Labyrinth

CHAPTER 73

Sabarthes Mountains

FRIDAY 8 JULY 2OO5

The stench brought him to his senses. A mixture of ammonia, goat droppings, unwashed bedding and cold, cooked meat. It stuck in his throat and made the inside of his nose burn, like smelling salts held too close.

Will was lying on a rough cot, not much more than a bench, fixed to the wall of the hut. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the stone wall. The sharp edges stuck into his arms, which were still tied behind his back.

He felt he’d done four rounds in the boxing ring. He was bruised from head to toe where he’d been thrown against the side of the boot on the journey. His temple was throbbing where Francois-Baptiste had struck him with the gun. He could feel the bruise beneath the skin, hard and angry, and the blood around the wound.

He didn’t know what time it was or what day it was. Friday still?

It had been dawn when they left Chartres, maybe as early as five o’clock. When they had got him out of the car it had been afternoon, hot and the sun still bright. He twisted his neck to try to see his watch, but the movement made him feel sick.

Will waited until the nausea had passed. Then he opened his eyes and tried to get his bearings. He appeared to be in some sort of shepherd’s hut. There were bars on the small window, no bigger than the size of a book. In the far corner there was a built-in shelf, like some sort of table, and a stool. In the grate alongside there were the remains of a long-dead fire, grey ash and black shavings of wood or paper. A heavy metal cooking pot hung on a stick across the fireplace. Will could see cold fat coagulated around the rim.

Will let himself fall back on the hard mattress, feeling the rough blanket on his battered skin, and wondered where Alice was now.

Outside, there was the sound of footsteps, then a key in a padlock. Will heard the metallic chink of chain being dropped on the ground, then the arthritic creak of the door being pulled open and a voice he half-recognised.

“C’est l’heure.” Time to go.

Shelagh was conscious of the air on her bare arms and legs and the sensation of being moved from one place to another.

She identified Paul Authie’s voice somewhere in the murmur of sound as she was transported from the farmhouse. Then the distinctive feeling of underground air on her skin, chill and slightly damp, the ground sloping down. Both the men who had held her captive were there. She’d got accustomed to the smell of them. Aftershave, cheap cigarettes, a threatening maleness that made her muscles contract.

They had tied her legs again and her arms behind her back, pulling at the bones in her shoulders. One eye was swollen shut. The combination of lack of food and light and the drugs they gave her to keep her quiet meant that her head was spinning, but she knew where she was.

Authie had brought her back to the cave. She felt the change in atmosphere as they emerged from the tunnel into the chamber, felt the tension in his legs as he carried her down the steps to the sunken area where she’d found Alice unconscious on the ground.

Shelagh registered that there was a light burning somewhere, on the Altar perhaps. The man carrying her stopped. They had walked right to the back of the chamber, past the limits she’d gone before. He swung her down off his shoulders, a dead weight, and dropped her. She sensed pain in her side as she hit the ground, but could no longer feel anything.

She didn’t understand why he hadn’t killed her already.

He had his hands under her arms now and was dragging her along the ground. Grit, stones, sharp fragments of rock, cut into the soles of her and her exposed ankles. She was aware of the sensation of her bound hands being tied to something metal and cold, a ring or hoop sunk into the ground.

Assuming she was still unconscious, the men were talking in low voices.

“How many charges have you set?”

“Four.”

“To go off at what time?”

“Just after ten. He’s going to do it himself.” Shelagh could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Get his hands dirty for once. One press of the button and boom! The whole lot will go.”

“I still can’t see why we had to drag her all the way up here,” he complained. “Much easier to leave the bitch at the farm.”

“He doesn’t want her identified. In a few hours’ time, half this mountain’s going to come down. She’ll be buried under half a tonne of rock.”

Finally, fear gave Shelagh the strength to fight. She pulled against her bonds and tried to stand, but she was too weak and her legs wouldn’t hold her. She thought she heard a laugh as she sank back down to the ground, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t certain now what was real and what was only happening inside her head.

“Aren’t we supposed to stay with her?”

The other man laughed. “What’s she going to do? Get up and walk out of here? I mean, Christ! Look at her!”

The light started to fade.

Shelagh heard the men’s footsteps getting fainter and fainter, until there was nothing but silence and darkness.