Thieves Like Us 01 - Thieves Like Us (32 page)

It was Samraj, swaying from side to side as if she were trying to charm some vast, invisible serpent.

The gun swung up to cover him. He stumbled away, backing up behind the altar for cover.

A sound caught in her throat, then another – more of a cry. A choking cry for help. The gun wavered.

Then Jonah saw the blood and shrapnel peppering Samraj’s shoulders. His stomach turned as he saw the
blackened gash in her head. She was holding a sharp flint in her other hand, a big, bloody stone splinter she must just have plucked out.

He watched her hard, beautiful eyes roll in her ruined face as she pitched forward and collapsed on top of the ancient body, pinning it to the slab in a final embrace.

Disgusted, Jonah looked away. Then a sudden shower of rock dust came down beside him. It built in a heap at his feet, like sand in the bottom of an hourglass.
None-too-subtle metaphors of our time
, he thought, getting weakly to his feet.

Time was running out for this place.

A weird wailing noise started up – one of the acolytes was rushing about between his fallen buddies. Jonah knew he must do the same for his own band of brothers. He had to find them fast, check they were OK, because if these flames kept spreading …

‘Jonah!’ It was Tye’s voice, some way off. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m here!’ He choked through a billow of smoke, glanced up nervously at a fresh creak and crumble from the ceiling. The shadows were thick about him. ‘Where are you?’

Then someone rushed up behind him. Jonah whirled round, raised a fist, ready to lash out.

‘Fine way to say thanks,’ said Tye, half-smiling.

‘Thanks for what? What the hell happened?’

‘What the hell happened
here
?’ she said, pointing to where Samraj lay sprawled on top of the body.

‘You’d think they’d get a room or something, wouldn’t you?’ said Jonah. ‘She caught some flying
rubble from the blast. I think she’s dead.’

‘I thought
I
was a goner for sure.’ Motti appeared from out of the gloom, looming over Tye’s shoulder like some scrawny Goth familiar. ‘I remember going over to the doors, then … nothing. Nothing till I found Patch’s goddamn eye in my hand.’

‘I was trying to shock you awake to give me some help. Didn’t expect you to be
that
squeamish about it.’

‘Who’s squeamish?’ he challenged hotly.

She half-smiled. ‘Who’s back to normal?’

Then the ground bucked suddenly beneath them. ‘Whoa,’ said Jonah. ‘What the hell was that?’

‘This whole place sits on a fault line in the earth’s crust, remember?’ Motti stared at Tye almost accusingly. ‘And we just let off some high explosives. It’s seismic fun-time.’

‘Let’s get the others and get out of here,’ said Tye.

‘We’re already here. We’re OK.’ Con emerged from the shadows, dragging a bewildered Patch behind her. ‘The explosion gave us something in our own reality to focus on, yes? Reset our senses, if you like. A shock of that force can break through the strongest mesmerism.’

‘That’s really all you think it was – mesmerism?’ asked Jonah. ‘Those visions, those … well, they
weren’t
real?’

Con looked away, troubled.

‘Where’s Coldhardt, anyhow?’ Patch started staring about nervously. ‘We’ve got company.’

Hela and some of her brethren were heading in their direction, looking for Samraj, or to their master for guidance – or perhaps making ready to kill their enemies.

‘Time we left,’ said Jonah, as grit and pebbles hailed down from the rocky sky.

‘We can’t go without Coldhardt,’ Con insisted.

Tye grabbed her by the hand. ‘Coldhardt might not even be here. He may have gone without us!’

‘Then the old bastard had the right idea,’ said Motti, ‘because we ain’t going nowhere.’

More cultists were closing in, encircling them.

‘We’d better buy some time,’ said Con grimly. ‘Jonah, help me.’ She started wrestling Samraj’s body up from the altar. ‘We’ll threaten to kill her if they don’t let us go!’

Jonah stared at her, appalled. ‘Bit late for that isn’t it?’

‘Bit late for losing your bottle, too,’ Motti hissed, pushing Jonah aside and giving Con a hand. ‘
They
don’t know she’s a stiff, remember?’

‘I don’t know if you can understand me,’ Con called to Hela, gripping Samraj by her bloodied throat. ‘But if you move a step closer I’ll … Oh, God!’

‘What is it?’ hissed Tye.

‘The bitch has got a pulse.’

Jonah swore. ‘She’s got a gun too –’

Suddenly Samraj jerked into life. She screeched with rage, elbowed Motti in the guts, doubling him over, and kicked Con aside into Patch so that the pair of them fell sprawling at the feet of the approaching acolytes.

Then she brought the gun up against Tye’s head.

‘No!’ Jonah yelled, and threw himself at Samraj. He’d stopped her once this way, he could do it again. But this time he was too slow. Her dark eyes burned
darkly with spite as she twisted her wrist away, brought the gun up hard under his chin.

Jonah tried to roll with the blow, tumbled backwards over the body on the altar. He felt its old, brittle bones crunch beneath his weight. Caught a wheeling glimpse of acolytes surging forward to grab hold of Tye, of Samraj, her bloodstained leer as she aimed the gun straight at him.

Heard the thunder of the weapon as it fired.

Tye yanked herself away from her attackers as the gun sounded. ‘Jonah!’ she yelled.

But Samraj, injured at least, was a lousy shot. The first bullet bit into the stone altar. The next two slammed into the ancient body that crowned it.

The thing that might have been Ophiuchus twitched once – twice. Then the wizened head lolled to one side.

Samraj stared in horror and dropped the gun.

Tye ran behind the altar and helped Jonah up. ‘You OK?’

Rubbing his bloody jaw, he gestured to the ruined body on the slab. ‘Better than him.’

There was a moment’s horrible calm. Hela and the acolytes stared at the grisly scene in shocked silence. Samraj staggered forward, pawing over the old man’s body with a careful composure spoiled only by the way she had to keep wiping blood from her eyes. Con and Patch pulled away from their attackers and joined Tye and Jonah behind the altar, as did Motti, clutching his bruised stomach.

Then Tye became aware of a fierce heat on her
back. The fire had spread behind them – they were hemmed in, nowhere to run. The ground rumbled again, as if some giant far below was laughing at them.

Slowly, the acolytes were closing in.

Samraj pinched the figure’s nose, pressing her lips against the leathery flaps of the sagging mouth as she tried to give mouth-to-mouth. But the nose pulled away in her fingers like a crust of soggy bread. She tutted crossly and dropped it to the floor. The old man’s emaciated jaw sank into the wrinkled neck and did not rise again.

Tye saw the outrage, the anger in Hela’s eyes mirrored in those of the other acolytes. And she knew that they were no longer interested in the heathen.

Samraj was now their target.

Uncertainly, the once beautiful woman turned to face Hela, spoke a few words in the strange language, then paused to spit out some blood. ‘Your god is not dead,’ she began again in English. ‘He … he lives on through you. And – and I can heal you now.’

Hela drew her knife, took a further step towards Samraj. Her brethren did the same. The ground trembled again, as if in anticipation.

‘We should get the hell out of here,’ hissed Motti, edging away from the altar. ‘Now, while they’re distracted.’

‘I can take genetic material from him and give it to you,’ she told them desperately. ‘You will be flesh of his flesh – truly! You will
all
be gods!’

‘Not everyone wants the same things you do,’ muttered Tye as she and the others crept warily after Motti.

‘Stay back,’ Samraj said as the acolytes formed a tight circle around her. ‘Kill me and your cult will die out too!’

But with their god dead at last, Tye wondered what could be left for these people.

Samraj’s voice rose to a bloodcurdling scream. ‘
Help me!
’

As the cry choked off, Tye didn’t look back.

Then there came a terrific splitting sound from above. Fresh dirt and pebbles rained down like the chamber itself was weeping. Tye was soon choking on dust and smoke and spores and God knew what.

‘We’ve got to find Coldhardt,’ Patch almost whimpered. ‘We can’t deal with this by ourselves.’

‘Looks like we’re going to have to,’ said Jonah. ‘Face it, Patch – if he’s not dead, he’s run out on us.’

‘On the contrary.’ Coldhardt stepped out from behind a nearby pillar, weighed down with scrolls and coins and jewellery and vases. ‘Help me with these.’

Patch grinned. ‘I knew you wouldn’t leave us!’

‘You’ve been busy,’ Con observed, stuffing the brightest of the jewels in her pockets.

‘Yeah, hiding out the way while we were nearly killed,’ muttered Jonah.

‘Simply doing what we came here to do.’ He smiled thinly at Tye as she grabbed an undamaged lekythos and some scrolls from his bundle. ‘In the end, wealth is the only reality that matters. And after all that’s happened, I’m damned if we’re coming away empty-handed!’

Jonah took an urn from him, almost dropping it as one of the crystal tapestries crashed down from the
blazing ceiling and shattered into a million pieces close behind them. ‘Did you honestly come back for us? Or did you just realise you couldn’t carry all this crap by yourself?’

Coldhardt’s wintry smile was his only answer.

‘What about Hela and her barmy army?’ said Patch. ‘You think they’ll let us just walk out of here?’

‘I don’t think they’re a problem any more,’ said Tye.

She could see them through the gusting smoke; the followers of Ophiuchus had gathered round the corpse on the altar in a close circle, their heads bowed in mourning. The ground shook as if it might split apart, but they did not shift in their vigil, didn’t react as a heavy statue toppled over with a crash close by. It was as though their own lives had ended with their god’s.

Of Samraj’s body there was no sign.

‘Move!’ Coldhardt barked.

Con led them out, struggling under the weight of their treasure, through the ruins of the cavern.

‘Please! Don’t let me die!’ came a weak cry from the smoky shadows near the great bronze doors. ‘I was going to live for ever …’

‘Yianna,’ Tye realised. Through the dust and smoke she saw the girl had been half buried by falling rock.

‘I’m trapped. My leg …’

‘Someone help me get her out.’ Con stuffed a thick handful of jewellery down the waistband of her jeans and started scrabbling at the chunks of rubble. ‘We can’t just leave her.’

‘She’s right.’ Coldhardt directed Jonah and Tye to help her at the rock pile.

Motti scowled. ‘Why the hell should we take her with us, after all she’s done?’

Con smiled up at him. ‘Because like you said – it is a gift, yes? Demnos offered us a fortune to bring her back alive.’

‘That’s gonna be the tricky bit,’ said Patch, wincing as another chunk of ceiling came crashing down around them.

With Yianna dug out and slung over Motti’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Jonah followed the others out of the great hall. He paused for a second in the doorway, glimpsing the dark figures motionless in the flames as the altar became a funeral pyre. Then he turned and stumbled away feeling sweaty and sick.

The rest of the catacombs were no more secure. Huge cracks had opened up in the walls and parts of the roof were caving in. The tunnels were ankle deep with scalding water bubbling out of the ground. The glowing veins in the snake-root seemed to seethe and pulse with angry life as the tremors grew stronger and longer with every passing minute.

Dazed and disturbed, the rest of Jonah’s journey back passed in a succession of nightmare moments. The pounding vibration of falling stone knocking him off his feet. Priceless relics slipping from his grip, vanishing beneath the steaming water. His ashen reflection staring back up at him. Crossing a cave-in, trying to squeeze through a tiny gap, a moment with the weight of a mountain on his ribs while Tye and Con dragged him through. Yianna dangling upside down ahead of him, tears rolling over her high forehead, her
long hair trailing through slimy puddles.

And through it all, the fear of being entombed here for ever. The awful feeling that the wraiths he’d seen before were following close behind, ready to pluck him back into the fetid darkness.

But somehow they made it back to the dark, cramped access tunnel that led up to the antechamber.

‘We’re on the final stretch,’ Coldhardt shouted, stuffing precious relics and ornaments inside his shirt to free up his hands. His torch beam flicked into life now the fungus was too patchy to light their way, but its glow was faint. ‘Has everyone still got their torch?’

‘No,’ Jonah realised.

‘Must’ve dropped mine in the big freak-out,’ was Patch’s answer. Jonah’s heart sank to hear everyone but Motti give the same story.

‘Someone else take Yianna,’ Motti shouted from somewhere up ahead. ‘I’ll go on and light the way, open the outer door.’

‘Take as many of the others’ treasures as you can carry,’ Coldhardt instructed. ‘Patch, Con, go with him. Jonah, you take over with Yianna – pass her up through the gap when Con and Patch are in position. Tye, take my torch and lead the way.’

‘He would have made a good schoolteacher,’ Jonah muttered, offloading the few treasures he’d kept hold of on to Motti, who took them without a word.

‘Schoolteacher, huh?’ Tye forced a half-smile. ‘And what have you learned today, Jonah Wish?’

‘That nothing lasts for ever?’

Yianna lay where she’d been dumped on the hot, dank ground, passive and tear-stained, all the fight
wrung from her. Jonah could almost feel sorry for her. He tensed his already aching muscles to lift her, but she actually weighed very little. With Tye lighting the way ahead and Coldhardt following behind, he shifted her along the narrow tunnel in a fireman’s lift, as fast as he could.

But then a fresh tremor, the largest yet, shook down more dirt and rock from the roof. Jonah and Yianna fell back against the tunnel wall as a huge crack opened up in the ground beside them.