“Wait,” the old woman said. Her tone suggested that she was considering something. Then, she crumbled out of her seat and hobbled back into the darkness, making quickly for the building behind her. Her shabby, bedraggled back disappeared into it’s black interior like a specter. Annabelle waited anxiously, unsure if the woman would return with an axe or a pair of brawny thieves. Pure curiosity kept her there, and the strange sense she felt in the woman’s presence. It whispered through her fear, giving her just enough confidence to stand inert.
The thick silence of the place overtook swallowed her once more. She looked about, studying shadowy portions of other buildings, all with ornate but empty facades. At the center of the courtyard, a building stood alone. It’s doors and windows were dark, buried beneath layers of cobwebs and soot. Strewn all around it were crates and piles of rubbish, and everything was blackened with ash, age, neglect.
The old woman appeared once more on the edge of the darkness, shuffling out of the building and back to the fire. The rags she wore flowed as she walked, adding to her ghostly appearance as she limped and wheezed. She stopped in front of Annabelle and held out a wrapped parcel, showing hands even more scarred than her face. The woman waited, hand outstretched, not willing to be refused. So, Annabelle accepted the package sheepishly, nodding thankfully to her blind eyes. The package was wrapped in rumpled paper and old, worn-out twine.
“Thank you,” she said.
As she turned to leave, she realized she didn’t know the woman’s name.
“To whom am I obliged, madame?” She asked courteously. “What is your name?”
The woman said nothing, so Annabelle took advantage of the moment, and reached into her pocket to retrieve her sad candle fragment. She would need a light for her journey. As she bent over to the fire, the old woman watched silently. Just as the wick burst into flame, the old woman grasped Annabelle’s wrist.
“Remember my gift,” she said, her eyes rolling back. “Though it is not the only ye have received of late.”
Annabelle panicked and tried to pull away, but the woman’s grip was strong and she was shaking again. Her grip felt hot on Annabelle’s arm, burning her skin.
“He approaches,” she said, “Your benefactor. All will be clear in time. Remember my gift.”
Then, she let go. Annabelle was stunned. She didn’t know what to say. Benefactor? What could she mean? But the woman remained before her, as if expecting something.
“I-I shall,” Annabelle said, her voice shuddering as she tripped over her feet to leave. “I shall remember.”
The old woman’s eyes stared a moment longer before she turned back to her fire, sat down and commenced muttering under her breath. Annabelle took this as a dismissal. Her heart was pounding violently and she wished for nothing more than to get away from the strange old woman. So, she turned and walked back into the darkness from which she’d come, trying with all her might not to panic.
She was much too spooked. She couldn’t think straight. The darkness and decrepitude felt impenetrable. The fear at her back was paralyzing. She certainly didn’t know who or what to trust. But the old woman did have something right. She couldn’t go far with this pathetic light. It’d nearly burned down. And without light, there was no hope in this place. No hope of finding a way out or surviving.
She couldn’t wander around down here any longer. Especially when the prospect of success was so bleak. Her desire for freedom didn’t stretch into the realms of epic stupidity. Who knew what else lurked in these dark places. Fiends? She shuddered at the possibilities of what that could mean.
So, without thinking, she let her feet carry her back toward the passage she’d come by. She hoped her faculties were sensible enough to find a way back. These dark passages had sent a chill into her soul that she couldn’t explain. Turned back to look at the old woman one last time, Annabelle saw that the light of the woman’s fire had extinguished, and she was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER 8
The Courtier Monk
What had been a vast courtyard only moments ago turned blacker than pitch. She couldn’t see a thing. No shapes, no light, no traces of the surrounding buildings. She was surrounded by thick, muddy blackness, and the old woman was gone, as if she’d been no more than a ghost. Had she been an apparition? Had the woman really been there, or was this all a bad dream? Another strange sense crept over her, like the one she’d felt in Blackall’s presence. It felt like a voice she didn’t wish to hear, a terrible realization that crawled over her skin like goosebumps. It scratched at the edge of her mind, begging to be recognized. But she couldn’t process it. Not down here, not alone in this dark, dead place. So it remained at the edge of her reason, pressing terror into her faculties; and her body dealt with it instead. It spread through her limbs in a shuddering panic, making her want to run as fast as she could. She felt exposed, naked in the dark. But she forced herself to move in calm, controlled motions; holding back panicked, gasping moans. She managed in a jerking, mechanical way, feeling quite mad. For she knew that if she ran, she would surely be lost. She’d run into something or go barreling off the edge of some bottomless hole. She must stay calm if she wanted to get out of this. For she was now as blind as the old woman’s milky eyes.
She clenched her teeth and continued through the dark, holding back pandemonium as she clenched her candle tight, wishing desperately to put distance between herself and the old woman’s dwelling place. She couldn’t seem to control her breathing. It came in desperate, frightened gasps. The sounds muddled her efforts to listen to the darkness. Hearing was her only defense now. For she’d never see anything coming toward her in the dark, only hear it’s scratching steps.
This state of affairs seemed to go on forever. Her steps heavy, her breath short, her heart racing. And all around her, blackness. But eventually, her heart rate calmed. Her breathing slowed. The silent darkness still crept around her like a stalking predator, watching with a thousand unseen eyes. But she began to think clearly again, feeling calmer. The initial fear had abated. She still listened for sound between each dropping footfall, sometimes holding back a stride for extra listening time. But, she got used to the dark silence surrounding her, walking on and on.
After awhile, it seemed she should be back in the temple room. But she wasn’t. As she realized this, the fear reemerged. She looked about constantly, waving the candle back and forth in search of columns. But she saw nothing. Not even stone wall. Her heartbeat raced as she realized she may be lost. The thought was like acid in her chest. It made her choke. She couldn’t stand it, the thought of being trapped down here and the reality that would present her with. She wished for nothing more than to return to her snug little cell. To bask in the light, warmth and security of it’s four walls.
Perhaps she took a wrong passageway in her earlier rush? The thought filled her with dread, for there would be no day dawning in these halls to cast new light on the situation. Following the walls by hand would get her nowhere. She could do that for centuries in this vast labyrinth. And her candle was getting so small it would soon burn her fingertips. The light it gave was so dim that she could barely see the hand that held it.
She reached her arm out to the side, feeling for the wall. If her light went out, she would have to let the wall guide her. She took four grasping paces to her right. Expecting stone, her hand fell only on air. This was not a good sign. But she mustn’t cry or fall apart. She mustn’t. No help was coming. She must figure this out herself. She searched frantically for an idea, anything to boost her confidence.
She recalled the parcel the old woman had given her. It’d felt candle-shaped when she received it. But she’d been more mindful of other things at the time. Kneeling down to the cobweb-covered ground, she set the tiny bit of lit candle down with her fingertips. It was scarcely more than a lump of warm wax at this point, with a volcanic lake at it’s center that poured onto her fingers when she moved too much.
Reaching into her skirt pocket, she
pulled out the rumpled parcel. The twine had been tied in multiple strange knots. They almost looked like a patterned bracelet. She yanked them off as fast as she could, fighting the multiple strange knots. Finally, she unwrapped the paper with frantic fingers. Feeling it’s contents with both hands, her heart glowed as she found the silhouette of a thick, black candle. She grasped it to her chest, desperately thankful for her luck. But she had little time to light it. She found the wick with her fingers and held it down to the tiny flame. As the old flame faded into nothing, she bit her lip with anxiety. The old candle’s life waned, descending into a warm, waxy pool. The light was gone, nothing more than a pile of melted wax on a cold floor.
But she could still see. To her shock, a flame burned from the new candle in an eerie blue color. She nearly dropped it in fright. Was she hallucinating? Had these dark tunnels driven her mad? She inspected the item closely, hardly believing what her eyes saw. Everything else about it looked normal. Just not the flame, which was completely still. It didn’t dance or move about at all. It was so fixed that it looked like a solid object, a glowing blue stone. It was much dimmer than a normal candle, but it seemed to illuminate much farther. She was frightened, but drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Something so strange had to be unnatural. Evil. Perhaps it wasn’t safe. Perhaps she should drop it and run. But surely, she couldn’t afford to be foolish. Even if it summoned Lucifer himself, she must use it or stay in darkness, for no one was coming to save her. She must not be a silly little girl.
Forcing her anxieties to the background, she stood up and continued on, grasping the black candle tightly. By it’s light, she could see the walls around her. It hadn’t seemed possible that these passages could look more frightening. But everything looked eerier by the candle’s blue glow, casting surfaces with a phosphorescent sheen. It illuminated the details of this place, ones she’d been perfectly satisfied not to see before. However, as she noticed she was in a passage like the one that’d taken her to the old woman, her heart leapt. She took it as a sign that she may not be lost after all, and moved forward with renewed confidence.
After a time, the passageway ended, but it was hard to feel relief at the sight. For it’s end marked a massive black void, beyond which she’d no idea what to expect. As with most dark corners in this place, it seemed to threaten monsters. But she held her breath and pushed onward, cursing the noise of each footfall that cracked on the stone floor. She wished she could creep silently as a ghost, passing through this place unnoticed.
At the edge of the darkness, she saw columns. And then, an altar. It was the temple room. She started to shake, and relieved tears flooded her eyes. She’d made it, and would soon be back in her warm, safe room. She searched frantically for the tunnel that led back, and before long, found a dark passage in the wall that looked like it’d been borne out by a gigantic, black worm. She sprinted towards it without looking back, hastening through the tunnel, anxious to reach the other end. She didn’t wish to remember what lay behind. Her hands scuffed the rough surface of the walls, which were sharp beneath her palms, but she didn’t even try to be careful.
At the end, dim light emitted from around the small door. Her heart warmed at the sight, she couldn’t wait to reach out and push it open. It was the only barrier between her and sunny security, blissful safety and warmth. It surprised her that she could feel so about the cell beyond, that her heart could sing at the thought of returning there.
As she neared the door, she could hear whispers. So, she immediately slowed her steps and tip-toed up to the edge. Peering through the crack and pushing aside cobwebs, she saw the ghostly boy standing within. He was arguing with a man who stood with his back turned to the fireplace. The two argued in an animated way, but muted; as if they didn’t want anyone to hear. They whispered ferociously, making up for lack of volume with exaggerated arm and facial movements. The man seemed to be interrogating the boy, while the boy claimed ignorance. The man grew angry at this, grabbing the boy and knocked him about in a manner that made her feel quite guilty. For, she knew it must be her fault, that they were likely arguing about her disappearance. And the boy was suffering for having attempted to aid her. She wished to return the favor, for he’d risked his own skin, and perhaps much more, to help her.
She hated to give away the secret door. It was the only card she had to play, her only advantage in a precarious situation. But in all honesty, it was unlikely she’d venture through it again unless she found herself in absolute desperation. So, she burst into the brightness of the room, fully expecting the two of them to jump at her appearance. Her eyes were momentarily blinded by the sudden change of light. But instead of being rattled, they didn’t even seem to notice her, continuing their heated exchange as if nothing had changed. So, she took the opportunity of their distraction to close the door behind her and blow out her candle, placing it in her skirt pocket. Then she cleared her throat loudly.
The man froze, still grasping the boy by his collar, and turned towards her. She clasped her hands together neatly, meeting his eyes as bravely as she could. She recognized him as the nervous, older gentleman who’d been with Blackall at the time of her capture, the one who’d advised Blackall against taking her, but to no avail. He’d seemed rather compassionate towards her plight then, and even now she saw compassion marked in his eyes. Blackall had called him Daveye.
The corridors where she’d been captured had been very dark, and at the time she’d been covered in soot, so he was seeing her for the first time now. An expression of shock and disbelief distorted his features. But in his eyes she also saw kindness, intelligence, refinement - and an expression of sophistication that was lacking in his lowly companion thieves, as if he’d been bred high above his current station in life. She’d assumed before that he was a violent, uncivilized man. But now, she saw he was crazed with worry, not malice. His expression swam and shifted as he took in her presence, and she found herself trusting him without meaning to.
Daveye released the boy from his grasp, who tumbled away, straightening his collar in a resentful posture. He seemed indignant, but unharmed, showing no bruises or tears. Daveye turned to the boy, his manner significantly calmed, and asked him to leave them. The boy hesitated, but the man insisted. So, rolling his eyes, he turned and left. The door slammed behind him as Daveye turned his eyes back on her. He flinched and smoothed nervous fingers through his hair, but his eyes hardly left her face.
“Miss, I...” he spoke anxiously. “We should have ah... That is, forgive me. Please allow me to introduce myself.”
He walked forward with his hand outstretched.
“My name is Edward Daveye, miss,” he said, touching her hand to his lips. “How do you do?”
Annabelle watched him apprehensively. For though he seemed refined, he was living down here, after all; an accomplice to thievery and depravity. And a laughing, ecstatic smile had broken out over his face.
“I,” she said confusedly. “I am... Annabelle Morton.”
“Yes,” he said cheerily. “A pleasure, my dear. A very great pleasure.”
He was still smiling excitedly. She’d no idea how to take the man.
“Miss Morton,” he continued. “I beg you would excuse... that is, I hope you will forgive us for... the condition of your arrival here.”
He paused, not long enough to allow an answer, as if only for form.
“You see,” he continued. “Ours is not a fraternity that can allow newcomers into our inner sanctum without a certain level of... suspicion.”
He paused again, this time to allow her a reply. But she’d none to give, so he went on.
“I, I find this very trying,” he continued. “Very trying indeed, my dear. And I do apologize, Miss Morton. For... all of this.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if toize not only the physical room, but the whole kidnap scenario. She watched as he paced gracefully beneath dark, ragged clothing; looking like a king’s courtier disguised as a monk. She couldn’t quite find the proper r
esponse to his apology, so she merely watched him, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. Daveye smiled back graciously, clearly sensible of the awkward position she was in, his eyes lingering on her face with fondness; one she thought kind, but unwarranted after such a brief acquaintance.
“I must say,” he continued with a kind smile. “It is most pleasant to meet you, my dear. But unfortunately, I must rush our conversation. You see, I am here without the approval of my... employer.”
A cloud flashed in his eyes at the mention of Blackall. That the mere mention of Blackall could break through such a polished exterior was very telling.
“You see,” he said. “I have only a small window in which to speak to you without risking discovery. But, I get ahead of myself.”
His brow furrowed, and he gestured toward a nearby table with chairs tucked against the wall.
“Please, have a seat.”
He pulled a chair out for her, then turned and set himself up across from her in a pert, attentive posture; brushing his woolen cloak aside like the finest of silk tails. But beneath the glamour, a storm brewed in his eyes. It seemed he was about to attempt something difficult, and that he wished to be delicate with her, but hadn’t the time. His glance darted constantly towards the door like an anxious tick, and he made a small symbol with his fingers in it’s direction, which she thought strange.
He appeared to have glanced in the direction of the secret door, but she couldn’t be sure. So she pretended to adjust her skirts, taking the opportunity to look. The secret door was slightly ajar. She must not have pulled it hard enough. But she pretended not to notice, smiling as he situated himself. To her great surprise, he took her hand in his on top of the table. She was jarred by the action, but the look he wore was one of genuine concern. So she allowed it, waiting to see where the situation would take her. The fire crackled in the background as she returned his gaze.
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