Dark Terrors 3 (47 page)

‘I’ll have to verify your appointment with Mr Bernardier. Just a formality.’ She smiled and raised the telephone receiver.

He loved this part. Taking a chance. Out at the edge. He could not afford to let her find out about Bernardier, not at this stage of the game. He had no supernatural powers here, only natural ones in this earthbound body, but those would be enough. Enough to fog her senses and divert the call in her brain, to make her hear another voice.

Watching him, she mechanically punched out random digits and listened. Her mouth opened, but she did not speak. He concentrated harder. Searching her for details he found the usual human pain - aching loneliness and lack of fulfilment, but also - what was this? - Miles, not just a work colleague but a lover. Miles was sleeping with her. He probed deeper into her mind. She was not happy with the arrangement, not happy at all. He was married. Not much of a lover, either. She hadn’t lost very much, then. He released her. She swayed back a little, looked flustered, lowered the receiver, aware of a vague conversation in her head, unaware of the dead line. She smiled to cover her confusion.

‘That all seems to be in order, Mr Morrison. When would you like to examine the casket?’

‘How about right now?’ he suggested.

* * * *

3. The Unveiling of the Secret

‘I’m sure you understand the need for strict security in this matter,’ she said, allowing a total stranger to follow her into the maze of basement corridors.

‘But of course,’ he agreed, sniffing the air and scenting the proximity of the treasure, barely able to contain his excitement, ‘we wouldn’t want just anyone walking in here.’

Amy led the way to a further green-walled passage separated from the main building by two sets of steel doors and an electronic swipe-code. ‘We have to bring items from this section up personally,’ she explained. ‘They can’t be trusted to assistants, and they’re not allowed to leave our sight until they’re returned.’

Beyond the doors, a series of white-walled rooms housed large square drawers with brass handles, like a morgue. Amy checked the reference number on her requisition sheet and searched the containers.

‘It’s over here,’ he said, lifting the index number from her mind and matching it to a nearby drawer.

Amy looked at him oddly. ‘How do you know?’ she asked, moving past him to check. It was the right drawer. She took a key from her pocket and slipped it into the lock. The moisture-pocked bag inside gave no clue to its contents. ‘You’re never sure what’s best with a find like this,’ she said, carefully removing the bag. ‘This plastic is supposed to “breathe” and sustain a natural moisture equilibrium. We could have placed it in a dry environment, but if the casket contains paper materials they could be ruined.’

He was barely listening to her. The presence of the casket had enveloped and overwhelmed his senses. It was less than three feet from him, but he could not take it from her here. There were other technicians in the secure area. He could hear their bodyweight shifting past him in the nearby rooms. Back in the corridor he had an insane thought, that he could snatch the thing from her and escape from the building with it beneath his arm. He would have to wait until he was beyond the secure area. Another problem; in this body, he could not run. Morrison had sustained a football injury that had left him with damaged tendons in his left leg. Besides, mere escape lacked dignity. He wanted them to see what they had found. Better to wait until he was alone with Amy in the lab, after the other assistants had gone for the night. It would be foolish to screw up now, for the sake of a few hours.

‘It’ll be some time before we reach the interior of the
package,’ said Amy. ‘It might be rather boring for you, but you can stay and help me if you want.’

‘Just tell me what to do,’ smiled Spanky, removing his jacket.

* * * *

By six o’clock they had succeeded in removing the outer straw wrappers and had sectioned them for dating. The oilskin, too, had been photographed at every stage, and the whole process documented. It was laborious, but necessary if mistakes were to be prevented. Amy’s chaotic blonde hair had fallen into her eyes so often that she had bunched it back with a rubber band. She was hunched so far over the brilliantly illuminated desktop that she had developed a crick in her neck. A hot wire of pain scratched across the top of her shoulderblades as she sat up.

‘Here, let me give you a massage. Tip your chair back.’ Spanky lowered broad hands to her neck and pressed his thumbs down in a smooth circular motion.

‘You read my mind. Thanks, that feels good.’ She sat further back and closed her eyes. Another assistant scuttled from the room. ‘At least we’ve only one layer to go, some kind of tissue.’

‘Cloth-papers from Rasputin’s apartment,’ he said absently. ‘He kept the casket out of the light and bound in calico.’

‘You must be a really big authority on this,’ she murmured, succumbing to the motion of his hands.

‘Oh, you have no idea how big.’

‘Pieces of hidden history . . .’

‘Crossing-points of the past. Everything holds something different within. The truth becomes fabulous, and fables hold truth.’ His voice had dropped to a sea-murmur. Fingers slipping over her throat.

‘You soon start to see the attraction. ..’

‘Attraction?’ His hands smoothed and smoothed. The nape of her neck tingled, a warm glow spreading to the top of her breasts. She forced herself to concentrate.

‘Of - archaeology.’

‘Ah, of course.’

They were alone in the laboratory. The last assistant had quietly closed the door behind her.

‘Right.’ He swiftly removed his hands and shifted her chair-back to an upright position once more. ‘Let’s do it.’

She looked wide-eyed at him. ‘Here?’

He gestured at the table-top. ‘The last layer. Come on.’

Even with tweezers and generous smears of lubricant, the greased wrapping proved difficult to remove, and flapped back on to the casket lid. Amy peered through the illuminated magnifier. ‘I think I’ve got it this time.’ She gripped the tweezers more tightly.

Twined ribbons of inlaid gold surrounded an intricate frieze of dancing mythological figures. You could see no detail from studying the russet splodges on the lid, but Spanky knew that the ancient gods lay beneath a layer of grime, longing for the chance to shine again. There had been many containers across the centuries for the treasure held inside, but this was the best casket so far. Ten inches by six, and six deep, it sat on the formica-topped desk awaiting inspection, a spectacular relic from a forgotten world. They had removed soil from a tiny gold-rimmed keyhole with a water-pic. The rest of the wrapping was easier to remove. As it slid away, Amy cautiously wiped a finger across the lid, and the precious figures revealed themselves.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.

‘And we can open it.’ Spanky opened the top button of his shirt and removed a slender gold key from around his neck. He could feel his fingers trembling in anticipation. She stared at him, then at the filigreed key. What did he mean?

‘I can unlock the casket, Amy.’ He could not resist sounding boastful.

‘Where did you get that?’ She reached up to touch the key, then withdrew her hand, as if wary of being scalded.

‘It’s been in my possession for many, many years.’

The casket was behind her. She positioned herself before it protectively. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I can’t let you open it.’

‘Why not?’

‘This is of historical importance. A senior member of staff must be present.’

‘Then let’s send for Mr Bernardier.’ If you don’t mind summoning a mud-caked headless corpse, he thought, smiling grimly. The director had never known what hit him. A pity, that. Spanky enjoyed taking credit for his work.

‘You know exactly what’s inside the box, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do,’ he answered. She was a smart girl. There was no more need for subterfuge now that he was so close to his goal. ‘I’ve always known.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me.’ She could feel her unease growing by the second. The museum was closed for the night. Only a few of the research departments scattered in the building’s cul-de-sac corridors would still be inhabited by lingering personnel.

‘All right. Have a seat.’ Outside, the warm weather had finally broken and it was starting to rain. ‘Listen carefully, and don’t question anything I have to say.’

Sensing the danger she was in, Amy dropped to the chair.

‘I am not like you. Not - human. I am
Spancialosophus Lacrimosa.
If you find it easier, you can call me Spanky. God had seven fallen angels. Seven daemons. Seven rogue creatures of inspiration and vengeance, banned from Heaven for refusing to worship Man. Damned to a watery limbo existence between Earth and Paradise. Only allowed to visit Earth in the encumbrance of a mortal shell, to be entered upon the invitation of the owner. But I am not like my fellow daemons. I have little of their boundless patience. I am not content to wait for ever, until God, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, sees fit to readmit us to his Kingdom. And now there is a chance to do more than just return to grace. There is a chance to rule for all eternity. It’s all to do with the box.’

Amy snapped around to check that the casket was still there
beside her in its nest of wet straw. What if this lunatic tried to snatch it? How would she ever stop him?

‘You want to see inside? Take a look.’ He unlooped the key from his neck and handed it to her, savouring the moment. ‘Do it,’ he commanded.

The key was so worn and delicate that she was frightened of breaking it in the lock. To her surprise it turned easily. The lubricant and the water-pic must have loosened the mechanism. And of course, it had been built by Fabergé. With trembling fingers, she raised the lid. The interior was completely dry. Beneath several layers of fine grey silk were—

‘Iron rings. Seven of them. One for each of us. The rings of Cain. Forged by Adam’s first son. How is your knowledge of the Bible?’ He grinned at her, inching closer to the opened casket, holding out his hand for the return of the golden key.

‘Let me refresh your memory. Cain was a tiller of the ground, driven from the Earth by God for slaying his brother Abel. Doomed to become a fugitive and a vagabond. Cain tried to atone for his sin by appealing to us, God’s other fallen children. He brought us gifts, the rings he forged from the ore beneath his feet. But just as we despised Adam, so we despised his offspring. We refused his offer, and Cain threw the rings back into the earth.

‘It took many centuries for us to truly understand the power of the rings. You see, if we had accepted them, we would have been restored to Paradise. That was Cain’s gift to us, and we turned it down. It was only by accident that I discovered the truth. But by then, the rings were lost. I’ve tracked them through time and across the world. Now I’ve been here too damned long. I can’t get back to my home without them. The others won’t let me in empty-handed.’

Obviously the man was crazy. Amy knew that the safest solution to her dilemma was to play along until she could find a way to summon help. ‘Is that what you want, to be restored to Paradise?’ she asked.

‘Of course. Wouldn’t you?’ Spanky drew a step nearer.
‘Only this time, we’ll have the element of surprise on our side.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we wish to rule, obviously. God has had everything his way for
far
too long. You have no idea how boring he has made the celestial heavens. We’ll change all that. You wait, you’ll feel the effects all the way down here. It’ll be like having the worst neighbours in the universe living right overhead.’

‘You’re mad.’ She hadn’t meant to say it. The words had just slipped out. He laughed at her.