Simon Beaufort - Murder in the Holy City

“What else do you have in here?” he asked, only to hear the sound of Akira’s voice, not to solicit information.

“None of your business,” snapped Akira, walking over to the wooden box and covering it with one of the rags from the floor. “This is all your fault,” he said, suddenly aggressive. “If you hadn’t hung around old Akira’s house, then I wouldn’t be down here now, suffering.”

“Sorry,” said Geoffrey. “I should have been more thoughtful.” He sat down on the stone floor and rubbed his ankle. “Do you have any more candles?”

“I got one more,” said Akira, fishing it out of his pocket. “But it won’t do us no good.”

“I suppose there is no other way out of here?” said Geoffrey, looking up at the dark rectangle of the trapdoor high above them.

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact,” said Akira.

Geoffrey stared at him in amazement.

“But that won’t do us no good neither,” the butcher continued. “There’s a tunnel, but it can only be opened from the outside.”

“Where is it?” said Geoffrey, leaping to his feet and peering around into the gloom as though it might suddenly make itself apparent.

Akira gave a heavy sigh and heaved himself upright. “But it won’t do us no good,” he insisted. “You can’t open it from the inside.”

“But we have to try,” said Geoffrey. “Anything is better than sitting here in the dark waiting to die.”

Akira grumbled his way into a dark corner and poked about. “That bloody Maria! She sold me out, she did. It was her who told that blond knight about this place, knowing that we couldn’t get out once we were down here. Bloody Maria! I suppose you don’t have friends what might come for you?” he asked Geoffrey, suddenly hopeful. His optimism faded as quickly as it had risen. “No. Your fine friends are the ones that shoved us down here in the first place, and old Akira hasn’t had no friends since poor Joseph was took. And poor Joseph couldn’t have done much, him being a cat.”

Geoffrey picked his way through the bones on the floor. “Did you have a daughter called Katrina?” he asked.

Akira turned round to glare at him. “No, I did not, thank God! One bloody daughter is more than enough for poor Akira.” He gave an enormous, wet sniff, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and continued to prod. “Here we are.” He pulled at a large ring set in a second trapdoor and revealed a narrow tunnel disappearing into a sinister slit of blackness.

Geoffrey regarded it in horror. “Is that it?” he asked in a whisper.

Akira nodded. “I suppose we could try it,” he said listlessly. “But it’s a bit of a tight squeeze for old Akira these days.”

Geoffrey looked from the great stone room to the narrow tunnel, and felt as though he were being offered a choice between two alternative routes to hell. He swallowed and took the candle from Akira with trembling hands.

“How far is it?”

“Not far, or bloody miles, depending,” said Akira, taking the candle back again. “Follow me.”

Geoffrey closed his eyes in despair as Akira’s bulky form disappeared sideways into the narrow slit. If it were possible, this was even worse than the journey with Melisende, since the light was dimmer, and the tunnel horribly narrow from the outset. For a moment, he could not force his legs to move, but then the cellar grew darker and darker as Akira’s candle went further into the tunnel, and he entered at a run.

The tunnel was a split in the rock and was a natural, rather than a man-made, feature. Geoffrey began to wonder how safe it was, and felt sweat coursing down his back and face as he envisaged the walls suddenly caving in from the pressure of the mass of rock above. Akira’s grunts and mutters ahead told Geoffrey that the butcher was having problems easing himself along, and Geoffrey began to feel sick. He clenched his hands into tight fists and drove everything from his mind except Akira’s golden wavering light ahead.

Geoffrey had no idea how long they travelled. The split grew wider, but just when he allowed himself to feel relief, it closed in again, even tighter than before. He and Akira had moments when they became stuck, and one had to help prise the other forward. Geoffrey’s shirt was drenched in sweat, and his legs would not have held him up if it were not for the fact that the walls pressed so closely against his back and chest. Just when he thought it could grow no worse, the candle went out.

The silence was absolute.

“Light the other one,” he said in a voice that had an edge of panic to it.

“Can’t,” said Akira. “Didn’t bring the tinder with me.”

Geoffrey felt like strangling him, but he had lost the strength in his limbs, and knew his arms were far beyond doing anything so useful.

“No matter,” said Akira. “I knows where this tunnel goes.” He moved forward, and then Geoffrey could only hear the sounds of his own ragged breathing and his thudding heart.

“Akira!” he yelled. “Tell me about Maria! Tell me about your cat!”

“What?” came Akira’s startled voice from the blackness. “What for? You afraid of the dark or something? Why would a knight be interested in old Akira’s cat?”

Akira’s voice droned on, and Geoffrey followed it gratefully along the narrow split. He lost track of time completely: he might have been in the tunnel for a matter of moments, or for hours. Each step forward seemed to take an eternity, and he tried not to let himself think that if they could not open the other exit from the inside as Akira claimed, then they might have to make their way back along the tunnel to the cellar again.

Just as Geoffrey was slipping into semiconsciousness, where all he was aware of were Akira’s mindless monologue and the laborious process of putting one foot in front of the other, Akira stopped.

“Here it is,” he announced. “There’s steps here, so watch out.”

Geoffrey edged forward carefully, feeling the walls widen suddenly so that he could put his hands out in all directions and feel nothing. Then he was tumbling down the steps, a helpless jumble of arms and legs, and landed in a heap next to Akira.

“Clumsy devil,” muttered Akira. “Told you to watch out. Here’s the entrance.”

It took a moment for Geoffrey to register that he could see Akira’s dim shadow poking around. At first he thought it must be the effects of banging his head when he fell down the steps, but he blinked hard and found he could still see. Unlike the trapdoor in the cellar, this door allowed the tiniest sliver of light to percolate through. He heaved himself upright and looked at it. It was made of wood, and sturdy, and light was seeping in along its bottom. And if light could come in, then so could air, and at least he would not die of slow suffocation in the cellar.

“Where does this come out?” he asked Akira, calmer now that he knew the outside was almost within his grasp.

“A garden,” said Akira. “It used to belong to a cloth merchant, but now some knight owns it, and he don’t like old Akira using this door. He blocked it off with some stones so I can’t get it open.”

Geoffrey put his shoulder to the door and pushed with all his might. Nothing happened. He took hold of a ring that acted as a door handle, and pulled. The door remained fast. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the ring a second time, braced his foot against the doorjamb, and pulled with every ounce of his strength. He felt the blood pounding in his ears, and the muscles stretching nastily in his arms, but still he hauled. Then there was a resounding rip, and he went crashing backward, the ring still in his hand.

“You must be strong,” said Akira with admiration. “You ripped the ring right out of the door. Of course, it don’t help us none.” He gave another wet sniff, wiped his nose against his shoulder, and sat down next to the disconsolate Geoffrey. “Told you it don’t open from the inside,” he said.