Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) (11 page)

She was
graceful and completely at ease on her beige camel, which was no
mean feat and she did not complain at all (unlike his sister).

‘
Alexandre. Alexandre?’ Leonora interrupted his reverie. ‘You
were dreaming.’

‘
Oh,’ he shook himself lightly. ‘I was thinking of all the
things we have seen on this journey. It has been interesting has it
not?’

‘
Quite interesting. But I am more interested in your life in
Paris. It does sound fun. Life in our country home is too dull for
words.’

‘
The unfamiliar is always more exciting, but I thought you did
not spend too much time in your home?’

‘
No, thank goodness. But do tell me more of Paris. I hear it
is quite a bohemian place. Do you know any artists or
musicians?’

‘
It is as you say,
bohemian
. But it is also a place
where etiquette is everything and sometimes there is no room for
any freedom of expression at all.’

‘
Really? Oh, so not too dissimilar to stuffy old England
then.’

Alexandre
laughed. ‘I suppose everywhere has a certain level of stuffiness.
As a matter of fact, ‘stuffiness’ is the very reason I am here and
not at home.’

‘
Do tell.’

‘
Here, take a drink.’ He passed across a canteen of lukewarm
water and watched as Leonora tipped her head back, exposing the
creamy white flesh of her elegant throat. He swallowed and looked
away.

‘
So?’ she asked, passing the drink back to him.

‘
Well. We had been invited to a ball hosted by Monsieur
Bouvier.’

‘
Your father’s patron?’

‘
Correct. I danced with his youngest daughter, but she said
she felt unwell and so I escorted her out on to the terrace for
some fresh air.’

‘
You did?’

‘
Well, her sisters and mother have eyes like hawks and they
spied us outside and made a terrible scene.’ He decided to omit the
part about the kiss. He did not want Leonora to have the wrong
impression of him or think him a cad.

‘
So,’ she said, pressing her lips together. ‘You have a
sweetheart in Paris.’

Alexandre
realised then he had made a terrible error in judgement. Of course
this story was not for Leonora. He had thought the event would
amuse her and that they would laugh at the overly strict Parisian
social rules. He thought wrong.

‘
Oh, no, no ...’ he tried to explain. ‘You misunderst
...’

‘
She must be missing you terribly.’

‘
No, Leonora,’ he tried to continue. ‘I have not explained
myself well enough. She is not ...’

‘
Do excuse me will you.’ She ignored his attempts to explain.
‘I should see if Isobel is alright. She looks as though she may be
having some trouble with her pack saddle.’ Leonora did not even
look at him. She and her camel trotted away.

‘
Leonora, it is not what you think ...’ Alexandre called out
after her, but she did not want to hear. He noticed the Turkish
guides watching him and glancing at each other. Probably judging
him and disapproving. Well let them.

He slumped
down in his saddle. What a fool! How could he possibly have thought
she would enjoy that story of his dalliance with another woman? He
assumed Leonora would see it for the silly thing it was, because he
knew Lily meant nothing to him. He could kick himself. He was a
first class idiot.

*

As they
journeyed further east, the ground became rockier and the scenery
grew stranger. Alexandre was not prepared for the sheer drama of
the Cappadocian landscape. Over millions of years, the area had
been sculpted into fantastical shapes by volcanoes, ice, rain and
wind.

‘
Are we still on earth?’ Jacques asked. ‘It feels like we are
crossing the surface of some fairytale land.’

‘
You are right,’ Papa replied. ‘It is spectacular. Maman and I
did not want to tell you about this wonderful landscape before we
arrived. We wanted you to experience it for yourselves.’

‘
It is amazing.’ Alexandre momentarily shook himself out of
his misery over Leonora and soaked up the luminous atmosphere. He
marvelled that such a place existed. Layers of rock and stone
sprouted from the ground in a proliferation of shapes, patterns and
colours. Sweeping ridges and gullies curved down the hillsides and
tall basalt stones stood together in clusters, some as high as
forty metres, shaped into columns, cones or mushrooms.

‘
What are those?’ Isobel cried. ‘How beautiful!’

Alexandre
turned to look where she was pointing and saw a tree hung about
with blue glass discs. They twirled and glittered in the evening
sunlight.

‘
Those are
boncugu,
’ Victoria said. ‘To
deflect what the locals call, ‘
nazar
’, or ‘the evil
eye’.

‘
The evil eye?’ Alexandre asked.

Victoria
brought her camel alongside him. The others slowed to listen.

‘
Yes,’ she continued. ‘According to local superstition, if you
fall under the
nazar
, you feel as though you are living under a cloud. Things go
wrong, plans unravel, love turns sour, scissors dull and windows
crack. But it is believed the
nazar
boncugu
has the power to ward off this
shadow. Look - they are eyes.’

Drawing closer
to the tree, Alexandre saw the discs were indeed like large blue
eyes, staring unblinking at him.

‘
They are both beautiful and terrible,’ Isobel said with a
shudder.

‘
You are right, Isobel,’ Victoria laughed.

‘
We are almost at our destination,’ Maman said. ‘I tell you,
it will be a welcome relief not to climb up onto a camel’s back
tomorrow.’

There were
hearty noises of agreement to this statement. The last two days had
been especially hard going and Alexandre ached from being in the
saddle for hours. But all of them had grown rather fond of the
lumbering beasts and would miss their liquid stares and plaintiff
groans when they left.

Alexandre felt
nervous excitement. After days of travelling over land and sea by
horse and carriage, steam train, ocean steamship and then camel
train, they had finally arrived at their destination. The sun
streaked rust and gold across the sky as they approached the small
settlement that was to be their home for the next nine months.

The site lay
in a valley on the outskirts of a small Cappadocian village. About
half a dozen tents spread out near a small stand of yellow-leaved
trees where Turkish and French flags hung limply in the still air.
Fierce-looking Turkish guards sat around, playing cards, rolling
dice and smoking chibouks, their long muskets and curved scimitars
either slung across their bodies or lying on the ground at their
sides.

One of them
rose to his feet and brushed his hands down over his dusty uniform
of long belted tunic over baggy cotton trousers. He was tall and
forbidding, the kind of opponent you would certainly not wish to
face in battle. But as he came to greet the weary travellers, he
smiled warmly with friendship in his dark eyes.

‘
Bonsoir to you all. Welcome. My French is not so good I am
afraid. Is English alright?’

‘
Good evening. English is fine, yes,’ Alexandre’s father
replied.

‘
I trust you had a good journey,’ the guard continued. ‘My
name is Isik Kaya and these are my men.’ He gestured to the twenty
or so guards who now stood together.

‘
Good evening, Isik. I am Didier Chevalier and this is my
family. I am here with the Swinton family from England. Shall I
make the introductions now?’

‘
No, no,’ Isik said. ‘You go and shake off your travelling
skins. There is fresh water and there are four tents set up for you
behind there.’ He pointed to a small hillock set back from the
guards’ area. ‘When you are refreshed, you will all come and eat
with me. We have good meals here, better than your dried travelling
food, yes? We can make introductions then.’

‘
Good,’ Didier replied. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea.
Shall we meet you back here in about half an hour?’

‘
No, I think one hour is better. You have much, aah …
optimism
to say half an
hour.’ He laughed and gestured to the women. Didier joined in his
laughter and clapped him on the arm.

‘
I think you are right, Isik, I think you are right. One hour
it is.’

*

The orange
fire crackled, sending smoke and showers of sparks into the cool
evening air. Torches on stout poles had been lit and ranged around
the camp, casting long shadows on the ground. Introductions had
finally been made and the two families sat around the fire with
Isik and the rest of the guards.

The food had
been prepared and cooked by local villagers - tomato salad with
yoghurt, aubergine puree, cucumbers, roast lamb and freshly baked
flatbread. Alexandre was most appreciative of the feast after the
past few days of dried meat strips and stale biscuits. Busy eating,
the conversation was slow to start.

‘
So, Isik,’ Harold was the first to speak. ‘Have you been into
the underground cavern yourself?’

‘
I have looked down through the shaft but it is too deep to
see to the bottom and there is no other entrance to be
found.’

‘
Has anybody been down there yet?’

‘
Yes, government officials came and paid two of my guards to
go down. They first offered to pay some locals, but none of them
would do it. We lowered our men down with a lantern, one at a time
on a rope.

‘
Brave boys,’ said Didier.

‘
They were scared witless,’ Isik chuckled. ‘But did not wish
to be shown up in front of their comrades.’

‘
Even so …’ Didier said. ‘I should like to meet them and
congratulate them. It is no easy thing to go into the darkness.
Into a place no one has visited in living memory.’

‘
And they found the underground cavern?’ Alexandre asked.
‘What was in it?’

‘
Nothing. It is just a small chamber carved out of the rock,
with some rubbish strewn around.’

‘
Did they touch any of the ‘rubbish’?’ Didier
asked.

‘
No, no,’ Isik reassured. ‘We were given strict instructions
to touch nothing. They did not even set foot on the ground, but
remained tied to the rope and swung the lantern around to see in
the dark.’

‘
And do you know if is it just the one cavern, or are there
others?’

‘
It appears to be just one as far as we can tell, but maybe
there are more. I am very interested to see what it is all
about.’

‘
As are we all,’ Harold said.

‘
What other things have you guarded?’ Freddie
interrupted.

‘
We protect whatever our government asks us to
protect.’

‘
Have you ever had to defend yourselves from
bandits?’

‘
Many times.’

‘
This is not such good conversation for the table, Freddie,’
Victoria said. ‘I do apologise for my son.’

‘
Not at all,’ Isik replied. ‘It is good to be inquisitive.
This is how we learn, no?’

‘
Why are the locals scared of the cavern?’ Jacques
asked.

‘
Oh, you have heard of this already? I planned to bring this
up with your father later.’

‘
Can you tell us now?’

‘
You have to understand this is a superstitious place,’ Isik
said. ‘The local people have grown up with tales passed down
through generations. Tales which they believe to be absolutely
true.’

‘
What tales?’ Jacques and Freddie asked in unison.

Alexandre saw
his mother put her arm around Isobel. Dusk spiralled into night and
thousands of stars began to pierce their way through the velvet
sky.

‘
I do not wish to scare you unnecessarily,’ Isik
said.

‘
We are not superstitious,’ Harold said. ‘So we will not be
scared.’

Alexandre was
intrigued. Isik and his men were here and so they obviously did not
believe in the tales, but nonetheless it did give one a thrill to
hear about it.

‘
Here in Cappadocia, they have different ways and different
beliefs. There is a legend that has been part of local folklore for
centuries. It tells of an ancient civilisation who built a vast
city. A city like no other. It was built below the earth, a huge
place accommodating thousands.’

‘
Do you think this is what has been discovered now?’
Alexandre’s father asked.

‘
Me?’ Isik asked. ‘I do not know. I am no expert. All I have
seen is an underground chamber.’

‘
So why are the locals so worried? The discovery of an
underground city from a legend would surely be a reason for
excitement and curiosity. Although I did hear some rumour of a
curse.’

‘
Well,’ Isik seemed hesitant to continue. All eyes were on
him. ‘It is just … I do not wish to alarm the
womenfolk.’

‘
Thank you for your concern,’ Victoria said. ‘But we are used
to hearing superstitions, curses and the like. It comes with the
territory. Whenever we unearth ancient burial sites, tombs and
religious relics there is always some element of local
opposition.’