The Romulus Equation (20 page)

Viktor gnawed on his fingernails. ‘This is too much for me to bear.'

‘Viktor, stop dithering and get over here!' he commanded the German, who shuffled himself reluctantly closer to the wooden structure, the boards complaining as he did so. ‘I think Romulus was right about this once serving a purpose for the foundry, so with any luck it will take us all the way down to the bottom of the pit.'

‘I am not sure that we have much luck left to spend,' gulped Viktor, peering down.

‘I suppose we'll have to find out then,' said Quaint, grasping the chain. He cursed, snatching his hand away. ‘Hot to the touch. We'll need to wrap our hands.'

‘Here, try this,' Viktor said, picking up Romulus's discarded shirt.

Wrapping the material around his hands, Quaint reached again for the chain, pulling it towards him. He gave it a sharp tug, testing its strength, and he looked around at the wooden structure the chain was attached to. ‘All right. I'm sure this should hold both our weights.'

‘
Both
?' gulped Viktor.

‘Of course, both!' snapped Quaint. ‘I need you, Viktor! We don't have a damned clue what's waiting for us at the bottom of this pit, and I need you by my side! But we'll need to do it slowly.'

‘
Ja
, I am all for slowly,' agreed Viktor, reluctantly wrapping the rest of the shirt around his hands. ‘But I do not like heights, Cornelius… especially those suspended above a volcano.'

As if on cue, a blast of warm air hit them in the face from below breathed.

‘That thing does not sound too happy,' noted Viktor.

‘Something tells me it's waking up,' said Quaint. ‘We need to hurry up!'

‘Hurry up? I thought you said do it slowly!' cried Viktor.

‘I'm not sure we've got the time any more,' said Quaint. ‘If that volcano really is stirring, I don't much fancy dangling from a chain right above it, do you?'

‘Need you ask?' said Viktor.

‘All right,' said Quaint. ‘Let's get this over with.'

‘You first,' said Viktor.

Cursing under his breath, Quaint reached out and took hold of the chain. Giving it another tug for good measure, he stepped off the wooden platform. His weight caused the chain to sway violently, and he had to grip on for dear life as he began to spin. Thankfully, as he began to climb down, the chain's swaying stabilised.

‘Climb on!' he yelled to Viktor.

Viktor reached out clumsily, but as his fingers brushed against it, the chain swung out just beyond his grasp. He cursed, snatching hold of it on the second pass. The delay had cost him valuable time. By this time Quaint was further down towards the cloud of black smoke that billowed out from within the volcano, and he could see the entrance to what appeared to be a tunnel of some sort. That must surely be where Remus and Romulus were to be found, alive or dead. He looked up the length of the chain to see Viktor swaying in a rather ungainly fashion above him. Time was of the essence and he could not afford to wait around.

‘Viktor!' he called. ‘You'll have to catch me up.'

‘
Was
?' snorted Viktor. ‘Do not be an impatient fool, Cornelius! We do this together!'

‘I don't have time!' Quaint called back. ‘If I jump now I can make it.'

Quaint muttered a silent prayer and let go of the chain.

He crashed down first onto his feet and then onto his knees and elbows, and they embedded into the gravel on the edge of the tunnel's mouth. The heat from the volcano whooshed up to greet him, whistling down the tunnel like a cat's cry. Snatching a flaming torch from its fixture, he was suddenly taken by the walls. Their surface was as smooth as glass, and he could smell sulphur. His eyes drifted to the tunnel's mouth where he had just landed. The rock had been fused to glass by years of extreme heat, which meant one thing. The tunnel was no mere tunnel. It was a vent of some kind, either a direct line out of the volcano or a direct line into it – either way, this was not the safest of places to stop and ponder the question.

‘Damn it, Viktor, what's keeping you?' Quaint muttered.

A great rumbling groan emanated all around the tunnel and he turned to see an explosion of molten lava spurt up into the air, spitting flaming shrapnel around the mouth of the cave. Through the enveloping smoke he could see the lava below him, sporadic islands of rocks leaping up to the surface like bubbling water.

He watched the volcano spring into life in spits and spurts, and already he could see an undulating sea of broiling lava beneath the broken surface. The rocks beneath his feet were already pulsing heat through his soles and within minutes it would reach the mouth of the tunnel where he stood.

‘Viktor!' he called. ‘This volcano is going to blow any moment! You have to jump!'

‘
Jump
?' Viktor boomed. ‘Cornelius, I could die if I jump from this height!'

‘Viktor, you could die if you don't – now do it!' ordered Quaint.

Viktor cursed. ‘And you said this would be fun! I told you it would be the death of me, did I not?'

The German swung his bulk as hard as he could, trying to gain momentum to steer the swaying chain towards the tunnel's entrance, whilst simultaneously trying to shimmy his way down the chain as quickly as his nerves allowed him.

‘Just a little lower!' Quaint called up.

Viktor was just about to let go of the chain, when the volcano erupted again and Quaint was lifted several feet in the air. He stumbled for cover into the tunnel as a shower of lava hailstones rained down upon the spot where he had been standing only seconds before. Once the molten spits had cleared, he peered up through the smoke. His expression fell swiftly, for Viktor was nowhere to be seen.

There was just an empty chain, swinging in the air.

Another blast came from the volcano, and Quaint had to sprint to get out of its path as a great chunk of rock smashed down from the cave's roof. Edging slowly into the cave, Quaint recommenced his hunt. Viktor's loss would be yet another to add to Remus's tally, and the conjuror was so looking forward to collecting his payment…

Within the glassy tunnels, Quaint had been walking for some time, his head awash with images of Remus and Romulus, mixed with flashes of pain in his temples whenever he thought of Viktor. The stout German was stronger than an ox, surely he was not dead. It was not like him to go out with a whimper.

Quaint dreaded every step that he took deeper into the tunnel, as it rose gently into an incline. With still no sight nor sound of Remus and Romulus, it was becoming increasingly likely that they had fallen into the molten pit. He locked the thought away inside a strongbox at the back of his mind. Remus was not dead. He couldn't be, not when Quaint was so close to learning the truth about his father.

The conjuror stopped in his tracks as he noticed a dark shape standing in the middle of the tunnel just ahead of him. A flame of hope ignited in his stomach. Was that Viktor? Had he survived the volcano's explosion after all? Quaint made his way towards the man – slowing his pace instantly as the face came into view.

‘How in God's name—?'

‘I assure you,
mon ami
? God had nothing to do with it,' said an all-too-familiar voice.

Quaint fought the urge to vomit as it felt as though ice-cold fingernails scratched down the surface of his spine. His whole world began spinning in front of his eyes, his ears pounding, his heart thumping. He knew that voice. He knew it only too well, for it was the same one resounding in his nightmares. It was the voice of a ghost. It was the voice of—

Antoine Renard stepped out of the shadows of the tunnel, his pale face scarred with hideous gouges of flesh. ‘Greetings, Cornelius. I trust that I have your complete attention?' he said, chewing on every word. ‘This is a private matter, after all.'

Quaint felt every muscle in his body tense. ‘I must be dreaming.'

‘I'm afraid not,' said Renard. ‘I don't think your imagination is this creative.'

‘How the hell did you survive Whitehall?' demanded Quaint, referring to the last time that he had seen Renard alive. He had watched the current of the Thames drag him underwater. He had assumed that the devil had drowned, but he had not seen the body, only the tattered shreds of clothing rising to the surface. ‘How are you still alive, Renard?'

‘Let's just say that not even death can kill me,' said the Frenchman. ‘Now, as much as I would love to catch up on old times, I'm here on a little errand. You see, there's someone that's been dying to meet you, and as the Baron seems to be otherwise engaged, I've been sent to escort you to her.' He held up his metal hand and clenched the fingers. ‘Although… not without a little resistance on your part, I hope.'

‘Why can't you just die?' hissed Quaint.

‘You first,' said Renard. ‘But not until after you've heard my message. In case you're wondering how I knew that you were here, my mother was kind enough to inform me. She should be fairly uncomfortable by now, I should imagine.'

‘
Destine
?' Quaint's fists were shaking as they ached to make contact with Renard's face. ‘You're lying!' he yelled – but his words carried no weight, for he was reminded of the All-Knowing One's prophecy, that Destine would end up sacrificing herself so that he might live. ‘If you've hurt her I'll—'

‘Save your posturing, Cornelius… she and your ape-man will remain unharmed as long as you cooperate.'

Quaint scowled meaning from the Frenchman's words. ‘
Prometheus
? He's here too? Take me to them!'

‘All in good time, my dear Cornelius. The Hades Consortium has gone to great lengths to keep an eye on you over the years, remember? When we met again in Whitehall, I told you that although I may have been dead to you…
you
were most certainly not dead to me. Why is that? How is it that our paths crossed so frequently over the years, have you ever wondered?'

‘You share some of Destine's clairvoyant gifts, I know that much. Why does it matter?' And that was a very good question. Words were never Renard's weapon of choice. He preferred to inflict physical injuries. ‘Get to the point. I don't have all day.'

‘
Avec precision
,' the Frenchman said, grinning gleefully. ‘But you had better restrain that temper of yours, Cornelius, or you will never hear the truth! But I don't need to tell you. Soon you will see it with your own eyes.'

Quaint wiped sweat from his brow. The heat in the tunnel was unbearable – or was it just the company? ‘The truth? From you? All right, I'll play along. Educate me.'

‘With pleasure,' Renard said, and he meant it. ‘You never really knew what happened to your parents, did you? How they really died, I mean?'

‘They were travelling home late one night and became lost in dense fog. Their carriage left the track and it careered off a ravine.' Quaint linked his hands behind his back calmly. He wanted to see how much Renard really did know, or if it was just another one of his tricks. ‘Sorry to ruin your surprise, but I've heard this tale before.'

‘Maybe not all of it though, hmm? Did you ever consider that? As a boy, watching them bury your parents, did it ever occur to you that perhaps you had only been told what you needed to hear?' taunted Renard.

Quaint couldn't take it any more. His rage was bottled up inside him and it wanted to get out. He lashed out with his fist, but Renard took a step back, smashing his metal hand into Quaint's right shoulder. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer and the conjuror's arm went limp instantly, flopping down to his side. His shoulder was dislocated and he screamed in agony – much as he hated giving Renard the satisfaction.

‘I told you, Cornelius, I didn't come here to fight,' said the Frenchman, as he pulled a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Quaint's head. ‘But one little misstep like that again and to hell with my mistress's order!

After all this time, now you're ready for the truth. The only thing is, I'm not so sure the truth is ready for you. Almost fifty years is an awfully long time to keep a secret.'

‘Why?' wheezed Quaint, collapsing against the tunnel wall. ‘Why did the Hades Consortium want them dead?'

‘
Why
?' Renard said. ‘Ah! Now, that is an interesting tale, and if you really are hell-bent on learning the answer you'll just have to come with me.'

‘You must think me a fool!' yelled Quaint. ‘You'd shoot me in the back the moment it was turned!'

‘Lady Sirona's revelation will do you far more damage than any wound that I could inflict, trust me,' insisted Renard. ‘Very soon your past will lay unravelled at your feet, Cornelius, and I will be right there. Your death will be exquisite.'

Prometheus awoke with a start. His eyes drifted around the darkness within the prison chamber, uncertain of his surroundings. He had been unconscious when (several) Hades Consortium red-clad guards had taken him to this place. He was sitting with his back flat against the stone wall, the long hair at the back of his head sodden with sweat and the coldness made him itch. As he reached to scratch it, he realised that his wrist was restrained. The cold iron on his flesh brought him closer to consciousness. With heavy eyes he looked at his predicament and did not like what he saw. Feeling a constriction against his windpipe, he twisted his neck, finding the metal collar fastened around his throat. He tensed the chains at his wrists, half-heartedly at first, not expecting the rivets attached to the wall to give easily, which was fortunate as they did not.

‘
Bienvenue en arrière
, Aiden,' said a familiar voice to his right, and the strongman turned to see Destine looking back at him. Her face was drawn and Prometheus felt an instinct to reach out for her.