The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 28
‘Hardly likely to happen twice, is it?’ said the oligarch, his unemotional flatness full of menace. Nahrapov cast a glance around the empty storeroom. ‘Ok. What have you done with the stuff?’
‘There vasn’t any stuff!’ blurted the archaeologist. ‘It was like this ven ve got here! Ask meine daughter.’
‘This true?’ demanded Nahrapov, looking directly into Helena’s eyes.
‘Ja,’ she confirmed. ‘Ve just got here ourselves.’
‘I see …,’ said Nahrapov. ‘But you found something, da? What is that behind your back?’
‘This?’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen, trying to appear surprised. ‘Oh, they must have left it by mistake. It’s ….’
‘The True Cross … da?’ said Nahrapov. ‘We could hear you talking about it from back there. Is it authentic?’
‘He says it is,’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen, nodding towards the blind man.
‘And who the hell are you, old man?’ said Nahrapov, approaching the Cretan. ‘Purgatorian?’
‘Certainly not,’ answered the old man.
‘A sensitive, though … right?’
‘You could say that,’ replied the Cretan. ‘Yes.’
‘He helped us find the entrance,’ added Dr Kraakenhausen.
‘Did you, now?’ asked Nahrapov. ‘And what about these English football pigs, who are they?
‘And I’m not a pig,’ snapped Raynald de Châtillon. ‘And thankfully, I’m not English. I … am a Knight of Christ.’
‘Whatever,’ shrugged Nahrapov, unimpressed. ‘Well, Kraakenhausen, you have been busy. These bastards have been possessed, I assume? The Necromancer’s handbook you brought back from Wales, da?’
‘How did you know about that?’ demanded Helena.
‘We know everything,’ replied the oligarch. ‘Eventually.’
‘I vos going to tell you!’ pleaded Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘I vos!’
‘Don’t insult me with your pathetic whining,’ snapped Nahrapov. ‘It’s time for a bit of clarity. You’re the “archaeologist”; what is your hypothesis on this place?
‘Er, vell … it’s mostly Minoan,’ explained Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘But with modern additions.’
‘Such as?’
‘Vell,’ replied the archaeologist. ‘You’ve seen the lights, ja? Extraordinary, no? And there are also computers and fire extinguishers. People have been down here in modern times, maybe even mere veeks ago. Purgatorians, most likely. They may even be down here now.’
‘Stupid Purgs,’ sneered Nahrapov. ‘They think they can hide these things from us. They are wrong.’
The oligarch checked his phone. Not surprisingly, given the dome of rock above them, the network was down.
‘It’s down on mine too,’ shrugged Astrid forlornly, offline for the first time in five years.
‘Dammit! Dima, have your men search this building. If there’s nothing here to take, we head back to the surface … call some teams in to take this place. Me, I want out of here. This place gives me the creeps.’
‘You’re leaving?’ asked Dr Kraakenhausen, hopefully
‘WE … are leaving,’ answered Nahrapov. ‘I will deal with your treachery later, Kraakenhausen.’
*****
Newton was going as fast as his bruised legs would carry him. He hobbled first down one alleyway, then limped up another, struggling past long-deserted shop fronts, leaving swirls of bronze age dust behind him. To his rear, the enraged snorting told Newton his monstrous pursuer was hot on his tail, smashing its way through the pots and awnings like a runaway bus to get at him.
‘You’re doing great!’ remarked Enrico from a doorway, as Newton ran past, the hermit flashing in and out of visibility.
‘Thanks,’ Newton yelled over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ answered Enrico from a balcony to Newton’s front.
‘Yes … I do,’ insisted Newton.
‘Mythology, Dr Barlow,’ shouted Enrico, starting to vanish again. ‘Remember your mythology.’
‘Stop being cryptic!’ panted Newton, ‘What is this? The Crystal bloody Maze?’
Worryingly, despite his adrenalin-induced sprint, Newton was clearly flagging. After a day of unexpected exertion, his lungs were on fire, his muscles were on fire, his joints were about to be on fire, and his temples were pulsing harder than his heart. Changing tactic, he bolted into the nearest house, slammed the wooden door behind him, then piled up a barricade of ancient furniture before hiding under a table, panting like a dog in a hot car.
*****
Meanwhile, the Purgatorians, with the Bonetaker still on point, were also approaching the centre of the underground city. In the distance, the chaos of Newton’s chase broke the oppressive silence, the loud bellows and crashing of ancient woodwork echoing around the limestone dome above their heads.
‘BARLOW,’ boomed the Bonetaker. ‘TROUBLE!’
‘He certainly is,’ agreed Eric the Greek, manifesting beside them.
‘Wooaahhh.’ Gabby jumped back in alarm. ‘Check out the Roman dude.’
‘Greek!’ snapped Eric. ‘I’m a classical Greek. How dare you!’
‘ERIC,’ exclaimed the Bonetaker joyfully. Delighted, the giant held out his hands and advanced forward towards his old saviour, intent on a hug.
‘Don’t touch me!’ shrieked Eric. ‘I don’t do touch.’
‘AWWWWW,’ said the Bonetaker sadly, dropping his arms.
‘There’s no call for that!’ protested Bennet. ‘He’s only being friendly.’
Gabby ran to the giant. ‘Never mind him. Come ’ere, big fella.’
‘GABBYYYYY,’ he responded happily, as she attempted to get both arms as far around him as possible.
‘The Eric?’ asked Viv, looking at the bureaucrat. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. You’re one of us!’
‘Senior to,’ corrected Eric officiously. ‘And by a considerable margin.’
‘Of course, yes,’ added Bennet respectfully. ‘Everyone … this is Eryximachus of Athens, a very senior administrator from … er….’ Bennet rolled his eye upwards, then pointed to the rocks above. ‘Up there.’
‘And I should still be up “there”,’ huffed Eric. ‘I never come down here unless I really have to. By the Gods, I hate it down here. Why, the living are only slightly less irritating than the dead, and that’s saying something.’
‘Sorry, what’s your full name again?’ asked Viv.
‘I … am Eryximachus of Athens,’ he replied. ‘But, because most people I have to work with find that just too much effort to remember, you’ll have to call me Eric. Two syllables make it easier … apparently.’
‘Eric,’ said Viv. ‘Great.’
‘Great, is it?’ snorted Eric. ‘What in the name of all that is Holy do you think you’re all doing down here? This is forbidden. You …,’ he continued, rounding on poor Vasilakis. ‘What did you think you were doing bringing them down here? Are you completely insane? Haven’t you learned your protocols?’
‘I tried to stop them,’ pleaded Vasilakis. ‘But they wouldn’t listen.’
‘That sounds about right,’ sneered Eric. ‘No one listens to anyone anymore. Well, this is what you get: a mess of unrivalled dimensions. Where’s Barlow?’
There was a distant mix of bellowing, snorting and breaking pots.
‘BARLOW,’ bellowed the Bonetaker, pointing his plus-sized index finger away to the distant roaring of Newton’s pursuer. ‘DANGER.’
‘We were searching for Newton,’ explained Bennet. ‘And, well … the trail led here. I’m sorry if we broke a protocol, but you know, “never leave a man behind”, and all of that.’
‘That’s the US Marines,’ snapped Eric, rolling his eyes. ‘Not us. Well, I suppose it could have been worse. Four months ago, this place was still full. If you’d stumbled in here then, you’d have really upset the apple cart. But it’s still a disaster. I’m told there are inmates still running wild down here. They were all supposed to be on their way to the island, but security dropped the ball. Quelle surprise.’
‘Inmates?’ asked Bennet. ‘Is that what we can hear?’
‘Not that,’ answered Eric. ‘That was put in to scare away intruders. The idea was to put the fear of the Gods up anyone finding their way down here while we cleaned up the last bits and bobs. I was against it, of course. We shouldn’t be resorting to such theatricals in this day and age. It’s not the Bronze Age, for pity’s sake. But what do I know? I’m just a papyrus pusher.’
There was another roar. This was instantly followed by a drum solo of smashing masonry and splintering wood as the beast began trashing the houses surrounding Newton’s hiding place.
‘CHASING BARLOW,’ said the Bonetaker. ‘MUST HELP.’
‘Whatever it is … call it off!’ pleaded Viv. ‘Newton is going to be killed.’
‘Oh, you can’t call it off.,’ replied Eric, matter-of-factly. ‘He’s fire and forget, a scrapyard dog on steroids; if he finds anyone down here, he’ll turn them into meaty chunks.’
‘I STOP,’ said the Bonetaker. ‘I GO NOW.’
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ ordered Eric, grabbing at the giant’s coattails. ‘Even you wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight with this thing. He’s built for death. More importantly, the paperwork would be excessive even by my standards.’
‘You’ve got to be flippin’ kidding!’ blurted Viv. ‘That’s Newton out there. He’s gonna die!’
‘Death … is not the end,’ replied the Greek casually. ‘I thought you’d know that by now. He’ll get over it.’
‘Get over it? Get over it?’ snapped Viv. ‘Why you jumped-up, petty bureaucrat! How dare you!’
‘Now look here, Eric, old boy!’ added Bennet, wading in. ‘This just isn’t on. Newton’s one of us.’
‘I’ve said my piece,’ declared Eric, folding his arms. ‘Barlow can clean up his own mess.’
‘Sod that,’ said Gabby, raising her hand and pointing towards the distant roar. She locked eyes with the Neanderthal.
‘Bonetaker ….’
‘YES?’ answered the giant.
‘Kill,’ ordered Gabby.
*****
Listening to the same roaring and crashing, Nahrapov’s party and their captives had stopped, frozen still in a wide avenue lined with statue-topped pillars.
‘What the hell was that?’ demanded the oligarch.
‘Oh baaaby! What is that terrible sound?’ warbled Astrid, darting behind her man for reassurance.
The terrible bellowing began again; a mix of lion, tyrannosaur and angry toddler. The Russians nervously raised their guns.
‘Don’t ask me,’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Ask the blind man; he alvays knows more than he’s telling.’
‘That right?’ enquired the oligarch, approaching the Cretan. ‘Wanna tell me willingly, or do you need … help?’
‘I heard stories,’ answered the blind man. ‘People said there were things down here. They did not say what.’
‘That’s it?’ asked Nahrapov. ‘No details?’
‘No details,’ repeated the blind man.
‘He’s alvays like this,’ snorted Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Gets on your nerves.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Nahrapov. ‘Whatever it is, it’s between us and the way out. We can’t go back now the bridge is down, so, we have to head towards it, no matter how scary it sounds. Anyway, we have a shitload of firepower, enough to sure ruin anything’s day.’ He looked down the avenue towards the distant rooftops. ‘That far building … the big one. We head there. Let’s get us a vantage point … see if we can spot an exit.’
*****
‘Where did he go?’ demanded Eric, as they reached the outer wall of a vast civic structure. ‘We must call him back.’
‘No one can keep up with the Bonetaker once he’s got his tail up,’ explained Bennet. ‘He’s like a dog after a rabbit. He’s doing what he does best.’
‘He’s disobeying a commanding official; that’s what he’s doing!’ protested Eric.
There was another roar, this time apparently on the other side of the wall.
‘Hear that? It seems to be coming from in here,’ said Gabby, pointing at the large building. ‘Whatever this is.’
‘We need a way in,’ urged Viv, looking either way along the huge dressed stone walls.
‘Eric?’ asked Bennet, hopefully.
‘Not helping you.’ huffed Eric. ‘You’ve seen too much already.’
‘Thanks, pal,’ said Viv. ‘You always this helpful?’
‘It’s not about being “helpful”,’ replied Eric, nose in the air. ‘It’s about being professional.’
‘Moron,’ muttered Gabby.
‘Look. There’s got to be entrances either way eventually,’ suggested Viv. ‘Nowhere doesn’t have a way in. I say we just take a chance by going … er … right?’
‘Sounds good,’ replied Bennet. ‘Let’s go.’
Hugging the wall, they edged off to the right, the vast slab of architecture remaining resolutely blank at street level, the only windows being tiny affairs too high up in the building to be of use.
Then, when it seemed that it would go on forever, the wall stopped.
‘We’ve reached a corner,’ observed Viv, peeking around the masonry. ‘And, if I’m not mistaken … that is a way in.’
It didn’t look like much, just a tiny gap nestled into the base of the wall, the ancient wood door reinforced by a multitude of metal studs.
‘Locked?’ asked Bennet, as Gabby turned the rusty iron handle.
‘Don’t you dare go in there!’ ordered Eric, waving his officious finger around.
‘Bingo,’ said Gabby, as she was rewarded with a satisfying click. ‘Shall we?’
‘You’ll be sorry,’ bleated Eric, as they all squeezed in through the door. ‘You wait until my superiors hear about this!’
Inside, the sturdy building muffling the drama in the streets beyond, with the torches back on, they found themselves at the foot of a narrow and disconcertingly steep staircase. The wooden steps rotted half through, it ascended almost vertically into the structure above them, where it became lost in the all-embracing gloom. Bennet shone his torch up, then, after a moment, back down again to his colleagues, doubt playing on his features.
Speaking for all of them, Gabby shrugged. ‘Got a better idea?’
‘Sadly …,’ replied Bennet, ‘no.’
‘Is very dangerous,’ warned Vasilakis, slapping the knackered woodwork. ‘Everything down here is ancient.’
‘That’s archaeology for you,’ added Viv.
‘You should listen to him,’ said Eric. ‘Turn round.’
‘No!’ replied Vasilakis, taking Eric by surprise. ‘Is too late to go back. We finish the job.’
‘That’s more like it,’ approved Viv, patting Vasilakis on the shoulder.
‘Protocol!’ exclaimed Eric. ‘You are in enough trouble already, Vasilakis. You do as you are told.’
‘No!’ snapped Vasilakis. ‘Now, I do what is right. Not what some dead mainlander tells me to do. We rescue Dr Barlow.’
‘Mutiny!’ gasped Eric. 'Well, you go right ahead then. Be my guest. Break your necks, why don’t you?’
'Oh, give it a rest,’ sighed Viv.
Shocked and indignant, Eric hung in the air for a second, looking at his subordinates with incredulity, before flouncing childishly away, flapping his arms and muttering angrily as he vanished into the stale air.
‘I no like this man,’ said Vasilakis.
‘He’s certainly hard work,’ agreed Bennet.
‘Protocol this, protocol that,’ continued Vasilakis. ‘Sometimes we must take action, not follow the rules. Now is such a time, I think.’
‘Amen to that.’
‘Talking of action,’ said Viv, gesturing to the timeworn ladder. ‘Shall we?’
‘I go first,’ Vasilakis suggested, shoving the last of his doubts aside.
‘You sure?’ asked Bennet.
‘Yes, I sure,’ confirmed Vasilakis. ‘Come, we waste the time.’
He approached the ladder, slapping the uprights to test the wood. Knocked free, a cloud of dust descended, causing them all to wave it away. Once that had cleared, the Cretan placed his foot on the lowest rung and then began to climb. One by one, they took their places behind him and moved precariously up the ladder.
One hundred and sixty-seven steps up … the first close-shave.
Beneath Bennet’s feet, the bone-dry timber, stubbornly intact for four millennia, decided enough was enough. With a fingernail-splintering crack, it separated into three equal parts beneath the clergyman’s sensible shoes, leaving him bereft of support.
‘Ohhhhhhhhhhhhccccrrrrriiiikkkkkeyy!’
‘Grab him!’ shrieked Viv.
Bennet’s hand shot out, closing on another wood-wormed rung.
That also snapped, and the reverend dropped again, his spider-like left arm flailing for support as he stubbornly hung on to their only torch with his right.
‘Bennet!’ screamed Viv. ‘Nooooooo!’
Against the odds, the vicar made contact once again. Legs running in thin air, he was left swinging, dangling from the protesting wood by no more than three of his long fingers.
‘Not to worry!’ panted Bennet through his gritted teeth. After regaining his remaining composure, he painfully pulled himself back onto the ladder then clung to the woodwork like a terrified koala. ‘I’m just dandy.’
‘You sure?’ asked Gabby, doubtfully.
‘Have to be,’ replied Bennet, summoning his inner commando. ‘We keep going. But, for God’s sake, be careful, everyone. This ladder isn’t fit for firewood.’
Gingerly, expecting every new rung to be their last, the Purgatorians pressed grimly on until, finally, the ladder ended. Heaving themselves up, they rolled onto a solid surface and breathed a collective sigh of relief.
‘Well, that was fun,’ said Viv. ‘Not.’
‘No one can claim working for the Purgatorians is boring,’ declared Bennet. ‘Though sometimes, even I am inclined to wish that it were.’
‘When you get yourselves killed, it will be your own fault,’ insisted the re-manifesting form of Eric the Greek. ‘When there’s an enquiry, there won’t be any blame on my department; I want that understood right now.’
