Flight of the Crow (15 page)

Bryn tried to kiss him but he turned his face away. “I need to be with you.”

“You need to regain your strength. Don't fight with me about this, Quinn. Stay here. Priest has gone to ground in the catacombs to perform his ritual. We have to stop him. He has that dagger. Lazarus will come for it tomorrow and if I can't present it to him all is lost. He'll take Fenix from me.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “I couldn't bear that, Quinn. You must know it.”

“Then go,” he snapped. “Leave me here but hurry back for I shall be sick with worry.”

Bryn managed to place a kiss on his forehead. Fenix was ready to go. “Babbette, look after Quinn and Sam. We will return as quickly as we can.”

They raced out of the house. Tomlinson was waiting outside with a pair of strange two-wheeled vehicles. “Can you drive this?” Tomlinson asked Fingle.

“Show me what to do, Mr. Tomlinson, and I'll manage. There ain't a carriage or wagon made I can't drive.”

“Where did you get these things?” Bryn snapped. “They look dangerous.”

“An inventor from the Exposition had them on display. He called them motor-bicycles. I bought them from him. Sam and I have added several improvements to the original design and now they are quite fast, hopefully not dangerous.”

“We're all going to die,” Bryn pronounced.

Each two-wheeled vehicle had two tufted black leather seats with a small steam engine mounted behind over the back wheel. Bryn climbed on one behind Fingle and Fenix climbed on the other behind Tomlinson. Tomlinson tapped a foot pedal and the steam engine roared. The brass stack belched black smoke. When Tomlinson released a lever between his knees, the vehicle shot off down the road at a frightening speed. Fingle followed Tomlinson's example and Bryn hung on for dear life. The machine's powerful engine propelled the light-weight vehicle through the streets of Paris so fast, tears filled Bryn's eyes. Tomlinson and Fingle, both wearing thick rubber goggles, wove between wagons and carriages, terrifying horses as they jumped curbs and shot down alleys. Bryn clutched Fingle's shoulders as they raced toward Saint Sulpice. It seemed like only minutes and they were there. Bryn fell off the back of the machine grateful it had stopped. “Never again,” she said. “I'm not climbing on the back of that thing ever again.”

“It was amazing!” Fenix crowed. “I loved it.”

“Now what?” Tomlinson asked.

“Fingle, find the entrance to the catacombs. It must be inside the church.” Bryn struggled to steady her wobbly legs. What a terrible ride.

Fingle raced through the arched doorway and they followed. He was deep into his hound mode, nose enormous, ears flapping as he searched the church. He made a beeline for the altar never hesitating, galloped through the sanctuary and into the sacristy where he stopped abruptly at one of the gilded walls and pointed. “Door be here, Miss Bryn. I smells that evil demon. And Miss Fenix done been here, too, but not lately.”

“Do you smell anyone else?” Bryn was terrified Lazarus would get the dagger himself and she would lose by forfeit.

Fingle tilted his head. He looked exactly like a puzzled dog. “There is something, a strange smell like ashes and mud and herbs. Not herbs like you use, Miss Bryn, strange plants like from some other country and one of them smells dangerous.”

“The witch doctor,” Tomlinson piped in. “The whole Negro village smelled like that. Maybe the witch doctor followed Priest. Maybe the dangerous smell is poison.”

“It doesn't matter who or what followed Priest,” Bryn said. “As long as it's not Lazarus. Let's go.”

Bryn didn't have time to dither. She waved Fenix's wand at the wall and a door scraped open. “This way,” she cried.

They thundered down the steep stone stairs into the belly of the catacombs. Bryn fairly flew. She had to get that dagger. This was her last chance. If Priest was down here the dagger was, too. She greatly feared he would break his own curse and become, as he'd wished for centuries, a young man. He would be impossible to contain if he were suddenly young and vigorous.

When they hit the bottom of the long flight of stairs, Bryn stopped. “Which way?” she asked her sister.

Fenix lifted her head. “I smell water that way.”

Fingle nodded. “I hears the rushing river in that direction.”

Bryn took off running down the passage to the left. The rough stone floor angled gradually down even further under the city. It opened on a river that appeared deep as it surged through a narrow gorge. The ceiling over the river was low and covered with dripping green slime and moss. The water was black and opaque. A strange radiance from the moss lighted the tunnel through which the water flowed as well as the narrow pathway edging the rock wall and the river. “Which way now?” she asked Fenix.

Her sister looked thoughtful. “Left,” she finally said and pointed down the narrow trail. The stone under their feet was worn smooth by the passage of many feet and dripping water from the ceiling only inches above their heads.

Bryn didn't hesitate, she took off at a dead run in that direction. Fenix passed her, stopped abruptly, and dived through a low doorway. Bryn ducked in after her sister and froze. Draak Priest was holding the very dagger she sought and a strange little black man covered in white paint was perched on top of a rusty iron cage. The rough rock ceiling was barely taller than Priest's head. As Bryn watched with her hand over her mouth, the black man leaped on top of Priest and made a grab for the dagger. Priest seemed disoriented. He tipped over a chalice filled with what looked like pearly-white eggs. The eggs exploded and a hundred tiny black dragons filled the air. Each dragon blew flames as they attacked the black man who screamed and took cover out of reach on the top of the cage. Tomlinson erupted into the chamber and gasped. “The witch doctor!”

The
Coeur de Flamme
lay on the altar, its shining red heart blazing in moonlight streaming in through a hole in the ceiling. Priest threw off the witch doctor, grabbed the dagger, and while mumbling ancient words, bathed it in the radiance from the giant emerald. The witch doctor glanced at Bryn and Fenix, hesitating just long enough for Priest to grasp the dagger which now glowed with a golden light, its silver blade no longer dull and plain but pure gold, and plunge it into his breast while the hundreds of tiny dragons hovered around his head. When Priest stabbed himself, Malenfant's skull exploded releasing a smoky specter that soared around the small chamber directly over their heads,

Bryn felt the power of the dagger in her mind. She screamed with frustration and pain. Fenix did the same. Bryn had to grab her ears. Inside her head white noise from the dagger roared in a crescendo of trumpeted music. Fenix fell to her knees while Bryn fought her way around the huge cage to the altar. Somewhere in the passage outside the room Fingle howled. Tomlinson seemed unaffected. He leaped on top of the cage and struggled past the witch doctor who was also bent over with pain.

Tomlinson tackled Priest. The trumpeting noise inside Bryn's head stopped. The dagger fell to the stone floor out of Priest's frozen hands. Blood did not flow from the gaping wound in his chest. Tomlinson dropped to the floor scrabbling for the dagger. He leaped to his feet triumphantly holding the knife, once again dull metal, only to have the witch doctor snatch it. The ghost of Malenfant circled one more time then shot into Priest through his wide open eyes.

The witch doctor's filed teeth gleamed in the thinning light of the moon as he grinned and cackled wildly. Insane laughter filled the chamber echoing above the roar of the water in the underground river. Bryn and Tomlinson tried to grab him, but he danced out of their reach easily. With his headdress raining brightly colored feathers, the witch doctor cavorted, legs lifted high, grass skirt flying, the dagger clutched to his painted breast. He giggled like a crazy person, the yellowed whites of his eyes shining with unholy glee, and leaped out of reach on top of the cage. Before Bryn could even think of what she should do, the witch doctor put a short finger beside his nose and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Bryn's heart fell. “It's gone,” she gasped. “Where did he go?”

“Back to the Negro Village, I should imagine,” Tomlinson said. “He possesses some extremely strange powers.”

Priest had crumpled to the floor in a heap of black cloth. His head was covered, there was no sign of life. Bryn knelt beside him. “Did his spell work or did he die?”

A cloud of tiny dragons squealed and hovered above the robes. Bryn batted them away. “What are these things?”

“Baby dragons?” Fenix said. “They came out of the snail eggs and added dragon power to the spell Priest cast.”

One of the flying reptiles blew flames onto Bryn's hair and a strand caught fire. “Fingle, get rid of them.”

Fingle swept a tide of the tiny creatures out the door of the chamber as Bryn walked around the altar examining everything. The skull of Cardinal Malenfant was a blackened ruin. The
Coeur de Flamme
lay dead and dull beside it. Bryn scooped it up and dropped it into her pocket. Priest was crumpled on the floor in front of the altar. She pulled the black fabric of his robes away from his head. A sob tore from her throat when she saw what was there. A shining head of black hair crowned a youthful face. Priest's eyes flew open and they were a brilliant blue. He threw her hands off and rose from the pile of robes a young man. He grinned and bowed low before her. “Madam, may I introduce you to the new and very youthful Draak Priest.”

He swept the robe aside to reveal an enormous erection. “Look out, Bryn Sahir, I'm coming for you and your sister.”

Bryn gasped, slipped behind him to the altar and grabbed the
Coeur de Flamme
. “Run,” she yelled at Tomlinson. “I have no idea what kind of power he now possesses.”

She grabbed Fenix and pulled her out the door of the chamber. “Fingle, find the fastest way out of here.”

Fingle sniffed several times as Priest roared from inside the chamber. A huge dragon head protruded from the open door as Fingle cast one look at Bryn and leaped into the roaring river followed by Tomlinson. Bryn sensed the change in the atmosphere. “He's going to flame us!” She screamed, grabbed Fenix's hand and leaped into the river after Fingle.

The river was icy cold. Bryn fought her way to the surface as they were swept along. In the darkness, lit only by the strange phosphorescent glow of the moss growing on the rocky ceiling of the tunnel, she searched for Fenix. Always, Fenix would be her first concern. Her sister bobbed above the water next to her and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Where is Fingle?” she screamed above the roar of the rushing water.

Fenix pointed. Fingle was doing the dog paddle next to a half-drowned Tomlinson. Fingle had Tomlinson's collar clamped in his teeth. Satisfied the members of her party were momentarily safe, she took stock of her situation. Ahead, the tunnel narrowed, the water churned higher and the current ran faster as it shot under a low overhang. There was barely enough room for her head. “Duck!” She screamed as she swept into total blackness.

The water raced along for what seemed like forever while the tunnel roof closed in. When she had to duck beneath the surface, she thought Fingle and Tomlinson would surely drowned, but it was only for a moment. They popped out into a large chamber with light streaming in from high above. The current slowed and they started to circle.

Fenix grabbed her arm as they swirled slowly around a huge circular space with slime-encrusted brick walls. “Where are we?”

Bryn stared at the ceiling. A circular set of stairs wound around the inside of a brick tower. The stairs led to a landing. “I think we're under
La Conciergerie.
This must be an ancient well.”

Fenix nodded. “It looks like one.” She grabbed Tomlinson from Fingle and drew him toward the landing as the circular current sped up. “We need to get out of here,” Fenix yelled. “This feels like some kind of drain.”

“Fingle swim for the landing,” Bryn called. Fingle obediently began stroking for the landing. He grabbed Tomlinson's sleeve in his teeth, and between him and Fenix, they got Tomlinson to the landing and dragged him out of the water. Tomlinson had lost his black bowler hat, but he was safe. The hat continued to circle the well.

Bryn scrambled out after them and they lay completely winded on the ancient bricks. While regaining their breath and some of the energy sapped by the cold and their recent experiences, Tomlinson's teeth chattered like castanets. He was chilled to the bone and wouldn't survive if they didn't get him someplace where he could get warm.

“Fenix, make a fireball,” Bryn said.

Fenix obediently created a fireball and held it close to Tomlinson. The heat from the fireball was scarcely enough to warm him in this cold, damp cavern. They had to move.

Fingle stood up first and shook like a hound dog. Water flew everywhere. “Please, Fingle,” Bryn gasped. “Act like a man.”

“Sorry, Miss, sometimes it be hard to remember what I'm not supposed to be doing.”

“Help Tomlinson,” Fenix said to him. “We must get him somewhere warm immediately.”

They climbed the stairs with Bryn in the lead. A wooden door with rusted black strap hinges was at the top. Fenix tapped Bryn's arm. “Look.” She pointed down at the circling water. Tomlinson's hat was now in the center. Suddenly, it dropped below the surface and disappeared. “Told you,” Fenix said. “The water in this well comes in through the underground river and drains out maybe into the river. We could have been sucked to our deaths.”

Bryn nodded barely able to contemplate anything but the recent events. “Priest is young again,” she said. “We have to get the dagger. The witch doctor must be back at the Negro Village inside the Exposition.”

“I can't get this door open,” Fingle said. “It be locked.”