9. Chace #3
“Here we go,” he said under his breath, then he spun to face us. “You know, you’re not the first of your kind to visit, and I doubt you’ll be the last, but I do hope you make more progress than the previous representatives from your establishment.”
Progress. The word conjured images of the experiments Ubel had performed on the caged winged creature.
Had he been trying to find a way to return the creatures to their once humanoid shape? And if so, had he ever succeeded?
Raven grabbed Aoes’s wrist, halting him from slipping farther into the shadows that had enveloped his wall-pressed hand. I tightened my glare on the two’s shared connection.
“Who or what exactly do you think we are?” she asked.
He glanced over us before his attention returned to Raven, his eyes warming with a humored twinkle. “I had assumed you were Bogart’s latest henchmen, but maybe you’re the competition? Looking to get in on the monster-making magic?”
Bogart. Why does that name sound familiar?
Was the individual involved with Ubel? The two of them working to either help or profit from the citadel’s monstrous situation? And if so, was my uncle Mortifier aware of the fact…somehow using me and this task against his brother, my sperm donor?
“What are you saying?” Aldine asked.
“I think my words were quite clear. If you don’t understand, then I must be wrong.” Aoes smirked and turned away.
He pulled a key from his pocket and disengaged a lock hidden in the darkness. With a click, a wooden door swung open, and Aoes stepped into the chamber beyond.
A flaming torch on the wall spread a dim light within the dark, narrow tunnel.
After we all funneled inside, Aoes closed the door, grabbed the torch, and once more led the way.
I brought up the rear, and Aldine’s wide shoulders blocked much of the passage, keeping a fair amount of light from brightening the path for me. Or for Raven.
A warm draft whispered along the dry path. Air trapped between the stone walls hung thicker and (curiously) smelled of death, despite the fact that none of the citadel citizens had been reaped in over a century.
Aoes kept a swift pace, never once glancing back to verify any of his guests still followed. Although, the sound of our footfalls probably provided proof enough that we continued to remain close.
“This Bogart individual aside, can you explain what you mean by others of our kind?” Aldine pressed as we made our way along the straight line of the tunnel.
Aoes shrugged. “Fen told me about a few who showed up, attempted to cross the bridge, and—”
“Were turned into flying creatures.” My thoughts once again swirled around the trapped creature in Ubel’s laboratory all those many years ago.
Raven shot me a nasty glare for what felt like the umpteenth time. Was it because I had interrupted Aoes? My actions clearly hadn’t ruined some surprising story conclusion.
Aoes snorted. “Rather ironic, isn’t it? Becoming the very thing you all sought to collect in those early years?”
If Bogart’s group used to collect monsters, where did their focus now lie? And…was Ubel part of Bogart’s group or part of the competition?
The name did seem somewhat familiar.
Aldine shook his head. “Are you saying none of our kind have made it past the bridge before now?”
“Didn’t say that at all.” Aoes’s head turned slightly, as if he intended to glance back, but paused and never fully committed to looking our way. “I helped one or two get inside, like I’m now helping you.”
Aldine straightened. “If they managed to get into the citadel, and then didn’t finish the job, what happened to them?”
Aoes stopped beside an arched opening on the right, beyond which stood a long climb of steps. “Not exactly certain, but I suspect you’ll draw your own conclusions when you get inside and see what awaits.”
He stepped through the gap and started climbing the stairs.
“I don’t appreciate that answer.” And yet, I followed the group up the steps.
If a trap awaited, I’d be there to foil it.
A door blocked the top of the climb, and beside the door, a metal holster for the wooden torch stuck out of the wall.
Aoes set the torch in place, swung the door inward, and slid a second barrier out of the way. He ushered us into a tight room surrounded by shelves filled with boxes, barrels, cloth bags, and dusty liquid-filled glass bottles.
Raven frowned. “Convenient. Your secret smuggler’s tunnel leads into a perfect stash space.”
Aoes smiled—the kind of smile that gave away truths.
The storage room, the tunnel, the door, and the path outside of the citadel barrier… All of it clearly by design. How could it not be?
Aoes was a smuggler, and he had probably been a smuggler longer than a lifetime. Longer than Raven or I had been alive.
Aoes slid the camouflaged hatch back into place against the wall, hiding the tunnel door so only a solid wall of stocked shelves remained.
Banging sounded in the next room, and the far door swung open.
“Aoe…s.” The word sounded sloppy and sluggish, and…
A zombified thing shuffled into the storage room. Once a man, his baggy graying skin and stringy hair painted a picture of death and dying. He opened his mouth, a gravely gurgle escaping, as he stretched out his arm and reached for us.
“Aoe…s.”