They dived into an alley, carefully checking this way and that. The populace of Tunis had long since outgrown the arched alleys and thoroughfares, and Kidd was jostled constantly. It quickly became claustrophobic, the walls seeming to lean inwards overhead. The heat had made his throat dry, and the uneven cobblestones made for precarious footing.
The ancient city quarter was crowded and filled with the relentless hubbub of Turkish haggling. There were many fountains, although none of them seemed to work, statues, and mosques elaborately decorated with colourful tiles. Strange smells filled their nostrils, some sweet and spicy, others dusty or foul. Street vendors rushed out to meet them with offerings of fabric, beads and spices.
“Here,” said Flint with a beckoning finger. He led Kidd through a crimson curtain and into a Tunisian refectory. Square, candlelit tables, no more than a foot tall littered the room. Flint held up two fingers to the vendor and eased himself onto a mat at a vacant table. He indicated Kidd should do the same.
Kidd felt uncomfortable. Irrespective of his hands, he was acutely aware of the attention they were receiving as foreigners. Turks did not seem to consider staring to be impolite.
Flint unfurled the map. “Here,” he whispered, “this looks like a central boulevard. I’ll enquire as to its name.”
The turbaned vendor arrived with bowls of food and two wooden cups filled with discoloured water. Flint slid a coin across the table and engaged the man in conversation, although by the puzzled look on the vendor’s face, Turkish was not Flint’s best language. Satisfied, Flint thanked the man and tucked into his meal, scooping the food into his mouth with his fingers.
Kidd stared at the contents of the bowl with distaste. It was fine cereal that had been boiled, and mixed with nuts and toasted spices. “What do I do with this?”
“You eat it,” said Flint, half the contents over his hands and face. “It tastes better than it looks.”
Kidd flexed his fingers. “I’d just like a spoon.” He settled for a drink instead. “Did you discover the name of the boulevard?
“Kentin en uzun ve en geniş caddesi.” Flint wiped his mouth on his sleeve and reached for his cup of water. “Odd name for a street if you ask me. He gave me directions. Are you eating?”
“No.”
Flint devoured the second bowl of food and they returned to the street. The vendor’s directions proved accurate and they soon reached a wide boulevard. There were many more Turks gathered here. It was difficult to tell if individuals were men or women as most were wrapped entirely in gauzy robes and only their eyes could be seen. Some men wore turbans and had neatly trimmed and combed beards. They leaned against walls in the shade, with hands resting lightly on the hilts of curved swords. Kidd was convinced he was seeing more and more of these men as the afternoon progressed. He felt like they were gathering around him, like wild dogs sizing up their prey. Every time he caught the glint of an eye, the men would look away and share idle words amongst themselves.
Holding the map this way and that, Flint led them through the labyrinth of alleyways until they reached a brown brick paved square, bounded on all sides by high walls. A solitary iron-clad door sealed the building beyond.
Flint whistled quietly through his teeth as his nimble fingers went to work picking the lock. Kidd stood guard while his companion worked. Eventually he heard the soft snick of releasing tumblers. Flint returned his lock pick to his coat, drew his pistol and silently primed the firing pin.
Side by side they crept into a high-ceilinged cathedral-like chamber, its walls lined with silvered glass cunningly positioned to capture the sun’s rays. Each mirror directed light from ceiling windows to a mosaic tiled well in the centre of floor.
“Ingenious,” said Flint. “There, on the ground.”
Kidd peered past the column of sunlight. A geometric pattern could be discerned throughout the mosaic, easy enough to overlook unless a man was looking for one shape in particular. It was Lawrence’s griddle, the same pattern tattooed onto the chest of every Warrior of God.
Seeing no need of his firearm, Flint released the pin and returned it to his belt. “Curious,” he whispered. “No other doors, only windows and mirrors.”
Kidd peered into the deep well, feeing the intensity of the sun’s heat on the back of his head. Someone had taken great pains to channel light underground. He looked up. Closed curtains twenty feet above their heads suggested they had only witnessed one aspect of the chamber’s potential.
“There, a pike pole,” said Flint reading his thoughts.
Kidd took the long-hooked pole from its wall mount and began the task of letting more light into the chamber. Flint crouched down on hands and knees and began to tap the tiles with the pommel of his knife. One panel of Lawrence’s griddle yielded a hollow note. Flint soon found a set of handles concealed beneath unmortared tiles. “When you’ve finished, I’ll need a hand.”
Kidd opened the last of the curtains, propped the pike pole against the wall and slid his fingers through one of the handles. It was a tight fit, but he was able to grasp it securely. The strength of two men was not required. The trapdoor sprung free on well-oiled hinges with counterbalanced weights to offset the heavy slab.
“No dust in the gaps,” said Flint. “It would seem this is used often.”
Below, a steep staircase fell away before them, descending deep underground, each step worn smooth by ages of use. There was only room to walk in single file. A soft golden light below marked their way through the darkness. Kidd counted thirty-six steps to the bottom. They emerged through an archway into a hall, about one hundred feet in length and two-thirds as wide. It looked like an ancient cave, buried by time and ever-shifting desert sands. However, someone had chiselled the walls and erected great Ionian columns to support the ceiling.
Kidd had been privileged to see many great architectural achievements, but they paled in comparison to this one. High above, a wide stained-glass dome filled the ceiling. The pieces had been assembled to represent a web, with a colourful stylised spider at the centre that stared down at them with amber eyes. Although the hall was lined with sconces for torches, the sun’s light shone through the glass from the well above, drenching the hall with eerie light. The rows of marble columns stretched the length of the hall. Strange forms carved in relief decorated the walls. There were men with dog’s heads, all types of beasts, and giant eyes watching silently as they passed.
“Ah, Will, have you ever seen the like? This is a clever bit of engineering and no mistake.”
The carvings reminded Kidd of the tally-marked wall in Lawrence’s house. “It looks like Lawrence had a lot of time on his hands, probably several lifetimes.”
Flint wandered deeper into the hall, entranced by the magnificence of the interior. Kidd restrained him gently, and pointed at the ground. It was riddled with an intricate pattern of small holes and channels drilled into the stone. “Watch your step. “Remember the riddle? The spider bites!”
Flint nodded. “We may be witnessing the work of a man madder than I am. It’s utterly brilliant!”
They proceeded carefully, checking every footstep before committing weight to it. The central aisle led directly to a great stone door in the far wall. Flint abandoned caution and urged Kidd onwards. Sensing the end of his quest, Kidd followed.
Flint was sweaty with excitement, the pupils of his eyes enlarged and inky black. For a painful moment, Kidd saw madness there. There was no telling the extent of the harm Hamilton Rush had dealt with the candlestick.
The door itself was a solid piece of stone, without a handle, keyhole or hinges.
Flint squinted at Kidd oddly before casting his eye to the ceiling. “Hand me the scroll.” He knelt down and poked a finger into one of the perfectly drilled holes.
“Those who know about my griddle,
Will comprehend this little riddle.
If you seek my ancient prize,
Then heed the spider’s watchful eyes.
For a warnin
g, the spider bites
Men who lack the proper rights.”
“The ‘spider’s watchful eyes’ are directed downwards. One of these must open the door.”
Kidd measured the scroll-case against one of the channels. “With this perhaps? The letter I read aboard the Invincible mentioned something about a key.”
Flint nodded. “I’m sure a man as obsessive as Lawrence would make the case as important as the contents.”
Kidd looked along the length of the hall. “It might be easier if we knew which one we were looking for.” There were hundreds, if not thousands of holes drilled into the stone at random intervals. “Why don’t we try it the old-fashioned way and simply break the door down?”
“For exactly the same reason nobody else has tried! Do you think Lawrence would’ve gone to all this trouble if entry were to be as simple as busting down the door? No, we’d risk demolishing the entire temple. He chose this site well. It’s sandstone... soft. We play by his rules or we get buried alive. Be patient.” He sat down and stared upwards at the spider. “The verse says, ‘Then heed the spider’s watchful eyes.’ ”
As the sun set, the light filtering through the stained glass gradually disappeared. Sections of the dome went dark until a single shaft remained. It was focused through one of the spider’s amber eyes, marking a single point on the ground with a slender beam. As quickly as it had appeared, the light faded and vanished. Each man dived for the spot and clapped their hands over a hole as the hall became thick with darkness.
“Next time, remember to pack a lamp,” grumbled Flint.
“We can’t sit around and wait for daybreak. And despite my lack of touch, it seems we have a disagreement over the spot.”
Flint clucked his tongue. “I’m sure mine is the right one. I’ll toss you for it. Heads, I win.”
Kidd passed the scroll-case in the direction of his voice. “Take it. I can’t do a damned thing without light anyway.”
They fumbled about until Flint had the scroll-case. He heard the scrape of metal against stone.
“Say when,” said Flint.
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
Flint pressed the scroll-case deep into the stone. There was an audible click as a mechanism was triggered.
The floor gave way beneath them. Kidd fell through darkness and hit the ground hard. He struggled painfully to breathe, but the air wouldn’t fill his lungs. As he passed out, he heard stones grating together from above, and a dull boom as the trap closed, shutting them in to die.
~ Chapter 18 ~
THE SPIDER’S BITE
Kidd woke feeling battered and bruised, but in one piece. He wiggled his fingers and toes. Nothing appeared to be broken. He blinked in the darkness. It was so utterly black there was no telling how long he had been unconscious, although his empty stomach told him it had been long enough.
Strange objects shifted beneath him. Bones. The hollow rattle was unmistakable. He sniffed. The air was wet and musty, but held no scent of decay. The bones were old. “Tom? Are you there?”
“‘But a warning, the spider bites’,” grumbled Flint. He was close by. “I guess we’ve discovered what that part of the riddle means.”
Kidd couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
“What the hell are you laughing at?”
“I’m just glad to hear your voice. Are you hurt?”
Flint coughed. “Yes, but if it weren’t for all these bones I think we’d both be dead. The pit is spiked.”
Metal grated against metal as Kidd swept his hands across the bones. There was the tip of a spike, still viciously sharp. Many men had sought to open Lawrence’s temple over the years. The mass of skeletons had built up to such a level they’d covered the spikes. The misfortune of those failed treasure hunters had saved Kidd and Flint from suffering the same fate.
There were dull clacking sounds as Flint sorted through the bones. “I can feel a torch. You better stand back if you can!” His pistol cracked. The muzzle flash set the pitch-soaked fabric at the head of the torch alight. A bright rolling flame hissed into life and dispelled the darkness.
The carpet of bones was a grisly sight. The remains of countless men lay twisted and broken, impaled on the cruel spikes. The pit itself had been excavated from the compact sandstone. The walls were too smooth to scale without climbing equipment. Even if they were able to make an ascent, the trapdoor had long since closed.
Overhead, Kidd saw a narrow cavity just out of arms reach, a passageway of some kind. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find a way out.” He noticed a glistening patch of fresh blood on Flint’s upper thigh. “Are you able to stand?”
Flint shook his head, and collapsed against the wall, pale and breathless. “I caught the tip of a spike,” he coughed.
Kidd scrambled across the bones and braced his partner.
“Why is there never a physician handy when you need one?”
Kidd laid him on the bed of skeletons and inspected his wound. Blood flowed freely from the puncture. “You’ll have to settle for a field dressing.” He grabbed a ribcage. It made an adequate sconce for the torch while he worked. First he removed Flint’s shoe and hose legging. He used the sharp edge of a broken jawbone to tear the fabric into bandages, tie a tourniquet and slow the bleeding. Flint grunted with discomfort as Kidd pulled the knot tight, but made no other complaint. “I guess that’s twice I’ve saved your life now.”
Flint coughed. “I had a feeling you would bring that up again.”
Kidd found three more torches, the skeletal fingers of their former owners refusing to let go even in death. He pried them loose, tucked two into his belt, and lit the third. He piled bones against the wall below the cavity to form a step. It was unsteady, but took his weight long enough to place a torch in the passageway above. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Fetch some wine on your way,” Flint gasped. “I could use a drink.” He closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep.
Kidd scrambled into the opening and lifted the torch to the darkness. A corridor stretched away, carved from the sandstone by aeons of trickling droplets. The ground was uneven underfoot, and the air was damp and cold. He ventured further, moving quickly to keep the chill at bay. The passage meandered for several hundred feet, sometimes widening to a cave, and sometimes closing to a slender gap so narrow he had to crouch or crawl to pass. Eventually he felt the merest of breezes on his face. It smelled slightly of sulphur, but was fresher than the musty subterranean air.
After a few minutes his torch guttered. He removed another from his belt, coaxed it into life, and pressed onwards. The breeze grew steadily stronger, as did the smell. He heard a strange rhythmic chirping in the distance. He arrived at a crude stair leading a dozen feet upwards to a cavern, awkward to climb. Overhead he heard the flapping of wings, bats by the sound. Their presence was a good sign. If bats had found a way in, there was a way out. He hoped they weren’t the poisonous or flesh eating variety and carefully tossed his torch into the cave. It roared slightly as it sailed through the air and landed in the entrance. There was a commotion of leathery wings and screeches at the sudden appearance of fire.
Kidd began to climb, his fingers and boots slipping often against the wet rock. It was tiring work, but he managed the short ascent and emerged over the lip of the stair into a large cave. The bats were beginning to settle down after his intrusion into their home. He could see them in the darkness above, hung in clutches on the roof, slowing shifting and chattering in a sea of glittering black eyes. The cave was as large as a cathedral, so he lit his final torch to double his light and help find a way onwards. It looked like the central junction in the latticework of caves, with channels and openings running in every direction. He wondered how many men and how many years it had taken to shape such a cave into a perfect hall, as Lawrence had done.
Further on, the ground was littered with piles of guano, the source of the pungent odour. The hairs on the back of Kidd’s neck stood on end. This time, h
e gave his instinct more respect. High above, the bats had also changed their song. Something else had entered the cave. He was being watched.
He swept the torches in wide arcs to find some sign of the unseen stalker, but the cavern stretched out before him, unwilling to give up its secrets. He advanced with deliberate footfalls, following the breeze. The sandstone soon lost its watery sheen, and the scent of fresh air grew stronger. He clambered over a ridge to a small alcove and noticed a pile of animal droppings on the ground. They were old and certainly didn’t belong to the bats. A pile of bones lay nearby. He sifted through them with the toe of his boot. None looked human. They were from a large beast like a sheep or a cow. How could stock animals have found their way down here? Further on he found more bones and droppings. Some were fresh.
Kidd caught a movement in the corner of his eye, a silent shadow in the darkness. The bats began to chirp excitedly and several fluttered about. The shadow moved again, just beyond the reach of his torchlight. It growled softly, wary perhaps of the dangerous flame.
Kidd understood intimately the sensation of being stalked, although on most occasions he had been the hunter, and it was unnerving now to be marked as prey. Now, more than ever, he missed having a sword and pistol at his side. Fighting men with his fists was one thing, but tackling a wild beast was something entirely different. They had sharp claws and powerful jaws that could rend flesh and bone. He recalled the encounter with Vllen’s overgrown snake. That fight could have gone the snake’s way easily.
The snake... perhaps he wasn’t entirely unarmed after all. He wedged one torch into a crevice and retrieved the gourd of poison from his pocket. With a wider circle of light, he began to hunt the predator in the dark.
With a fierce screech, a huge black cat launched itself through the air towards him, claws extended, jaws open wide to tear out his throat. The cat knocked him to the ground, and he felt claws tear at his chest. He lunged with the torch as he if he were wielding a sabre. The flaming brand seared the soft flesh of the cat’s belly. It shrieked and scrambled aside with a howl, surprised to discover its prey had a sting.
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