The Forbidden Territory (32 page)

They were marched down the broad staircase again, and this time across a yard into another block of buildings. Then they were locked into a bigger cell than the one they had previously occupied.

“This’ll be the death house, I reckon,” said Rex, looking round at the bare stone walls. “Sort of condemned cell.”

“Probably,” agreed the Duke. “I fear that there is little hope for us now. I wish, though, that you had accepted his offer about the jewels.”

“Oh, nuts,” exclaimed Rex, irritably. “Even if I’d been willing to quit I don’t know where the damned things are.”

“If you’d insisted on being taken to Romanovsk, that would have meant another ten days of life at least—some opportunity of escape might have presented itself.”

“Don’t you believe it. They know us too well by now to take any chances. They would have hooked a dynamite bomb on to my pants. D’you think he was giving us the straight talk about Simon?”

De Richleau nodded. “I see no reason to doubt it. I was delighted when he was released, but I was surprised. After that night at Romanovsk I felt that, in spite of anything that Madame Karkoff might attempt, it would be certain death for all of us if we were caught.
Personally I am glad that we are spared the mockery of a trial.”

“We certainly bumped off those bums at Romanovsk all right,” Rex agreed, “but I’m damned sorry for little Simon.”

“Do not distress yourself too much about him. He is a philosopher, and for the first time he is really in love—the last week of his life has been spent with the woman of his desire. He will be arrested tonight and shot tomorrow at dawn … he will step from the pinnacle of happiness into darkness and will not suffer disillusion. If you must think tonight, think of all the pleasant things that have happened to you, and tomorrow morning try to recreate in your mind the pleasantest episode of all.”

At eight o’clock the evening inspection was carried out, and Yakovkin came on duty. They were pleased to see him, because they had feared that he would remain at the other cells. He brought them their frugal evening meal, a single bowl of greasy soup and a hunk of bread apiece. In addition he brought them on his own account a couple of handfuls of dried plums.

They ate the sorry mess in silence, and then sat talking for a long time in the darkness. Both looked up with surprise when the gleam of Yakovkin’s lantern showed at the door of the cell.

“Quick,” whispered the gaoler, “I have much to say.”

Rex and the Duke rose immediately to their feet, and Yakovkin spoke in a hoarse whisper: “There are friends outside who arrange for your escape. Shubin tells me of this today … I would not believe him, thinking it a trap, but I have now spoken with them also—a woman and a man. Take this …” he thrust a marlinspike into De Richleau’s hand. “Shubin arranged for your transfer to this cell. Raise up the flagstones in the left corner there; beneath them is a tunnel leading to the sacred caves. Quickly to work, and I will be back.” He left them as silently as he had come.

“Give me that toothpick,” said Rex, with sudden animation.

“Thank God,” breathed the Duke, “a woman and a man … Valeria Petrovna and Simon.”

Rex was already on his knees levering up the heavy slabs of stone. It was true—there was a tunnel hollowed out underneath. Ten minutes’ frantic work and he had the opening clear.

Yakovkin rejoined them; he gave the Duke a big ball of twine and an electric torch. “Take these,” he whispered, huskily; “the caves run for many versts, twisting and turning, one upon another. If you are lost there it will be death … you would starve before you could get out.”

“Which way are we to go?” asked the Duke.

“To the left and to the left and to the left,” Yakovkin answered. “That will bring you to a great hall with many passages. Take that which is second to the right of the altar; after, once to the left again. You will come out in the cellars of the old fort. Outside your friends wait you with a car.”

“To the left three times … the second passage on the right of the altar … after that once to the left again,” De Richleau repeated.

“Tie the twine to a stone where the tunnel ends,” Yakovkin went on. “Unroll it as you go—thus, if you lose your way, you can work back to the beginning and start again.”

“Good,” said the Duke. “Yakovkin, how can I ever thank you for this help?”

“I would have done as much before,
Barin,
” said the man, simply, giving the Duke his old title, “but without Shubin I could do nothing.”

“Will you not get into serious trouble?”

Yakovkin shrugged. “A month or two in prison, perhaps,
Barin
—that is not much for one such as I … for the sake of our youth I would do that, but I must tell you also that I have been well paid.”

“I’m glad of that—if we get away I’ll send you through the consulate a token of my gratitude from London.”

“Do not delay,
Barin,
I beg—you have far to go before the dawn. Look, your comrade is already waiting.” Rex was half-buried in the tunnel.

De Richleau took Yakovkin’s horny hand. “I shall not forget,” he said.

The
kazak
withdrew his hand quickly and kissed the Duke in the old fashion on the left shoulder. “The heart of Russia is ever the heart of Russia,” he murmured, cryptically, and De Richleau followed Rex feet foremost into the hole.

The tunnel was no more than six feet deep, and as it ended Rex dropped with a thud from the ceiling to the floor of the cave.

“Look out,” he called, and was just in time to save the Duke from an eight foot fall.

De Richleau had the torch and Rex the ball of twine.

“Where’ll we make this fast?” the latter asked.

“You have the marlinspike,” said the Duke, “dig it firmly into the earth and tie the end to that.”

“No, that’ll be handy for a weapon,” Rex objected. “Here, this’ll serve—show us a light.” An ancient stone coffin lid lay at their feet. Rex prised it up, got the twine underneath, and tied it firmly. “O.K.” he announced.

The shaft of light from the Duke’s torch pierced the thick, heavy darkness. The cave had the hot, dry atmosphere of an airless room when the central heating has been left on. They proceeded slowly along the passage, shining the torch to either side, fearful that they might miss the turning in the thick, hot gloom.

They found it easily, not more than twenty paces from the start. The passage opened into a wider, loftier cave.

“Holy Mike! What’s here?” Rex exclaimed, as the beam of light played on the wall. It was a gruesome sight—a long row of silent figures stretched away into the blackness on both sides. Each wore the same grey gown corded at the waist… each face was bearded … and in each beard the gums drew back into a horrid grin, showing rows of yellow evil teeth.

“It is only the monks,” said the Duke, quietly, as he walked on. “There are thousands of them buried here… I was brought to see them as a boy.”

“I guess you might have given me the wire,” Rex protested.

“I’m sorry; they are a terrifying sight, I suppose. Some property in the soil together with the heat, mummifies the bodies.”

“Well, I’ll say I’m glad I didn’t make this trip alone—they’d make any feller’s flesh creep. Why, they’ve got hair and skin and all.”

“Have you never been to that church in Bordeaux—St. Michael, I think. In the crypt they have some bodies preserved in a similar manner, but only a small number.”

“No—only time I was in Bordeaux I was figuring how quick I could get to Biarritz to join a platinum blonde I knew. … Gosh, it’s hot down here.” Rex drew his hand across his face, which was wet with perspiration.

“Yes, stifling. Never mind, it is the road to freedom. Here is our second turning.” De Richleau steadily advanced.

They entered another long gallery of the catacombs—more rows of grinning heads were ranged along the walls, casting weird shadows in the flickering light.

“How long have these guys been dead?” Rex asked.

“Two or three hundred years some of them, perhaps more.”

“Would you believe it? Well, it’s the weirdest sight I’ve ever seen. You’d think they’d all crumple up and fall down.”

“No, they’re propped against the wall, and they have little weight.” De Richleau stopped for a moment and tapped one on the chest. The parchment-like skin stretched tight across the bones gave out a hollow sound. “They are little more than skeletons, only dust inside. The wire, too, that is stretched along the line helps to keep them in position; see, there is one that has toppled over.” He pointed to a grotesque bowing
figure some distance away that hung suspended from the wire. The head had rolled off, and when De Richleau shone his torch on it, it showed a strange grinning mask, gaping through eternity in the darkness at the ceiling of the cave.

“To think that once they were all men,” said Rex, in an awed voice.

“They are as we should have been tomorrow,” the Duke replied. “What are a few hundred years in all eternity—from dust we come—you know the rest!”

“Yes, that’s about it. Just miles and miles of dust… I think it’s pretty grim—say, isn’t that the hall ahead?”

“I think so. I hope that more than half our journey is done; this heat is positively appalling.”

They emerged into a great open space. The ray from the torch failed to penetrate to the ceiling, nor could they see across to the other side, but other openings into it showed clearly on either hand.

“Puzzle, find the altar,” said Rex.

“Yes, let us try straight over on the other side.”

At that moment Rex trod on another skull. He stumbled against the Duke, who dropped the torch with a clatter. The light went out and the heavy darkness closed in upon them.

The blackness was so intense that they could almost imagine that they felt it pressing on their hands and faces.

“Sorry,” gasped Rex, “I trod on some bird’s brain-box.”

“Stay where you are,” ordered the Duke, sharply. “Let me find the torch.” He groped on the floor, his fingers came in contact with the bearded head. He kicked it aside impatiently, and his fingers found the torch. As he stood up he pressed the button … no light appeared … he pressed it again. Still nothing but that inky darkness pressing round them.

For a moment he said nothing, as all the horror of the situation dawned on his mind. How was it possible to find their way in this impenetrable blackness without a
ray of light? The atmosphere would sap their vitality and deaden their power of thought… in a few hours they would go mad. Shrieking through the hollow darkness, frantically trying turning after turning in these miles of caves. The horror of thirst would come upon them in this awful heat—already he found himself passing his tongue over his dry lips. Better even to go back, if they could find their way, and face the rifles of the Red Guards in the morning than the creeping certainty of insanity as well as death in this vast grave, to be found, perhaps years later, mummified like the rest, clawing the ground in an extremity of thirst and terror.

He turned to where he knew Rex to be standing. Monseigneur le Duc de Richleau had never yet lost his head, and he knew that now, if ever, his life depended upon his keeping it, so he spoke quietly.

“Have you the string, Rex?”

“Yes, but why don’t you show a light?”

“It seems to be broken.”

“Pass it over, I’ll see if I can fix it. I’m better acquainted with those things than you.”

De Richleau groped in the gloom till he found Rex’s hand. “Here,” he said, “but whatever you do, don’t let go of that string.”

Rex fumbled with the torch, unscrewing the battery and testing the bulb. “That’s about torn it,” he said. “Bulb’s gone.”

Not a gleam of light showed from any direction as they stood together; the heat seemed to have grown more oppressive than ever in the heavy night-like stillness. A dree eerie feeling emanated from the knowledge of those rows of corpses standing on either hand.

“Have you no matches?” asked the Duke.

“No, those thieving Bolshies stripped me of every blame’ thing I had. How in heck are we going to get out of here?”

“I wish I knew,” replied De Richleau, anxiously. “Let us try groping our way round the big chamber—we may be able to find the altar by touch.”

“O.K. You go to the left, I’ll go to the right.”

“No, no, once we are separated we should have endless trouble to come together again; you have no idea how deceptive voices are in a place like this. Here, take hold of my belt—and remember, our lives may hang on your keeping firm hold on that piece of string.”

“Just as you say,” Rex agreed.

They moved carefully to the left; De Richleau stretched out his hand and it came in contact with one of the monk’s coarse robes; he knew that they must still be in the entrance to the passage—he moved on and then felt another—then bare wall. That must be the chamber. He followed the wall until it ended, touching another figure on the corner—that must be the entrance to the next passage. He stepped forward boldly, praying that there were no pits. His hand touched silky human hair—a beard. He withdrew it sharply, moving quickly to the right; once more the wall.

“Gosh, it’s hot down here,” Rex gasped.

“Frightful, isn’t it?” De Richleau was feeling up and down the wall for any trace of ledge that might mean an altar. There was nothing … he passed on. A few paces farther he encountered another mummy, and stepped out into the open again; this time he had judged the width of the passage more accurately and touched the wall again. Once more he searched for the altar, but failed to find it. He moved on—the wall seemed to continue ever so much farther this time.

“We’ve gone off the track,” said Rex, suddenly.

“No, we haven’t passed another corner.”

“My sense of direction’s pretty good; believe me, we’ve passed out of the big hall.”

The Duke was troubled, but he walked on. “I think you’re wrong, my friend. There are no mummies here, so we cannot be in a passage.”

“All right—go ahead, but I’ll lay I’m right.”

They proceeded, the black gloom engulfing them on every side. Rex spoke again:

“Honest, you’re going all wrong—air’s closer here than ever, and the floor’s sloping a bit on the down grade.
What little I saw of that crypt place showed it flat.”