The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 18
‘Thank you for flying Purgatorian Airways,’ drawled the American pilot, lighting a fresh cigar, and pulling the door closed behind him.
Sniffing the breeze, the ultra-sensitive Neanderthal began hoovering up the air drifting in from over the nearby olive groves. Filtering out the aviation fuel and nearby landfill, the Bonetaker’s uncanny olfactory system locked onto the target.
As always, the Bonetaker’s senses were bang on the money.
Galvanised by the tiniest of trace elements left by Newton days before, the giant lolloped away across the flightline to the perimeter fence, then leapt adroitly over the chain link and razor wire in one neat arc.
His ride was waiting.
‘Hello, old boy,’ called Bennet affectionately from the cab. ‘Pleasant flight?’
‘NO LIKE FLY,’ boomed the Bonetaker, shaking his head. ‘NO LIKE.’
‘I know, I know,’ Bennet soothed. ‘But it really couldn’t be helped.’
‘BARLOW,’ asked the giant. ‘TROUBLE?’
‘Seems so,’ said Bennet, opening the van door. ‘We think someone has him somewhere out there in the mountains. Reckon you can sniff him out?’
‘SENSITIVE,’ reminded the Bonetaker, jamming himself into the tiny van. ‘ME SENSITIVE.’
‘Well, there’s certainly no arguing with that,’ agreed, Bennet, slamming the door.
*****
The back of the hermit’s cave was inky black, the tiny oil lamps that Enrico and Newton were holding doing little but light a mere five metres before them, leaving Newton little clue what really lay ahead.
‘So, this is what you’ve been guarding all these years?’ he asked, peering into the gloom. ‘Is it some kind of entrance?’
‘Dat’s right,’ said the hermit. ‘Is a gateway. My job is to keep it undiscovered. No one gets past Enrico.’
‘But, it’s also the only way out of here,’ continued Newton. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘’Fraida so,’ confirmed the hermit.
‘But where does it go?’ asked Newton.
‘Where doesn’t it go?’ laughed Enrico. ‘Crete issa big honeycomb, innit? A Swiss cheese, passages going everywhere. You can get anywhere you want … if you know where you’re going.’
‘And this is … natural?’
‘Natural? … No. Well, it was … at first,’ explained the hermit. ‘Da rock is as soft as gnocchi, see. Nature made lots of da passages, widda da watta. But da Minoans expanded them hugely, especially after Thera blew up. Once da Mycenaean Greeks started ripping things up, they live down here, hoping to weather da storm.’
‘That can’t have been fun,’ suggested Newton.
‘Si,’ agreed the hermit. ‘Musta been awful.’
‘What’s the plan then?’ asked Newton, keen to move on. ‘Just keep walking until I pop out somewhere useful?’
‘Oh, nononono,’ said Enrico. ‘I have to come widda you. Is absolute bloody maze. Tunnels here, anna tunnels dere. You’d get lost in da first thirty minutes. I’ve been here since da thirteenth century, and I still don’t know all da tunnels. Must be thousands. Plus, is preeeeetty dangerous.’
‘It is?’
‘Sure. Is designed to be. Lots of da booby traps. On your own, you’d be pancetta’d before da morning was over. Plus …,’ continued Enrico, his face becoming serious in the half-light, ‘you’ll need to be kept away from … certain areas.’
‘I will?’ said Newton, his interest instantly piqued.
‘Most certainly,’ insisted Enrico. ‘I know you’re onna da payroll, but dat doesn’t clear you for anything anna everything. Oh, dear me, no. Some things are way above your pay grade.’
‘So people keep telling me,’ sighed Newton. ‘But you know what’s here. Right?’
‘Oh, for sure,’ replied Enrico, forgetting to keep his mouth sealed. ‘A lot of it I brought here myself, in my glory days. I was a lot like you, you know. I found da things. Awkward things. And dere were a lot of dose around when I was at my height. My job was to grab as many of them as possible and bring them here, keeping them outta da mischievous hands, of which dere were also … many.’
‘Still are,’ said Newton, high on the sweet scent of factual data. ‘Do go on.’
‘I was a pirate,’ explained Enrico proudly. ‘Well, that was da cover story. Although I had a fine reputation all over da Mediterranean for state-sanctioned piracy, I was actually working for da Purgatorians da whole time! Officially, I worked for da Genoese, just one of da city-states making a name for themselves atta da time, having nautical run-ins with the Pisans, Venetians, Byzantines and all da rest. What I was actually doing was sweeping up dodgy relics and uncomfortable truths from one end of da Med to the other for da Purgatorians. People were finding things. Awkward things. I was just taking it off dem, you understand? You wouldn’t believe the sorta stuff dat used to pop up around dis sea.’
‘Oh, I would,’ answered Newton. ‘I’ve only been doing this six months, and my hair is going white.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Enrico. ‘Mindboggling, isn’t it? Just lika you, I had to grab da stuff offa da boats, and quickly get it safely stored away where it couldn’t cause us any “embarrassment”.’
‘Not destroy it?’ asked Newton. ‘Because that’s what we do these days.’
‘Ah, well, is a lot less of da really weird stuff around dese days,’ replied Enrico. ‘And with dose kinda relics, its destruction does nothing to prevent it from affecting da path of human development. Back then, we ….’ Enrico abruptly halted, finally realising he was being interrogated. He turned to look Newton straight in his eyes, then narrowed his own. ‘I’ve got to watch you, haven’t I?’ Newton grinned back mischievously. ‘Damn.” Enrico facepalmed. ‘I’ve probably spilled too many ova da beans already. I shall be in deep trouble widda head office if I continue. So I stop now. In my defence, I’m a bit rusty on security. Been a while since I’ve had to consider dese things. Hermits don’t get much practice widda people, would you believe?’
‘Back to my road home,’ said Newton, reluctantly changing the subject. ‘I need to make tracks. Not just because my folks are going to be freaking out, but also because there’s a bunch of murderous nutjobs on the island that need reigning in.’
‘I see,’ said Enrico. ‘How you feel after your argument widda da Mediterranean? You fit to travel?’
‘I feel like I’ve been happy slapped with a steam iron,’ replied Newton. ‘And I’ve got more holes in me than a pasta strainer. Apart from that, I’m as fit as a fiddle.’
‘You sure?’ asked the hermit, poking Newton with a finger.
‘Sure enough,’ winced Newton, flexing his tenderised shoulders. ‘Let’s get going.’
‘Ok. Excuse me, while I change into something a little less “hermity”.’
‘Oh, interesting,’ remarked Newton somewhat surprised. ‘So ghosts can change clothes. That’s new.’
To demonstrate this, Enrico’s rags transformed into an embroidered burgundy tunic and velvet cloak ensemble.
‘Sì,’ said Enrico, striking a pose. ‘I’m Italian; I gotta looka da part.’
*****
Dr Kraakenhausen’s strange team gathered at the cave mouth, the bright Aegean sun ending in a sharp blackness before them. Helena and her father peered into the gloom.
‘Are you sure ve still need him?’ asked Dr Kraakenhausen, pointing to the blind man sitting on a rock beside them. ‘Isn’t he just a burden? Vant me to fling him down the mountain?’
‘Nein,’ responded Helena. ‘He’s the closest thing to a compass ve have. Ve’ve no map of this place. Ve vill have to rely upon his “sensitivities” if ve are to find vot ve are seeking.’
‘This is most thrilling, mein boy,’ said the newly manifested general. ‘All the time I was on this accursed island, I knew it vos here. Somehow, I alvays knew.’
‘Ja, Grandpapa,’ agreed Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Thanks to this discovery, our family will be known throughout history. This is bigger than Tutankhamun, bigger than Sutton Hoo or the Rosetta Stone. Inside these tunnels lie treasures that no man has seen since ….’
‘Papa,’ interrupted Helena, her hand landing on his shoulder. ‘As exciting as this discovery may be, ve should really get Great-grandpapa up to speed about our backers.’
‘Backers?’ asked the general. ‘Ve have backers?
‘Ja,’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Ve ver approached by an organisation last year. They refer to themselves as a “consortium”. They are very secretive und very vealthy. It vos they who financed this expedition.’
A look of indignation spread across the general’s chubby face. ‘Could you not finance it yourselves? Ve are an aristocratic family of the highest breeding! Could you not use the family fortune?’
Dr Kraakenhausen looked down at his shoes.
‘Tell him,’ sighed Helena.
‘I’m sorry, Grandpapa,’ sighed Dr Kraakenhausen, wracked with shame. ‘I have to inform you ….’
‘Ja? Vot, my boy?’
‘The family fortune, General,’ confessed Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Is … gone!’
‘Gone?’ asked the general, his voice rising rapidly to an enraged squawk. ‘GONE!?’
‘Ja, Grandpapa,’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Please, … you have to understand how it vos in those times. After ’45, the family vas hunted like common criminals, driven from country to country … like Gypsies. Those vengeful vor crimes people … they never let up! Let me tell you, Grandpapa, keeping one step ahead … it cleaned us out. Brazil, Uruguay, Belize, Argentina … the hotel bills ver catastrophic!. Mein Gott! Ve have been living on ein shoestring ever since, forced to lower ourselves to the common trades to survive. I had to work in a Schnitzel factory!’
‘Himmel!’ snarled the general. ‘The shame of it. Die Kraakenhausens have been velthy since the First Reich.’
‘I met a Kraakenhausen at Acre,’ said the newly arrived spirit of Raynald de Châtillon. ‘Fantastic with a broadsword. Ate a lot of sausages.’
‘Exactly!’ said the general. ‘Ve vus das real deal,’ he added, his Germanic phrasing spliced with his host’s Estuary English.
‘It couldn’t be helped, General,’ added Helena. ‘Ve did our best, but it vos too much. But this expedition gives us a chance to change everything. This Consortium is offering us millions if we penetrate the interior. Vith cash like that, ve can be a proper family again. Plus, ve can keep anything ve find that they don’t vant.’
‘Vot do they vant?’ asked the general suspiciously. ‘If it’s not treasure, then vot?’
‘Anything with certain “qualities”,’ explained the archaeologist. ‘That’s vot they said. I’m guessing the more religious and spiritually charged items. You know vot I’m talking about.’
‘I do,’ said the general, nodding furiously. ‘I alvays knew such things ver here on the island. Spiritual, meaningful things; connections between here and … there, isn’t that vot ve Kraakenhausens have spent the generations searching for? It is vhy ve moved to Trier, to be close to the holy objects Saint Helena brought back from the Holy Lands.’
‘Well, that’s clearly not what this Consortium thinks is here,’ said Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘And it is vhy they are offering so much for our expertise in locating them. “The most sacred of relics”, they said. “Money … no object”.’
‘And you’ve told them that ve’ve discovered a vay in, yes?’ asked Helena. ‘They ver pretty clear about us not going it alone.’
There was an awkward pause as the archaeologist looked guiltily back down at his dusty loafers.
‘Papa?’
Dr Kraakenhausen remained silent, hoping the question would pass.
Helena was now fully alarmed, her methodical mind playing with the implications. ‘PAPA! Please tell me you told them.’
‘Er … nein, svvvvvveetie,’ admitted her father finally. ‘I didn’t vant to. Not just yet.’
‘But Papa, vhy?’ exclaimed his daughter. ‘These people are ruthless. If ve don’t keep our side of the bargain … they’ll kill us.’
‘But this is mein big moment,’ pleaded Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘If I am informing them of mein discovery they simply come straight here and tear it from mein grasp. I can’t hand it over like that. I just … can’t. Those people are not proper archaeologists; vot do they know about the mysteries of the past?’ He grabbed his heart through his linen shirt for emphasis. ‘I’ve spent mein whole life searching. Give me mein moment. I promise I vill tell them as soon as ve’ve had a good look at vot is inside. Ja?’
‘I hope so,’ said Helena, ‘because these people are killers. Real killers. If you don’t give them the archaeology, they vill make you the archaeology.’
‘Ja, ja, I know,’ agreed her father, attempting to brush away the danger. ‘But, really, how can it hurt if ve just have ein little look first? “Scientifically” have a look, you know, because ve are scientists, aren’t ve? I mean, these treasures, they may not even be any. Shouldn’t ve make certain of that first?’
‘They are here,’ said the old man quietly from behind them.
‘And who is this old fool?’ demanded the General. ‘He looks like ein peasant.’
‘He’s a guide,’ answered Helena. ‘A “sensitive”. Papa found him.’
‘I found you,’ corrected the blind man. ‘Remember?’
‘Votever,’ snorted Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘The thing is, Grandpapa, he may be ein filthy peasant and ein pain in das neck, but he’s been rather useful. He helped us find this entrance.’
‘The old man will slow us down,’ declared Raynald. ‘I am no nursemaid. I am a knight. We should throw the bastard off a cliff.’
‘No,’ insisted Helena. ‘Ve keep him. Give him to the driver. Sorry … what used to be the driver. You,’ she snapped at Andronicus. ‘Vot’s your name?’
‘Who … me?’ answered Andronicus the Terrible. ‘Oh … I’m … I’m … Tony. I’m Tony … of, er … Paris.’
‘A Frank? Really?’ snarled Raynald de Châtillon, picking up the snooty Holy Roman accent. ‘Because I’m a Frank, and you don’t sound like no Frank. Why, you sound almost … Byzantine.’
There was an instant wave of filthy looks.
‘What … me?’ protested Andronicus, realising how much he was not amongst friends. ‘Byzantine? Oh, good Lord … no! Why, I spit upon the Byzantines. Godless, treacherous dogs. Why, if I met a Holy Roman, I’d run my sword through him so fast he’d ¬–’
‘Swords!’ exclaimed Raynald de Châtillon. ‘Oh, my Lord, yes! We need swords! Why, we have no weapons of any kind. How are we to fight the infidel if we are bereft of blades?’
‘Swords?’ replied Helena. ‘Vell, it vould be nice, but right now, no, … sorry. I’m sure ve shall find some on the vay, though. This is just the sort of place you vould find them.’
‘It is?’ asked Raynald. ‘In a cave?’
‘Most likely, ja,’ confirmed Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘It is not just a cave, it is more ein portal to another realm. Who knows vot ve shall find in there.’
‘In the meantime,’ said Helena, pulling out a pistol. ‘Ve have guns, vhich are far nastier. I can teach you how to use one later, mein Herren, but for now, ve press on vith vot ve have. Grab your stuff, everyone, ve move out.’
And so, the Kraakenhausen family began their journey into the underworld, Helena and her father taking the lead, the spirit of General Von Kraakenhausen following on in the fat body of Terrence, the English football fan. Behind them, the escorting Knights tramped along in their cheap England sportswear.
Bringing up the rear, one of the worst men who had ever lived took the arm of the old blind man, edging them both into the Stygian darkness.
*****
Upstairs on the balcony of the Café Elaphonisi, Bennet, Vasilakis, Gabby and Viv were huddled around a tired old table, faces creased with worry. Outside in his van, the Bonetaker sat stuffy and uncomfortable, his distinctive odour ensuring that trade at the adjacent butcher would be noticeably down on the day before.
Vasilakis, smoking incessantly, had spent the last hour explaining the situation, his wildly gyrating hands tracing great loops across a large map of Eastern Crete on the wall before them.
‘I have men both sides of the Gorge,’ he declared decisively. ‘One team here … the other … here. Another team, they search the coastline’ – the Cretan slapped the map, the ash falling off his Marlboro – ‘here.’
‘Hospitals?’ enquired Bennet.
‘Checked,’ confirmed Vasilakis, shaking his head. ‘Nothing. But, should Dr Barlow be admitted, we will know instantly. We have people in all those places. We have people everywhere.’
‘Still nothing from his phone?’ asked Gabby.
‘Not a sausage,’ replied Viv sadly.
‘The Kraakenhausens have him,’ insisted Vasilakis. ‘That idiot builder told the woman where Barlow was. It’s clear she followed him on the walk. Then –’
‘I’d rather not think about that,’ sighed Viv, cutting him short.
‘Viv dear, like Mr Vasilakis said, we know Newton isn’t dead,’ Bennet reassured her. ‘He’d be annoying Eric and Alex in the Afterlife if he were.’
‘Yeah, but he could be well on the way to the Afterlife and still be alive, couldn’t he?’ added Gabby. ‘This could be a race against time, if he’s injured or dying ….’
‘Yeah,’ added Viv. ‘Just because there’s an Afterlife doesn’t mean dying isn’t a big deal.’
‘True,’ conceded Bennet. ‘It’s best avoided.’
‘We will find Barlow long before that,’ declared Vasilakis, banging the table for emphasis. ‘I promise on my mother’s life, we find your man!’
