The Tunnel at the End of the Light

by Stefan Petrucha

  ‘Don’t want to fight? You’re afraid of me then, you bastard coward?’ Cionadh spat. Flecks of saliva spattered Lechasseur’s face.

  Lechasseur stepped back and raised his hands, palms out, in a supplicating gesture.

  ‘Please, Mr Cionadh,’ he said.

  ‘This isn’t going at all well,’ commented Emily.

  Lechasseur glanced at her, and Cionadh took the opportunity to punch him in the side of the face with the full force of his thick right arm. Lechasseur’s head snapped to the side, followed by his shoulders, his waist and his legs. Then he crashed to the ground.

  He awoke a few minutes later with Emily pressing a cold cloth to the side of his jaw. It was numb now, but swelling. He knew it would be hurting a lot very soon. Gingerly, he probed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, to see if any teeth were loose. Satisfied that they were all accounted for, he looked at Emily and said: ‘Where’s...?’ But he found he could no longer manage to pronounce ‘Cionadh’ without wincing from the pain in his jaw.

  Emily knew what he meant, however, and nodded towards the middle of the room. Frustrated beyond belief, Lechasseur shook his head as he stared at Cionadh, bound and gagged in the wooden chair.

  ‘Now what do we do? Bring him back to the flat as well? Start a collection?’ Lechasseur complained. The thrumming in his jaw made him stop and press the compress to his face even harder.

  Emily was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry! He was going to hurt you! I had to do something!’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Emily looked coyly at Lechasseur. ‘I may look harmless...’ She smiled and waved at a pile of broken crockery in the corner. ‘Never did like ornamental teapots anyway.’

  Lechasseur rose, turned his back on their newest prisoner and waved off Emily’s concern. ‘Oh, you didn’t do anything wrong, Emily. He’s a lout, probably pissed since the War ended. It’s just... we’ve got to get him out of here, soon, and we can’t very well go dragging him through the streets in broad daylight!’

  Cionadh had other ideas, however. As soon as he saw that Lechasseur’s back was to him, he lifted himself up on his feet and charged him, like a bull. He and Lechasseur slammed into the front door, which cracked, splintered, and barely slowed their tumble.

  ***

  Several hours later, Emily and Lechasseur left Holborn police station, Lechasseur somewhat the worse for wear.

  ‘At least they didn’t keep us in the cells overnight,’ Emily pointed out.

  Lechasseur, clutching his jaw with one hand and his side with the other, didn’t want to respond.

  ‘And you can’t really blame the neighbours for calling the police,’ she went on. ‘They had no idea who we were.’ She lowered her voice as she saw two bobbies approaching from the opposite direction. ‘I did my best to explain, but apparently we’re not the only ones making extraordinary claims about the Subterraneans. The desk sergeant said it had become something of a fad.’

  Lechasseur winced and mumbled. ‘Just... wish they’d arrested... Cionadh, too. For protection.’

  ‘Right. It’s getting late. We’d better get back there, fast, then.’

  But as they stepped briskly past the two bobbies, they overheard one say to the other: ‘That’s right. They didn’t kill him. I don’t know why, but they didn’t kill him.’

  Hearing that, Lechasseur whispered: ‘Too late.’

  They walked quickly along, Lechasseur limping just a bit, gaining distance so that the two officers would not overhear.

  ‘Maybe they’re taking him somewhere to complete the ritual?’ Emily said.

  ‘Sure, in the vision. But the future’s all changed now, isn’t it? When I saw it, our captive had led us there, like a dog on a leash. That’s how we knew where to go, but we were too late. This time, we weren’t even near the big event. Knowing what was going to happen changed what happened. So, who knows what really happened?’

  Emily shook her head, trying to wrap it around Lechasseur’s grammar. ‘All right, yes. Things are changed, but if it’s a proper ritual it still has to be performed the same way, doesn’t it? And probably at the same place?’

  ‘Maybe. But how do we figure out where they’ve taken him?’

  ‘Well, there’s our friend back at the flat,’ she pointed out. ‘You said yourself that it led us to Cionadh’s house. Why not the ritual site?’

  Lechasseur nodded, winced, then looked at her. ‘Are we allowed to get ideas like that, from the future? Isn’t that a contradiction?’

  ‘Don’t know. Let’s see.’ Emily strode toward the nearest entrance to the tube, and Lechasseur followed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emily knew that some time during London’s long, rich, deep, intricate history, there must have been stranger sights. But, as she and Lechasseur sloshed through the sewer, pulled along through brown-green muck by a long chain attached to the ankle of their captive Subterranean, she was at a loss to imagine anything more peculiar.

  ‘Hold the torch down,’ Lechasseur said.

  ‘What good is it, pointed down?’ Emily objected. ‘As it is, we can barely see.’

  Ever since she’d agreed that, since Lechasseur was the stronger, he should keep both hands on the chain, while she managed the light, he’d been advising her about where to point it. Now, Emily was getting somewhat annoyed.

  ‘The light is confusing it,’ he answered. ‘Making it harder for it to see.’

  Sure enough, the creature’s eyes, though hypnotically dilated, wobbled back and forth. Its brow was also scrunched.

  ‘It probably smells the extra chocolate bar you brought in your pocket,’ she suggested.

  Lechasseur shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. At least try pointing it down, please?’

  Sighing, she dutifully did as requested, loathe to relinquish the only thing that enabled her to get her bearings in this dismal place. The pale light made a long oval that shone yellow against the browns and greens on the concrete ledge that they were following. Instantly, the creature’s pace picked up, as if the light had been dampening its sense of smell and now it could catch the scent. Emily was impressed. Lechasseur’s intuition was paying off more and more, as if his fears and depression were waning and he was beginning to trust himself. Or, she thought again, his inner troubles were at least weakened by distraction.

  When they’d returned to the flat, a few bleary-eyed neighbours had eyed Lechasseur angrily, making them worry that their house guest had escaped. But it, and most of the furniture, had still been present and accounted for. Quite a lot had been broken, though, including the sleep of Lechasseur’s neighbours. Sneaking the creature out had been considerably more difficult than subduing it. A rug folded into a sack, tied together at the top, had sufficed until they could find a quiet alley in which to release it. Though the rug had been ugly and torn to begin with, Lechasseur had briefly bemoaned the loss of the only thing that had covered the huge stains and loose wooden floorboards in his living space.

  Once free, obeying the unheard siren-song of the group mind, the thing had trotted along on all fours, then led them down the nearest sewer opening. It was a peculiar blessing that the uni-mind state seemed to slow it down a bit. They were already moving as quickly as they could, and would have been unable to keep up if the creature had been progressing at even half its top speed. With the torch light muted, it moved along happily, only occasionally tugging at the chain. Emily imagined with a smile that they must look every bit the handsome young couple taking their cheery, over-sized, over-eager Airedale out for a pleasant underground muck-stroll.

  The smile faded with the passing time. She soon found herself starting to struggle for breath.

  Perhaps noticing, Lechasseur, panting a bit himself, broke the silence. ‘The sewers cover at least as big an area as London itself. But you know, getting there will be only the start of our problems. We’re mos
t likely heading straight into a horde of them, remember?’

  ‘Even that,’ Emily said, steeling herself for a still longer ordeal, ‘would be preferable to this stench!’

  ‘Ah. I think I can see some kind of intersection ahead. Maybe we’re getting somewhere.’ Lechasseur rewrapped a loose bit of chain tightly around his upper arm for a better grip.

  Emily tried to widen her eyes to let in more light, hoping to see what he saw. The view was blurry, but up the tunnel, illuminated by the dull circles of light provided by the regularly-placed manhole covers in the arched ceiling, the path seemed to split. As they approached, she could see that the right side led upwards, while the left descended further into the dark.

  As Emily wondered why she should be at all surprised, the creature sloshed off down the darker path. A hundred yards further on, it deftly found a group of iron rungs set into the stone wall, and clambered down, spider-like, to even greater depths. Lechasseur had to struggle to avoid getting the chain tangled on the rungs. As Emily watched, she realised that the darkness below was absolute, and she could see nothing at all.. Her face, however, was being fanned by a blast of warmer, slightly cleaner air rising up from the hole. It made her sweat, but let her breathe a little deeper. In the distance, she could hear the sound of rushing water, mixed with something else.

  Lechasseur heard it, too. ‘Must be near one of the main outlets,’ he said.

  But Emily was trying to ignore the rushing water, concentrating on the something else. ‘Shh!’ she said, as she realised what it was. She grabbed his shoulder and added in whisper: ‘Listen! Can’t you hear it?’

  ‘Just the water...’

  ‘No, chanting,’ Emily said.

  The chain rattled as the creature’s tugging became more insistent, and they set off after it. Moving apparently only on the basis of sound now in the inky darkness, it turned left down one invisible tunnel, then right down another. The water sloshed up to Emily’s ankles even on the ledge, making her grateful that she couldn’t see it.

  At first, she mistook what they saw next for the flashes of colour one sees when one’s eyes are shut tight. Far off in the field of utter black that their vision had become, a muted golden glow appeared in the shape of a rectangle. As they approached, she recognised it as a grate in the wall, beyond which was a lit area. To the right of the grate was a circular opening: apparently the way in.

  ‘That settles it,’ Emily whispered as they approached. ‘There is someone or something other than our hairy friends involved. They wouldn’t need any light.’

  ‘Umf!’ Lechasseur answered, as the creature lurched forward.

  Emily heard a splash and some curses and realised that the creature had pulled her friend down onto his knees, soaking even more of his trousers. Fearing he needed help, she shone the flashlight toward him. She watched as the creature, sensing its nearness to its goal, pulled all the harder, stretching the long, bony fingers of its hands towards the opening near the grate.

  Lechasseur, still unbalanced, span sideways on the ledge and nearly tumbled into the deeper water that filled the channel. ‘Give me a hand...’ he spat.

  Emily grabbed the chain and pulled it toward the wall, hoping to find something to hook it onto and give her some leverage. But the creature’s will, buffeted by the communal urges of its fellows, was adamantine. Before she could reach the wall or Lechasseur, its hands found the edges of the entrance, and pulled for all they were worth.

  The chain slipped from Emily’s hand. She realised at once that this left Lechasseur with two choices; he could either be yanked into the midst of a large group of Troglodytes and whatever else was inside, or let go of his end of the chain.

  He chose to let go.

  In a flash, the creature vanished into the entrance tunnel. They both watched as the last few feet of chain rattled against the lower lip of the stone circle, then clattered off into the chamber beyond.

  Lechasseur sat up and looked at Emily. ‘This can’t be good for my leather coat,’ he said. For a moment, she thought he was trying to sound cheerful.

  ‘It’s better this way,’ Emily whispered, hoping her voice sounded comforting. ‘We couldn’t very well go charging into the crowd, could we?’

  She raised the torch to get a better look at her partner, then reached out her free hand and helped him to his feet. His clothes dripped, and he ineffectually tried to wring water from his coat. Then he turned back to the grate and said: ‘Let’s have a look, then, shall we?’

  Emily nodded, lowered the torch, and moved up right behind him, peering into the space beyond.

  Chapter Twelve

  The first thing Emily saw were Subterraneans, lots of them, perhaps as many as a hundred, all sitting, crowded together on the tiered concrete ledges of a large, open drainage room. The chanting was coming from them, she realised. Their low, subdued voices sounded more human at a distance, though even now, the indecipherable moans were regular enough at least to seem as if they were composed of words. A continual splashing was still muffling the chant. Emily noticed that several tall pipes opened in the walls, dribbling their contents onto a wide floor where the water was a few feet deep.

  In the throes of their communal psyche, the creatures nodded rhythmically, in unison, making them look to Emily like a grotesque parody of the mechanical displays she had once seen in the windows of Harrods.

  The second thing she noticed was Cionadh, bound, gagged and tied to the base of a statue mounted in the central pool. Bundles of sticks and cardboard boxes had been piled around him for an obvious purpose. His name, after all, meant child of fire, while Ardent, that of the street where he lived, meant burning. He seemed oddly calm, and Emily wondered if he was lucky enough to think himself dreaming.

  The statue, though the last part of the bizarre scene on which she focused, was the most striking of all. It looked to be made of some sort of ebon stone carved into the shape of a horned demon, its visage made no less terrifying by the fact that Emily was certain she’d seen it before, if only in a corner of her worst nightmare.

  The light in the chamber was dimmer than the glowing grate had led her to believe. It was provided by a few open flames that crackled and twirled in gold, silver and bronze in two stone braziers on either side of the statue.

  Standing behind the statue was a long, lean figure that Emily noticed only because it had started to move. It was either totally in shadow, or dressed in back. It was taller, thinner than the creatures, obviously human. The hint of curves, and the glint of long, straight, combed and pampered black hair, instantly revealed it to be the figure of a woman. She moved smoothly, had an almost feline quality. She shifted about behind the braziers, working on something, revealing more curves as her hips undulated briefly into the flickering light.

  At that moment, Lechasseur’s foot slipped on the ledge, and he grabbed at the grating for support to stop himself falling into the water. It shifted with a scraping sound that echoed loudly around the enclosed space.

  ‘Who is there? Who dares?’

  The loud commanding voice, possessed of a condescending English-rose accent and tinged at the edges with the unmistakable timbre of power, carried easily over the chanting. The woman stepped into the light of the braziers, revealing skin so white that it was almost blue, and bright red lips. Her close-fitting black gown was edged with a deep red fringe.

  Emily stared at her in astonishment. The woman’s eyes were blue, the whites flecked with gold spots that glittered hypnotically in the dim light.

  The bulb in Emily’s electric torch sizzled and popped, breaking the spell.

  ‘Mestizer,’ Lechasseur mumbled.

  Emily knew the name. A hypnotist, a mystic, a powerful creature with many followers, all somehow mixed up in the mystery of how Emily had come to be in London in the first place.

  ‘Come here,’ Mestizer commanded. ‘Come here now, or I’l
l have my friends shred you like paper.’

  Emily tensed. Should they run for it? She hoped that Lechasseur would be able to come up with some clever strategy that her own frightened mind could not.

  ‘Go in,’ Lechasseur whispered.

  ‘What?’ Emily nearly screeched.

  ‘She probably won’t know who you are. She’ll want to talk about why you’re here. Distract her. I’ll be right behind you. As soon as I’m close enough, I’ll open the flood-gates. At least it’ll put out the fire.’

  ‘What do you mean...?’ Emily began. Then she saw where he was pointing.

  Set in the wall, not far from where they stood, was a tall, round drain opening covered by a metal hatch. The control wheel for the hatch was mounted next to it on the wall. From the way the water dripped from the top and bottom of the hatch, it was clear that there was a considerable amount of pressure behind it.

  Emily understood at once and nodded.

  ‘All right,’ she called through the grate. ‘I’m coming in.’

  ‘Wise choice,’ Mestizer said.

  Emily entered the tunnel, feeling the presence of Lechasseur close behind. ‘Once you’re in,’ he whispered, ‘get as far away from that drain as you can. Try to get her to keep her eyes on you.’

  Moving slowly, so as not to trip, Emily made her way into the dim light of the braziers. As she entered, she could finally make out, to her surprise, that the creatures were chanting words, English words, familiar words:

  Ignus spiritus – I beg thy passion burst, O ardent muse,

  As Cionadh’s embers rise to greet you

  ‘Crest’s poem,’ Emily realised. ‘Then he is connected to all this.’

  Enticing though the information was, there were more immediate concerns. Mestizer stepped forward to get a better view of Emily, then demanded, once again: ‘Who are you?’