The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 24
‘Such effort implies something of great importance is here,’ replied the old man. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Of course, it’s obvious,’ snapped Dr Kraakenhausen, secretly pleased his thinking was being done for him. ‘That’s exactly vot I vos thinking.’
‘What are we actually looking for, specifically?’ asked Andronicus the Terrible from the back.
‘Treasure?’ suggested Raynald, hopefully.
‘Ach, … not just treasure,’ said Kraakenhasuen. ‘One grows bored with mere treasure. Nein, this is more. This is for glory, this is for the history books, ja?’
‘Mein papa is a genius,’ declared Helena proudly.
‘To find such a place, this is enough for most men,’ continued the archaeologist. ‘To change history, to claim the past and form a new future, that is my destiny. I’m not ruling out a bit of treasure too, though, daughter.’ He added, ‘Ve are a little bit broke at the moment, as you know, and the extra income vouldn’t hurt.’
‘So, there is gold down here,’ Andronicus whispered to the blind man. ‘That’s good because I wouldn’t say “no” to a bit of the yellow stuff.’
‘Gold …,’ sneered the old man. ‘Awful stuff. The Gods placed it on this earth to torment mortals. Gold destroys a man’s life as surely as the point of a spear … and for what? It is nothing more than cold metal.’
‘If you say so,’ replied Andronicus. ‘But it buys armies, know what I’m saying?’
‘What use have you of an army?’ laughed the blind man.
‘Oh, you know, one needs a bit of muscle now and again.’
‘Times have changed,’ warned the old man. ‘Machines wage war now, not men. Machines that can flatten cities and vaporise a million people in a single almighty flash.’
‘Oh, I would definitely buy a few of those,’ enthused Andronicus. ‘They sound great!’
‘Papa,’ said Helena, frowning in the glow. ‘These lights vorry me.’
‘They do?’ asked her father.
‘Ja,’ answered Helena. ‘Ve didn’t activate them. And if ve didn’t, then who did?’
‘There’s someone else down here?’ asked the general, looking anxiously around him.
‘I suspect so,’ replied Helena. ‘Ve need to be on the alert.’
‘We meet someone, we kill them,’ snorted Raynald de Châtillon, playing with his new sword.
‘Put that down,’ ordered Helena. ‘You’ll hurt someone.’
‘But I want to hurt someone,’ protested the Crusader. ‘That’s what I do.’
‘Vell, I’m sure you’ll find someone to murder later,’ replied Helena, pushing down his blade. ‘Till then, keep your veapon lowered.’
‘As you wish,’ sighed de Châtillon, sheathing his blade. ‘Whatever you say.’
There was a loud pop beside them. One of the glowing orbs in the wall had failed; its light fading quickly.
‘Vot ist das?’ exclaimed the general.
Then a second orb popped and was extinguished, followed by a ripple of tiny explosions along the passageway as the lighting began to quickly to dim.
‘The bulbs, they are failing!’ cried Dr Kraakenhausen, stating the obvious.
‘Himmel!’ muttered the general.
‘This place,’ said Helena, switching her torch back on, ‘is veird.’
*****
Far behind the Kraakenhausens, Nahrapov, Astrid, and his gunmen were moving quickly through the dark tunnels, footprints in the thick dust leading the way. Unexpectedly, this trail had now ended in a gory blob of body parts, marking where the first of Kraakenhausen’s Crusaders had gone head-to-head with a booby trap.
‘This must be one of your football fans, Dima,’ observed Nahrapov, looking down at the chopped-up body.
‘Still warm,’ added Dima, leaning down to place his hand on one half of a beer gut.
‘O. M. G!’ shrieked Astrid, hiding behind her sugar daddy. ‘Is he … dead?’
‘Of course, he’s dead, my darling sparrow,’ replied Nahrapov. ‘He’s been cut to pieces.’
‘Ohhh, baaaaaby,’ purred Astrid, wide-eyed with a mix of terror and confusion. ‘Will you protect me, my big sexy bear? I’m so very scared!’
‘You’ll be fine, kotenok,’ answered Nahrapov. ‘My men will keep you safe.’
‘Booby traps,’ remarked Dima, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Old ones. Like in the movies.’
‘Thought there might be,’ said Nahrapov. ‘Have your men sweep ahead of us. I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders.’
‘And mine!’ trilled Astrid.
‘Especially yours, my little fish,’ soothed Nahrapov, blowing her a kiss.
Dima signalled his team. ‘Leonid, you are on point. The rest of you follow on. Keep your eyes peeled,’ advised the gunman. ‘And don’t touch anything.’
*****
Leaving the power station and its Baghdad batteries behind them, Newton and the hermit had pressed on, the illumination flicking on and off as the ancient electrics struggled. Edging through tight tunnels with occasional side chambers, Newton could see piles of ancient empty boxes. Others seemed to be more recent; plastic IKEA bags and wicker baskets were scattered chaotically around, hinting at a hasty departure.
‘This place gets more Tomb Raider by the minute,’ remarked Newton.
‘What’s Tomb Raider?’ enquired Enrico.
‘The computer game,’ explained Newton. ‘You know, Lara Croft …. Oh no, wait. Sorry, old-timer. It’s a modern thing.’
‘Is it on da Ninatendo?’ enquired Enrico.
‘Eh?’ asked Newton, ‘You play computer games? But you’re from the past.’
‘Sure,’ answered Enrico. ‘I’ve been known to kick back at the odd empty holiday home in the winter months. There was a Ninatendo in one of dose, had something called Super Mario on it. A most amusing dwarf! Three months I play. Only when da tourists come back did I stop. I wassa badly addicted.’
‘Bet you were,’ said Newton. ‘Well, Tomb Raider was on Xbox, something similar. It’s an archaeology-themed game; you break into tombs; grab treasure while other people or booby traps try to kill you. Huge fun, if you don’t mind sacrificing six months of your personal development for no purpose whatsoever.’
‘Fantistico!’ exclaimed Enrico. ‘Sounds exciting.’
‘In a game … yes,’ agreed Newton. ‘In real life … less so. I’d rather play it than live it. Hopefully, we can avoid being killed if we keep our wits about us. It’s already nearly happened to me twice this week. It nearly happens to me a lot, now I come to think about it.’
‘It gets a lot easier when you’re already dead,’ observed Enrico. ‘Can’ta happen twice, can it? Close shaves are da Purgatorian way of life, though, I think. In my time, I’ve been assaulted, tortured widda da hot spoons, and was always one step from being drowned. Being stone dead is da only thing dat makes all dat stop.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ said Newton, frowning.
‘Prego,’ replied Enrico, bowing. ‘Now, I should warn you that a bit of da surprise issa coming up. I was hoping I could avoid you seeing any of dis, but as it’s da only way I can get you back to da north offa da island, I don’t hava da choice.’
‘Look mate,’ remarked Newton nonchalantly, as they approached an ornate archway. ‘I’m pretty unshockable. It would take something pretty off the scale to blow my …..’
Emerging through a rough archway, Newton paused, jaw slowly dropping open like the doors on a car ferry.
‘… mind.’
They had entered a vast underground space, a domed void inside the mountains resembling a colossal upturned soup bowl. Inside this half-sphere, lit by a thousand glass orbs in the rocks high above, were countless buildings: storehouses, temples, dwellings … a maze of streets stretching away into the distance.
A city.
‘Ha,’ laughed Enrico, observing Newton’s incredulity. ‘A bit ova shock to da system, sì?’
‘It’s … it’s … a city!’ blurted Newton, pointing.
‘Sì,’ agreed Enrico.
‘Minoan?’
‘They built it, sì. Been added to a lot since them, though. Purgatorian requirements, if you know what I’ma saying.’
‘No, I don’t “know”,’ replied Newton. ‘I’d like to, though.’
‘Sadly,’ said Enrico, ‘is not possible. We must pass quickly through dissa place widda your curiosity inna check. I’ve already broken just about every protocol there is in letting you see dissa much. No choice, I know; never leava da man behind and alla dat. But …’ ¬– Enrico lifted a finger – ‘I need you to agree. Datssa da deal, sì? I help you, Barlow. So you help me, ok? We just passa through, no questions asked. Sì?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ replied Newton, convincing neither of them.
*****
On the other side of the city, The Kraakenhausens were peering down from a high ledge at the Minoan streets below them, the astonishing spectacle rendering them silent with wonder.
‘Christós!’ said Andronicus the Terrible after a long five minutes.
‘Astonishing,’ exclaimed Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘It is beyond mein vildest dreams.’
‘Congratulations, Papa.’
‘It is a city, yes?’ asked the old man.
‘Ja,’ said Helena. ‘There are temples and houses and … Himmel! It must be at least a mile across.’ You knew this was here?’ she asked, poking the blind man on the arm.
‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘I heard things.’
‘There ver rumours vhile I voz here,’ recalled the general. ‘I looked, but I never found.’
‘But, vhy is it here?’ asked Helena. ‘It makes no sense. Vhy vould the Minoans vant to live underground.’
‘Maybe they hid here for safety,’ suggested the general. ‘They were under attack from die Sea Peoples, no?’
‘It’s too grand a project for that,’ answered Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘This is not the verk of ein collapsing state. This is a very deliberate project. They vern’t hiding themselves; they ver hiding … something.’
‘Treasure!’ exclaimed Andronicus. ‘Yay!’
‘The Holy Grail!’ added Raynald de Châtillon.
‘Too early for the Grail,’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘That voz much later. Nein, I suspect it is something else. Something ve know nothing of … yet.’
‘It looks like they deserted it,’ added Helena. ‘Ve are probably the first people in here since the collapse of Knossos. Vill you look at this dust.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said the general. ‘Vot about the lights?’
As if to make the point, the lights, which Newton and Enrico had activated … shut down. The city, which had been laid out before them in all its mysterious splendour, vanished back into complete and utter blackness.
‘Scheisse!’ swore Dr Kraakenhausen, feeling for support in the rocks behind him.
‘What happened?’ asked the old man, none the wiser.
‘The lights went out,’ answered Helena.
‘Get your torches back on,’ shouted Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Before ve plunge off this accursed ledge.’
‘No! Vait!’ exclaimed Helena. ‘Keep them off. Look!’
‘Look?’ asked her father. ‘Look vhere?’
‘There,’ said Helena, pointing away across the vast black abyss.
It was very far away, so far that the pinpoint of light at first seemed like nothing, but as their eyes adjusted, they could see something dancing and flickering in the blackness.
‘Who ist das?’ enquired Dr Kraakenhausen.
‘No idea,’ replied Helena. ‘Give me the binoculars.’
‘Purgatorians?’ suggested her father, handing her the glasses.
‘Could be,’ said Helena, focussing. ‘Or tomb raiders. Ve may have rivals. Ve have no choice but to use these torches, but ve should keep them shrouded. If ve can see them … they could see us.’
*****
The Kraakenhausens and Crusaders, Newton and Enrico, the Russians, Viv with Gabby, Bennet and a reluctant Vasilakis, all were making their various ways through the tunnels beneath Crete. Overhead, another team was on the move.
High above them all, where the White Mountains were split in two by a winding, dusty valley, a convoy of Land Rovers was ascending the road towards the plain of Omalos. Just short of the town, they turned, heading down a track that quickly buried itself in a grove of lemon trees. Five minutes later, they re-emerged, pulling to a halt beside a remote timeworn church.
Fifteen Greek Orthodox monks in regulation black, crosses and worry beads draped around their necks, dismounted their vehicles, dusting themselves off before opening their car boots and pulling out two large trunks. After checking they were unobserved, they began to pull out an arsenal of antiquated weapons; Turkish muskets, SOE Sten guns, and captured Nazi machine pistols. Suitably armed, they assembled around their leader, a seasoned priest with a colossal salt and pepper beard that fell over his crisscrossed bandolier and curved hunting knives.
‘Brothers,’ announced Father Papadraylou. ‘The moment you have trained for all your lives … is finally here. We had all hoped this day would never come, but sadly … here we are. Persons, both known and unknown, have penetrated the facility.’
There was an audible gasp.
‘Gentlemen,’ he continued, his hands raised to silence them, ‘we are sworn to protect this site and all its many, many secrets, bound by a sacred promise we made as young men. We cannot allow the facility to become known beyond its sacred walls, at least not before the “transition” is complete. The transition is not complete. There are secrets below us that have yet to be relocated, secrets that, should they be revealed to a wider world, could be devastating to us all. It is down to us, my brothers, to intervene and prevent this. Given the seriousness of this moment,’ continued Papadraylou, loading his shotgun, ‘we have been given clearance to shoot and … if necessary, to kill.’
‘Father Papadraylou,’ asked a young novice, cradling his pistol with a noticeable tremor. ‘May I ask a question?’
‘You may,’ nodded Papadraylou.
‘Are these intruders armed? And how many of them do we think there are?’
‘There may be as many as twenty-five,’ explained Papadraylou. ‘Maybe more. Booby traps may have whittled that number down, though. They not all together. Our ghostly Minoan friends are reporting four separate groups, all headed into the city. As for whether they are armed. Well, I would be astonished if they weren’t. We assume the worst.’ Father Papadraylou looked at his men, dedication clear in their eyes, then crossed himself. Dutifully, his men did the same.
‘Ready?’
They answered as one, a charged ‘étoimoi!’ that echoed around the churchyard, then floated away down the narrow valley.
‘Then … we go!’
With Father Papadraylou at their head, they filed into the old church. Unlike the tired grey exterior, the interior was alive with blue and gold Byzantine frescos, the air heavy with frankincense and hot wax. Reaching the altar, Papadraylou stretched behind the carved wooden panel, feeling for the catch. Wincing with effort, the abbot eventually made contact with the rusty mechanism.
There was an audible ‘clunk’, then a jangle of whirring cogs.
A slab of stone before the altar first shuddered, then dropped, causing the monks to rear back in alarm, a cloud of dust puffing upwards as the portal opened. Cautiously, they edged forward again, peering down ancient steps into an ominous gloom.
*****
‘I wish I’d known the lights were on a timer,’ said Newton, carefully negotiating the descending footpath. ‘I nearly went off the edge.’
‘Sorry,’ apologised the hermit. ‘Not beena here for at least a century, you forgeta deese things.’
‘Is this some kind of religious centre?’ inquired Newton. ‘A Minoan Shangri-la?’
‘No comment,’ answered Enrico. ‘Gonna leava you guessing. We gonna dash through da place, and outta da other side. Dat’s what we agreed, remember? Gotta keep your exposure to da absolute minimum.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘Well, you have to try, Dr Barlow,’ insisted the hermit. ‘I save your neck, sì? The least you can do is respect my request for discretion. I’m in enough offa da trouble as it is.’
‘I will try,’ shrugged Newton.
They were now approaching what appeared to be a castle wall, vast blocks of worked stone fitted together into one solid obstacle, complete with ramparts and towers. Newton’s torch cut through the motes of dust, revealing an arch beneath which sat two monumental wooden doors.
‘No one home,’ observed Newton, fruitlessly pulling at the rusted metal handle.
‘Dammit,’ muttered the hermit. ‘Dey were open last time I wassa here.’
‘Ah, So, someone’s been down here and closed them? Is that what you’re saying?’ asked Newton.
‘I didn’t say it was abandoned, did I?’ replied Enrico. ‘Is a Purgatorian facility; that’s all I’ma gonna say. Other Purgatorians come here from time to time, you know, on Purgatorian … business.’
‘You’re not going to tell me what business, though, are you?’
‘Nope.’
After frowning back at his companion, Newton pushed again at the doors. They were as locked as the first time. Frustrated, he shone his torch at a panel above the handle, revealing a series of histograms, cryptic lines and dashes scratched into a raised marble panel, all utterly indecipherable.
‘Don’t suppose you can read Linear A?’ asked Newton.
‘Linear what?’
‘Never mind,’ said Newton, trying to read the scribbles. ‘Pity my phone got whacked. I could have tried to run this through AI.’
‘Whassat?’ asked Enrico.
‘Artificial intelligence,’ explained Newton. ‘Like normal intelligence, only better. You can run these big algorithms and look for patterns. Analysis that can take a human brain decades, you can do in a weekend.’
‘Sounds … great?’ shrugged Enrico, totally lost
‘Let’s try a bit of logic here,’ continued Newton. ‘This is a sign of some kind, clearly. Something the builders of this door wanted to be read. It’s either a warning or an instruction. It’s a bit understated for a warning, I reckon. It hardly jumps out at you, does it?’
