Chapter 32 #2
Giving myself a moment to slow my pulse, I take in our surroundings.
The ceiling is lower here than the outside led me to believe.
It comes to a shallow point from the four arching beams stretched across it.
The only light filters in from a frosted rectangular window facing the courtyard we came from.
Stairs cloaked in shadow climb the wall at the back of the room, wooden chairs stacked up against the other walls.
Otherwise, it’s empty. A glorified storage closet.
Bes takes my hand in his again—I look over at him and squeeze back. His dark brown eyes bore into mine.
“Apologies, Miss Hawkins,” he whispers. I’m about to ask what he’s sorry for, when he leans in closer.
“If these men do capture us—if they know who we are—you must remember the blood oath you took, and the one word you must utter. It won’t take them long to realize you’re incapable of telling them anything of value, and they’ll take your life on their own terms—slowly and painfully. ”
My breathing hastens as regret at my own hubris rages through me. How could I have thought that swearing that blood oath wouldn’t have consequences beyond satiating Ansaldo? I swallow hard, placing my hand over my pants’ pocket to feel the outline of my switchblade.
He reads my thoughts again: “It shouldn’t come to that. But, if it does, believe me, death would be a respite compared to what they’d do to you if you hadn’t taken the blood oath. At least, this way, your death would be swift.”
Gaping, I peer at Cec, waiting for him to refute his cousin, or to make light of the situation at least. His expression is serious for once, focused, his only sign of unrest in the flex of his jaw. Betrayal sits like a sharp-edged rock in my stomach.
“So, this is your plan, is it? After fighting to keep me alive all this time, you want to watch me die?” My nostrils flare. “Is this retribution for what happened the other night?”
His gaze darkens. “How could you think so little of me that I would seek vengeance for that? I would never speak falsely when it comes to your life: you cannot be captured. Just like the God Men, these Nazis know exactly how to draw out your weaknesses and use them against you, and you’re stronger than most. It would take a good amount for them to break you. ”
“I should never have taken that blood oath,” I mutter.
Bes’s throat bobs. “If past experience lends itself at all, this won’t be the last time you’ll regret it.”
His grip on my hand tightens, his next pause deafening.
“I’d take your oath upon myself if I could.
The thought of you dying because of it is unconscionable.
But for you to be tortured for hours by men who see you as nothing more than a means to an end, and then kill you when they realize they can’t use you for that end?
I cannot allow that.” His other hand reaches toward my face before dropping back to his side.
“Watching them torture you… it would be a special sort of anguish for me. They’d make sport out of it, and I’m not certain it wouldn’t break me. ”
Tears bite behind my eyes at his declaration, both in anger and appreciation.
“Bes Belzoni, you are endlessly frustrating.”
He doesn’t reply, but I know he thinks the same of me.
“As heartwarming as all this is, we don’t have the luxury of time.” Out of the corner of my eye, Mara reaches deep inside her costume and procures two blades that bear a striking resemblance to Viking Scramasax switchblades. “That door won’t hold for long if there are more of them.”
Bes regards Mara. “As far as we could tell, there were only the two.”
She nods. “Good.”
The banging finally stops. Thank God.
She waits a moment before speaking again. “They’ve likely gone to find someone with a key.”
Bes backs away from the door. To my surprise, though, he doesn’t drop my hand. “What’s our next step?”
“There’s a secret entrance to the castle inside this church.”
“Then we need to find it.”
“If only it were that simple.”
Because I want to get out of here more than anything else, I ask, “Where’s the entrance?”
She doesn’t look at me when she responds. “Beneath the altar.”
I whirl on Bes. “You promised I wouldn’t have to see that damn altar.”
“Unfortunately, we no longer have a choice,” Bes says. “I can blindfold you, if you wish.”
Cec speaks up. “Believe me, no one should be wishing for that.”
Mara cuts in. “There’s no mass right now, maybe a few people praying in the pews. We shouldn’t have an audience.”
Bes finally drops my hand to remove the gun from its holster on his hip. “And we don’t have time for a different plan. Let’s move.”
Mara leads us up the wooden steps at the back of the room and quietly opens the door at the top, corralling us into the sanctuary. Luckily, since we’re already near the back of the church, the altar lies directly in front of us.
We come at it from the side, crossing the light gray, white-veined stone floor toward the altar table as quickly and quietly as possible.
Colored light streams in softly from the magnificent stained-glass windows above us, though we still require the light from the burning candles to see properly.
The room reeks of incense—I nearly choke on it.
I glance out into the white, high-arched room beyond the pulpit.
Soft candlelight warms the layers of rounded arches.
One or two souls populate the pews with their heads bowed in prayer; otherwise, it’s empty, as Mara predicted.
The silence is a double-edged sword, though: we have to be careful about breathing too loud, much less anything more.
I know all too well how sounds echo inside a church.
The four of us crouch down behind the table, our forms hidden by the altar linens. At the thought of getting caught by the Liechtenstein Nazis, my pulse thunders against the amulet. This had better work.
Mara pauses to listen before carefully pulling up the rug beneath the table.
Once it’s out of the way, she yanks on the metal ring of what I now recognize to be a wooden trap door and props it open.
I wince at the brief shrieking of the metal hinges.
We’re running out of time. Any minute now, those fascists will find us and I’m not sure I’m in the right place mentally to be tortured, nor to watch them torture Bes, or Cec.
For all of us to die because I insisted on doing this just to prove some point.
Mara climbs down the metal rungs first, guiding Cec down second.
I’m next, with Bes the last to follow. I traverse the last couple rungs, slippery with moisture, to help with my descent onto the small stone shelf below.
Looking up, Bes holsters his gun before pulling the rug over the door as best he can with only his good arm. It closes softly.
Darkness engulfs us.
Only for a moment, though. A click sounds in the dark and light streams from a flashlight in Mara’s hand.
“A torch,” Bes sighs. “Brilliant.”
“That’s no torch,” I tell him as Mara hands me my own. “You’ll confuse Cec if you call it that.”
“I’m in a constant state of confusion, Hawkins,” Cec explains. “Calling a flashlight a torch isn’t going to change that.”
“While I’m inclined to agree with Miss Hawkins on this one,” Mara interrupts, handing one to Bes as well, “we should get moving.”
I shine the flashlight in front of me. The ledge dips down into what I hope is an underground tunnel—which Cec and Mara have already slipped past.
Approaching it, I have to nearly lie on my back to get through. And the fit’s a bit tight. My feet quickly hit the hard ground, though, and then Bes lands beside me. There’s no more than an inch between us. Our breaths mingle in the cool air, our faces barely lit.
He swallows hard and attempts to move. Instead, he stumbles over my foot and staggers into me, forcing both his hands to land against the rock on either side of my hips.
Neither of us makes the first move to step away. The heat of him presses through my clothes, and the memory of our kiss in the Archives resurfaces. He shifts closer, and my gaze lands on his lips and back to his softening brown eyes. I start to reach for him…
Hurt and anger slash across his face.
I glance away. I deserve that.
He steps back as much as he can, his fingers still managing to brush my waist as he moves away from me and down the passage. I fight off a shiver, wishing he’d touched me. Wishing I hadn’t overreacted in the first place.
Wishing I’d apologized when I had the chance.
When the path we’re on doesn’t immediately widen, mild fear gurgles up my throat and tightens my stomach.
“Have I mentioned I’m not great in tight spaces?”
Bes clears his throat. “Can’t say you have.”
Mara whispers, “Don’t worry, it’s not for very long.”
As if the time spent lessens my fear of it.
She ends up being correct about the short duration. By the time panic thinks to set in, the passageway opens up into a room barely large enough to fit the four of us. Unlit oil lamps hang on the walls with rusted hooks. How often is this passage used?
I’m the last one to make it out of the narrow path, and I suck a full breath into my lungs once I do, vision clearing.
“Afraid of small spaces, eh Hawkins?” Cec asks.
“Sometimes,” I concede, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”
Cec chuckles. “Not certain how that’s relevant, but I don’t doubt it all the same.”
“We don’t have much time.” Mara grabs a lamp and hands it to Bes. “From what Kali managed to gather on her reconnaissance, Gurlitt takes his tea in his room around this time and then goes on a stroll about the grounds—we have to get to him while he’s out in the open.”