The Place of Dead Kings (54 page)

‘What are you looking for?’ Saleem shouted.

Jack peered ahead through the clouds of steam. ‘There’s something I need to do.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll see.’

He ducked under a vent and stumbled on down the corridor. As in the upper levels of the castle, there were no Cattans. The guards had all either died or fled. He and Saleem had been able to make their way through the catacombs without any trouble. They would have reached Mahajan’s workshop already, in fact, if Jack hadn’t been so weak.

The ground heaved, bashing Jack and Saleem first to one side of the hall, then the other. Rivets popped and new jets of steam screeched out. The ceiling cracked and a torrent of earth fell to the floor. Slick with sweat and covered in dirt, Jack battled on along the corridor.

He reached the entrance to the hallway that lead to the workshop, pushed aside a knot of pipes and then froze. Ahead, a dark metal form blocked the passage. At first he didn’t realise what it was, but then he made out a jaw, teeth and an empty eye socket.

Mahajan’s demon skull.

The thing had hit the bailey with such force it had burrowed all the way through to the catacombs. Now it was pressed face down as if trying to bite the floor. A thicket of twisted pipes hung from where it had punched through the ceiling.

‘What is that?’ Saleem asked.

‘Some kind of avatar. As far as I know.’

The floor shuddered and the creature’s maw squealed open, then clanged shut. Jack was certain this movement was due to the earth shifting. But then, after the quake passed, the beast ground its jaw open and closed again a few times.

Damn it. There seemed to be some sort of life left in the creature, its mouth working like the spasms of a dying insect.

He approached the trapped beast, holding on to smashed pipes for support. Blots of darkness bled across his eyes. The roaring in the earth was growing louder all the time.

With a rusty grating sound, the skull chomped on the air. The great teeth clamped shut, then squeaked apart, then clamped shut again. The movements were unpredictable. Sometimes the maw would be still for several seconds, other times it chewed constantly.

How to get through? There was no way to squeeze around the skull – it was obstructing the hall completely. When the mouth was open, they would be able to crawl through to the other side, but would risk being bitten in half. He recalled the thing’s fiery breath as well. The last place he wanted to be was inside that maw.

‘What now?’ Saleem asked.

‘We have to get through somehow.’

Saleem stared at the grinding creature and chewed his lip. ‘Is there another way?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ Sonali had said this was the only route to the workshop. She’d been clear about that.

The earth rose and threw Jack against the wall. A shaft of pain impaled his chest. It was so fierce it drove the air from his lungs. He slipped to the floor and darkness smothered him. He struggled to stay conscious, but he was floating away.

‘Jack!’

He heard a voice calling to him from far away.

‘Jack!’

It came again. He recognised it, but couldn’t place it.

What did it matter anyway? The last thing he remembered was lying on the floor in the underground passage, pain stabbing him. He must be dead. Was the voice an angel calling to him? Was it Katelin?

Katelin.

He saw her as she’d been just before she died, lying in bed, sweat gleaming on her face, her hair so wet it stuck to her scalp, her skin so pale he could see the blue veins clearly beneath.

Was he going to see her again? After all these years?

‘Jack!’

No, that voice wasn’t Katelin’s. He heard the rising grumble of the earth all around him. He heard the hissing steam.

And now he knew who the voice belonged to – Saleem.

He lifted his eyelids and saw, through his good eye, the lad crouching beside him.

A frown crumpled Saleem’s forehead and his eyes were wide and glassy. ‘Allah is great. I thought you were dead.’

‘So did I.’ Jack sat up and winced at the pain boiling in his chest.

‘You can’t go on.’

‘I have to.’

‘We need to go back.’

‘No.’ Jack grimaced as a pulse of pain passed through him. ‘You go. I have to get to the end of this corridor. It’s near. Just up there.’

‘What is?’

‘A weapon. Mahajan was building it.’

‘The Grail? Is that it?’

‘No. It’s something evil. I have to destroy it.’

‘Won’t it be crushed when this place comes down?’

‘Don’t know. I have to be sure. Make sure no one can ever find it.’ Jack tried to stand, but his legs wobbled and he sat back down again. ‘Look, I’m dying. I haven’t got long now. You have to go.’

Saleem shook his head. ‘I said I’d stay with you, so that’s what I’m going to do. Since the rebellion started I wanted to be a knight. A knight wouldn’t leave.’

Jack tried to protest, but the pain pinned him back against the wall and black spots circled him like crows.

Saleem stood up and approached the skull. The jaw still creaked open and closed.

Jack blinked. What was the boy up to? He watched as Saleem searched the ground and finally picked up a five-foot-long metal strut that must have fallen from the wall. A puff of steam obscured the lad for a moment, and then Jack’s worst fears were confirmed when he saw Saleem holding the pole horizontally. The idiot was going to try to jam the strut into the skull’s mouth to hold it open. But to do that, he was going to have to stick his head and chest inside and risk being crushed to death.

Jack tried to move. He had to stop Saleem – the fool would kill himself. But he couldn’t get up. When he tried to shout, only a thin groan passed his lips.

Saleem steadied himself as the ground shook and then stood poised, waiting for the right moment.

The rusting teeth slammed down, stayed still for a second, then clanged up. Saleem went to lean inside, but then the mouth snapped down again and he jumped back. It was impossible for him to time his move with the jaw crunching at irregular intervals.

Creak-bam. Creak-bam.

Saleem waited. Went to move. Pulled back. Waited some more.

Jack managed to crawl forward a few feet. He had to move faster. Damn his illness. Damn the cursed fire burning in his chest. If he could just—

Then Saleem did it. When the mouth was open at its widest, he stuck his head inside and rammed the bar into position. The jaw went to close, but ground against the strut. The skull whirred and squealed, but the pole held firm.

Jack sank back against the wall and breathed out, almost fainting with relief.

Saleem scrambled over to him. ‘We’re going through.’

Saleem half lifted, half dragged Jack over to the skull. By the time they got there, Jack was feeling strong enough to crawl between the teeth. The inside of the maw smelt of soot and the roaring in the earth echoed like the sea. It was unnerving to hear the mouth scraping against the pole as it tried to close. But he and Saleem made it safely to the other side and clambered out.

Jack managed to stand and Saleem supported him as he limped towards the workshop. The earth reeled repeatedly and both of them were thrown against one wall and then the other. Jack collapsed several times and Saleem had to drag him some of the way. Stone and dust trickled down as the ceiling fractured.

The scent of sattva grew stronger. Jack’s eyes ran, his nose started to bleed and the insides of his ears stung. The sattva was a physical weight pressing on him from all directions.

They reached the chamber at the end of the passage, stumbled through the archway on the far side and came to the wide hall, which was still lit by a silvery glow. Through a flurry of steam, Jack could just make out the steel doors to Mahajan’s chamber. They were shut but at least there were no guards around.

Jack staggered ahead, his arm still around Saleem’s neck. The ground rolled, stone smashed on the floor and new jets of steam screeched.

The sattva rolled about Jack, almost knocking him over. He had to force himself forward as if through water. His skin felt hot.

Saleem coughed and wiped his eyes – even he was finding the sattva overwhelming.

And then they were at the doors. Jack swayed and darkness smothered him for a moment. Sonali had said Mahajan’s power kept the doors sealed, but perhaps they would open now that the siddha was dead. He had no idea what he would do if they didn’t.

He reached out and pushed against the steel. The metal felt cold, almost freezing, against his palm.

The door clicked and swung gently inwards.

Thank God. Jack said a quick Hail Mary in his head.

This was it. He was finally going to find out what Mahajan had been working on for years up in the Scottish wilderness.

He limped through the open door, Saleem still at his side.

And then he stopped suddenly.

Sattva blasted him like a powerful wind. His hair fluttered behind his head and his eyes watered. His skin felt stretched and rubbed raw.

Saleem cried out and put one arm up over his face. ‘Poison.’

‘No.’ Jack’s voice was cracked. ‘It’s just sattva.’ But he wasn’t certain how harmless it truly was.

Blinking, he looked around the chamber. It was less imposing than he’d expected. The ceiling was low, only a foot or so above his head, and the shape was octagonal. The entire room was perhaps fifty feet across. Eight thick pipes, entwined with wires, ran down each of the walls, crossed the floor and melded into a central circular platform that was topped by a sheet of shining steel.

On one side of the room stood a wooden desk, strewn with papers, pens and a few ink pots. Five sculpted slabs of marble lay beside the walls at various points.

It didn’t look like a workshop at all.

Was this all there was? Where was the Brahmastra? He’d expected to see some sort of huge device capable of laying waste to towns and cities.

His legs buckled and he sank to his knees. Pain swirled within him and flickered down his left arm. He’d experienced this before, when he’d almost died in London three years ago. He must be near to death now. He could barely move.

Saleem crouched beside him. ‘Where’s the weapon?’

Jack struggled to speak. ‘Don’t know. Need to search.’

He grasped Saleem’s arm and used it to wrench himself upright. The pain thumped over and over again in his chest.

He glanced at the marble block nearby and now noticed it was a tomb. The top of the slab was carved into the likeness of a knight lying on his back with a sword at his side. Despite the stone being worn smooth by the years, Jack made out armour and what looked like a crown on the figure’s head.

A crown.

Of course. He stared at the other four tombs scattered around the edge of the room. All of them were topped by similar carved figures.

Kings.

This really must have been where the Scots placed their dead rulers. Mahajan must have come across these tombs when he was building the catacombs and decided to keep them.

The room swayed and a fissure split the ceiling. Grit and stone fragments flushed down. Jack wiped dust from his eyes.

They had to move quickly. The whole place could collapse at any moment. And yet when he tried to walk he could manage only a painfully slow limp.

Saleem supported him as he hobbled towards the desk. He sensed fluctuations in the sattva. Instead of moving in a uniform pool, he was passing through patches that were slightly stronger and then slightly weaker. It was barely noticeable, but with his special sensitivity he could detect it.

He was walking through successive sattva streams, all of which rushed and swirled towards the centre of the room.

A realisation crept into his mind. This workshop, whatever it was, was a meeting point of numerous streams. They must tumble across the land and collide here. That was the only explanation.

Darkness washed over him. Pain hammered like a second heartbeat in his chest. He fell forward, but he was close enough to the desk now to lean against it and stop himself slipping to the floor.

He panted, tried to catch his breath. Slowly the darkness slid back enough for him to make out several large sheets of paper and a few journals.

‘What is all that?’ Saleem asked.

Jack shook his head. ‘Can’t read it. Check the drawers.’

Saleem scurried around to the other side of the desk and pulled open each of the drawers in turn. He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Damn it.

Jack leant over the table. A drop of sweat ran off his forehead and splattered on one of the sheets. The darkness came and went.

Nothing.

No sign of the Brahmastra.

He managed to push himself upright again and scanned the room. The walls were bare, save for the eight pipes, while the floor and ceiling had no markings on them of any sort. Aside from the tombs and the desk, the only thing in the room was the raised platform, and he could see that was empty.

Nothing.

Jack managed a wry grin. It looked as though Mahajan hadn’t built a Brahmastra at all. It looked as though he hadn’t even tried. There was nothing in the room – no devices, machines, avatars. Mahajan must have been bluffing, although why was anyone’s guess.

All Jack could think to do was take a look at the platform. He doubted it could help him, but it was the only thing left in the room that he hadn’t checked yet. Once he’d cast his eyes over it he would know the Brahmastra wasn’t here. Never had been.

And then, if God wanted to take him, so be it.

He staggered towards the centre of the room. Saleem rushed around the desk and supported him as he limped. The earth throbbed and groaned. A crack forked across the stone floor. One of the eight pipes fractured and steam screamed from the hole.

Jack sensed he’d stopped breathing. He felt he was falling. But at the same time, somehow, he was still walking. One step at a time. Towards the middle of the room.

The sattva swilled about him. The skin on his face stretched and his scalp crawled. He was nearing the convergence point. The place where the streams met.

He reached the platform, Saleem still propping him up. Everything went black. He was flying for a moment. Then he blinked and pulled himself back.