Beyond the Blue Light Read online

  As she struggled fruitlessly against his grip, his mouth twisted into a smirk, his eyes triumphant. He wore his confidence plainly but without boast, with a firmness that was almost shocking; as if he truly needn’t worry about provoking his peers and feared no man’s wrath nor ego. He seemed to glow with this fearlessness, as if he thought nothing of being challenged; physically nor otherwise. As she stood before him, mouth agape, he seemed to stand fifty feet tall. He grabbed her wrist with a rough hand and held it high, looking her up and down.

  “Oi, little Miss,” his deep voice boomed from an unshaven throat. “What the hell you doin’ down ‘ere? You a pretty little spy are ya?”

  The men nearby sprayed laughter, urged on by drunkenness. A shock of fear rent her as she realized just how much men like these could get away with down here in the dark, without witnesses. Her situation had shifted from uncertain to extremely perilous. She swallowed hard and tried to think. She could tell from his voice that this was the man who’d been barking orders earlier. He was clearly their leader, based on the way he carried himself and how the other men reacted to him. They seemed to satellite him from a certain radius, as if afraid to get too close.

  He reached forward and grabbed her by a thick chunk of hair, pulling her face close to his. She squealed at the pain and resisted. But he continued to pull, holding the lantern up to her face. He studied her features, moving so close she could smell his breath. He likely couldn’t see much of her just now, for her hair covered most of her face and she was caked with dark soot. His own features were closely lit by the lantern, showing every crease. He was young, perhaps in his late 20s.

  “Blackall!” Cried a harried-looking, older man who stepped out of the darkness.

  The man holding her shot around, the handle of the lantern squeaking as it swayed with the sudden motion, casting strange ghosts on the walls.

  “What are you doing, sir?” the elder man exclaimed.

  He rushed over and placed a hand on Blackall’s arm, studying Annabelle with wide-shot eyes.

  “Do you recognize the girl?” He whispered.

  As they turned and inspected her together, Annabelle knew she must look filthy and completely unpresentable. She didn’t dare look down at the state of her skirts, but instead lifted her chin and straightened her back as well as she could, constricted by Blackall’s grip. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by his crashing voice. He broke eye contact with her and turned on his comrade.

  “Nay,” he grunted, shrugging the older man’s hand off his arm. “But she comes with us.”

  After another studying look, he announced loudly:

  “This one’s coming with us. Move! Move your arse, Daveye!” he yelled at the older man.

  A look of scandalized disbelief twisted Daveye’s features as he scuttled after Blackall.

  “But sir, you can’t, surely!”

  Blackall dragged Annabelle down the corridor, jerking her by the upper arm. His heavy footfalls pounded as they went, the lantern squeaking and swaying in his other hand. He seemed to know exactly where he was going without even having to look. The other men trailed behind in equally heavy strides, energized by his confidence like dogs following a pack leader.

  “Blackall! Wait!” Daveye gasped, struggling to keep up with his quick strides. “She has the look of a well-born young woman! Surely, there will be men seeking her! Are you mad?”

  This stopped Blackall only long enough for him to hurl a menacing look back at Daveye, who wilted beneath Blackall’s glare like a kicked dog. In loaded silence, Blackall turned and continued back down the corridor, his heavy footfalls beating hard on the wooden planks, setting Annabelle’s teeth to grinding.

  “Not that I need explain aught to you,” Blackall growled at his companion. “But had you put any thought into why a little piece like this would be down ‘ere at all?”

  Daveye sputtered a bit but didn’t answer. Blackall turned a corner to the right, jerking Annabelle hard. She squealed at the roughness of it, but her protestations fell upon deaf ears. She wondered if it would serve her purpose, as she was jostled down the hall, to tell them who she was - the niece of the well known, influential banker Tiberius Morton - or if it might help to call out. There was likely no one near enough to hear her anyway (no one who would consider helping her, at least). If she called out, this beastly man would likely thump her on the head for good measure. As for telling them who she was, it may make them hungrier to hold her, seeing her as a ticket for a generous ransom. Perhaps if they didn’t realize her identity, they’d let her go or take her presence lightly enough to make escape easy.

  After being shuffled down the equivalent of several city blocks, and made to stumble multiple times through Blackall’s careless guidance, Annabelle was halted in front of a large, metal door with several large locks that appeared to have been designed to keep out an elephant or a herd of giants. She’d never seen any so thick and intimidating. Blackall stood waiting while Daveye shuffled around the two of them, jangling a large ring of keys and unlocking the bolts. He glanced dubiously at her as he fiddled with the bolts, his expression apologetic. When he’d opened them all, he cranked the door’s large handle.

  It took all of her courage to speak, and when she finally did, she sounded like a mouse.

  “Please,” she said in a small, gasping voice. “I’ll not...bring any trouble. If you’ll only please, let me go.”

  Daveye watched her sympathetically, his eyes shifting nervously up at Blackall. But Blackall’s expression betrayed nothing. He looked down at her with glazed, unreadable eyes. After a signal from his leader, Daveye pushed the great door open.

  CHAPTER 3

  Abyssum

  The door creaked open to reveal a strange, dark courtyard beyond. It was surrounded by rotten scaffolding that rose several stories high. Within it waited a very unfashionable carriage drawn by two lanky horses. At least a dozen men were straggling about, packing and moving boxes into carts. They all seemed to be in the employ of Blackall, for they responded to his orders like servants. Annabelle guessed it unlikely, therefore, that any of them would aid her in an escape attempt.

  Blackall yanked Annabelle across the yard, holding her upper arm in a vice grip. Daveye followed along behind, mumbling worriedly to himself. After pulling the carriage door open, which slapped the side of the carriage with a thwap, Blackall shoved her inside so roughly that she tripped and fell to her knees. The door was then slammed behind her and locked with a bolt. She tried the door on the other side, but it was sealed shut. She banged on it anyway, crying out to be released. Unsurprisingly, her cries went unanswered.

  She tuned her ears to listen as men argued outside. She couldn’t make out their words. But their dubious tones hummed through the thick carriage doors, implying a skeptical mood. Blackall’s voice sounded displeased with their insolence, and the conversation came to a sharp halt. Before long, the carriage shook and squeaked, protesting as people climbed up onto it. Then she heard Blackall coax the horses to move. They jolted to a start, and she was carried bumpily through the night.

  They rattled on and on, the wheels clattering and jerking over cobblestones. They drove in so many directions, and for so long, that she gave up trying to make sense of it. The driver maneuvered carelessly over potholes and around corners. Her backside crashed against the wooden seat over and over. They were showing her as much consideration as a shipment of beans. She couldn’t see a thing as she sat there in the dark. She could only listen to the steady clop of the horses’ hooves and feel her head and limbs collide with unseen surfaces. The inside of the carriage smelled dank and moldy. She wondered who typically rode in it other than prisoners - farm animals? Perhaps a shipment of beans.

  Her prospects were getting grimmer. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever find her way to safety again, no matter how many times she used her uncle’s name. Fingering her dusty hair, she searched for an idea to turn this all around. But nothing came to mind. Hopef
ully, something would present itself when the time came.

  After an arduous ride of slamming her head and elbows against the sides of the carriage, they turned a very sharp corner. It was so sharp it made her dizzy and a bit seasick. It seemed they were turning completely around and moving down a steep hill at the same time. Her body was rolled against the side of the carriage. The surface was slimy beneath her cheek, and she retracted in horror. She used the edge of her cloak to wipe it. But it was so dusty, all she managed was to smear more filth on herself. After a few more bumps and turns, they finally came to a stop. She could hear rough, cackling voices and the general din of a large group outside.

  A few moments passed while men muttered outside, and then the door burst open. The dim light shocked her eyes after the complete dark of the carriage. Two men reached in and grabbed her roughly before she could protest. They dragged her out of the carriage as if she weighed nothing. One held her on each side, pulling her toward a strange building. It was a rough facade with few embellishments. But what struck her as odd was that she could see no street stretching out beyond it - no buildings, no night sky. The only light came from the facade’s door. It cast a warm, yellow glow on the wet cobblestones beneath. She struggled fiercely against the mens’ grasp, hoping to run off into the night; but in vain. Another man came striding out of the building to speak to them, and she was jerked to a halt by her captors.

  But shock overtook her senses and she didn’t hear a word said. For she was jarred to distraction by the sight off to her right. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the dark. Looking about, she realized she was underground - in a great city beneath the streets. There were buildings all about, like the ones above ground, but no sky above. They were all old and dark, with no light within. Many looked like they’d settled in crooked, dubious piles. Everything was cast in shades of blue and dark gray. She was presently standing in a vast open space bordered with dark buildings. It was like an abandoned marketplace with a fountain at it’s center.

  Women stood in front of a nearby building, dressed garishly and smoking cigarettes. She assumed it was a brothel. But they hadn’t the same bold quality of other streetwalkers she’d seen. They seemed hushed, afraid. There was a shop front that appeared to be a grocer, with carts and crates all about. But no cheerful shoppers lingered nearby. She also saw a shop window full of strange, macabre treasures. They were piled on top of each other, glimmering like a great pile of stolen booty. They were all stolen, no doubt.

  Though there seemed to be a few shops about - all of them likely overflowing with contraband - no one walked about. There was no merriment or bustle typical of a marketplace. The streets were dark, abandoned and hushed. And they were seasoned with a sense of fear she’d never felt before, as if those who lived here were hiding. Not just from the world above. But from something or someone down here in the shadows.

  The most shocking thing of all was what lay before her, at the end of the courtyard. It was larger than anything she’d ever seen. A great, circular pit opening before her like the mouth of the earth. It was at least a hundred yards wide. She’d never seen anything so massive. Within it, she could see lower levels of the underground city. Each with more buildings and streets. But they were barely visible, for the light was so faint.

  The pit appeared to serve as a conversion point for the city, where one might travel to different levels. For around it were black railings, very old, filthy-looking ones. They crept around the edges of the pit in twisted, decrepit lines. Bending downwards in a vast spiral, they bordered a railed walkway. At parts it was slanted and at parts had stairs. It moved downwards into an abyss of black that she feared to even look at. Thankfully, she could only see two levels from the side of the pit. After that, it became too dark to see.

  She was dragged forward before she could observe more of the underground city, into the only building with bold enough inhabitants to show light down here. The men pulled her down a short hallway, past other guards, and then into a great room full of tables and benches. As she entered, her senses were assaulted by raucous noise and pungent smells. The place appeared to be a mess hall for some kind of ragtag army, filled with men of rough and dubious appearance - thieves, swindlers and general ne’er-do-wells. Their noise was near deafening, and to call their looks humble was an understatement. Their clothing was ragged and their skin marked with greasy, black filth. They were armed with various weaponry, like knives and pistols stuck into their belts. They ranged in age from very young boys to old men, with not a single female face among them. She marveled to see boys as young as five or six at their heels, looking rather hungry and scrappy. Scanning the great room for Blackall or Daveye, she could find neither; only hard faces.

  Once she was pulled under the threshold, the noisy room fell silent. A hundred faces turned and looked up at her with expressions ranging from curiosity, to scorn, to bold appreciation. And after their initial pause of shock, a loud, ribald cheer rose up toward the roof. It was savage, shaking the hall with it’s volume, and she felt her limbs trembling. But the sound was cut off instantly when Blackall stood up in the officer’s corner. He glowered over the men, expressionless; but that was all it took. Several of the men dropped their faces to the ground, while others sufficed to choke back their voices instantly.

  She’d been right after all. He certainly was in charge. And he was surrounded by others who looked like authority figures as well, with a clear and palpable fear of him apparent in their slouched, skittish manners. Blackall loomed for a moment, then turned and exchanged words with his comrades. After a short deliberation, he stormed across the hall towards Annabelle. His features were set in a scowl as he grew near, but he didn’t even glance in her eyes. He merely brushed past without a word, beckoning her captors through the crowd. They followed, keeping her tightly in tow.

  She was dragged down a long hallway and through a simple door, through which was a small office. It housed a sparse, unattractive desk and shelving that appeared to be an afterthought. The shelves held a spattering of papers and other miscellaneous items that looked to have been dropped there haphazardly rather than filed away. The two men deposited her in front of the desk, then stomped out of the room without comment, locking the door behind them.

  She’d been left alone in the dark. Sighing deeply, she sat down on the nearest chair. The men hadn’t lit a fire or even left a candle for her. But a trickle of light shone from under the door. It highlighted the dusty floor as she leaned back into the chair, waiting. A mouse scuttled in the corner. It was going to be a long night.

  ~

  In the chaotic mess hall, Blackall sat in the officer’s corner, his lieutenants surrounding him in an anxious circle. Their faces were taxed and vigilant as they waited for him to speak, like children watching for an angry parent’s decree. But Blackall was far from an indulgent father. He was their ruthless, powerful and exacting leader, and their fear of him was mortal.

  Something was wrong. Recent news of a murder on the streets above had been enough to incite disquiet among their company, but the arrival of the mysterious young woman was much more troubling - bearing the face of an ill rumor or a dark curse - one that cast a heavy cloud over their minds. What was it about her that was so troubling? She was a pretty thing, to be sure. Though it was hard enough to tell through all that filth - the dark ash of the corridors. Blackall made his bravest men follow him into that place. He called it the Andron, it went on for miles and miles. They were no strangers to the dark, but there was something unnatural about that place that chilled the blood. Was she an apparition brought from those dark halls? A succubus born of the black ash? It wasn’t her looks that whispered fear into their hearts, but something unseen that seemed to follow her through the door - some doomed fate following like a long, invisible train trailing behind her in ghostly lines. It was in the glint of her eyes.

  As time wore on, their lord remained silent; his expression dark. Each moment of silence increased their tension. They allowed th
emselves some congenial conversation over dinner as a distraction, but always they were watching.

  Blackall sat quietly as the men jabbered over their meals, pretending normalcy. For all their attempts at mirth, their agitation was easy to see. He glowered, his mind awash with questions. Who was this girl and how had she come to be in the Andron? What did it mean for him and his men? For their security? Was she in the employ of one of his enemies? The questions held his mind to a fixed mark from which he couldn’t pull away. He was intrigued, but equally annoyed. He hated distractions. He didn’t wish to invest energy into such a question - to find out where she’d come from, why she was here, or to bother using techniques that would insure truthful answers. She was an annoyance, and likely a spy or scout employed for her innocent appearance. But either way, she was here, and it was necessary to consider the implications of such a strange arrival.

  He had enemies, certainly. Ones who weren’t above using a young girl to deceive him. But for a spy she was certainly sloppy and careless. Allowing herself to be heard following them, walking into his trap like a small, stumbling child. And the state of her. She looked as if she’d been rolled through soot. Not exactly the careful hand of one practiced in the arts of espionage. No, he could smell a spy from a mile off. He’d employed enough of them in his day. And she hadn’t the scent of one.

  But the biggest difficulty was where they’d found her. No one stumbled into that place by accident. The Andron was a fearful hole. It led off into depths that were dangerous even for him, carrying on for miles to extents he didn’t wish to fathom. And the entrances were only known to those of his kind. It was a place only he and his bravest men dared venture. Truth be told, they were fools to follow him there at all. It was only their ignorance that allowed it. True, they all benefitted from the goods he traded. And the Andron was the only known place he’d found any unclaimed. But it was certainly no place for a young girl wandering out to market. How on earth had she gotten there?