Beyond the Blue Light Page 6

  As she looked deep into his eyes, she was nearly overtaken by what she saw there, and her body tensed gradually into a convulsion. She felt at that moment that she had perceived something beyond word or thought, something great and terrible that could not be spoken. She crumbled before the impression of it, choking. Grasping at sanity, she broke eye contact and tried to breathe normally, keeling forward.

  Blackall crouched down to meet her eyes as she keeled forward. He didn’t aid or touch her, only kneeled down so as to hold connection with her eyes, to watch her. Was he reveling in her discomfort, enjoying torment unfold in her face? Then, he spoke something under his breath. She couldn’t make out the words, but at their sound, the choking sensation in her throat became overwhelming. She grasped at her neck, choking against the feeling. Still, Blackall did nothing, only watched her with wide-eyed interest. His pupils moved quickly over her face. Something shimmered in them as they swam, like oil in water. The feeling went on for what felt like an eternity. Then he spoke again.

  “Skončiť.”

  She coughed and gasped as she was released from the choking sensation. She drank in the air desperately as her eyes poured water. Blackall rose and poured her a glass of water at a side table, then handed it to her calmly. She took it and sipped. He didn’t sit again, only watched her for a moment. When her breathing had stabilized, he turned to leave.

  Her feelings were mixed. She didn’t know what he’d done to her. Or if he’d done it at all. Had she done it to herself? She panicked at the thought of being left alone to rot without answers to her most pressing questions to satiate the long, dragging hours ahead. She may never have the opportunity to question him again. Surprised at herself, she called after him.

  “Sir!”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned, his hair nearly obstructing his eyes.

  “How long shall I be here?”

  She couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice.

  “What do you mean to do with me?”

  The corner of Blackall’s mouth shifted wryly, as if in subdued amusement. Then he turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER 6

  Silent Messenger

  Appalling. She was trapped here. Alone. Without food. Covered in soot. And that beast had left without offering any answers to comfort her. She listened as the lock was secured from outside and Blackall’s steps faded down the hallway. She didn’t know when or if he would return. She was surprised and confused at herself for resenting his absence. She just despised solitude so. Especially down here in this windowless place. She felt buried, like a mole feeling through a dirty tunnel. Perhaps she was also afraid of being forgotten. Perhaps she thought that if Blackall stayed, food and fire would stay. For he was a master, and such comforts always followed masters.

  She still felt dazed. She puzzled over their conversation and the questions he’d asked. Some she’d expected. And yet, others were so strange. He’d lost the militant nature he had upon her capture and arrival here. He seemed kinder, more like a host than a jailer.

  She sat puzzling over the change, trying to suss him out and to straighten her own thoughts out. For the feelings that’d come over her just before his departure had knocked the wind out of her. They’d transcended her own perceptions of the situation.

  Perhaps Blackall had some strategic purpose for being kinder to her. Perhaps he hoped to soften her feelings of animosity before releasing her, in hopes of all this being forgotten. Perhaps he meant to pass it all off as some kind of accidental holiday - a short but hospitable visit to an underground, rathole hotel. Or to make her feel obliged to him, and therein soften his potential consequences for kidnapping the niece of a most influential man.

  But surely, a man in his position would gain little and risk much by letting her go after such an ordeal. He could most certainly expect reprisals from her family, as well as the law. Perhaps he intended to keep her imprisoned here indefinitely after all, to avoid such a risk. Or perhaps he planned to dispose of her altogether. Surely, there were bountiful places to do just that down here in the dark. She swallowed hard, and her blood ran cold at the thought.

  The door latch rattled and again unlocked. In the threshold stood the boy who’d brought her here. He carried a tray of food into the room, holding a lantern up high. It lit his large brown eyes, making them look eerie. He laid the tray on a table, never looking at her until he’d set it down. But once he did, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. He just stood and watched her without saying a word. It made her feel spooked. Was he expecting something from her? She’d no money to tip him. She studied him right back. His clothing looked like he’d spent decades working as a chimney sweep, wandering through black corridors, feeling around sooty corners and through shadowy doorways. His face, although built like most boys his age, possessed a sense of gravity that made her feel he knew a great many things, but never spoke of them.

  “Wh-Who are you?” she asked the ghostly boy.

  He said nothing, only studied her intently. Perhaps he didn’t speak, or was deaf. Before she could give it much thought, he moved swiftly towards her. When he stopped, there was less than a yard of space between them. His lashes were dark, and his skin more olive-colored than most Englishmen’s. Softly, he lifted his hand to his mouth, and placed an index finger over his lips.

  Don’t speak, he seemed to say.

  She got the sense that he relished having her trapped like a mouse, waiting under his spell for whatever he would decide to do. Not in a malicious way. Simply as a boy who, in any other circumstance, would be obliged to make himself invisible. But not here and now. These men had her in their grasp. They held the reigns. She was their prisoner and they had much to lose, including their liberty and their livelihood. They were likely smugglers and thieves who eked out a living by what they could steal, a gang who didn’t care much for privileged young women like herself.

  When the boy finally moved, he walked over to the old, filthy hearth. Placing his finger gently upon a lever there, he gave her a pointed look. He said nothing more, then turned and left the room as quickly as he’d come, securing the door behind him.

  She sat stunned and confused, wondering why he hadn’t wanted her to speak. Could he have meant someone was listening, here in this dark, out-of-the-way, forgotten corner? She became suddenly self-conscious, as if eyes watched her from every shadow and the very ceiling looked down upon her. But, she couldn’t see any holes in the walls or tapestries that lined them. Feeling conspicuous, she stood up and approached the tray he’d laid out. As curious as she was about the implications of the boy’s actions, she found her hunger and fatigue were stronger. The smell of the meal he’d brought made her realize just how ravenous she was. She appraised the offerings, and found them surprisingly appetizing; a fine spread of venison, stewed carrots and bread. She devoured half of it savagely while standing. Then, she slumped down into the chair to savor the rest.

  The firelight lulled her as she drowsily chewed the last few bites. The fireplace was black with soot and very large, the inside tall enough for her to stand in. Big enough, in fact, that she and several others could comfortably take tea. She stared at the lever the boy had pointed out. Did she dare pull it? Though she felt full and lethargic, her curiosity was returning. So, she lifted her heavy limbs out of the chair and inspected the lever with the tip of her finger.

  Finding the courage to pull it, she listened as metal shifted against metal; grinding noises sounding somewhere within the wall. Just then, a massive cloud of soot crashed down from the chimney, billowing over her head, extinguishing the fire, and stealing all warmth and light from the room.

  She stood frowning in the dark as the the soot settled all around her as it drifted down to the ground in a soft wave. She was more filthy than when she’d arrived and more uncomfortable than ever. She chastised herself inwardly, feeling a colossal fool. Before she’d only been alone and imprisoned. Now she was also alone, imprisoned, cold and blind.

  How
that boy must be laughing at her. Letting out an exasperated puff of air, she felt through the dark toward the bed. Finding one of the thick posts with her fingers, she plopped down on the mattress. This consequently sent up another large puff of soot causing her to cough and choke. There was nothing left to do for the time being but close her eyes and give up.

  ~~

  She woke to the glow of a newly lit fire. To her great satisfaction, she also saw a steaming bath drawn in a bronze basin. The sight was heartily cheering, nearly shocking. After she got over the surprise, she rose feeling rather optimistic and gratified. She’d slept well. Well, she’d been covered in filth atop a bedraggled coverlet. But she’d slept soundly enough not to notice.

  However, her dress was in a frightful state. She noticed just how much as she removed it. Attempts to dust it off had only made the stains worse. She cringed inwardly that her only dress was ruined, removing each soiled item with some effort, and laying them carefully on the bed. Then, she walked barefoot across the greasy floor. The water was just warm enough, neither too hot nor too cold. She even found a bar of soap left on the tray for her.

  She sank deep into the water and let it’s warmth engulf her, then scrubbed herself lazily by the firelight and watched it’s dim glow reflect off the surface of the water. It was steadily turning a deep shade of gray. Once or twice she thought to finish bathing quickly, in case someone should come; but then realized she’d no need. Who knew when her next chance of a bath would be. She could still be left here forever and forgotten, but that possibility seemed less likely as time passed. So far, she’d been the recipient of prompt meals, fires and baths.

  Without ceremony, a woman burst through the door and pounded into the room, shocking Annabelle out of her reverie. She was so afraid it was a male intruder that she sank down into the water to hide, her submersion stifling a squeal with a liquid slurp. When she came up again, the woman stood close by, scoffing at her sheepishness. The woman’s figure was wiry but plump around the middle. She was dressed in a sort of tunic, girded around the middle with a thick leather belt with tools hooked on it. When she walked, the various items jangled, making a strange yet distinctive noise. Her hair was covered by a kerchief like a factory worker. And her appearance had the same greasy quality that most things in this strange place possessed. Annabelle prayed inwardly, feeling rather guilty for the sentiment, that she might not acquire that same greasy quality in her time down here.

  The woman shook her head reproachfully at Annabelle, then strutted cocksure towards the bed where Annabelle’s clothes lay. There, she swept them up into a large, grayish sack with one skillful sweeping motion. Turning to leave, she sneered at Annabelle for what she clearly thought excessive timidity.

  “Don’t lose your shift girlie,” she said scornfully. “Well ...I suppose ye already ‘ave.”

  The woman laughed heartily at her own joke, pitching over slightly and slapping her leg. The sound was far too much like a witch’s cackle. Annabelle grew goose-pimples beneath the warm water.

  “You best grow a bit of nerve,” she added sardonically, as if the thought of someone like Annabelle possessing a sufficient amount of nerve was unlikely. “You’re in the Bizum now.”

  Bizum? What was that? Before she could ask, the woman had stomped out of the room and slammed the door discourteously. Annabelle was glad to be rid of her. Even Blackall had better manners than she. And the boy.

  And then she remembered the trick the boy had played on her, for it had to have been a trick. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought of it, slinking back down into the water. He must be very amused at her expense. But why had he done it? She scrubbed herself angrily as she mused over possible reasons.

  The water had become far too gray and muddled to remain an attractive option for soaking. So, she crept out of the bath and grabbed the ragged towel next to the basin, wrapping herself and moving towards the fire instinctually, drawn to it’s warmth and light. It was then that she noticed the compartment in the right side of the fireplace. It hand’t been there before, surely not. She would’ve noticed something so unusual. A small, rectangular spot in the inner wall had been hollowed out. It looked as if the metal had shifted downwards into the floor and inside, the metal was engraved with ornate vines.

  When she looked inside this small, hollowed-out section, she saw a compartment door. Old as everything in this room was, the tiny door within looked much, much older. The metal was rough and had a slightly iridescent patina, quite different to the rest of the hearth around it; and it was covered in thick cobwebs. The compartment was deep, and she feared to put her hand in. But she forced herself, feeling the cold overtake her skin. The surface of the small door was cool to the touch, quite cold actually. She felt around for an opening or a latch. Instead, she found a key hole with an ancient, iron key sticking out of it. Its surface was rough and dusty as she pulled on it. After some effort, a creaking pop sounded from the back of the hearth, and she felt a strange shift in the air around her, as if it was being sucked from the room.

  She pulled her hand out of the compartment slowly, afraid to look at what she’d done. Slowly looking over her shoulder, she saw a short, door-sized area of the hearth had popped loose. It was open only a sliver, with cobwebs draping in the void. It was a secret door, one that hadn’t been opened in an age.

  CHAPTER 7

  Black Passage

  Click-clack-clack. The latch to her room’s door was being unlocked. She panicked, for she certainly didn’t wish to be discovered tampering in the fireplace in front of a secret door. What if whoever came in saw the door? Would she be punished? She bolted quickly behind a dingy old screen. Then remembered she was naked, just as Blackall sauntered into the room. His steps were heavy and intimidating as usual. Everything the man did seemed calculated, marked. She watched him through the bedraggled screen. He glanced left and right in search of her. She considered letting him remain ignorant of her location, but thought better of it when she imagined the trouble it could cause. So, she let out a scandalized “excuse me!”

  Blackall’s confidence didn’t flinch. He looked down at the basin and realized the situation.

  “Dress yourself quickly,” he said, his voice flat.

  When she didn’t answer, he slung the clothes from the bed over the screen. Then he turned away and set himself up in an armchair. She let out a quiet sigh of exasperation and rolled her eyes. There seemed no limit to the indignities she’d suffer at these men’s hands. But she was struck, suddenly, by a twinge of reluctant gratitude when she realized that the clothes she held were not her own. Clean garments had been left on the bed for her. They were surprisingly well made and cut more maturely than her own dresses. She was gratified beyond words that she wouldn’t have to slither back into her own filthy dress.

  Peering through the screen, she noticed Blackall had positioned himself facing away from the fire. She grinned, for he didn’t seem conscious of the change to the fireplace wall. When she’d finished dressing, she stepped out from behind the screen. Blackall looked up. A strange expression distorted his features again, one that she found hard to understand. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, afraid or otherwise. And he kept it on her longer than seemed necessary, as if he was searching her face for something.

  “Sir,” she said, and shifted awkwardly on her feet. Blackall’s gaze remained direct. She breathed deeply, and gathered the courage to mention her grievance.

  “Am I to have no privacy, sir? Not even while bathing?”

  Blackall’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly, but he didn’t reply. He merely summoned her with a crook of his hand. She obliged and crossed the room towards him, standing before him with a raised chin and hands clasped in front of her. He studied at her in his sarcastic way, with eyes heavily lidded, and gestured to the chair opposite him.

  “Sit, please.”

  Spoken like a request, it was obviously an order. Although this was meant to be her quarters, Blackall acted as if it was his own perso
nal office. Clearly, no matter where she went in this underground city, she was the guest and he the lord. So she obliged him and dropped into the chair, heaving an annoyed sigh. But it struck her as childish after she’d done it, and she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment.

  “Miss Morton,” he said, “I am come to-”

  He cleared his throat and paused momentarily, flicking the arm rests of his chair with thick, blackened fingers.

  “I regret ...the condition of your arrival here,” he said. His brow furrowed and his eyes piercingly light as he spoke. “I am here to offer the hospitality of this city to you. As it is.”

  He now appeared to be waiting for her to reply, but she was stunned to silence. Her jaw had dropped somewhat during his speech, and she endeavored to lift it as subtly as she could without looking like an oaf. This was a promising turn of events, to be sure.

  “Then,” she said, her voice quivering with excitement. “You shall release me?”

  Blackall’s look darkened, but remained direct.

  “No,” he said, “Not... At this time.”

  She’d known it was too good to be true.

  “But, why?” she tried to keep her voice from sounding pathetic.

  “It would not be safe,” he said.

  Ah. So he feared reprisals from Uncle Morton, and she would have to remain here because of it. She folded her arms and looked away, disappointed.