Dennis Wheatley - Traitors' Gate

Gregory set down the canvas bag that Mario had given him and examined its contents. In it there was another, smaller, torch, three new candles and four partially used ones, a whole new packet of a dozen boxes of matches, a slab of chocolate and a three-quarter full bottle of orangeade.

He felt that Mario had done them well. If used sparingly there was enough lighting material there to keep them going for far longer than they should need to find a way out of the caverns. Yet that might take several hours; so the chocolate and the orange squash had been an excellent thought. The latter particularly was most welcome and their sore eyes lighted up at the sight of it. Each of them had a couple of mouthfuls there and then. It ran down their parched and lacerated throats like nectar, and made them feel once more like human beings instead of half kippered demons just emerged from the sort of Hell invented by the early Christians to frighten their less intelligent enemies and later depicted so admirably by the elder Breughel.

After savouring this unexpected and wonderful refreshment they instinctively turned downhill. Gregory carried the bag in one hand and the torch in the other. He held it pointed forward and a little down and, in order to save the battery, flashed it only at intervals frequent enough to ensure that they did not walk into some obstruction or fall into a crevasse. Sabine held his arm, and now that she was on firm ground she felt far less fearful of unknown dangers. They spoke little as their mouths were still dry and their throats sore from the agonizing effects of the smoke they had swallowed.

As far as they could judge, the tunnel retained the same proportions; but its slope steepened. Gregory felt sure that it was following the contour of the Buda hill, and that they were coming down towards the level of the Danube. He hoped he was right, as he thought it almost certain that the long dead people who had fashioned these caves, or at least adapted them for the use of humans during an emergency, would have seen ' to it that there were several entrances along the banks of the river. His belief that they were approaching water level was borne out by the fact that, as the beam of the torch struck the floor ahead, the stones on it began to shine slightly. Then the ground underfoot became damp and, after another ten yards, the torch showed water.

Coming to a halt, Gregory waved the torch from side to side, then shone it into the impenetrable murk ahead. What they saw filled them with consternation. There was not a ripple on the water but it stretched from one side of the tunnel to' the other and as far before them as the beam of light carried. Apparently, unless they were prepared to swim, it barred their further progress completely, and in its absolute stillness there was something vaguely menacing.

Gregory flicked the torch out. Instantly the darkness closed in upon them like a pall. His voice came with an unconcern he was far from feeling. 'This must be one of the underground lakes old Hunyi mentioned. We'd best turn back. There's certain to be a way round it.'

Swivelling about they set off up the hill. Knowing now that there was no bad break in the floor of the tunnel where a minor earthquake had caused a geological fault to open and become a crevasse, Gregory now flashed his torch from time to time on the walls on either side. Before they had gone far it lit a flight of stairs similar to those down which they had come. Halting again, he said:

'There must be a way out up there. It doesn't matter into whose cellar we come out. It's still the middle of the night and everyone will be asleep; so we should be able to walk out of the front door, or anyhow come out through one of the ground floor windows, without being challenged. Come on; up we go!'

Cautiously but quickly, shining the light on each step ahead of him, he made his way up the stairs, Sabine following close behind. When he reached the top he handed the torch to her; then, stooping his head forward, and bending his knees, he raised his shoulders until they were firmly braced against the square stone immediately above him. Clenching his fists he heaved, endeavouring to straighten himself. The stone slab did not lift. He made another effort, and another; but although he strained, holding his breath for a full minute, it would not yield a fraction of an inch.

Panting slightly, he relaxed and looked back at Sabine. 'Sorry. I'm afraid this one is stuck. Yours would have been too, if anyone had tried it from underneath before we loosened it with the jemmy. I expect most of those that haven't been used for half a century or more will be. But don't worry, we'll find one that isn't.'

With Sabine leading this time they made their way gingerly back down the long flight of stone stairs, then continued to retrace their steps up the slope. By flashing the torch along the walls now and again, in the next hundred yards they came upon two more flights of steps. The trap at the top of the first proved equally impossible to shift, but the second gave at the first heave.

Quickly, Gregory took the torch from Sabine and, keeping the heavy stone raised with one shoulder, shone the beam through the narrow opening across the floor of a cellar. Even as he did so he smelt smoke. Next moment the beam came to rest on a heap of broken glass and empty bottles. Failing to recognize the flight of steps down which they had first come, they had returned to the Tuzolto Palace.

For the time and effort wasted they at least had the consolation of knowing that if the worst came to the worst they could get out that way. That was, if they did not get lost and could again identify that particular stairway. As an aid to recognizing it, when they were safely down they piled on the bottom step a little heap of loose stones.

Continuing on up the slope, they found that the tunnel soon began to narrow and lose height; then it took a curve and just round the bend they came upon another shorter flight of steps. Gregory ran up them while Sabine held the torch but, as he now half expected, the stone in the roof of the cave above the top step was stuck fast.

A little farther on the tunnel ended, and a few minutes' exploration showed that they had emerged into a large open space some eighty feet across and roughly oval in shape. Its ceiling was too lofty for the torch to pick up, and round the sides were openings to seven or eight other tunnels. Between two of these openings at the narrowest end of the oval the rock wall had been worked smooth, and about three feet up a large fan shaped recess, roughly two feet deep, had been hollowed out in it.

As the light flickered over the recess Gregory noticed some ring like marks upon the stone. Stepping nearer they made out the remains of an early wall fresco. The rings were haloes and below them could still be faintly seen the outline of the pointed faces of saints with huge flat almond shaped eyes. Obviously it had once been an altar and the cavern used as a church, perhaps in the days when the infidel Turks were the masters of the city.

Somewhat to Gregory's surprise, Sabine bobbed before it, as though it were an altar in a still used church. Next moment she turned to him and said:

'Give me a candle, please: one of the whole ones. I want to light it to the Virgin.'

'Oh come!' he protested, as the echo of her voice died away. 'No religious rites have been performed here for centuries; and it's possible that later on we may need really badly the few candles we have.'

'I can't help that,' she retorted. 'Please give me one.'

'Sabine, be sensible. We simply can't afford to do this sort of thing. Down in this place candles are more precious than gold.'

'All the more reason we should donate one to the Holy Mother, and secure her protection,' came the swift response. 'You must give me one for her, Gregory! You must!'