‘You call this torture?’ he snarled. ‘This is mildly uncomfortable, at best!’
‘That is not the torture part,’ said the Specialist, as he nodded towards the vibrating machine. A blue flash sparked from the tips of the metal clamps in his hands as he clipped each one to Quaint’s wrists. He shuffled back over to the machine, ensuring that he kept his distance. ‘This is the torture part.’
He flipped a switch and an electric bolt of lightning spat from the tip of the oscillating generator. Quaint watched in slow motion as the sparks travelled along the length of the wires, snaking towards him. As the jolt of electricity hit him, his back arched violently and he screamed out in pain. With the water augmenting the electricity’s impact, it doused every atom of the conjuror’s body in icy fire. The pain etched itself into his flesh, stripping his skeleton from his body and marinated the raw bones in white-hot lava.
The Specialist then turned off the machine, peering with interest at the wisps of smoke that floated from Quaint’s exposed skin. ‘Quite shocking… isn’t it?’
Quaint’s head lolled. ‘It barely tickled…’
‘I am glad to hear that, because that was the lowest setting. Things get much worse from here on in, I’m afraid.’
With hazy eyes, Quaint watched the Specialist hurry back to his machine. The conjuror clenched his teeth to ride through the inevitable pain. It was not enough to quell the electric fury that poured into his body. This was the most nerve-fraying state of agony that he had ever experienced in his entire life. He almost prayed that the next jolt would kill him and it would be over quickly, for he did not think he could survive such prolonged torture for long. Quaint closed his eyes, knowing this was to be his end. After everything that he had lived through, was this to be the manner of his death? It certainly would have been, had an amazingly fortuitous series of events not occurred at that exact moment. There was no lancing blue fire, no ominous hum from the electrical machine, no inhuman cackle from the Specialist as he fried the conjuror alive. There was nothing. Nothing that was, apart from a very loud crash.
Quaint opened his eyes to see the Specialist cowering on the floor, blood seeping from his nose… and Viktor Dzierzanowski towering over him.
‘I hope I am not interrupting?’ he said, slamming the crypt’s door and bolting it. He rushed over to Quaint’s side and hastily unclasped his wrists from the chair. ‘We have to get out of here – and soon! I made my entrance from a window at the rear, but it was teeming with guards at every turn. We are trapped!’
‘Trapped? Me? Never!’ said Quaint. ‘You there! Specialist! Is there any other way out of this crypt?’
‘No, signor!’ he whimpered, blood coating his misshapen teeth. ‘But your friend is right about the guards. They patrol these tunnels every fifteen minutes whilst I am operating, just in case there are any complications.’
A heavy thumping resounded against the crypt’s door.
‘It seems they are ahead of schedule,’ said Viktor. ‘Cornelius, pull yourself together! You have got out of worse scrapes than this!’
‘That’s a matter for debate.’ Quaint’s hands darted to his head, scratching at his nest of curls. He could feel the last ebb of the electricity fighting to stay in his veins as he tried his best to purge it. ‘Christ, the pain is killing me!’
‘Cornelius, shame on you,’ said Viktor. ‘This is a house of God.’
‘Romulus didn’t look much like God to me… quite the opposite, in fact.’ Quaint’s black eyes flicked wide open and he stumbled over to the Specialist, lifting him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. ‘You said that a river runs underneath this cathedral?’
Another thump at the door.
‘Yes!’ he answered. ‘It leads to an inlet that meets up with the River Annanti some miles away.’
‘Good,’ said Quaint. ‘Can you swim, Viktor?’
‘Do not be ridiculous, Cornelius! I am a grown man!’
‘Another matter for debate, but can you swim?’
Viktor puffed his cheeks. ‘Nein… I… I never found the time.’
‘Well, now’s as good as any,’ said Quaint, as he pushed Viktor into the open grate in the floor. ‘Oh, and before I forget.’ He punched the Specialist in the face. ‘That’s for the torture part.’ He leapt into the rushing water just as the crypt’s door was forcibly smashed open.
Five minutes and almost as many miles later, Quaint dragged his soaking wet body from the freezing cold water of the River Annanti, clutching hold of Viktor’s collar. The bedraggled knife thrower coughed and spluttered, smashing his fists into the water.
‘Mein Gott, Cornelius, you almost drowned me!’
‘No… the river almost drowned you. I only pushed you into it. And had I not, we would probably both be trussed up and fried by that maniac’s machine by now, so show a little gratitude!’
‘I hate getting wet,’ Viktor complained.
‘I’m not all that keen on it myself, but it’s better to be wet and alive than dry and dead,’ said Quaint. ‘We need to find somewhere to bed down for the night before we go back to that cathedral tomorrow.’
From somewhere in his lungs, Viktor found a mouthful of water to spit out.
‘Go back? We only just escaped, why would we want to go back?’
‘Because I hate coincidences,’ said Quaint, ‘almost as much as coincidences seem to hate me. So much so, that I’m able to tell the difference between what is an actual coincidence and what is something quite the opposite.’
‘Such as?’ asked Viktor.
‘Circumstance,’ replied Quaint. ‘I arrived in Rome this morning with a bee in my bonnet and little else, hunting a man who could have died decades ago, for all I know. I’m used to chasing ghosts, Viktor, but even as I was staring into Romulus’s face, I wasn’t scared… because I knew our meeting was of importance.’
‘To what?’ asked Viktor.
‘My hunt for Remus,’ replied Quaint. ‘I know with all certainty that Romulus is the man to help me. It can’t be coincidence! I was an idiot for not seeing it before! How familiar are you with Roman mythology?’
‘About as familiar as I am with being able to touch my toes these days,’ said Viktor, slapping his portly stomach.
‘Quite…’ said Quaint. ‘Anyway, in Roman mythology, Romulus and Remus were brothers born of a union between their earthly mother and the god Mars. They argued their whole lives until one day they fought a tremendous battle with the heavens crashing around them, thunder and lightning, the lot. Eventually Remus was destroyed and Romulus was victorious… and Rome was so named in his honour.’
‘Cornelius, I am tired,’ groaned Viktor. ‘Can we not skip lessons for today?’
‘No, Viktor!’ Quaint said. ‘You’re not seeing it! I’m here in Rome hunting a man named Remus and the only man that can help me happens to be a man called Romulus! That’s a pretty wild coincidence, even for me, which is why things are going to be tricky. I never got the chance to tell Romulus why I wanted his help last night, and now I can’t help but feel that I’m going to rely on it… and that’s why we’ve got to go back.’
‘One more leap into the jaws of death, eh?’ Viktor harrumphed.
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Quaint, slapping the German’s back. ‘But you’ve got to admit, it is fun!’
‘Something tells me,’ said Viktor, ‘that your definition of “fun” is going to be the death of me.’
Chapter XIV
The Burning Soul
Sat alone in his office within the Hades Consortium headquarters, Baron Remus was deep in thought, repetitively stroking the oil-black streaks that ran through his beard. Ever since he had read George Dray’s note, the name Cornelius Quaint had been a fly buzzing around his head. How he dearly wished that he could swot it.
‘Chi è esso?’ he called, hearing a rap upon his office door.
It opened to reveal one of the Hades Consortium’s attendants, a willowy young man dressed in crimson robes. ‘Baron, I ap
ologise for the intrusion. Lady Sirona requests an audience immediately.’
Remus cursed. ‘Then let us hope it is good news, for I dearly I need it.’
Making his way down through the winding corridors and along the tunnels and into the Hive’s underbelly, Remus arrived outside Sirona’s quarters. He took a deep breath before stepping inside. The smell of stagnant air hit his senses immediately, like the smell of impending death.
‘You sent for me?’ he said, by way of a greeting.
The old woman was sitting awkwardly in a wheelchair, the light from an oil lamp striking her withered features. She looked like a skeleton, her flesh clinging to her skull. ‘Adolfo, thank you for being so prompt.’
‘I assume it is something urgent, Sirona?’
‘Cornelius Quaint is in Rome.’
‘I see,’ said Remus. ‘So Renard failed.’
‘We must assume so,’ said Sirona.
‘And so what must we do now?’ asked Remus. ‘Send our men out on the streets to hunt him down?’
‘I’ve already tried that,’ said Sirona. ‘Unfortunately, the men I dispatched to intercept Cornelius in his hotel were unsuccessful… terminally so.’
Remus growled. ‘Then I shall seek him out myself and deal with him!’
‘No!’ roared the old woman, causing her to cough violently.
‘Your sickness is getting worse, Sirona. You must rest,’ Remus said, steadying the woman’s arm.
‘Rest, Remus? How can I rest when Cornelius Quaint is on the verge of uncovering decades of secrets that you and I have both worked hard to remain concealed?’
‘So what are we supposed to do?’ asked Remus. ‘Just sit here and wait for Quaint to arrive?’
‘Exactly,’ replied Sirona, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief, staining it with a thick, tar-like substance. ‘You must ensure this information is kept from the inner stratum. If they were to learn that Cornelius survived the tragedy in Egypt, then our house of lies will come tumbling down. In time, Cornelius will come here, and we must make it easy for him. The fly will walk right into our web, and when his defences are down… we shall watch as his soul burns.’
Chapter XV
The Fifth Phase
‘Nervous, Viktor?’ enquired Cornelius Quaint of the knife thrower, as they stood in the very same spot adjacent to San Vincentine’s Cathedral that they had the previous night.
Viktor snorted back, ‘Nervous? Me? How dare you? I am just thinking!’
‘Ah. No wonder I didn’t recognise the look on your face,’ said Quaint. ‘So what are you thinking about?’
‘Besides this being madness, you mean?’ asked Viktor. ‘This place might not look quite as imposing in daylight, but we both know that it is what lurks within that we need to fear.’
Quaint smiled. ‘We need to find it before we can fear it, and seeing as this happens to be the enemy’s lair, there’s every possibility that he’ll get the jump on us the moment we set foot inside.’
‘Is that supposed to calm my nerves?’
‘So you are nervous!’ laughed Quaint. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to play things differently this time, no mucking about. This time I’m not going to give Romulus a chance to slam the door in my face!’
‘I thought he tried to electrocute you,’ Viktor said.
‘I was speaking metaphorically,’ said Quaint. ‘Last night I was stupid. I’d heard about his reputation and I wanted to put it to the test. That was childish of me, but now I’m sure of his connection to Remus, I’m going to change my tactics.’
‘Let us hope that Romulus sees it that way,’ said Viktor. ‘He might just decide to kill you anyway.’
‘Whose side are you on, Viktor?’ cried Quaint. ‘If I wanted someone to disagree with my actions at every turn I would have stayed in London! You’re not like that, my old friend. You’ve always shared my zest for an adventure! Remember the old days when we worked the Bavarian circuit? Late night debauchery, plenty of beer and cheer and never a night with an empty bed? Don’t tell me you just gave up?’
‘Nein, Cornelius, I grew up!’ grunted Viktor. ‘Those days are far behind me, as they should be for you. Clambering over walls, snooping on the enemy, getting into scrapes… those are capers for younger men!’
‘So you’d rather stay out here on your own, old man?’ asked Quaint.
‘I will do no such thing!’ roared Viktor. ‘Our friendship is a strong one, Cornelius, and one built on solid foundations. But even the most solid of structures has a weak point. Watching your back when people are intent on killing you is one thing, but I did not plan on it becoming a full-time occupation!’
‘You should talk to Destine,’ grinned Quaint. ‘She’s been doing it all my life.’
Walking through the cathedral’s main gates and into its graveyard, Quaint and Viktor were met instantly by a group of Romulus’s guards. Quaint held up his hands in surrender, motioning Viktor to do the same.
The guards shoved nasty looking knives to their throats.
‘What brings you here?’ demanded one.
‘The Hades Consortium,’ said Quaint.
He might just as well have said ‘Open Sesame.’
Quaint and Viktor were led into the cathedral with knives at their backs, but as they went, Quaint failed to recognise any surroundings from the previous night’s soirée. Granted, he had been semi-conscious and it had been dark, but the route they were taking was definitely a different one. This time he was led deeper underground, deeper than the crypt even, to a room situated at the far end of a long, low-ceilinged tunnel. The room was approached through a pair of heavy wooden doors, and as Quaint was stopped brusquely outside them, he noticed a large padlock and a heavy chain hanging from the wall.
Viktor followed his stare. ‘What is it?’
‘Those chains,’ Quaint replied.
‘What about them?’
‘They’re on the outside,’ said Quaint. ‘Chains on the inside keep things out, whereas chains on the outside keep things in. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
Viktor gulped. ‘You could have told me about this feeling sooner!’
‘What, and spoil all the fun?’
One of the guards prodded his knife into Quaint and Viktor’s back to silence them, as the other pounded upon the heavy doors with his fist.
‘Romulus, we have the intruder from last night in our custody,’ said the guard.
‘Eccellente,’ growled a deep voice from the other side of the doors. ‘Tell me, Giuseppe, where did you manage to find him?’
There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘Actually, we did not find him, sir. In fact, it was he that found us.’
‘He did what?’ Romulus’s booming voice grew louder as he wrenched open the doors. His matted grey hair was swept back from his forehead into a neat ponytail, and his hairy chest burst forth from an open-necked tunic beneath his jacket.
Quaint marvelled at how brutal the man looked close-up, even more so than on the previous night – if a little more groomed. He was forced to take a step back as he looked the bearded man up and down.
‘Romulus?’ he asked.
‘Who were you expecting?’ snarled the Italian.
Quaint floundered. ‘Well… it’s just that you look a little… different from the last time I saw you.’
‘A good night’s sleep can do wonders,’ said Romulus, casually. ‘But you should be more interested in your own wellbeing. As if it was not foolhardy enough to come to my home in the first place, now you return again… and with a friend, no less.’
Viktor scowled as the Italian’s eyes bored into him.
‘Romulus,’ said Giuseppe, ‘the reason why I brought him to see you was because he mentioned something to my men patrolling outside. He mentioned—’
‘The Hades Consortium,’ Quaint said.
His words seemed to solidify and fall to the ground with a resounding crash.
‘The what?’ hissed Romulus. ‘Those devils are never to be men
tioned in my presence!’
‘They have the same effect on me, as it goes.’
Quaint offered the Italian his hand. ‘My name is Cornelius Quaint. Listen, things got a bit out of hand last night, and that’s why I’ve returned to set things straight.’
‘How can mentioning the Hades Consortium set things straight?’ asked Romulus. ‘If anything it is more likely to make me want to tear your heart out.’
Quaint contemplated a falsehood, but then realised that the truth was far more likely to inflame the Italian’s interest. ‘I wish to kill one of their members.’
Romulus looked as if he did not know whether to congratulate the conjuror or laugh in his face. ‘If that is true then you are more stupid than I thought, Signor Quaint, for the Hades Consortium operates on a level far beyond most men’s imaginations!’
‘That’s fine,’ said Quaint. ‘So do I.’
‘And may I ask how the Hades Consortium has wronged you?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Quaint.
Romulus pushed open the doors to his quarters. ‘You risked your life not once but twice in order to speak with me, so the least I can do is listen to your tale.’
‘Very obliging,’ said Quaint, entering Romulus’sroom.
Viktor attempted to follow, but Romulus’s hand darted out to bar his way.
‘Not you,’ he growled. ‘Guards, watch this man. If he does anything apart from stand on that exact spot… eviscerate him.’
‘Eviscerate?’ Viktor gulped. ‘What does that mean?’
‘You’re probably better off not knowing, Vik,’ said Quaint, as the doors were slammed shut in the German’s face.
Quaint looked around the room as he took a seat at the desk opposite the Italian. The quarters were sparse and cramped, and his eyes drifted around the sandstone walls, with solid wooden beams bisecting the ceiling to meet a gallows-like framework at the eaves. Chillingly, assorted weaponry was affixed to the far wall behind the Italian’s desk. A battle mace studded with iron rivets for maximum penetration, several cutlasses and scimitars and an old flintlock pistol. Quaint’s eyes devoured the room as he tried to learn more about its owner, yet he was unable. If there was one thing that he hated it was being on the back foot.
The Romulus Equation Page 8