The Devil's Workshop

“Blood,” he said. “It’s been here for some time, but it hasn’t dried yet.”

“Oh, no,” March said. He stood up straight and reached out his arm so that the candle illuminated a tiny bit more of the dark passage ahead of them.

Day found his flask and took a drink of brandy, swished it around his mouth to get rid of the metallic taste of blood and clay.

“One of the prisoners, perhaps,” he said when he had swallowed the brandy.

“Or an animal,” March said. “I hope it’s an animal. A wild dog or rats fighting each other. That’s possible, isn’t it? Rats fight each other.”

“That’s a lot of blood to have come out of a rat,” Day said. “And there’s a trail running off down there. No way of knowing if it’s human blood, but we should be careful.”

Day drew his Colt Navy and they proceeded down the tunnel.

“How far do we have to go?”

“Not much farther,” March said.

“I’ll take the lead.”

“Not necessary.”

“I’ve got the gun.”

“It could be one of us,” March said. “A Karstphanomen. He wouldn’t know you.”

Day didn’t bother to reply. He held the gun out at his side and led the way down the passage, the clay underfoot muffling his footsteps. He worried that the candlelight might give them away to anyone waiting ahead of them, but there was no getting around that. They couldn’t very well douse the only light sources they had.

The tunnel widened out as they went along, and they passed waterways and narrow branches. Day began to see more of the alcoves along the sides, shallow recesses that had been dug to contain bones. He guessed they were in another section of catacombs, perhaps beneath another church in another parish. He walked carefully, but the blood trail led directly down the center of the tunnel floor.

“Here,” March said. He was close behind Day. “Just up here to your right.”

Day slowed down and stopped when he saw another pile of bones in the passageway. The alcove opposite the bones seemed larger than the others, as if it had been hollowed out and expanded.

“Not this one,” March said. “It’s the last one down here.”

Day stepped past the bones and found another pile of bones, another large alcove, and then a third pile and a third alcove. The tunnel abruptly ended two feet beyond the third alcove. It was the last one. Day crept up to it and shone the candle into it, his gun held up even with his chest, at the ready.

Inside, a man was chained to the wall. The man was wearing a dark blue uniform jacket, much like that worn by the police, and a dirty white pair of trousers decorated with black darts. His leg was badly broken, a splintered fragment of bone jutting from the fabric of his trousers. He raised his head and looked at Day, an expression of horror on his face.

“Behind you,” he said.

Day heard a muffled cry and a thump, and he turned to see March’s body falling. Day swung the gun around and brought the candle up at the same time. A man stood in the darkness beyond March’s silent body. The man was only a dark shape cut out of the tunnel’s air, his eyes black and glittering in the candlelight.

“Welcome,” the man said, “to my home away from home.”

Day pointed his gun and squeezed the trigger just as the man’s arm came up and something lashed across Day’s face. The gun’s report was deafening in the enclosed space of the tunnel, and Day reeled backward. He felt blood running into his eyes and he thought he could hear someone laughing, but he couldn’t be sure because the gun blast was echoing around and out and back at him. Then something struck him in the head and his knees turned to tissue paper and he fell into the darkness. He saw the candle fall next to his face and he saw a boot come down on it, extinguishing its flame. Then he saw nothing at all. The tunnel went quiet and closed in on him and crushed the breath out of him, and he lost consciousness.

38

Dr Kingsley smiled at Claire Day and then at his daughter, who stood anxiously by the door, wringing her hands. He put the stethoscope back in his bag and took a look around the bedroom. There was a table next to the wall that was being used as a bath, with a basin, towels, a pitcher, and a pail. There was the usual complement of tooth powder and soap and talcum. He set his bag on the table and scooped those small items up and went across the room to the giant wardrobe. The wardrobe was useless for his purposes, and so he opened its doors and tossed the toiletries inside and closed it again. He moved the curtains and took a look out the window. They were on the corner and above the ground floor, and there were no nearby homes with windows that looked out on the Days’ upper floors. He pulled the sash and opened the curtains and cranked open the window to let in some fresh air. The room was stuffy and dark, and he imagined both Claire and Fiona might appreciate a light breeze.