by R. G. Bullet
“You have spirit, boy, that’s good. You’ll need it down there.” He shoved them back and took a large key from his waist. “Welcome—fools!”
As soon as he pushed them through he locked the gate behind them. “The last nosy children I let in…” He glanced up the tunnel. “…are still down there. And that was a long time ago!”
Archy’s temper snapped and he rushed for the gate. “You can’t lock us in—we just paid you!”
“And I’ll get paid again when Saez finds you. Now, MOVE ON!” The guard thrust his sword through the bars, grazing Archy’s ribs.
As they edged up the dark tunnel, the stench became overpowering. A putrid blend of animals, smoke, blood, and decay filled their nostrils.
“I thought Aunt Maureen’s basement smelled bad,” said Vincent, “But this place hums!”
“I wish we were in her basement now,” Georgia replied quietly. Her words hit Archy like a hammer. He pressed his watch: 59 minutes.
The water had seeped through the walls and they trudged ankle-deep in muck. The tunnel was lit by small torches, which cast shadows along the walls. The loud roar of a lion echoed from somewhere in the distance.
“This place gives me the creeps. Let’s get this over with,” said Georgia, keeping close to the others.
“Don’t worry Georgia, Archy hasn’t let us down yet,” said Vincent. But as Archy led them deeper into the heart of the Coliseum, he felt nothing less than sheer terror.
There was a lot more activity farther along the tunnel, so they kept close to the walls. Two stumpy men carrying a wooden ladder trotted past in the haze, knocking Vincent into the dirt.
Georgia pulled him up. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” said Vincent, wiping his face, “I’m getting used to it.”
Archy led them into a shadowy doorway, and from a safe distance they waited for the passage to clear. Light from the arena streamed in through an arch and down a ramp, illuminating a wooden boat being prepared for launch. A man wearing a filthy turban barked orders to several slaves nearby.
“YOU! Get the swords. You! Get the nets. You there! Bring the ropes. I don’t need your mistakes or I will feed you to the bears.”
Archy went first as they slipped past the man unnoticed and hurried around the corner. More people were coming up the tunnel and they ducked behind a canvas sail hanging on the wall.
There was a loud hiss and then a snap. Someone shouted, “HOLD IT STEADY… HOLD IT!”
Archy peered out to see three boys dragging a thrashing crocodile by its tail. A rope attached to a long pole bound its mouth tightly and the smallest of the three boys held onto it with all his might. Suddenly the crocodile hurled the boy and the stick against the wall with a whack! The crocodile shook itself free and snapped at the sail hiding Archy, Georgia, and Vincent, ripping a thin strip across its center.
“No, you idiots! Pull it away from there!” The man with the turban heaved the beast up the ramp and dumped it into the water of the arena. “That’s how you do it!” He pushed the three boys back down the ramp and they slid past the sail, with him close behind. “Get the rest, fools! HURRY!”
Archy kept perfectly still, holding Georgia’s hand until the man was out of sight. “You two stay here a sec. I have to figure out where we are.”
Squinting against the light Archy edged up the ramp and at the top he got a clear view of the center of the Coliseum. The battle still raged and he could clearly see hundreds of faces above him.
The water was choppy and it lapped at the edge of the arena, streaming down the ramp. As Archy turned to leave, a man surfaced with a gasp for air, gripping the side in an attempt to pull himself out of the water.
“Help me!” he shouted, staring wildly. Desperate, with one arm outstretched, he pleaded to Archy. “Help me!”
Archy knelt and clutched the man’s hand. The spectators directly above them started to cheer.
“Hold on!” Archy shouted, heaving back with all his effort. The crocodile snapped wildly but the man kicked away from it. With a final push he rolled up on to the ramp, heaving for air.
To Archy’s horror the mass of people only cheered louder. The sight of the bleeding man and the crowd’s hysteria overwhelmed him.
“Get away from the edge,” Archy shouted to the man, and then turned and slid down the ramp. When he looked back he saw a crocodile’s tail flash against the blue sky and the man crawling away.
Archy ran back to the sails and drew them aside. “We have to go! Come on!” he said.
The three sped off down the tunnel. They passed metal armor hanging on rows of hooks, spiked wheels, spears, shields piled high, bales of hay. Finally they stopped in a cavernous space filled with broken chariots.
“This isn’t working,” Archy heaved, “Time’s running out. I’ve got to think of something else.”
Georgia slumped against the wall. “We have to find the gateway—there’s nothing else for it.”
“Besides,” Vincent added, “there’s only one way out we know of. That guard let us in here—but he’ll never let us out.” His words hung heavily for a moment while all three of them stared at each other.
Just then an enormous figure passed the entrance. The man staggered, clutching his arm. He stopped briefly, groaned in agony and then lurched off into the haze.
“Did you see that?” said Vincent. “Archy! That was a Praetorian helmet under his arm!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I swear. I recognize it.”
“I’m going to follow him,” said Archy. “If he’s part of the guard, then maybe Maximus Crassus will be near. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve made the Restitution.” He swung his backpack with the Shroud onto the ground. “Give me fifteen minutes!”
Vincent picked up Archy’s bag. “Let’s find a place to hide, Georgia.”
The back of the space was dark and Vincent and Georgia found cover in the remains of a splintered chariot. From there, they could see the entrance, the faint light from the tunnel, and the people dashing past.
“We’ll be all right here, Georgia,” said Vincent, moving closer, giving her a hug.
“Thanks, Vincent,” Georgia said. “I hope Archy will be all right. I’m wondering how this is going to turn out.”
Vincent wanted to tell her it was going to be all right, but he wasn’t sure himself. He cleared his throat to speak when he felt something rubbery on the floor of the chariot. Holding it up to the dim light he saw a severed thumb with a white bone sticking out. He threw it over the side with a shudder. “Eeerrghhh,” he said.
“What was that?” Georgia asked.
“Just a dead mouse,” he said, too repulsed to say what it really was. “Everything’s fine.” He wished he believed it.
***
Archy moved cautiously down the tunnel, tracking the guard closely. Vincent had been right. The guard’s helmet had a plume of red feathers and the exact same earflaps as Professor Sidley’s drawings. He checked his watch: 39 minutes remaining.
Just then he heard the sound of men marching, the clinking of metal, and the synchronized pounding of feet echoing off the walls. As the noise increased, Archy strained to see into the haze. The Death Squad swirled into view.
The lead man was dressed in full regalia. He wore chain-mail armor and a helmet decorated with red feathers. Archy knew the man could only be Maximus Crassus.
The unit moved quickly.
“Maximus, I found this!” Archy jumped in front of the squad, holding out the gladius. “It belongs to you. Take it!”
Maximus Crassus grabbed Archy’s arm and twisted it violently, ripping the gladius from his hold. It was then he recognized it. “Thief! Bring him!” he shouted to his men.
Archy felt strong arms on both sides grab him sharply. “But I’m only trying to return it. I didn’t steal anything!”
“You’re a liar as well as a thief,” growled Maximus Crassus. “You’ll serve as our mascot today.”
Archy wr
iggled desperately, his feet barely touching the ground. “Let go!” he shouted. “Put me down.”
He had to get away. There wasn’t time to make Maximus Crassus understand. He threw his foot out, tripping the guard to his left, but the man, quick to catch his balance, clouted Archy with such force that Archy blacked out.
Chapter 39
Maximus Crassus
In the gloomy, damp room with Georgia by his side, Vincent unexpectedly had a clear idea of what he must do. “Georgia, I’ve got to go back out there—”
“No! Don’t you dare, Vincent Maynard-Bull! Don’t even think about leaving me here alone,” Georgia blurted before he could finish. “If we split up now, we’re as good as dead. Why do you have to go back out there?”
“It’s plan B, Georgia,” said Vincent softly. “If Archy doesn’t make the Restitution in time, we’ll be history, literally. We’ll spend the rest of our days dragging crocodiles around this rotten dump.” He paused to let his words sink in, and then continued calmly. “If we don’t think clearly now, Georgia, we’re doomed and what’s more, for the first time ever in my life, I’ve had a vision! Sitting here in the dark isn’t going to help anyone.”
“Getting slaughtered won’t help either, will it?”
Vincent took a deep breath. “Georgia, listen, please. We’ve got to take our chances now.”
“Plan B better be good.”
Vincent jumped up. “Plan B is simple. First, I don’t have time to explain it and, second, get your camera! Part of plan B is explaining it on the way.” He pulled Georgia to her feet.
“All right, Vincent,” Georgia said wearily, “but what about the rug? We can’t just leave it here unguarded.”
Vincent took a moment to place Archy’s backpack under the chariot and to cover it as best he could. He then took Georgia’s hand and they sped back up the passage, stopping in one of the rooms with the racks of armor.
Vincent grabbed a helmet and body armor. After Georgia tucked her hair up, he stuck a loose-fitting helmet onto her head. It had a metal piece covering the bridge of her nose and disguised her face well. “Just a sec, Georgia,” he said as he bent down. “You’re far too pretty to be a soldier!” Before she could resist he’d smeared mud all over her face.
“Oh great!” She closed her eyes as he wiped more mud on her thin, white arms.
“I can tell you love plan B,” he said, placing a coil of rope over his shoulders. He pulled her back out toward the boat ramp, knelt down, and started digging in the mud. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he said, foraging around in the muck. “It’s got to be here somewhere.”
“There are two people looking at us, Vincent.”
“Got it!” he said, clutching the pole the young boy used earlier to lasso the alligator. “Who’s looking at us?”
She gave a half-nod and her helmet wobbled. “There, bottom of the ramp by the boat.”
Vincent’s next move astounded her. He walked right up to them.
“I need MORE SWORDS! Do you expect me to fight with this?” He held up the pole with its dangling noose. “For the love of Zeus!”
The men looked at each other and then scampered off without so much as a glance back.
***
Just as Vincent and Georgia dashed off, the Death Squad came to a halt at the top of the ramp. Archy was slipping in and out of consciousness. His head throbbed and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He opened his eyes, only to have the harsh silver daylight blind him. He could just see Maximus Crassus raising his arm.
“Men! Prepare yourselves! Give the people of Rome what they have come to expect. Give them death! And let the glory of the Empire shine on you!” His deep voice boomed out and he turned to salute the emperor, who was sitting in the stands.
Archy could do little else but hang in the soldier’s grasp. Recognizing the ramp and hoping Georgia and Vincent were close by, he opened his mouth to shout to them but the piercing sound of trumpets drowned out his voice.
Ttannnann...nannannannnnnn…nnananannn.
The fanfare heralded the entrance of Maximus Crassus and the Death Squad.
Maximus Crassus seemed to thrive on the cheers of the baying public. He looked down at Archy blinking beneath him. “You’ll be celebrated this day, boy! Arise and acknowledge the emperor.” He forced Archy’s head around.
The trumpet’s shrill tones stopped and the crowd quieted in anticipation. Archy heard the water lapping against the arena walls. The hush was broken by a ripple of applause at the far end that grew into a chanting crescendo. The crowd’s frenzy echoed around them. Archy was thrown headfirst into the rowboat and Maximus Crassus swung the gladius high into the air. “Forward! Let us dispatch them to their gods!”
The oars hit the water, and the boat lurched forward.
***
The armor and helmets disguised Vincent and Georgia well and they got back to the gate without being stopped or questioned. The same sentry stood with his back to them, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Vincent signaled for Georgia to move closer. Slowly, they crept forward. Extending the pole outward, Vincent held the noose a short distance away from the back of the sentry.
“Ready?” He mouthed to Georgia.
Georgia gave a single, firm nod.
“Go.”
The next few moments seemed to go by in slow motion. Vincent’s foot slurped loudly in the sludge and the sentry spun around on his heels. “Who’s there?” he barked, peering through the bars into the dark of the tunnel.
Vincent lowered the pole and backed off.
The sentry looked at what seemed to be two soldiers, their faces too dirty to recognize. “What are you doing up here?” he snapped.
Georgia tilted her helmet farther over her face and held out her camera. She spoke in the deepest voice she could muster. “This is a present from Saez. He says thank you for the children.”
The greedy sentry moved closer, and with his arms outstretched between the iron bars gazed intently at the shiny, silver box. “This silver will go well with my gold.”
“Here,” said Georgia, positioning the camera just out of reach in front of his face.
“Well, give it to me.” He craned his neck, straining to examine his reward.
Georgia closed her eyes, made a silent wish, and pushed the shutter. The camera’s flash flickered in rapid bursts, then white light exploded into the dark. The guard yelped with fright and clung to the gate. “LIGHTNING! The light—my eyes!”
“Now!” Georgia shouted.
Vincent pushed the pole through the bars and looped the noose around the sentry’s neck. Georgia grabbed hold and together they pulled as hard as they could. The sentry thrashed around until his knees gave way and he melted to the ground.
Vincent wrenched the key from around his waist and unlocked the gate. “Help me drag him through,” he said, picking up the man’s legs and turning him around.
“Is he dead?” Georgia asked.
Vincent felt for a pulse on his neck. “No. But I’ll bet by the time his boss finds him he’ll wish he were.”
They dragged the guard into the shadows and Vincent bound him firmly with the rope, tying intricate knots. The guard began to wake, coughing and spluttering for breath.
“You!” he wheezed, recognizing them. He wriggled frantically. “I’ll cut your hearts out of your chicken chests and feed them to the bears.”
“That’s not very pleasant,” said Vincent, tightening the final knot with extra force.
Georgia checked the tunnel behind them. “He’s got to be quiet, Vincent, or someone will hear us.”
Vincent ripped a filthy length from the sentry’s tunic and stuffed it into the sentry’s mouth. Then he shoved the gate keys and the gold coins into his helmet and placed it under his arm. “That’s it. We’ve got one way out at least. Let’s get back to the Shroud and get Archy!”
***
Archy tried to gain control of his thoughts. The sunlight was creeping up the higher levels of
the Coliseum and, as the rowboat drew closer to the battle on the decks of the sunken boat, the full span of the arena came into view. A guard shouted from their midst. “Ready yourselves!”
Archy feigned unconsciousness and waited for the guard’s hold on him to loosen. The Death Squad started to prepare themselves. The man holding Archy’s arm released his grip to adjust a strap and Archy jumped up and dove over the side of the boat.
Maximus Crassus’s voice was cold. “Get him back or die!”
The guard released his sword belt, letting it fall with a loud clunk, clenched a dagger, and dove in.
Archy swam with all his force beneath the murky water. The keel of the boat came into view. Archy could see a ragged hole in the side and pushed through, surfacing below the wooden deck with barely enough space to gasp for air. It was dark and he could just make out planks of wood and lengths of rope floating in the water. The noise from the battle pounded above.
He dipped below the surface, searching desperately for a weapon, only to see the hazy figure of the soldier coming toward him. Archy kicked off starting to count, one million one… one million two… After a minute and a half he could feel the pressure in his chest. Then the distinctive crack of wood as the soldier started breaking his way in. Archy felt the urge to breathe start in small spasms, one minute forty-three…The pressure increased with every excruciating second but he gripped the mast, refusing to surface. Two minutes ten…two minutes eleven. Just as he was about to kick for the surface the exit verse came to him as if it were being spoken into his ear.
The theater hides the egress’s gate,
In a Bear Place locked that needs the bait.
A twirl of the key is all that’s needed,