plate to one side, stood up and shook the older man’s hand. ‘As surprised as I was when Professor Harker arrived on my doorstep.’

  There was an awkward moment of silence before Pierre gave a wave to the proprietor of the cafe and the man immediately headed away from his post behind the counter and disappeared through a door marked ‘Staff Only.’

  ‘Let’s find somewhere private to talk, shall we?’ Henri proposed and, with himself and Monique taking the lead, they headed towards and through the same door the owner had used only moments earlier. Harker was still unsure where all this actually was heading but his instincts told him he was in no immediate danger and, despite not knowing of what this group stood for, he was happy to tug on the string and see where it might lead him.

  Beyond the door Harker found himself in tight proximity with the others in a small pantry full of restaurant stock, from large retail tubs of granulated coffee to packets of croissants and an assortment of other patisserie items, all packed neatly on rows of shelves. The owner stood furthest in and, with a smile from Henri, he slipped his fingers into a small crevice at the base of the wall and gave a gentle tug. The wall swung backwards with the sound of air pressure being released as the small hydraulic hinges compressed until it lay flat against the adjoining wall, thus revealing what lay behind it.

  Set into the plaster partition was a heavy-looking steel door with chipped green paint and rusting edges and, as Marceau shot Harker a wink, Henri and Monique both produced long black, tarnished keys such as one might associate with an old-fashioned safe.

  At this point the proprietor slid past them and headed back towards the kitchen, closing the pantry door behind him. Henri and Monique inserted their keys in two small holes on opposite sides of the metal door, then they glanced at one anothe
r and began to count down in unison,

  ‘Three, two, one.’

  Both keys turned simultaneously and, with a click, the entire metal door swung inwards to expose a dark entrance-way. Harker felt a gust of stale air rush past him as Henri reached inside and flicked a switch.

  Ahead of them, the grilled covered work lights lining the wall began to turn on one after the other, and Harker watched as they gradually lit up a long passageway with each fresh bulb illuminating it further, eventually showing its full length.

  The entire passageway, heading downwards on a shallow incline, was over one hundred metres in length, before it curved off to the left and continued for who knew how much further. Harker was now coaxed forward along with the rest of the group and stepped onto a small platform which offered him his first complete view of what this chamber was all about. The passageway contained a set of small metal tracks running straight down its centre, and at the edge of the platform itself, a pair of mini train carts sat waiting for them though they looked more suited to hauling coal out of mines than offering passengers a ride.

  ‘What is this place?’ Harker hissed as behind him Pierre pushed the heavy metal door back in place.

  ‘Abandoned military tunnels,’ Monique explained, and motioning him towards the open-top carts that Henri and Marceau were already climbing into. ‘Built before and during the last war. They run for miles underneath Paris,’ she explained with a certain pride, ‘connecting to exits all over the city, although almost all of them were boarded up long ago.’

  ‘But not this one,’ Pierre said and, with a gentle shove, he pushed Harker into the back seat of the second cart and sat down next to him. ‘This particular one has a far darker history to it.’

  With everyone now seated, Henri pushed a small green button on the dashboard and with a lurch the two carts began to set off down the track until reaching a top speed of around fifteen miles an hour, which was maintained as the glowing wall lights zipped past them.