Quintessence of Dust
Page 18
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The Minotaur grabbed John’s hand.
“Bit late in the day to tell me you’re gay,” said John, hoping the joke might lift some of the gravity that was pushing down on his shoulders.
The Minotaur prised open John’s hand and there he placed a cold metal object. The chill went some way to tempering the heat burning up John’s palm.
“Take this sword,” said the Minotaur. “It’s the Greek’s. I found it down here.”
John looked down at the sword. It was old, and the edge of the blade had rusted.
“What do you expect me to do with this?”
“Protect me,” said the Minotaur, and with that, he picked up the sledgehammer with his spare hand and swung it at the door. The earth could have split in two and it wouldn’t have made a louder and more terrifying noise as each strike of that sledgehammer. The Minotaur huffed and growled with every beat. John considered how much time would pass before the police arrived. The torch flickered on and off as the sledgehammer made contact, throwing fleeting shadows across the Minotaur’s broad and muscular back. The damage to the door was minimal and John was about to stop the Minotaur when an unworldly groan rang out and the door collapsed to the ground. The only noise John could hear was the sound of the Minotaur’s breath, and his own heart throwing itself against his breastplate. The Minotaur crossed its divide and entered the room, the light from the torch consumed by the thick cloak of gloom that lay within.
John cried out, “What’s in there?” but the Minotaur said nothing. He edged forward, tentatively, dragging the sword behind him and repeated the question, but no word of reassurance returned. John was almost at the entrance when the Minotaur rushed out, forcing John to reel back on his heels.
“Jesus! You scared the crap out of me.”
The Minotaur handed John the torch, told him to wait and then ran up the stairs. Light touched the sides of the wall surrounding the door, leaving a perfect rectangle of black at the entrance. Beyond lay terrifying visions of monsters lurking within, an abyss of nightmare and paranoia. He edged further and further back, sword held out in front, and by the time he reached the stairs leading into the room, the Minotaur returned.
“Here,” he said, out of breath. The Minotaur unfastened a large bobbin of twine. He made a loop with one end, and placed it over John’s hand, tying it around his wrist. He then placed the bobbin on a spike that had been impaled in the wall.
“What’s this for?” asked John.
“It’s so you don’t get lost,” replied the Minotaur.
“Get lost? What the hell is in there?”
The Minotaur leaned in towards John and replied, “It’s a labyrinth.”