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The Romulus Equation Page 11


  ‘Help me!’ pleaded the owner of the hand, her face contorted as she was crushed against the body of another victim. ‘Help me leave this place!’

  ‘Help us,’ added another.

  ‘Help us all,’ said yet another.

  A chorus of groaning victims was the only sound that Destine could hear as grasping hands pleaded with her, smashed faces begged her, grotesque messes of limbs and deformed organs shuffled closer. Destine heard organs burst, bones snap, skulls crush, and still, those gut-wrenching pleas for mercy. Destine snapped her eyes shut, denying the voices as they tried to invade her mind. Like a barrage of chattering whispers from every side, all at once the shrieks of the dismembered bodies assaulted her ears. Destine tried to push the chorus of guttural voices away, but they kept coming back for wave upon wave of attack until the many voices became unified and focused into one, seething voice of hatred.

  Madame Destine recognised it instantly.

  ‘Surely you must know that you are outmatched, Mother. This is my domain. I claim absolute majesty over your soul, and once it is dead your physical body out there unprotected in the real world shall also die. You should have let me kill you before. Then at least I would have allowed you to beg for mercy. But now I will make sure that your agony lasts an eternity.’

  On her knees, her hands clamped to her ears, ‘Non!’ Destine screamed, her eyes streaming tears. ‘I will not submit!’

  Her voice was like an explosion, the sound shattering her eardrums, deafening her.

  No, she was not deaf.

  There was just no sound to be heard. No sound anywhere.

  Destine opened her eyes. The voices were gone. So too were the patchwork pillars of Renard’s dismembered victims. It was all a trick of the mind. Digging her fingernails into the dirt, Destine concentrated her efforts. Renard was right – this was his mind, his domain. Playing by his rules, he was destined to be victorious. She had been a fool; fighting a spiritual battle with physical weapons. Denying the pressure building within her abdomen, she focused all her conscious thought.

  A blast of energy exploded from her stomach and leapt into her hands. She held it gently, nursing it, shaping it into a sphere of white light. The sphere grew in size and mass as Destine felt her strength return.

  It was like bathing in the light of a newborn star.

  ‘What are you doing?’ screamed Renard’s voice in the ether, as the blinding sphere grew bigger still. No longer in Destine’s hands, it floated above her head, bathing her astral body in its radiance.

  ‘Stop that!’ Renard commanded.

  But Madame Destine did not stop.

  Her body was illuminated; the sphere’s light bleaching everything to white. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, Destine could see it. She was snow-blind.

  The sphere exploded to cover everything it touched, erasing it. The coarse sand beneath Destine’s feet, the blood-red rocks around her, the scorched sky – the sphere consumed the totality of Renard’s psychological realm until there was nothing left.

  Anywhere.

  White.

  Everything was white.

  ‘Destine!’ yelled Prometheus, back in the reality of the guest house room, as he ran to the fortune-teller’s side, barely getting there in time to catch her before she collapsed. He laid her gently onto the bed, lifting her veil. Her eyes were closed, and her breath shallow. Prometheus searched her face for a sign of life. ‘For God’s sake, don’t be doing this! Not after all we’ve been through! Don’t you bloody die on me, woman!’

  Destine smiled feebly. ‘Perish the thought…’

  ‘Thank the Lord!’ gasped Prometheus, bundling her up into his embrace. ‘The both of you have been like statues for hours! What the hell happened?’

  ‘She won,’ said a clipped voice behind Prometheus, and the strongman spun around to see Renard regaining consciousness, a bloodied tear rolling down his right cheek.

  At the sound of her son’s voice, Destine sat bolt upright. For a few moments they stared at each other, neither one able to speak, neither one sure what to say.

  It was Renard that broke the silence.

  ‘Félicitations, mère. And so… you may claim your prize. I will lead you directly into the heart of the Hades Consortium’s lair. It is beneath an old foundry, less than three miles from here. But we will need to leave soon, for our psychic battle has taken its toll on my body.’ He looked down at the fresh blood that seeped through the bandages. ‘My wound has reopened and I will be dead soon.’

  ‘You will not!’ stormed Destine, grasping her son by the throat. ‘I am inside your head now, Antoine, and if I do not wish it then you shall not die! Prometheus, let us depart immediately. We shall soon be at Cornelius’s side.’

  Renard afforded himself a grin. Everything was working to plan…

  Chapter XX

  The Grace of a Goddess

  Once darkness had fallen, Cornelius Quaint fired up his assembled crew in much the same way as he did his troupe of circus performers before a show. He paced along the line of men that consisted of Romulus, Viktor Dzierzanowski, the crime-lord’s second in command, Giuseppe, as well as a ragtag band of Romulus’s paid muscle. The conjuror sized them all up, his granite expression unwavering as he caught their eyes and held their gaze. A briefing on the forthcoming day’s events was given, and Quaint was confident that everyone knew their roles to play. Everyone was primed for action, and everyone would do an exemplary job. Only Viktor seemed a little confused about a few points, specifically: how on earth it was all going to work, what they would do if they were spotted, and why Quaint insisted on venturing knee-deep into insanity at the drop of a hat.

  ‘Number one, Viktor,’ Quaint said, with a finger in the air. ‘Our plan is really quite simple, but we must not invite complacency. Number two!’ exclaimed Quaint raising another finger. ‘I have no intention of us being spotted, but if so I shall do what I do best and talk us out of it. And finally, number three – shame on you, Viktor – insanity is an oft overlooked recourse. So, are there any more questions?’ Quaint did not pause long to find out. ‘Right then. Let’s go and destroy an irreplaceable work of art!’

  A little over an hour later, Quaint, Viktor, Romulus and the small band arrived at a piazza, with the Fevretti Fountain located in its direct centre. Quaint marvelled at the fountain’s design. It had been decades since he’d last seen it, and although it had aged considerably, it was still as breathtaking as ever. The towering statue upon a raised platform sculpted to show the goddess Diana in scenes involving the hunting of stags, wolves and snakes. Even though it was hundreds of years old, the cascading flow of water seemed to inject it with life. The statue was fifty-seven feet high with the circumference of the fountain’s base around fifteen yards, in turn enclosed behind a fifteen-feet high fence, its tips fashioned into lethal-looking points.

  ‘Of all the places that we needed to go, it had to be here,’ said Romulus by Quaint’s side, reading the conjuror’s mind. ‘But without it, we would have a devil of a job getting inside the Hades Consortium’s lair.’

  ‘They probably don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to blow up the Fevretti to gain entry,’ said Quaint.

  ‘Well, they did not count on us, did they?’ Viktor said, proudly.

  Romulus and Quaint shared a glance.

  ‘Now that we have come all this way, are we not going to go through with this?’ asked Giuseppe, Romulus’s second in command.

  ‘Don’t be so hasty, son!’ snapped Quaint. ‘There are still people about, and I’d rather we didn’t have any witnesses, thanks all the same.’

  ‘But the fountain’s guards lock the fence around it about ten o’clock, and that will make our job even harder!’ said Giuseppe.

  ‘It’s but a minor obstacle compared to the real problem,’ said Quaint. ‘And I want those guards to lock that gate. Only then will they know their jobs are done and they can go back to their homes safe in the knowledge that everything is secure. I’d much
rather that than have to deal with anyone who gets in our way. They’re not the real enemy.’

  ‘Yes, but it gets locked with a formidable chain,’ said Giuseppe. ‘I tried to pick it myself just for fun when I was a young boy. It’s impregnable.’

  ‘Bah!’ snorted Viktor. ‘No lock is such!’

  Quaint grinned. ‘And that’s why I brought Viktor along. I need his particular talents.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Romulus, eyeing the German. ‘I thought he was a knife thrower?’

  ‘He is, and a damn fine one. In fact, he’s the best in Eur—’

  ‘The World,’ whispered Viktor.

  ‘The World,’ said Quaint. ‘But before he earned that title, he had another one… as a plunderer of people’s possessions.’

  Viktor’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘You are a thief?’ asked Giuseppe. ‘Me too!’

  ‘It is a small world,’ Viktor muttered, looking around at the group of surly men under Romulus’s charge – scoundrels, miscreants and ne’er-do-wells, the lot of them. In this particular place, it would have been more of a challenge to find one of them who was not a thief.

  ‘So we wait until all the pedestrians are gone,’ said Quaint. ‘And in the meantime, I need to familiarise myself with the fountain again, remind myself just how big the bloody thing is. We’re going to have to make an awfully loud bang. Thankfully, I have just the thing.’ He produced two explosive sticks from inside his jacket pocket. ‘I picked these up in Egypt a few months back and I knew they’d come in handy. A bunch of mercenaries called the Clan Scarabs concocted the stuff, and if memory serves, one stick is more than enough to breach that tunnel.’

  ‘So why do you have two?’ asked Romulus.

  ‘Because we don’t want to risk anyone following us,’ said Quaint.

  ‘But that will also cut off our only escape route,’ said Romulus. ‘And what about the Consortium’s guards that might be patrolling the tunnels? My spies have never gone as far as the Hive before. They never dared. We only have a handful of men in our band and the Consortium has an army, remember?’

  ‘True, but I doubt that many are actually stationed here in Rome,’ said Quaint. ‘You said so yourself, even your own men dared not get too close, but it’s the Consortium’s reputation that’s also its biggest weakness. It’ll assume that no one knows where its little secret lair is, and it’ll also assume that even if someone did, there’s no way they’d be brave enough to come knocking. So it assumes it’s untouchable, that its reputation is deterrent enough.’

  ‘Your plan is flawed, Cornelius,’ said Romulus. ‘Remember, this place is the Hades Consortium’s main base of operations in the world, and the council of the inner stratum resides within… its most trusted and powerful members at arm’s reach – my brother being one of them. If I were the Hades Consortium, the Hive is exactly where I would station most of my troops.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Quaint considered that for only a fleeting moment. ‘But the Consortium sets itself above mere mortals like you.’

  ‘Like me? What does that mean?’

  ‘I’m rambling. Forget I said anything,’ Quaint said, hurriedly. This was neither the time nor place for a discussion about mortality – or indeed, his distinct a lack of it. ‘The Hades Consortium sits like gods amongst the clouds and dictates humanity’s downfall, playing with people’s lives as if they’re purely for its own entertainment. It’s about time we brought it back down to earth, don’t you think?’

  Chapter XXI

  The Explosive Entrance

  Clad in the thick wrap of darkness, Cornelius Quaint, Viktor, and Romulus and his small band of men, were still crouched in the bushes opposite the Fevretti Fountain. Quaint checked his fob watch. It was almost ten o’clock. There were still a few people milling about, but he hoped the piazza would be clear enough soon to put their plan into action.

  ‘Well?’ asked Viktor.

  ‘Not bad,’ replied Quaint. ‘But I’ll be a lot better once this place is clear.’

  ‘I meant “Well?” as in “Well, what do we do now?”’

  ‘We wait,’ said Quaint.

  ‘For what?’ asked Viktor.

  ‘The right moment.’

  ‘And when is that?’ asked Viktor.

  ‘Not just yet,’ said Quaint.

  ‘Will it be soon?’

  ‘How the devil should I know? I’m improvising!’

  From his position amongst the bushes, Quaint watched a single guard dressed in a pale blue shirt and black trousers approach the fence around the fountain and lock the gate. He gave it one last tug to make sure it was secure, and then tore off his peaked cap and strolled from the piazza, his shift completed.

  ‘We’ll leave it a few minutes to make sure he gets a decent distance away and then we’ll make our move,’ said Quaint. ‘Viktor? I hope you’re not too rusty.’

  ‘We shall see’ said the German. ‘Our task depends on it, eh?’

  ‘No, picking that lock is the easy part,’ said Quaint. ‘The hard part is going to be making sure I don’t end up blowing us to Kingdom Come.’

  ‘Blast you, Cornelius, must you take away my thunder?’ roared Viktor. ‘I had only just convinced myself that we might be successful in this venture, after all!’

  Quaint winked. ‘That makes two of us.’

  A few minutes later…

  ‘Come on, Viktor, this is taking too long!’ hissed Quaint as the German fiddled around with the lock to the chain that secured the gate to the fence surrounding the fountain. ‘At this rate we’ll still be here when the guard starts his shift in the morning!’

  Viktor snorted into his bushy moustache. ‘You want to give it a try, be my guest, but this is a triple-barrelled Kingsmith lock. This is very difficult. The slightest misstep and the inner latches snap into place immediately. And if that happens, mein Freund, nothing short of one of your explosion sticks will be able to open this gate!’

  Quaint patted Viktor on the back. ‘Sorry. You’re right. Look, I’ll shut up and let you get on with it. But do speak up if you think it can’t be done.’

  ‘How dare you! I did not say it could not be done, I just said it was difficult!’

  Romulus sidled up to them. ‘Will this take much longer? We do not have much time, i miei amici.’

  Quaint and Viktor shot him affronted glares. ‘We know!’

  ‘We need to get this done quickly… need to get… underground!’ Romulus suddenly grasped at his chest, his fingers clawing at his clothes.

  Quaint spun around. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Do not look at me!’ the Italian roared.

  As though hearing something upon the breeze, Quaint scoured the night sky, his eyes gradually catching the glow of the full moon behind the grey clouds.

  ‘I’m an idiot!’ he snapped.

  Viktor raised an eyebrow. ‘Now all of a sudden you come to your senses?’

  ‘And not just me,’ said Quaint, nodding at Romulus who was grinding his teeth, seemingly in pain. ‘Hurry up, Viktor. We need to get Romulus out of the moonlight.’

  ‘Moonlight? Whatever for?’

  ‘Let’s just say that it brings out the beast in him,’ Quaint replied.

  ‘Oh, I see!’ laughed Viktor. ‘I suppose he is a werewolf or something, ja?’

  Quaint paused. ‘Don’t be absurd, Viktor, there’s no such thing.’

  As Romulus doubled over Quaint rushed to support him, and as he saw the crime-lord’s pained expression, all the loose parts of his suspicious mind which swam around without solidity clicked into place.

  ‘It’s the change,’ said Quaint. ‘It’s coming, isn’t it?’

  ‘Leave me!’ Romulus flung out his arms as if he was breaking free from invisible chains, and Quaint was almost knocked off his feet. ‘The beast is eager for release.’

  ‘But you can contain it, yes?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘For now,’ seethed Romulus, biting ba
ck the pain in his guts. ‘I need to save it for Remus. He alone shall face my fury… monster against monster.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Quaint, flashing a weak smile, ‘because I don’t want to be crawling along a narrow tunnel with one eye on my front and the other on my back. Just keep your beast caged until we need him, all right?’

  Romulus straightened himself up, concentrating his composure. ‘You do your job, Cornelius… and get us into those tunnels. I shall do my part when called upon, have no fear about that. Now let us hurry.’

  ‘You heard the man, Viktor!’ said Quaint.

  Viktor returned his attention to his job. He reached into his belt of knives – one for every occasion, it seemed. The German carried them with him at all times, and even slept with one under his pillow. Thin stiletto blades, arrow-headed daggers, curved knives – the array of fearsome weapons went on. Viktor was exceptionally talented at his day job. After all, he was not renowned as the greatest knife thrower in Europe (or the World, if you asked him) for nothing – but opening a Kingsmith lock was a challenge far more daunting than catching a dagger between his teeth at twenty paces. With a thin-bladed knife in one hand, and a wedge-tipped knife in the other, he deftly navigated the Kingsmith’s mechanisms.

  The lock itself had three autonomous steel barrels inside that linked into place in sequence. If anyone tried to open the lock without a key out of sequence, the precariously balanced barrels would snap into place at once, sealing the entire chamber. Anxious sweat swarmed on Viktor’s forehead as he gingerly twisted the blades like a surgeon operating on a patient. There was a loud snap, like a twig being stepped on, and Viktor gasped, dropping his knives to the floor.

  Quaint grabbed hold of the German’s arm. ‘What? Did you trip it?’

  Viktor’s head fell into his hands, and he dragged his fingers through his wheat-coloured cropped hair. ‘Mein Gott… I… I did it.’

  ‘Did what? You mean you tripped it?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘Tripped it?’ boomed Viktor. ‘Of course I did not “trip it”!’ He pushed against the gate and the chain slipped free, falling to the ground.