Thieves Like Us 01 - Thieves Like Us (29 page)

As Jonah advanced he saw two human skulls leering up at him, eye sockets gaping like black screams in the bone, their mouths hanging open like they were laughing.

‘I knew I should’ve brought a spare pair of trousers,’ said Patch shakily.

‘Why not borrow their uniforms?’ Jonah muttered, blinking as a breastplate reflected his torchlight back in his face. ‘They don’t seem to fit them so well these days.’

‘Spartan,’ breathed Coldhardt. ‘Part of the legion who created the cipher, perhaps. Who found this place and meant to prosper by it.’

‘I thought the Spartans were big on self-denial and honour and all that,’ said Jonah. ‘How come they
were trying to get themselves eternal life?’

‘For their empire?’ Con suggested.

‘The Peloponnesian wars badly weakened Sparta,’ Coldhardt informed them. ‘By the time that cipher was written, her army was filled with helots and mercenaries. And their moral code was a little looser than the strict Spartan way of doing things.’

Motti chuckled in the darkness. ‘Gotta love those helots and mercenaries.’

‘Or maybe they didn’t send that cipher just to tell their generals how to find this place,’ said Jonah. ‘Maybe they wanted them to send soldiers and destroy it, but the message never got through.’

‘There’s a door here,’ Con reported, shining her torch into a shallow alcove in the cave wall beside the skeletons. ‘Look.’

Jonah stood back to allow Coldhardt and Motti to investigate. Their torches showed a high, narrow recessed panel of carved stone, set into the rock. It was topped by a kind of reed matting.

‘What’s that?’ Tye whispered as her torch played over it.

‘In some Egyptian houses, closing the doors on rushes helped keep them closed.’ Coldhardt examined the door carefully. ‘But this is a fake. A false door – like those you find in tombs of the first dynasty. They were set in the west, left so that the deceased could pass from the living world to the dead land.’

‘
Catena Mundi
again,’ Tye muttered under her breath. ‘Could be a real door behind it.’

‘Yeah, but this door is set East,’ Motti pointed out, taking a closer look for himself. ‘And why is there a
heap of bones outside it?’

‘To put people off entering?’ Jonah suggested. ‘Works for me.’

‘It could be another trap,’ said Con.

‘Must be.’ In the thick silence you could practically hear the workings of Motti’s mind. ‘Some kind of poison on the handle maybe, absorbed through the skin? Nah, the victims dropped right outside the door. If it was poison they’d have had time to wander. And these rushes … at the base, it’s like they’ve been singed or something.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘It’s gotta be the recess in the door. The stone around it’s blackened, just like outside when I blew off some of that plaster.’

Coldhardt studied the recess. ‘There’s evidence of several layers having been built into this panel.’

‘That could be it.’ Motti gently stroked the door. ‘What if the panel’s made of layer upon layer of something volatile? A kind of paste mixed in with gunpowder – permanganate maybe, I dunno …the elements mixed in an exact quantity and left to harden. Then when enough force is used on the door …’

‘The panel ignites,’ Coldhardt concluded. ‘A lethal, carefully measured blast.’

‘The rest of the panel burns away and melts a protective lining – leaving another exploding panel exposed for when the next poor son of a bitch comes knocking.’

‘You’re either a genius, Motti, or totally paranoid,’ said Jonah, shaking his head.

‘Sounds a bit elaborate,’ Con agreed. ‘But I suppose it fits the facts.’

‘Why not try knocking? Then we’ll see how
elaborate it is.’

‘That’s exactly what it is,’ said Coldhardt. ‘An elaborate challenge. A false focus to keep us occupied.’

Patch thought he understood. ‘You mean, they
want
us to think that this is the way inside? That because it’s so tough to get past, it’s got to be the entrance?’

Tye’s voice sounded quietly from the darkness. ‘So where’s the real entrance? I’ve searched every inch of this place.’

‘Including the floor?’ asked Jonah with sudden inspiration.

‘Uh-huh. Only thing in here besides those old bones, us and the dark is this big chunk of rock with copper handles. I can’t shift it.’

‘Limestone, most probably,’ mused Coldhardt. ‘Used for polishing the rock floors, to make them smooth.’

Patch scraped his trainers on the floor. ‘It’s not that smooth in here.’

‘Maybe it was the Spartans’ job and they sucked at it,’ said Motti. ‘That’s why they got
fired
.’

‘Not funny,’ muttered Con.

Tye shone her torch on the block of limestone. One by one, every other beam fell upon it too.

‘This is an antechamber – it has to lead somewhere.’ Coldhardt slipped his fingers into one of the handles, gauging the stone’s weight. ‘The real entrance must be linked to this block.’

‘We’ll check it out,’ said Motti. ‘No saying what’s beneath it. Tye, how about a pre-emptive
pouin
to offset any
wangas
.’

‘Er, and in English?’ said Jonah.

‘Creepy voodoo stuff,’ Tye translated, crossing to join them. ‘A wanga is a powerful negative charm. A pouin’s a counter-spell – it can break a wanga.’

‘But Ophiuchus is nothing to do with voodoo,’ he protested.

‘We don’t know what’s been left for us here,’ said Coldhardt quietly. ‘Voodoo’s as old as Africa. Its faith and magics can form a powerful defence.’

‘So we believe in magic now?’

‘If it helps, you can think of magic as technology yet to be understood,’ said Coldhardt.

‘Go on, Tye,’ said Con quietly.

‘Just don’t watch me doing the freaky dance, ’K?’ A cold tingle went through Jonah as he heard her start to move and sway around the block of limestone, her feet scraping and thumping with a slow, steady rhythm that matched her breathing. She began to speak – old Creole words, a litany of strange-sounding syllables. It might have been funny if the atmosphere in the cave hadn’t suddenly turned so cold. Jonah turned to see if there was any light coming from outside, but the sun must have set completely now. The entrance might as well have been closed up again. Keep it a private party.

Tye was speaking faster now, and Motti was starting to join in on certain words. Jonah caught blurs of movement in the inky dark, her arms lashing out, her neck twisting at an unnatural angle as the ritual built, but all the time her breathing and the stomp of her feet kept the same stumbling yet steady rhythm.

‘It’s freezing in here,’ Patch whispered quietly, and
Jonah nodded with feeling.

Suddenly Tye stopped. For a few seconds they could hear nothing but her breathing and shivering. When no one moved to help her, Jonah took a step forward to see if she was OK. But she shook her head and retreated a few paces to stand alone, bringing herself back down.

Motti had started to inspect the block now. ‘The handles are clean. No sign of a mechanism beneath, but we’ll take it slow. Jonah, you wanna help me?’

Not “geek” then. Finally, he was just plain Jonah! He half-smiled. Maybe he was going up in the world.

Carefully, they gripped a handle each and strained to lift the stone block. It weighed a ton – they could barely shift it. ‘This ain’t no ordinary cleaning block. It’s way too heavy,’ Motti panted. ‘Definitely bogus. Someone give us a hand here?’

Con came over, her slim fingers pressing against Jonah’s as she lent her weight. The stone budged a fraction.

‘It’s coming,’ Jonah gasped.

Patch shone his torch on the stone, and swore. ‘It ain’t the only thing!’

Jonah saw large brown scuttling shapes emerge from beneath the block.

Scorpions.

He let go of the block and scrambled back, almost knocking Tye flying. Con calmly kicked one of the creatures into the bones by the false door. Motti used his torch as a pestle, using the end to grind another of the scorpions into the ground. One more emerged from beneath the rock, running with horrible speed,
tail flexing, pincers raised. Coldhardt stamped down his heel, cracking the creature’s carapace. It writhed for a few seconds, then lay still.

Jonah stared in the tense aftermath, cringing, but nothing else stirred from beneath the rock. ‘So …so were those things magic scorpions or something?’

‘Magic scorpions?’ In the torchlight he saw Motti look at him like he was nuts. ‘Shit, man, they was just living under the rock. You got some weird ideas.’

‘
I’ve
got some weird ideas,’ Jonah muttered.

Patch swept his torch around, then stopped. ‘Uh … Jonah. You’ve got a scorpion on your leg.’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘He’s right,’ said Tye quietly. ‘Hold still.’

Jonah chanced a glance down. Jesus Christ, there it was. The fat brown scorpion had hooked hold of his jeans just below the knee.

‘Get it off,’ he whispered. ‘Please, get it off, get it off.’

Tye reached out with the muddy toe of her boot. The scorpion crawled a little higher, its hard brown body glinting in the torchlight.

Then she kicked out, knocked it from his shin. Patch followed it with his torch as it slunk off into the shadows.

Jonah swallowed hard. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Tye. ‘You really hate those things?’

He smiled weakly. ‘Them and spiders.’

‘And snakes,’ Motti added.

‘They’re the real reason I sleep with the lights on,’ Jonah joked, but Tye didn’t react.

‘Let us proceed,’ said Coldhardt, gripping one of the copper handles. Con and Motti took the other and together they dragged the weighted stone millimetre by millimetre across the floor.

‘There’s a hole underneath,’ whispered Patch.

Tye went to see. ‘Wow, and it’s warm down there.’

‘You three, take over,’ said Coldhardt. ‘We’ll move it in shifts.’

‘It’s OK, Jonah,’ said Tye as she gripped the handle. ‘No more of your little friends.’

Jonah took the other handle with Patch, and together they put everything they had into budging the stone. Alternating with the others in short, hard shifts, whoever wasn’t heaving at the weight was training torches below, checking for traps.

‘Whatever treasure’s kept down there,’ Patch panted, leaning on the stubborn stone, ‘it had better not be heavy. I’m knackered.’

‘We can get through it now,’ said Coldhardt. ‘Though it’ll be tight. It’s a shallow drop, two metres maybe, into what I imagine is a kind of access tunnel.’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Tye. ‘We’re leaving all the doors open. If Samraj gets here early she can just breeze right in.’

‘I take your point. Motti, seal up the entrance.’ He was already lowering himself into the hole. ‘Only do be certain we can open it again.’

‘Yeah, that thought did occur to me.’ Motti walked back down the tunnel. Jonah decided to give him a hand, still uncomfortably aware of the scorpion in the shadows somewhere behind him.

Motti came to a sudden stop. ‘Well, here’s a hell of a thing.’

‘What is it?’ But even as Jonah spoke he saw for himself.

The stone was already back standing. The maw had closed, sealing them all inside.

‘Probably a safety feature thrown in by the architects,’ said Motti, studying the ancient mechanism. ‘The counterweight drags the slab back up by itself after a time delay, to keep people out.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jonah. ‘Or in.’

Tye swung herself carefully through the hole in the cavern floor and landed safely on warm, dank rock. Then she hurried over to join Coldhardt, Patch and Con in front of the doorway at the tunnel’s end. The small effort left her skin beaded with sweat.

‘It’s like a sauna down here,’ she muttered.

‘Heat’s being generated from deep underground,’ said Coldhardt. ‘Plate tectonics. The whole region lies on an active crustal plate margin.’

‘Say again?’

‘Earthquakes and volcanoes,’ Con explained.

‘The only volcanoes in Macedonia are long since extinct,’ Coldhardt went on. ‘We should be safe enough.’

Tye nodded gloomily. ‘Safe’ didn’t feel like a word you could use in this dark, cramped, suffocating space.

‘Door’s not locked,’ Patch reported. ‘Looks straightforward. Hidden catch here at the side. Ought to just swing open.’

‘No sign of booby traps?’

‘Can’t find any. Doesn’t mean they ain’t there, though. It’s like them swords in Lima –’

‘Would you shut up about Lima?’ muttered Jonah.

Suddenly, Motti’s voice floated along the tunnel. ‘Everything OK down there?’

‘Wait up there, you two, while Patch opens an inner door,’ Coldhardt commanded. ‘Con, Tye – stay as flat as you can against the walls.’

Tye pinned herself back against the warm, sweaty rock, angled her knees away – then frowned to find Patch was staring unashamedly at her chest.

‘Keep looking and I’ll show you a
real
booby trap,’ she hissed in warning.

Patch shut his eyes and quickly pressed down on the catch. With a sucking, scraping sound the door opened, the heavy slab bumping against her hip.

‘Anything?’ Patch asked nervously.

‘Nothing,’ said Con, starting forward.

Just then a two-headed axe swung down vertically into the entrance. Con was almost impaled on the curved, vicious blades. They stopped short millimetres from her ribs.

‘Well, nothing much, yes?’ she added shakily.

Coldhardt placed his hand almost tenderly on her shoulder. ‘Move when I tell you to move,’ he whispered, moving cautiously past the axe and through the doorway. ‘Tye, get the others while I scout ahead. Wait here until I say.’

‘All right you two, get down here,’ she called, shining her light up the shaft. Her voice sounded strangely dead with no echo. ‘Careful as you go.’

Soon Motti and Jonah had joined them at the threshold.

‘Is it safe to go on?’ Con called to Coldhardt, her hand still caressing the shoulder where he’d touched her.

‘Enter,’ Coldhardt called back, from somewhere far ahead. ‘But be careful where you stand.’

‘Traps?’ Patch asked nervously.

‘No. I think it’s snake-root.’

Tye exchanged some apprehensive looks with the others and crossed through to the tunnel beyond. The floor sloped down steeply at first, then levelled out. The air was stale and fetid, the heat oppressive. Her lungs seemed to crackle with each breath.