series 01 03 “THE GHOSTS OF MERCURY”

by By Mark Michalowski

  Everyone’s eyes turned to Heath to see him grinning triumphantly, the madness once again written across his face.

  Time was up. Heath had won.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “In Which Things Are Not Completely What They Seem to Be”

  1.

  Annabelle’s heart missed a beat as she and Saul felt the tremors beneath their feet. They had just emerged into the dusklight on the far side of the World River. Joe still held her arms behind her back—but as the explosives went off, he released her, and she almost fell.

  Turning, she glared at him. “You know you’re an accomplice to murder now, don’t you?”

  Joe said nothing but she saw him swallow.

  “What now, then?”

  “We wait for Saul and head back, like Heathy says, miss.”

  “Head back to what?” Annabelle spat. “A court martial? Oh, sorry,” she added sarcastically. “I forgot—your commanding officer is dead now, isn’t he?”

  “Come on, miss. You really don’t want me leaving you out here, now, do you?” He nodded in the direction of the boat, still tied up and bobbing gently on the silver water.

  Annabelle had no choice. All she could think of now was finding Nathanial. She had never missed him so much in her entire life….

  2.

  “Out!” cried Nathanial, realising that the ceiling would, at any moment, collapse and kill them all. Hermes stood there, unmoving, unmoved. And impossible to kill. Even if the cavern collapsed completely, it would go on. Immortal and eternal. Nathanial glanced at Heath, not sure whether he wanted to punch the fellow or not.

  “Not without you,” Arnaud hissed from his side.

  Colonel Shawbridge seemed transfixed by the rain of debris tumbling around him. But it was Heath that suddenly puzzled Nathanial more. He was frowning, looking around the cavern in apparent confusion—as if something had gone wrong.

  Moments later, a huge spume of water thundered out of the tunnel entrance, fountaining into the air and filling it with a fine mist. Heath was caught in it and blasted across the cave towards them, catching Shawbridge in the process. Both of them tumbled, propelled by the continuing torrent of water, towards Nathanial and Arnaud. Heath was the first to stumble to his feet, like a soaking rat. Nathanial could still see the bafflement written across his features.

  “Your plan seems to have failed, Corporal Heath,” said Hermes—and if it were possible, it sounded even more puzzled than Heath himself.

  “What did you do?” screamed Heath at Hermes as the water continued to flood in. It was rising fast, and only the fact that the far end of the cavern was a little lower prevented the four men from already being knee high in it.

  “Heath!” shouted Nathanial, already turning towards their escape route. “Admit it, man—you’ve failed. Now come on!”

  Heath shook his head angrily, looking around for the gun he’d dropped as the water had hit him. “There’s a plan!” he grunted through gritted teeth, never once taking his eyes off Hermes. “There’s a plan!”

  “There is no plan!” Arnaud shouted as the water swirled around their feet, foaming and ricocheting off the cavern walls. “Colonel—leave him. We have to go.”

  Shawbridge turned, his face a mask of sadness and confusion, as, suddenly, the force of the water building up in the far tunnel blasted the entrance wider, sending rocks from its shattered frame hurtling into the air.

  “You did this!” shouted Heath, turning to Shawbridge, punctuating his words with a stab of his finger. “You did this!”

  Shawbridge’s eyes were wide. “I—I had nothing to do with it,” he protested—as Heath launched himself at his commanding officer, murderous rage in his eyes. Despite the drag of the ever-rising water, now up to Heath’s waist, he slammed into Shawbridge, taking him down into the water with him, hands locked around the man’s throat.

  Nathanial took a step forward to intervene, but behind him, he heard Arnaud. “Nathanial,” he said. “Please…”

  He turned and saw the terror in the Frenchman’s eyes as he looked at the water, now foaming around Arnaud’s own waist—and then remembered what Arnaud had said: he couldn’t swim.

  Nathanial looked back at the other two men, rising in and out of the water as they struggled against each other, plunging beneath its surface for a few seconds before re-emerging, still locked together as they thrashed about. It was clear that Heath was winning, raining blows on the increasingly-stunned colonel who fought back manfully, but with increasing futility.

  In a moment of cold, horrid clarity, Nathanial knew that, as the water rose about his chest, that he had to make a choice: try to save Annabelle’s uncle from Heath, or get Arnaud to safety before he drowned.

  Another choice, he thought grimly. Two options.

  And he made the only decision he could.

  3.

  Annabelle shivered in the breeze as they stood in uncomfortable silence, waiting for Saul. What if he’d been killed in the explosion, too? How long would Joe keep them there?

  And then there he was, stumbling out of the tunnel—soaking wet, the right side of his head dripping with blood.

  “What the bloody hell happened?” asked Joe, rushing over to him.

  Saul just shook his head, gasping for breath. “Heathy,” he managed to say after a moment or two, doubled over as he took in huge gulps of air. “He came back. Changed the plan.”

  “Changed it?” asked Joe, as puzzled as Annabelle was.

  Saul nodded. “Wanted the explosives moved.” He gestured meaninglessly. “Further back. In the tunnel.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t a clue. He said…he said his original plan wouldn’t work or summat.”

  “So what happened?” Annabelle asked anxiously, wondering if this meant that Uncle Ernest might, miraculously, still be alive. “The dynamite went off. We felt it.”

  Saul nodded, lifting himself upright. “But…it wouldn’t have brought the cave down, wouldn’t have killed that thing. He wanted it put where there was a fracture line up to the river.”

  Joe still looked puzzled.

  “So what are you saying?” asked Annabelle. “That the caves have been flooded?”

  Saul looked down at his own dripping self. “Only just got out in time. Another minute and…” He shook his head again and dropped dejectedly to the sand, panting.

  Annabelle, against her better judgment, rushed over to check his head wound. He pulled away until he realised she didn’t intend him any harm.

  “So Heathy’s…?” Joe said. “You know. Dead.”

  Saul managed a weak shrug. “The force of that water would have filled that cavern up in no time flat. Maybe he got out on the other side.” He shrugged again.

  Annabelle turned to look out across the river, but the light was too dim and the tunnel entrance too small to make anything out. If the cavern hadn’t been blown up completely, there was still a chance that Uncle Ernest could have made it out.

  “C’mon,” said Joe, helping Saul to his feet. “Let’s get back. God knows what we’re gonna say.”

  4.

  “Get moving!” yelled Nathanial to Arnaud, who’d moved to the entrance of the cave and was cowering, utter fear on his face, trying to keep his head above the water which was now splashing about his face.

  “I can’t,” Arnaud shouted back.

  “Why not? Get out, Arnaud, before the water fills the tunnels.”

  The Frenchman looked close to tears. “I’m not leaving without you,” he said.

  “And I have no intentions of leaving you either, you idiot—now move!” With one last glance back—to see no sign of either Heath or Shawbridge—Nathanial plunged under the water and struck out for Arnaud. In seconds he emerged just inches in front of the geologist’s terrified face.

  With a grim smile, Nathanial wrapped his arm around Arnaud’s shoulders and pushed him under the surface of the water, gripping him tightly as he felt him struggle. The current surged around them, b
anging them against the arch of the tunnel entrance. Nathanial shoved Arnaud ahead of him, through the opening and along the gradual upward incline. The speed of the water increased as it was forced into the narrower space, but the flow was smoother; and using one arm to keep them away from the wall, he propelled his friend through the water, half-swimming, half-walking. Nathanial felt his lungs burning and the reflex to breathe in getting stronger and stronger until, miraculously, the two of them broke the surface of the water with just a foot of space above their heads.

  The two men gasped frantically.

  “Keep moving,” Nathanial said. “Just keep moving.” He slipped his arm under Arnaud’s and around his back. And like two half-drowned kittens, they stumbled up the tunnel towards the surface.

  5.

  Shawbridge floated in an endless, murky gloom, the pressure in his chest growing with every second. He was blind and deaf and had no idea of which way was up, never mind where the exit was, but he would not allow himself to breathe. Of Heath there was no sign. At the whim of the current, he was thrown around like a doll until his arm accidentally caught on something hard and smooth.

  Colonel Shawbridge found himself clinging to the crystal statue of Her Imperial Majesty The Queen-Empress Victoria as the darkness wrapped itself around him fully.

  But, as he finally relented to the terrible pain in his lungs and opened his mouth to breathe, his last thoughts were not of Her Majesty—they were of his beloved Esmeralda, sailing amongst the stars and shining so very, very brightly against the very blackest of nights….

  6.

  Bedraggled, dirty, damp and lost, Annabelle sat in silence as Joe rowed the boat back to the other shore. Even the effort of holding her as he’d brought her out of the caves didn’t seem to have diminished the strength in his arms, and for that she was grateful.

  “Oi Oi!” said Saul suddenly as something caught his attention on the far bank.

  Annabelle turned quickly to see what it was. She had to squint a little, but there was little doubt: two staggering figures had emerged from the other cave entrance. They reeled about a little before collapsing onto the sand.

  Heath and Uncle Ernest?

  She was torn between fear of the former and utter relief at the latter.

  “Is it Uncle Ernest?” she whispered, but Saul, still peering into the gloom, just shrugged silently. Annabelle began to fidget in her seat until Joe threw her a look, presumably worried that she might overturn the boat. She ignored him. It must be Uncle Ernest and Heath. Who else could it be?

  As the boat drew closer to the shore, she realised neither of her guesses were correct: it was Nathanial and Arnaud!

  7.

  She leaped from the boat when it was still several yards from shore and landed in the water, not caring how wet she got. Nathanial, it seemed, hadn’t noticed the boat until Annabelle’s shouts reached him, and he looked up in apparent shock from where he was hunched over Arnaud.

  “Annabelle!” he cried; and after a brief glance down at Arnaud, he rose to his feet and ran over to the water’s edge to greet her. She flung her sopping arms around him and—dear Nathanial!—he returned the hug clumsily, before gently moving her away.

  “Thank the Lord!” he said, a tired smile returning to his face, before—quite unexpectedly—pulling her back into his arms and squeezing her tight.

  She heard the sound of the boat arriving behind her and she awkwardly disentangled herself from Nathanial as Joe and Saul splashed their way ashore, dragging the boat up onto the sand.

  “Oh, Annabelle!” he cried again. “I feared you’d been…injured in the bomb blast.”

  Annabelle smiled wearily. “Joe here was under orders from Heath to bring me back up here before it went off. But…why were you down there? I didn’t hear you. And Uncle Ernest… What happened to…?”

  Her voice trickled away to nothing, like ice-cold water, as Nathanial averted his eyes from hers for just a second.

  “I’m sorry, Annabelle,” he said, his shoulders visibly dropping.

  Her hand flew to her mouth as she felt the tears welling up. She wanted to know more—but at the same time she didn’t want to know anything at all. Details could wait. “I’m sure you did everything you could.” She squeezed his arm. “But what were you doing down there?”

  Annabelle looked back at Nathanial and saw the look of confusion on his face. Behind him, still on the sand, Arnaud began a violent coughing fit, and Nathanial helped him into a sitting position. Once he seemed happy with the Frenchman’s situation, he looked up at her.

  “What were we doing? You told us to go down and stop Heath.”

  “When? I never said any such thing.” Annabelle paused. “Have you had a knock to the head, Nathanial? And why are you so wet?”

  “It is hard,” piped up Arnaud, still coughing and spitting, “to stay dry in water, Annabelle. I may be French, but I am not a saint.”

  Nathanial shot him a strange, slightly aggressive look.

  “Nathanial, what happened? Why are you wet? And when, exactly did you—” She stopped as she heard two gasps from Heath’s men, still behind her—and turned in the direction of their stares: between them and the cave entrance, a dimly flickering figure, much like the first ghost she’d seen on Mercury: the one that appeared to Heath in the hospital. It was much less steady than Professor Fournier’s, and seemed to be shifting its appearance around almost constantly, like Hermes’ had.

  “Hermes?” she heard Nathanial whisper to the figure: the same thought had clearly occurred to him too.

  “No,” came a woman’s voice—but certainly with no French accent. Its shape continued to shift, as though it were struggling to be there at all and the voice fluttered uncomfortably inside Annabelle’s head. “I am,” the ghost began, its voice thin and confused, “I am not quite sure who I am. There are so many others in here with me.” Again it shimmered, stuttering through three of four half-formed shapes, before it suddenly stabilised and grew almost solid.

  Annabelle’s mouth dropped open and she let out a little gasp. It was her. It was the ghost of Annabelle Somerset.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “In Which Annabelle Says Goodbye”

  1.

  Nathanial’s head was still reeling from everything that had happened down in the caverns, and now this.

  Annabelle!

  “Are you really me?” whispered Annabelle herself, taking a step towards it.

  The figure raised one hand and looked at it curiously. “I remember being Annabelle, yes. But I remember so much…of so many others…” It—she—looked up at them again and smiled. “I don’t quite know what’s happening to me, but I believe that it might be something quite wonderful, you know…”

  “I don’t understand,” Annabelle said, convinced of the apparition’s identity by the accent as much as anything. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here to say goodbye—for now, at least. There’s so much to explain, so many things to tell you. But it’s—” She broke off suddenly and shuffled through half a dozen different faces. This time, though, Nathanial recognised some of them: Heath’s, other soldiers. Even Colonel Shawbridge’s. “Heath was right, in a way,” the ghost said, becoming Annabelle again. “Hermes meant no harm, really. He wanted to help, to improve…but he couldn’t grasp that his changes would have caused so much pain and suffering. His mind is stranger than we could imagine. But soon…soon he will learn more about humanity than he ever expected.”

  “Why?” asked Arnaud, struggling to his feet, helped by Nathanial. “I mean how?”

  “The poem,” the ghost said, looking straight at him. “You remember—you showed it to me. In your mind when I came to see you and Nathanial. It was the final piece of the puzzle.”

  “The poem?” asked Nathanial, his mind still racing to catch up.

  “John Donne’s Meditation Sixteen. The line that terrified Hermes so. ‘No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of th
e main.’”

  “But why did it scare him?” asked Annabelle, clearly no wiser.

  “Because it was his Achilles’ Heel, if you like,” ghost Annabelle said. “The reason he kept all of us, all of us copies, isolated from himself. He was terrified of being infected—infected by us. All of us. Individuals, thinking different things. He has been an island from birth. And while we fascinated him, we scared him too. Which is why, if you like, he maintained a moat around himself.” Ghost Annabelle smiled as if at a private joke.

  Nathanial shook his head and raised a hand. “Annabelle—or whatever you are. You’re going too quickly. Start at the beginning. What’s happened to Hermes?”

  “It is terrifying for him, but he will soon become accustomed to no longer being alone, no longer being what he was.”

  “But how?”

  The ghost of Annabelle turned her head towards Joe and Saul. “The drawbridge is down,” she said, puzzlingly. “Heath’s plan would have failed—as Nathanial suspected. The explosives would have destroyed all of us, but Hermes would have gone on. And, sooner or later, he would have developed his abilities to the point where he could have reached out to anyone on Mercury, maybe even beyond, and manipulated them. Changed them. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Thank you, obviously—but are you saying that he can’t now? Is that it?” asked Nathanial.

  “You and Arnaud gave me the clues. The water: you said it was heavily laced with zinc and tin. The same metals in the crystals.”

  Arnaud let out a gasp. “It was you—and not the real Annabelle—that came to warn us about Heath?”

  The ghost nodded. “Myself—the real myself—was difficult to reach.” She looked at a clearly puzzled Annabelle. “Your mind was clouded by the irrationality that Heath had fostered in you. I tried to come to you, but I couldn’t. I watched you in the shed, I picked up on the destruction of Hermes that burned so brightly in you, but I couldn’t reach you. So I went to these two, and I told them that Heath had to be stopped. Not because I wanted Hermes to survive. Well,” she added sadly, “not as he was. But Heath had to be stopped because his plan would fail and there would be no other chance. Without me and the other ghosts, the other copies, there would have been no one left to moderate him.”