Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“Give me that toothpick,” said Rex, with sudden animation.

“Thank God,” breathed the Duke, “a woman and a man... Valeria Petrovna and Simon.”

Rex was already on his knees levering up the heavy slabs of stone. It was true — there was a tunnel hollowed out underneath. Ten minutes’ frantic work and he had the opening clear.

Yakovkin rejoined them; he gave the Duke a big ball of twine and an electric torch. “Take these,” he whispered, huskily; “the caves run for many versts, twisting and turning, one upon another. If you are lost there it will be death... you would starve before you could get out.”

“Which way are we to go?” asked the Duke.

“To the left and to the left and to the left,” Yakovkin answered. “That will bring you to a great hall with many passages. Take that which is second to the right of the altar; after, once to the left again. You will come out in the cellars of the old fort. Outside your friends wait you with a car.”

“To the left three times... the second passage on the right of the altar... after that once to the left again,” De Richleau repeated.

“Tie the twine to a stone where the tunnel ends,” Yakovkin went on. “Unroll it as you go — thus, if you lose your way, you can work back to the beginning and start again.”

“Good,” said the Duke. “Yakovkin, how can I ever thank you for this help?”

“I would have done as much before, Barin” said the man, simply, giving the Duke his old title, “but without Shubin I could do nothing.”

“Will you not get into serious trouble?”

Yakovkin shrugged. “A month or two in prison, perhaps, Barin — that is not much for one such as I... for the sake of our youth I would do that, but I must tell you also that I have been well paid.”

“I’m glad of that — if we get away I’ll send you through the consulate a token of my gratitude from London.”

“Do not delay, Barin , I beg — you have far to go before the dawn. Look, your comrade is already waiting.” Rex was half-buried in the tunnel.

De Richleau took Yakovkin’s horny hand. “I shall not forget,” he said.

The kazak withdrew his hand quickly and kissed the Duke in the old fashion on the left shoulder. “The heart of Russia is ever the heart of Russia,” he murmured, cryptically, and De Richleau followed Rex feet foremost into the hole.

The tunnel was no more than six feet deep, and as it ended Rex dropped with a thud from the ceiling to the floor of the cave.

“Look out,” he called, and was just in time to save the Duke from an eight foot fall.

De Richleau had the torch and Rex the ball of twine.

“Where’ll we make this fast?” the latter asked.

“You have the marlinspike,” said the Duke, “dig it firmly into the earth and tie the end to that.”

“No, that’ll be handy for a weapon,” Rex objected. “Here, this’ll serve — show us a light.” An ancient stone coffin lid lay at their feet. Rex prised it up, got the twine underneath, and tied it firmly. “O.K.,” he announced.

The shaft of light from the Duke’s torch pierced the thick, heavy darkness. The cave had the hot, dry atmosphere of an airless room when the central heating has been left on. They proceeded slowly along the passage, shining the torch to either side, fearful that they might miss the turning in the thick, hot gloom.

They found it easily, not more than twenty paces from the start. The passage opened into a wider, loftier cave.

“Holy Mike! What’s here?” Rex exclaimed, as the beam of light played on the wall. It was a gruesome sight — a long row of silent figures stretched away into the blackness on both sides. Each wore the same grey gown corded at the waist... each face was bearded ... and in each beard the gums drew back into a horrid grin, showing rows of yellow evil teeth.

“It is only the monks,” said the Duke, quietly, as he walked on. “There are thousands of them buried here.... I was brought to see them as a boy.”

“I guess you might have given me the wire,” Rex protested.

“I’m sorry; they are a terrifying sight, I suppose. Some property in the soil together with the heat, mumifies the bodies.”

“Well, I’ll say I’m glad I didn’t make this trip alone — they’d make any feller’s flesh creep. Why, they’ve got hair and skin and all.”

“Have you never been to that church in Bordeaux — St. Michael, I think. In the crypt they have some bodies preserved in a similar manner, but only a small number.”

“No — only time I was in Bordeaux I was figuring how quick I could get to Biarritz to join a platinum blonde I knew.... Gosh, it’s hot down here.” Rex drew his hand across his face, which was wet with perspiration.

“Yes, Stifling. Never mind, it is the road to freedom. Here is our second turning.” De Richleau steadily advanced.

They entered another long gallery of the catacombs — more rows of grinning heads were ranged along the walls, casting weird shadows in the flickering light.

“How long have these guys been dead?” Rex asked.

“Two or three hundred years some of them, perhaps more.”

“Would you believe it? Well, it’s the weirdest sight I’ve ever seen. You’d think they’d all crumple up and fall down.”

“No, they’re propped against the wall, and they have little weight.” De Richleau stopped for a moment and tapped one on the chest. The parchment-like skin stretched tight across the bones gave out a hollow sound. “They are little more than skeletons, only dust inside. The wire, too, that is stretched along the line helps to keep them in position; see, there is one that has toppled over.” He pointed to a grotesque bowing figure some distance away that hung suspended from the wire. The head had rolled off, and when De Richleau shone his torch on it, it showed a strange grinning mask, gaping through eternity in the darkness at the ceiling of the cave.

“To think that once they were all men,” said Rex, in an awed voice, “eating and laughing and loving, too, maybe.”

They are as we should have been tomorrow,” the Duke replied. “What are a few hundred years in all eternity — from dust we come — you know the rest!”

“Yes, that’s about it. Just miles and miles of dust... I think it’s pretty grim — say, isn’t that the hall ahead?”

“I think so. I hope that more than half our journey is done; this heat is positively appalling.”

They emerged into a great open space. The ray from the torch failed to penetrate to the ceiling, nor could they see across to the other side, but other openings into it showed clearly on either hand.

“Puzzle, find the altar,” said Rex.

“Yes, let us try straight over on the other side.”

At that moment Rex trod on another skull. He stumbled against the Duke, who dropped the torch with a clatter. The light went out and the heavy darkness closed in upon them.

The blackness was so intense that they could almost imagine that they felt it pressing on their hands and faces.

“Sorry,” gasped Rex, I trod on some bird’s brain-box.”

“Stay where you are,” ordered the Duke, sharply. “Let me find the torch.” He groped on the floor, his fingers came in contact with the bearded head. He kicked it aside impatiently, and his fingers found the torch. As he stood up he pressed the button... no light appeared... he pressed it again. Still nothing but that inky darkness pressing round them.

For a moment he said nothing, as all the horror of the situation dawned on his mind. How was it possible to find their way in this impenetrable blackness without a ray of light? The atmosphere would sap their vitality and deaden their power of thought.... In a few hours they would go mad. Shrieking through the hollow darkness, frantically trying turning after turning in these miles of caves. The horror of thirst would come upon them in this awful heat — already he found himself passing his tongue over his dry lips. Better even to go back, if they could find their way, and face the rifles of the Red Guards in the morning than the creeping certainty of insanity as well as death in this vast grave, to be found, perhaps years later, mummified like the rest, clawing the ground in an extremity of thirst and terror.