The Romulus Equation Page 17

  Dead.

  Alive.

  Lost.

  Found.

  Quaint turned to look at Destine. The revelation had sapped all the strength from his bones and his mouth fell open, barely able to function. ‘Did… did you know?’

  ‘No, Cornelius, I swear!’ cried Destine. ‘I knew nothing of this! I am as shocked as you, my sweet.’

  ‘Somehow,’ Quaint mumbled, ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Cornelius… listen to me! We shall fix this. Together. You and I. We shall fix this!’

  ‘As much as I hate to break up this tender moment… can we get back to business?’ asked Renard. ‘When can I kill him, Lady Sirona.’

  ‘Bring him to me!’ hissed Sirona. ‘Let me lay my hands upon him.’

  Quaint’s head lolled from side to side, his ears unable to piece together where all the noise was coming from. He had lost all sense of gravity. Renard lifted him clumsily to his feet, slamming him against one of the stone pillars supporting the ceiling. He clamped his metal hand onto Quaint’s scalpskull and pushed him down onto his knees. Quaint’s eyes narrowed as the shapes before him formed themselves into a woman’s face. He frowned in confusion, his addled brain trying to work out why she looked so familiar.

  ‘I… I know you,’ His voice was like a child’s.

  ‘Yes, my son.’ Reaching out her hand, Sirona placed it onto Quaint’s chest as her fingertips began to glow. ‘Mummy’s here.’

  Quaint’s body began to convulse, beams of light spouting from his open mouth, a pulsating glow spreading across his chest to his dislocated shoulder, pumping the muscles and bones with Sirona’s energy. He was helpless to resist and Sirona had every intention of making the most of her captive audience.

  ‘My darling boy,’ she said, stroking his silver-white hair, pulling the wayward curls from the river of sweat on his forehead, ‘I have such wonderful news. Our family will be made whole again very soon. Mother… son… and granddaughter reunited at last.’

  Destine lifted her head from her hands. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Tell her, Antoine,’ ordered Sirona.

  Hovering an inch from Quaint’s back, with one eye on the wavering conjuror and one eye on Destine’s beleaguered face, he said, ‘You remember the night that I killed his wife, Mother?’

  ‘Margarite?’ gasped Destine, seeing Quaint’s eyelids flicker as the name was spoken. ‘I remember, you monster! It was that night when you cruelly butchered Margarite that I knew that you were lost to me… just as Cornelius’s unborn child was lost to him when you took his wife’s life.’

  ‘Yes… only I didn’t.’

  Destine shook her head, unable to understand his meaning. ‘I… I saw her die in Cornelius’s arms. I saw what you did to her. And I saw what it did to Cornelius too. From that moment on, he swore to destroy you.’

  ‘And look how that turned out, eh?’ said Renard, holding his metal hand like an axe behind Quaint’s head. ‘But, no, I wasn’t talking about her… I was talking about the child’.

  ‘Child? There was no child!’ said Destine. ‘We only learned that Margarite was pregnant after she had died… after the—’

  ‘After the Quaint family doctor bundled her corpse into the back of a wagon and took her off to the mortuary, yes, I know,’ said Renard. ‘Only he didn’t make it that far, I’m afraid. The Hades Consortium took charge of her… and the child inside her.’

  ‘Did you really think that I would sacrifice my grandchild as well as my son?’ said Sirona, channelling yet more energy into Quaint’s body, the most that she had ever used before, every last ounce of it. ‘My superiors permitted my intervention, and although she was several months premature, our skilled medics allowed her to grow into a normal, happy little girl.’

  ‘Girl?’ said Destine. ‘Cornelius has a…’

  ‘A daughter, yes,’ confirmed Sirona. ‘Constance, we named her… and she is hardly a little girl any more. She has grown into quite a spirited young woman, almost thirty years old by now. Thankfully, she seems to share none of her father’s bad habits.’

  ‘Where is she?’ demanded Destine. ‘Have you tainted her mind as you did to Antoine?’

  ‘No… no, I have consciously kept Constance well away from the dealings of the Hades Consortium,’ said Sirona. ‘I do not wish her to be… tainted, as you say. She is safe and well, and a long way from this place. A long way from anywhere, in fact.’

  As Sirona’s attention seemed to fade, so too did her energy, and Quaint snapped awake, a million thoughts rushing around in his head, a million words to say, a million lies to deny, a million truths to accept – but he could still not utter a single one. From somewhere amidst the mire of his mind, he found the strength to lift his arm, his fingers opening and closing, grasping for something as his eyes became fixed upon Sirona. Unbelievably… he managed to speak:

  ‘Con… stance…?’

  ‘He is not fully cleansed, my Lady!’ yelled Renard, grabbing hold of Quaint’s skull once more. ‘He needs more. Give him some more! Purge his mind of everything!’

  ‘Stay away from him, you witch!’ yelled Prometheus, yanking on his chains, but it was pointless. Even with all his might he could not free himself. ‘If you hurt him… if you muck with his head… I swear, not even this prison will stop me from killing you.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt him… I’m going to make him better!’ Sirona laughed; a laugh that quickly escalated into a rasping hack. ‘The Hades Consortium does not bow down to threats, oaf! You are in a cage where you belong, and there is no one left to stop me.’

  ‘I hate to disagree,’ said the guard pushing Sirona’s wheelchair, ‘but I think you might have miscounted.’ He threw back his crimson hood to reveal the moustachioed face of Viktor Dzierzanowski, and he was holding a knife to the old woman’s throat. ‘Let my friend go or I will open you up right here and now.’

  ‘Who is this buffoon?’ asked Renard, as he gripped Quaint’s skull tighter. ‘I’ll tell you, whoever you are… release my mistress or I will make Cornelius’s eyes pop out. And they really will pop, by the way. That’s the actual sound they’ll make. It’s really quite extraordinary, trust me – I’ve done it before.’

  ‘I must insist that you step away from my friend.’ Viktor flashed a beaming smile as he pushed his knife deeper into Sirona’s neck. A fine seam of blood seeped onto the blade. ‘And I have done this before too.’

  ‘Do as he says!’ commanded Sirona.

  Renard curled his lips. ‘My Lady?’

  ‘Just do it, Renard! Release my son, for all the good it will do him. He is a long way from free yet. This is the Hive, remember? There is no escape.’

  Renard released his grip and Quaint collapsed, tasting dirt as his face slammed onto the ground.

  ‘Gut! And now, metal-hand, you will give me your gun,’ Viktor ordered Renard, who reluctantly did so. Without looking, Viktor pointed the gun at Prometheus and fired a shot. The chain fixing Prometheus to the stone wall shattered. ‘You must be Prometheus,’ the knife thrower said to the strongman. ‘I have heard a lot about you.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same, mate,’ muttered Prometheus. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now you’ll die,’ sneered Renard. ‘We may be underground but this is still a Hades Consortium base! Do you not think those gunshots will bring every guard in this damned place right—’ He was cut off as the prison chamber shook violently…

  ‘Unless they have more important matters to attend to,’ said Viktor. ‘You Hades types might be big on brains, but when it comes to picking a location for your secret headquarters, on top of a volcano was not the smartest of choices, I think.’

  ‘The volcano?’ baulked Renard. ‘It has been dormant for decades!’

  ‘Not any more,’ said Viktor. ‘Now it is a very big bear with a very sore head… and not to mention a fiery temper!’

  As if to back up the German’s words, the sound of crumbling masonry filled the air as blankets of dust fell fr
om the prison chamber’s roof, cracks forming in the stone pillars supporting it. As the chamber shifted on its foundations, the iron bars of Prometheus’s cell bent enough for him to squeeze his large mass through them. In a flash, he was free and he took a step over to Destine’s cell. His face fixed with rage, Prometheus ripped the inch-thick bars from their moorings and tore at the chains around Destine’s wrists and ankles, setting her free.

  ‘Merci, mon ami,’ she said, before falling to her knees at Quaint’s side. ‘My sweet, speak to me!’ Saliva coated Quaint’s lips, and his eyes took an age to meet the fortune-teller’s. Destine shot a look to Viktor. ‘Monsieur Dzierzanowski, I am pleased to see that you received my psychic message. Thank you for the timely rescue, but we must leave this place post haste. Tell me, have you an exit strategy?’

  ‘Not really,’ admitted Viktor. ‘Unless you fancy meeting a battalion of guards on the way? When the volcano erupted earlier, the blast blew me fifty feet into the air. I retraced my steps through the tunnels and there were guards all over this facility, which is how I managed to gain this attire. The eruption is causing havoc. If we are cautious, we can avoid the headless chickens and make our escape. But we may need to engage any resistance en route,’ said Viktor, slapping Prometheus’s chest. ‘Game for a little heroic pugilism, mein Freund?’

  ‘Always,’ grinned Prometheus.

  ‘I like you already,’ beamed Viktor.

  ‘You are fools!’ snapped Sirona. ‘Do you really think you can just walk out of here? There are guards stationed throughout this entire facility, no matter what disruption the volcano is causing. Tell them, Antoine!’ She turned to the spot where Renard had stood – had being the operative word. ‘Damn that coward!’

  As Destine caressed her hands through Quaint’s messy curls, Viktor and Prometheus closed in on Sirona’s wheelchair.

  ‘What… what are you going to do to me?’ she gasped. ‘You can’t kill me!’

  ‘Why not? You’re already dead,’ growled Prometheus, cracking his knuckles. ‘So what do you think we should do with her, mate?’

  ‘I know what I would like to do,’ Viktor replied. ‘But it is up to Cornelius.’

  Just as Viktor looked down at Quaint, the prison chamber shook again and the shockwave sent several of the stone pillars crashing down like a child’s toy bricks. A massive crack appeared in the chamber’s ceiling.

  ‘This place is going to come down any minute,’ said Prometheus, coughing through the dust that rained down through the crack in the ceiling. ‘Whatever we’re planning on doing with this old hag, we’d best do it quick!’

  Viktor felt a nervous void fill his generously proportioned stomach as he looked up at the expanding fracture above his head. He followed the crack’s path as it snaked across the ceiling… directly above Quaint and Destine’s position. ‘Mein Gott!’

  Quaint looked up just in time. Acting with a quicksilver mind, he pushed Destine out of the way and she landed in Prometheus’s arms just before the prison chamber’s ceiling collapsed.

  Once the thick dust had settled, the conjuror realised that he was cut off…

  Chapter XXXIV

  The Melting Pot

  Quaint scrabbled at the fallen rocks, and through a tiny gap he could just about see through to the other side of the chamber.

  ‘Get yourselves out of there before the whole place comes down!’ he yelled.

  ‘But what about you, my sweet?’ called Destine. ‘How will you get out?’

  ‘The same way I came in,’ he said, wiping dust from his eyes on his tattered sleeve. ‘There’s a shaft that leads right into the main cave. If I can reach it before the volcano blows, I’ll meet you topside.’

  Destine squeezed her fingers through the gap, clutching Quaint’s hand, not wanting to let it go. ‘Hurry.’

  ‘I’ll have to,’ said Quaint.

  ‘But what about her?’ asked Viktor, gesturing to Sirona. ‘What shall we do with your mother?’

  ‘My mother is dead,’ said Quaint. ‘That old sow in the chair is a stranger to me.’

  With that, Cornelius Quaint was gone.

  On the other side of the fallen rocks, Prometheus entered one of the prison cells and pulled out the heavy chains that had until recently bound him to the wall.

  ‘Seeing as you love this place so much, why don’t you get comfy,’ he said to Sirona, wrapping the chains around the wheelchair and through the bars of the cell. ‘This close to hell, at least you won’t have a long trip!’

  Destine strode over and faced Elizabeth Quaint. ‘Shame on you, for the pain you have caused Cornelius!’ She slapped the old woman across the face, feeling immensely pleased with herself.

  Prometheus pulled her away and gathered her into his embrace. The fortune-teller wept, burying her head into his broad chest. ‘He’ll bounce back, you know,’ he told her. ‘This is Cornelius flipping Quaint we’re talking about. He’s made it through worse.’

  ‘I pray that you are right, Aiden,’ Destine said, smearing her tears on the strongman’s lapel. ‘As close to Cornelius’s heart as I am, I felt only a fraction of the pain within it… and I honestly do not know if he will ever recover.’

  Viktor tapped Prometheus on the shoulder. ‘Not to intrude, but might I remind you of the order of business? Volcano, imminent eruption, us getting out of here, ja?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ beamed Prometheus. ‘Sorry, but who are you again?’

  ‘My name is Viktor. Viktor Dzierzanowski. As in Zee-Er-Zan-Offski.’

  Prometheus sized him up and down. ‘So how did you get mixed up in all this?’

  ‘I am an old friend of Cornelius,’ replied Viktor.

  ‘Oh,’ nodded Prometheus. ‘That explains everything.’

  Pushing all that he had learned to the back of his mind, Quaint supplanted it with something more pressing: namely, his escape. Whatever the reasons motivating his mother’s deception, he needed to face them on altogether more stable ground. But his thoughts rebelled against it, forcing him to confront them. He was a grown man, he told himself, and he could accept the truth. After all, he had been pursuing it all his life. Now that he had come upon it, he could not ignore it. But as much of a grown man as he was, he was something more besides. He was a son that had lost his mother, only to find her again, only to wish that he had not. And he was a father. That was a strange feeling in itself. Constance. The name echoed in his head. He began to picture what she might look like but then – ‘No!’ he roared. He couldn’t stop to think about any of that now. First he had to pull off another miracle and get out of this place, and only once he was safe could he afford to even think about what he was going to do with the knowledge that he had acquired.

  As he skidded down the steep tunnel from the Consortium’s prison, he realised that it was not just his rapid descent that was making him sweat. The heat had increased tremendously, and the stench of sulphur was scorching his lungs. He dearly wished to catch his breath, but he could feel the tunnel walls shaking and that meant only one thing. Trouble was brewing, and as he retraced his steps back towards the bubbling sea of lava, it felt as if he was running into hell itself. Despite being in a daze at the time, he recalled Viktor’s explanation of how he had survived the volcano’s blast earlier, and although Quaint was none too keen to experience it for himself, he prayed that the chain attached to the structure at the top of the pit was still there. He would have to be quick about it, though, because the volcano was building up to something far bigger than the minor eruptions felt so far.

  At the end of the tunnel, eventually the exit became clear – that is to say, it was anything but. Several large boulders had fallen from above, blocking the way through completely.

  ‘Oh, this is just marvellous,’ groaned Quaint, leaning against the tunnel’s wall. He leapt immediately away from it with an undignified yelp. He licked his fingertip and touched it gingerly to the wall. It hissed like a lit match in a bucket of water. ‘This place is like an oven… and if I’
m not careful, I’m going to be Sunday roast!’

  He looked at the rocks blocking his exit. There was no other way. He had to try to shift them, even if only enough for him to squeeze himself through. He was thankful that his dislocated shoulder had been healed by the old witch claiming to be his mother. He wasn’t going to knock it, as right at that moment he was relying on it. It happened to be the only thing in his favour. Tearing off his waistcoat, Quaint tore ripped it in half, wrapping the material around each of his hands. He grabbed the rock and slowly – all too slowly – he felt it budge. With his brow glistening with perspiration and his torn shirt sodden against his back, the conjuror lifted the rock and threw it aside.

  A few precious minutes later, Quaint had finally cleared enough of a gap in the rocks for him to squeeze (albeit painfully) through. The sight that greeted him on the other side, however, did not fill him with joy.

  The lava was rising quicker that he had expected, bubbling and boiling, spitting fire into the air, and the higher it rose the more that it consumed, clinging to the mouth of the cave. Quaint leaned out as far as he dared, looking up into thick black smoke. He was in luck (which did fill him with joy, as it was such a rare occurrence). The chain was still there, attached to the structure at the top of the pit. But could he reach it, that was the question. He had jumped down originally from quite a distance further than Viktor – but this leaping up was not as easy as falling down. The jump was at least twelve feet.

  Moving the rocks into position on top of each other to create a causeway, Quaint was that much closer to the swaying chain. He smiled, congratulating himself, as he tensed his leg muscles and threw himself towards the chain, praying that he had timed his jump correctly.

  He never got the chance to find out, as he felt something grasp his ankles, yanking him back down onto the rough rocks. Quaint’s chest slammed down on the sharp edges and the air emptied from his lungs. He felt himself being dragged backwards, back into the tunnel…