Battlesaurus (35 page)

“The boy's scent is here,” Bolcque says. “And it is fresh.”

“Release the demonsaurus,” Thibault says.

“Sir?”

“Release them and bolt the door behind them,” Thibault says. “The boy and his group can only get out through the pipes at the dock. We will go there and wait for them. We will see if the demonsaurus are still hungry when they emerge.”

“Yes, sir,” Bolcque says.

The demonsaurus are unleashed and disappear quickly into the depths of the stairway.

Bolcque shuts the door behind them, and bolts it.

“You men.” Thibault addresses the two soldiers of the patrol. “Good work. You will be rewarded. For now, return to the garrison. Tell the commandant what we have found. I want every available man down at the docks immediately. Search every wharf. Every building. Every ship. No vessel leaves unless I personally authorize it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The two soldiers hurry away as Thibault and the saurmasters turn west and head toward the docks.

The garrison is close and the soldiers of the patrol, unsettled perhaps by the sight of the black creatures, and excited at the prospect of a reward, do not notice the large man who emerges from the shadows behind them, nor the iron bar in his hand.

Not until it is too late.

*   *   *

Willem is checking the map. “The first tunnel back on this side connects with another series of passages that also lead toward the docks. Let's try our luck that way, if you all agree.”

No one objects.

Willem folds the map back into the canvas bag. He takes one step but stops almost immediately at a new sound. A rusty metallic creak reverberating through the chamber.

“Someone is on the stairs,” Frost says.

The noise is quickly replaced by a splashing sound. Although they have traveled some distance from the staircase, the noise echoes clearly off the hard, enclosed walls.

“Something is in the water,” Fran
ç
ois says.

There comes a low growl and a rattle of spines.

“Demonsaurus,” H
é
lo
ï
se says.

“We have to get out of this chamber, now!” Willem says, and moves past the others, leading the way back to the tunnel.

The sounds of their pursuers get rapidly louder.

“The lamp,” H
é
lo
ï
se says. “Cover the lamp!”

“We cannot see where we are going without it,” Willem says.

“Cover the lamp,” H
é
lo
ï
se says again, and Willem argues no further. He pulls the black cloth down over it. He stops walking as he does, unwilling to take another step in the total blackness that now surrounds them.

“Keep moving,” H
é
lo
ï
se whispers. “But be quiet. They cannot smell us here, and they cannot see us. Be careful they do not hear us.”

Silence envelops them except for the gurgle of the sewage around the central columns and into the outflow. That and the movement of the demonsaurus in the tunnel at the far end.

Afraid of stepping off the edge of the walkway into what lies below it, Willem feels his way back along the wall until he gets to the opening to the tunnel. The brickwork is uneven and slimy to the touch.

There are loud splashes as the demonsaurus enter the chamber; unconcerned about the walkway, or not seeing it, they have waded straight into the underground river of filth.

Placing his feet carefully to avoid making even the smallest sound, Willem eases into the tunnel. The bottom of this passageway is lightly curved and slippery. If any one of them loses their footing, the demonsaurus will be on them.

Willem moves farther into the tunnel and stops, the others behind him, waiting as the sounds in the chamber move closer.

Standing still, silently waiting is excruciating. Willem wants to turn and run, to scream and flee from the terror that approaches, but he knows that would bring certain death.

They hear the demonsaurus, at least two of them, hunting around in the chamber for a few moments. Willem cannot see it, but imagines them probing each of the tunnels that lead off the chamber.

There is a regular thudding sound in his ears. He is not sure if it is the drumming of his heart in his chest cavity, or the thrum of blood in his skull. Surely if it is so loud in his own ears, then the demonsaurus can hear it too. He can hear himself breathing, the air rushing in and out of his nose. He opens his mouth and inhales and exhales through it. It brings the taste of the sewers to his tongue, but it is quieter.

Finally the sounds of the demonsaurus start to diminish, then disappear.

“Move quietly,” H
é
lo
ï
se says. “And do not uncover the lamp until we are well into the tunnel.”

“Where are they?” Fran
ç
ois asks.

“The tunnels are all interconnected,” Willem says. “They could be anywhere.”

Even in front of us, he thinks, but does not say it as they creep through the narrow tunnel in total darkness.

He finds his way by feel, running a finger along the wall of the tunnel. When the wall abruptly disappears, he knows they have reached a cross-tunnel. It is confirmed by a mild, sideways movement of air.

Stepping around into the cross-tunnel he uncovers the lamp and it is a welcome relief to be able to see once again.

Fran
ç
ois has his crossbow in his hands. That makes Willem remember the pistol. He takes it from the bag and opens the frizzen to check that there is powder in the pan. They move deeper into the entrails of this ancient, brick-skinned creature.

Always they follow the flow of the scum in the channels. They pass through a low archway into a new tunnel, still made of bricks, but a different color, more of a light yellowish clay.

It is louder here than in the other channels, but there is a curious timbre to the sound, a distant, high-pitched wail that quickly resolves itself into a completely separate noise.

It gets louder and seems to be coming toward them. Willem stops, uncertainly, scanning the darkness beyond the reach of the lamp. He turns up the lamp as high as it will go, checking first that the flame is yellow, and that there is no risk of firedamp.

Now they see the cause of the noise. Rats. Thousands of them, running across the stone floors of the tunnel toward them. They flow around the fugitives' legs like water battering boulders in a stream, the sound of their feet a steady hum and their squeals merging into a single voice.

H
é
lo
ï
se turns abruptly and starts to follow the flow of the rats.

“H
é
lo
ï
se,” Willem hisses above the sound of the rats.

“Come quickly. This way,” she says.

“Why?” Willem asks. “The water flows the other way.”

H
é
lo
ï
se gestures down at the rats. “They run from what we run from,” she says.

“Turn off the light,” Frost says.

*   *   *

The rats have gone, to their own hiding places deep in the Ruien.

No demonsaurus has shown. Do they sit quietly in the tunnel, lying in ambush, or just waiting for them to make a sound?

“Which way?” Willem asks.

“This way,” Frost says, pointing.

“How do you know? There is no water.”

“Do you not feel the breeze?”

Willem shuts his eyes and can feel a faint breath of air against his face.

“It must come from the estuary,” Frost says. “If we keep the breeze to our face, we must eventually find our way there.”

*   *   *

That plan holds for no more than a few minutes, when they hear the sounds of a demonsaurus in the tunnel ahead of them.

A cross-tunnel beckons and they reluctantly leave the light breeze that was leading them to safety and turn into the unknown.

The new tunnel narrows as it goes and makes unexpected turns. In the corners the ceilings curve down lower and in these places the flame on the lamp starts to elongate and a bluish tinge grows at its tip.

“Firedamp,” Willem warns each time, but as they pass the flame reduces and the blue disappears.

The tunnel finally comes to an end, opening out into a small circular underground lake filled with brackish, sludgy water, and topped with a low dome. In the center is a wide brick column that holds up the ceiling. Willem can see no exit from the lake, but there is no other way to go, so they wade into the pool. Several times something brushes against Willem's legs and he thinks of eels or something much worse. But whatever it is, it is either uninterested or afraid.

They reach the central brick column and circle around it, dimly seeing the mouth of a tunnel on the far side.

The dome that is the sky above the lake starts to darken as they cross and Fran
ç
ois says, “The lamp!”

The flame has been getting lower and lower as they have crossed the lake, and is now almost gone. With that understanding Willem realizes that he is struggling to breathe. His lungs are working harder and faster, yet he feels as though he is suffocating.

“Hurry,” he manages to say in a voice that is just a hoarse whisper. “No oxygen.”

They try to move faster, wheezing and gasping for air, although their footsteps are sluggish in the pond water, which at times seems as thick as treacle.

Jack, guiding his lieutenant, has taken the lead, but Frost stops suddenly, holding up his hand for silence. Willem can barely see it, so low is the flame, and almost collides with him. He hears H
é
lo
ï
se and Fran
ç
ois come to a halt behind him.

Frost says nothing, but then they hear what he has heard. The sound of movement. The soft rattle of spines.

A demonsaurus has just entered the lake.

The lamp is so low as to be invisible, but still Willem covers it, quickly, but silently. He is again acutely conscious of the loud sound of his breathing in the thin air.

There is complete silence apart from the sound of the demonsaurus's breathing, laboring in the unbreathable atmosphere. They hear each footstep as it circles them, hunting in the blackness.

Bright spots have appeared inside Willem's eyelids and his head is beginning to waver. There is a slight noise in front of him and he realizes that Frost has slumped over, to be caught by Jack's strong arms.

Still the demonsaurus circles, hunting by feel in a place where all its other senses are useless. It is close now. So close in front of him that he could reach out and touch it.

Willem can feel his head spinning and knows he is losing control, losing consciousness and there is no way he can bear it any longer.

Then with a series of splashing footsteps the creature is gone, like the humans, unable to stay in a place with no oxygen.

Willem sucks in a breath, and it is not enough.

He bends down closer to the water. Although the putrid smell is stronger, the air that he brings into his lungs seems less suffocating.

“Get lower,” he croaks. “More air lower.”

Jack has gone and when Willem uncovers the light, by its feeble beam he sees Jack almost at the edge of the lake, wading into the passage on the opposite side.

Willem follows him. The passage rises sharply and is joined by a cross-tunnel. Through that flows the freshest, sweetest, foul air he has ever breathed in his life, and it is wonderful. He glances back, worried about H
é
lo
ï
se, but she is at his heels.

Jack stands in the passage, the lieutenant in his arms, breathing in huge great gulps of air. Jack's face looks gray in the light of the lamp, which here burns bright and clear.

It is then that Willem realizes. One of Jack's arms is broken. Yet still he has picked up the young lieutenant and carried him across the lake. The pain must have been excruciating, yet Jack made no sound.

“The lieutenant?” Willem asks, and points toward Frost.

Jack nods and mumbles something incoherent in English. He places his hand on Frost's chest and Willem can see its movement. Frost is unconscious, but alive.

“Light,” Fran
ç
ois says, arriving beside Willem. At first Willem is unsure what he means, then he sees the faint glow of daylight at the end of the tunnel. This is the reason for the breeze here and the clearer, more oxygenated air. The channel in the center of the tunnel is wide and flows swiftly down toward the glow. This must be the exit to the estuary.

Jack hoists Frost onto his shoulder and holds him there with his one good arm. They start to stumble down the slope, getting faster as they go, and their bodies recover from the lack of oxygen. Something about the light is a magnet that draws them to it. Here is air; here is light; here is safety.

The tunnel rises up slightly and as it does so the tip of the flame starts once again to turn blue.

Jack is almost running, anxious to get out of this dreadful place. Fran
ç
ois is right behind Jack and Willem tries to keep up, but can't. He urges his legs to hurry, but there is still no strength in them. It might be the firedamp, he realizes, and tries to bend down as he walks, breathing lower to the ground.

Fran
ç
ois, Frost, and Jack are well ahead. H
é
lo
ï
se is still at his side and now he realizes why. She has stayed back with him, to help him in case he should fall, or fall unconscious. The wild creature that would hiss and spit at him in Madame Gertruda's garden is making sure that he makes it out of the Ruien alive.

There are no words for what he feels about this.

They reach the highest point and see daylight down a ramp ahead of them. They start to descend when they hear the rattle behind them. He turns; so does H
é
lo
ï
se.

The demonsaurus is there.