Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers Part 12

IX.

Terra firma With the door shut and locked, and even the faint light that had come through it extinguished, I was once again plunged into an inky darkness that left me utterly blind. Almost immediately, my eyes began playing tricks, flashing random shapes and patterns. I blinked a few times to clear them of the phantom images.

I resumed my slow and careful descent, all the while hoping I would soon hear the sound of Olexander's progress some distance below me. I decided I would far rather encounter him, even if he was plotting with Yevhen, than tumble to my death from a broken step or patch of mould that I could not see.

I seemed to spend an eternity shuffling down the column of steps. I wondered, fancifully, if I was descending into h.e.l.l (though, if anything, it became colder the further I went) or if the stairs ended at all. Perhaps I was doomed to remain on the staircase for ever, stuck in some sort of loop, wondering always whether to head back for the door or carry on to a floor I had never seen.

A feeling of absolute relief washed over me when I noticed that I only had a few more steps to go.

It took a moment for me to realise the importance of this not only was I nearing the floor, but I could see it. I stopped where I was, only five or six steps from the ground, and looked around. Some distance away a twisted column of stone plunged downwards from the invisible ceiling, illuminated by a blazing torch shoved into a metal bracket. I could just perceive a second light, as dim as a midnight star, deeper in the catacombs.

I couldn't help but grin. Thank goodness Olexander was better prepared for this expedition than I was! Of course, he had no idea that anyone was following him, but I imagined the torches he lit along the way would mark his path back to the stairs, and the door he still expected to be open. They formed a string of fiery beads, leading out of the labyrinth and a chill gripped me as I remembered that every labyrinth must have a beast at its centre.

I finished my descent and examined my surroundings as keenly as the limited light allowed. It seeined that I was in a great, dark s.p.a.ce, a void under the cathedral riddled with foundational columns and pillars. I hoped Olexander knew where he was going, and that there was a purpose to his exploration, for surely this was not a place well visited by travellers or guides. It would be easy to get lost in it, and wander in unwitting circles until overcome by exhaustion.

I walked towards the second torch as quickly as I could, my hands still outstretched in the area of oppressive darkness between the two shallow pools of brightness. I began to pa.s.s chambers and vaults, and areas with low ceilings and doors, but I concentrated on following Olexander. There was so much to explore here, but little, I imagined, would help to explain what had killed Taras the builder, or why I had been blamed for his death.

The second torch was much the same as the first, a sulphurous ma.s.s of licking flame set into a latticed holder of blackened metal. I was not sure if Olexander was carrying a supply of torches, or if some had been left down here in the catacombs. I suspected the latter.

When I came to the third torch I saw that it crackled and spat more loudly than the others. And I noticed for the first time a definite slant to the flame, which could only mean that some air was moving back into the catacombs. The slight wind no more than a breath, the touch of which was icy on my skin seemed to be coming from a point almost diametrically opposite the staircase and door behind me. All this, to my mind, implied a second exit, another way to leave this dark nightmare of stone and s.p.a.ce. That prospect cheered me no end.

I couldn't believe how far, and how quickly, Olexander had come. For all the fact that I had come down the stairs some time after him, and doubtless descended more slowly, I had thought I would catch up with his bent frame within minutes. I had no idea how long I had been on the stairs, and in the tunnels under the cathedral, but I suspected it was beginning to run into hours.

It was as I reached the fifth or sixth torch that I began to sense that I was not alone. Occasionally I thought I heard a scuffed footfall, just out of step with my own. I had imagined it to be Olexander, but now I was less sure. There was a curious sliding undercurrent to the noise, which set my teeth on edge. I tried to tell myself it was only the harsh whisper of rats' feet, but I could not rid myself of the impression that I was being watched.

I turned sharply the next time the noise came, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Nothing, bar the flickering shadows on ancient stone walls. Even so, the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise: something was very, very wrong.

I headed towards the next torch, walking faster now despite the uneven surface beneath my feet. I suddenly felt cold, and hungry; it was all I could do to stop my teeth chattering.

Something caressed the side of my face; already on edge, I turned instinctively towards it before realising it was just another breath of wind.

I set my face forward again towards Olexander, I hoped but there was a niggle in my subconscious. I had seen something anomalous when I looked sideways, I was sure of it; I risked a longer glance, and immediately realised what it was. There was a bright, rounded object just on the edge of the light cast by the nearest torch; an object that was very much out of place in the drab angularity of the catacombs.

I changed direction and headed towards it, steeling myself to flee at the slightest motion. But the shape a coloured, indistinct ma.s.s at first was absolutely motionless, as unmoving as the great columns that supported the roof over my head. As I drew nearer, it resembled a random pile of rags; it was only when I came closer still that I realised it was a body.

I was making a habit of this.

It was a woman, dressed in what could best be described as medieval underwear. Her throat was in shreds as if some wild dog had killed her. On the peripheries of the main wound I noticed smaller rips and incisions that reminded me of my awful discovery of Taras's body. Her body felt as if had been cut from melting ice; I drew back when my fingertips inadvertently brushed her cheek.

I stood, staring down at the unfortunate woman. How had she come to be here? Her bare feet were clean, so she had not walked into the catacombs. The small pool of blood under her back seemed to indicate that she had been brought here soon after death.

As to what had killed her... Even the Doctor claimed not to know what creature we were dealing with. But I didn't think it was simple cynicism on my part to imagine that a second death implied many more to come.

'Lord Jesus have mercy.'

The words, half-whispered behind me, came out of nowhere.

Shocked, I turned to see Olexander. He had a look of resigned horror on his face.

I am sorry to say that my surprise at seeing him, mixed with my anger at what I believed was his treacherous liaison with Yevhen, drove me into a fury. I grabbed the old man by the throat, almost knocking his lantern from his grasp, and spat into his face: 'What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?'

Or words to that effect.

Olexander struggled from my grip, as shocked I think by the venom of my words as by my actions.

'What do you mean?' he croaked.

'You said you were imprisoned by Yevhen,' I said.

'I was.'

'But I saw you talking to him!'

Olexander looked at me with blank incomprehension.

'You're colluding with him, aren't you?' I continued, not realising that my awful descent into the catacombs, and my discovery of the corpse, had probably pushed me to the verge of hysteria. 'Admit it!'

Olexander shook his head slowly. 'You do not understand,'

he said. 'Yevhen came to offer me my freedom my return to the society that I miss.'

'At a price?'

'Everything Yevhen does has a price.' The old man paused, looking around nervously. 'He will ensure my release from prison on condition that I reason with the dark angel.'

'The dark angel?'

'The creature he has liberated from the casket. The supposed protector of Kiev, defender of our people.'

I pointed at the corpse, to the face puffed up with death and the hair matted with dry blood. 'You want to reason with the thing that did that? The creature that killed Taras?' I snorted. 'I wish you luck!'

'Perhaps together we might succeed. Perhaps this creature is rational.'

'You've been sent down here to die,' I said. 'Don't you realise? We've been locked in.'

Olexander nodded, as if he expected something like this from Yevhen. 'Yevhen said I might succeed because of my knowledge of languages, of texts, of diplomacy and customs.'

'I very much doubt this thing speaks any language you've ever heard of,' I commented bitterly. 'I'll be surprised if it speaks any language at all!'

'But we must try,' continued Olexander. 'We must point the angel away from us, and towards the Tartars.'

'You really think it will listen? You really think it will apologise for what it's done, then go off after the Mongols for you?'

'I think we must try.'

I paused, trying to control my anger.

'Why does Yevhen think this creature is down here?' I asked in a quieter voice. 'I found Taras's body above ground.'

'He believes that Bishop Vasil's men took the corpse away.

Yevhen himself saw Taras die. They opened the casket together, and some sort of monster emerged.'

'I overheard someone talking,' I said. 'It might have been Vasil. He said he'd allowed Yevhen to go ahead with his plan, but that it had failed.' I paused. 'He said also that he had a plan of his own. He mentioned a threat from the south.'

'The south?' Olexander paused. 'He must mean Islam.'

'I don't understand.' I shook my head, wondering if there might be some link to the cloaked man I had seen.

Olexander shrugged. 'Neither do I. But we have information that must be pa.s.sed on to the governor. And I have a job to do.

Do you trust me?' He sighed. 'Will you help me?'

I watched the old man closely as he spoke, and saw innate dignity behind his fear. I did trust him, I decided: the worst I could accuse him of was honest naivety. And, if he had looked small and crushed within the awful prison cell, he looked utterly lost here, a ragbag of skin and bones held together only by the desire to clear his name, to have a role in the salvation of his people.

'Do you have a map?' I asked.

'I have one that shows the way to the casket of the angel, but little else. And it shows but one way into the catacombs.'

I nodded in the direction of the dead woman. 'The fact that she's here means there may be another entrance. And there is a breeze coming from somewhere.' I sighed. 'I wouldn't trust Yevhen's map if my life depended on it!'

'It may, Steven. It may.' Olexander turned towards me. 'Do not think that I am suddenly enamoured of the man. I hate him, and all he stands for!' His pale features broke into a broad smile.

'But I have to tell you, Steven, it is nice to have even this measure of freedom.'

'We've got to find this other way out,' I said. 'Or this freedom we both enjoy might be short-lived.' I glanced away from the dead woman's staring eyes. 'Do you know her?'

Olexander bent closer, squinting furiously. 'Yes. Yes, I believe I do. How interesting! Her name is Elisabet, and she is a cook at the governor's residence.'

'That's interesting?'

Olexander nodded. 'She is... was... married to Taras the builder.'

'That's more than a coincidence,' I agreed. 'And, if she was killed elsewhere, why bring her body back here?'

Olexander nodded. 'Why indeed, my friend?' He walked away. 'Come. There is another torch some way ahead. I a.s.sume that is how you followed me?'

'Did you think I would?'

'I hoped that you might might.'

I noticed for the first time that he was carrying a bag of some sort over his shoulders.

'Here, let me take that,' I said.

'Thank you,' said the old man. 'Am I forgiven for choosing to believe that adviser Yevhen might for once in his life be telling the truth?'

I laughed. 'I still don't understand why you chose to stay in the prison in the first place,' I said.

'There are ways of doing things,' muttered the old man. 'And there are two types of freedom. Freedom of the body, which any strong man can take from you, and freedom of the spirit, which is no one's to remove, or impart. Even so, I must clear my name.

Physical freedom would mean nothing without it.'

I nodded. I can't pretend I truly understood, still less identified with, the man's reasoning. But I did respect it, and I felt a little ashamed of my overhasty dismissal of him as a traitor.

'We are not far from the casket,' Olexander said as we walked towards the next torch.

'And you're curious?'

'We have come very far,' he said gently, ducking my question somewhat.

'Why did you double back to find me?'

'I heard something,' said Olexander. 'I hoped it was you!'

'I thought I heard something as well. Perhaps we were both listening to the other!' It certainly seemed possible or, perhaps, my optimism was simply the result of no longer being on my own, in the dark. I suddenly felt far better equipped to face the creature, or Yevhen, or whatever other dangers might exist within the tunnels.

We soon reached the last torch Olexander had lit. 'Not far now,' he said.

We found our way to an unlit torch and the old man ignited it with his lantern.

'We should be grateful,' he observed. 'I sense that no one has been down here for many decades but these torches speak of a more recent visitation.'

'Yevhen and Tams?' I queried. 'Or Bishop Vasil's men?'

Olexander shrugged his shoulders, then pointed the way ahead with his outstretched, bony finger. 'Look. There it is.'

I saw some sort of covered tomb ahead, a small room within the larger chamber. The small door in the wall facing us was open.

'What now?' I queried.

Whatever response Olexander would have made never came.

A mute fear gripped us both as something flickered in the doorway. It was a tall creature bent double by the frame. Then it stepped out before us, drawing itself up to its full height.

The beast turned its skull-like face in our direction, its eyes glowing like brands of fire. Its pale skin seemed somehow to be constantly moving and re-forming, never quite at rest. I noticed slender, almost skeletal limbs that terminated in stunted fingers and toes, each one tapering to a wicked talon. And, surrounding and filling its leech-like mouth, were row upon row of ivory-white barbs.

I don't know how long we stood watching the creature, and it us. My mind was screaming in panic, but every muscle in my body was frozen. I barely blinked; I was aware of an awful taste at the back of my mouth, but I could not swallow.

Mocking my own inaction, Olexander coughed politely and then stepped forward, bowing as if greeting a dignitary from a foreign land. 'We know of you only as the dark angel,' he said. 'I have been sent by the rulers of our city to plead for our lives. To talk to you, to communicate, if I may. I come in peace.'

The creature moved its head a little to one side, as if turning the sounds over in its mind. Then the great maw opened, and a tiny facsimile of a generic human voice emerged, completely at odds with the beast's awesome frame.

'Peace?' came the bland-sounding query. The creature turned its gaze from Olexander to me, and then back again. 'I am... I am... an instrument of war!'

It took one elegant step forward, its fingers flexing.