A Crime of Fashion (22 page)

It was dry, appeared to be cockroach-free, and had far higher ceilings than any of the passages we had seen so far. There were nine pillars in the room, and everything looked as if it had been carved out of the bedrock. Chisel marks covered every surface. And although there had been attempts to disguise them with decorative carving, neither the stone nor the ambience in this part of the catacombs lent itself to delicate artistic endeavour; the chamber looked crude and sinister.

“Where are we?” I asked as I peered over his shoulder at the map.

“Here…” he said, dragging his finger under the elaborate script. “The Tomb of the Hidden Heart.”

“Is there really a heart hidden here somewhere?”

“According to legend, yes. Although I've been told it was actually a finger.”

“Tomb of the Hidden Heart definitely sounds better than Tomb of the Hidden Finger,” I said, laughing.

Together we eased ourselves down onto the floor, leaned our backs against the same pillar and took a long drink from our water bottles (another of Sebastian's good ideas).

“Isn't it strange,” I said, “to think that two hundred years ago de Buismont's grandson was using these very tunnels as his private escape route? I mean, he was probably in and out of this creepy place every day – and night.”

“Yeah, but don't forget that at that time the passages would have looked fresher – if you can apply that term to a cockroach-infested tunnel. What I think is more weird is that someone is using them now to destroy the La Lune family. I wonder how they even got the idea of coming down here?”

“Well, presumably the mysterious David le Néanar could tell us. But what about a key? How easy is it to get a key to the catacombs? And does one key open every entrance?”

“The master key—”

But I didn't hear any more, because at that moment everything went black.

I could hear the gentle lapping of water all around me. Everything else was quiet. As I lay on my back, breathing quietly, my eyes shut, I was reminded of pirates. I've always liked pirates. Pirates never wear much clothing – or at least in the films I've seen – presumably because where they are it's always
warm
.

And it was just that thought that woke me up to the fact that perhaps I wasn't a pirate after all and that the water gently lapping all around me couldn't possibly be the Caribbean. It was icy cold – definitely more English Channel than Sargasso Sea.
How odd
, I thought. But I was having trouble waking. It just seemed so much easier to go back to sleep – and I no doubt would have if a particular image hadn't come to mind. It was of a black, long-tentacled, fast-moving torpedo of filth and disease – and it was heading my way. That got me awake.

Good thing, too, or we would have drowned. Because, wherever we were, the water level was rising
– fast.

I couldn't see anything except for a silvery reflection far off to the right somewhere. My arms were stretched out at my sides as if I'd been dragged here by my feet – which I probably had been. I smiled to myself. For some reason I found it highly amusing, imagining that this was how shipwrecked pirates must feel. I don't know how long I lay there smiling stupidly to myself, but once I could feel the water lapping up around and into my ears, I figured it was time for a pep talk.
Okay, come on Axelle
, I told myself,
forget Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew and concentrate on getting up and finding out whether Sebastian is nearby. Get moving! Wake up! You're going to drown if you don't.

This was, of course, easier said than done. My eyes were doing a fine job of resisting all attempts to keep them open. I willed myself to force them wide open for thirty seconds. To my delight, there really did seem to be a spot of light far to my right. Finding a way out suddenly seemed like a possibility – or so I hoped. I slowly turned my head to the other side and could just make out a shape sprawled in the water next to me.
Good
, I thought,
at least Sebastian is all right. Or is he?
By increments I forced myself towards full consciousness so that I could help him. Why was he still asleep? And why couldn't I wake up properly?

Even on Sundays I didn't have this much difficulty getting up. Taking a deep breath, I turned on my side, much as I imagine an inebriated sloth would. From that position I managed to lift myself so that I was leaning on my elbow. That lasted for about two seconds before I lost strength and splashed back down into the water. Now
that
did wake me up. I began the process all over again and finally achieved a sitting position. Then I called Sebastian's name. He didn't seem to hear me, but the act of sitting up and getting a few good gulps of air into my lungs enabled me to drag myself to him. I shook him and yelled into his ear for good measure and finally he woke. Within seconds he was coughing – he'd actually had his head to one side and had swallowed some of the water as he'd woken. With my help he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

We both splashed some water on our faces. Our clothes were soaked through.

“Somebody hit us,” he said between coughs.

“And then left us here to…” A cold shiver ran through me as I left my thought unfinished.

“Don't say it,” he answered.

We both attempted to stand. The water was now up to our knees. I'd woken up just in time – a minute later and we would have drowned.

“They've taken all of our things!” said Sebastian as he slogged lopsidedly through the water, looking for his rucksack in the tiny bit of light afforded by a small torch he pulled out of his jacket pocket. “Do you see yours anywhere?”

I didn't.

“What about the map?” I asked.

Sebastian lifted his wet shirt to reveal a secret inside pocket. “I still have it! And the key too. The map may be a bit wet but it's in one piece. Anyway, we need to get to that spot of light on the water. There must be an opening somewhere above it for the light to shine through,” he continued, as he began wading out. The water now reached our waists.

The cold water and fear of being trapped motivated us into action. Slowly, we made our way through the black swirling water to the other side of the chamber.

“Don't get caught in an undercurrent!” yelled Sebastian. “It's coming in fast now!”

We didn't know yet if the water was being fed into the room through a sluice, or rushing in from an underground source. Either way, we had to be careful of the current. Standing as firmly as I could on one leg, I cautiously swiped my other foot in front of me to find the next safe foothold. It was very dark, even with Sebastian's torch, but as we neared the spot of light bobbing on the swirling surface, I was able to see the far wall. We were in a chamber that seemed to be about the same size as the Tomb of the Hidden Heart. Here, too, the space had been carved out of solid rock. In panic, I noted that the ceiling wasn't very high – how were we supposed to get out of here?

“There's an opening above,” Sebastian said, as he swept the torch beam overhead, “but I can't reach it. Axelle, here, climb onto my shoulders and take a look.”

I put one of my feet into his cupped hands and laid my hands on his shoulders. The water was now above our elbows.

“I'm going to kneel down, then you can step onto my shoulders, okay?”

I nodded and watched as he took a deep breath and went underwater. It took a few seconds for Sebastian to steady himself; the ground was uneven and the current was strong at floor level. Finally, after some moments, I hoisted myself onto his shoulders. He clamped his hands down over my feet and rose out of the water in one smooth movement.

“There's some kind of iron grille here, but I can't make it move. It must open from above,” I said, as I tried pushing it upwards. “I'm not having any luck!”

“Hold on,” said Sebastian, “I'll look for my pocket knife – I still have it – but I'm going to have to let go of your legs in order to get it.” I held my hands against the ceiling to balance myself while Sebastian fumbled beneath me. Finally he got it.

I reached down for his knife, then brought it up over my head and ran it along the edge of the grille, hoping to loosen it from its iron frame. Repeatedly I jammed the blade between the grille and frame. Finally it started to loosen. I handed Sebastian back his knife and used my hands to push against the door.

“The water is getting pretty high…” Sebastian said nervously.

“Sebastian, do you think you could push me up somehow? Hold me firmly by my shoes and push me up against the grille. I can feel it budging but I need more weight behind me!”

Grabbing hold of my shoes, he shifted his weight and then pushed me against the grille with all of his strength. He repeated the action again and again, until I began to feel the grille give way to my shoulder. Finally, with one last push, it broke open. The water was now nearly at Sebastian's mouth. I felt him gather his strength and thrust me upwards and through the opening. I pulled my legs up behind me, then turned around and lay on the floor facing him so that I could extend my arm to him.

“Ouch. My shoulder!” I winced in pain as he grabbed my hand. Yet somehow I pulled him up and through the hole. But there was still no chance to catch our breath – just as he landed beside me, an enormous wave of water crashed through the opening.

“Come on! We have to move – now!” I screamed. Then taking hold of his hand, I helped him to his feet. We sprinted down the tunnel as water rushed in from behind, nearly carrying us along with its force.

I'm not sure how long we ran for, but it was a good while. The water gained on us until we reached a crossroads. Sebastian led us sharply to the left – the right decision, because we hadn't gone twenty metres before we came upon a staircase. We sprinted up it and at the top found ourselves underneath a busy street. There, finally, we fell to the ground and savoured being alive and safe.

After a few minutes of just breathing, I opened my eyes to a greenish glow streaming in through the grates over our heads from the street lights above. I also made out a slinky shape off to my side. No doubt it was a rat, but after what we'd just experienced, I couldn't have cared less.

Then I felt something warm close on my hand. I opened my mouth to scream and tried to yank my hand back but I couldn't – it was held fast.

“It's me,” Sebastian whispered. “Are you okay?” His profile was backlit, his forearms were scratched and his shirt torn. His chest was still heaving as his breathing slowed. I relaxed my hand in his grasp while I caught my breath.

“You know,” he said, turning his face to me after a few minutes, “you look quite sweet with your hair wet and a cockroach on your shoulder.”

I screamed and sat up, only to hear him laugh as I frantically slapped at my shoulders with my hands. There was no cockroach.

“Very funny. Does swallowing sewage water always have this effect on you?”

“No. Just you have this effect on me,” he answered.

How was I supposed to take that?

He peered up through the grates above us and then looked back down at the map open in his lap.

“Amazingly,” he said, “we're not that far off course…that's the Boulevard Raspail just above us. And, if we have a bit more luck this time around, I think we can be at the La Lunes in about ten minutes.”

He stood up and reached down to me. “Ready?” he asked, as he pulled me to my feet.

We went down yet another stairwell to a tunnel, which would lead us in an easterly direction. The passageways were again narrow, but less slippery here.

“Well, the further we are from the river…” Sebastian said. At the next fork in the tunnel we turned north onto the path that would take us to the La Lune house. “I think the kidnapper has to be Philippe. He clearly has the best motive and he's strong enough to drag people around these tunnels.”

“And he drives a black Peugeot. He's probably been following me since trying to run me over. He easily could have followed us in here.”

“Exactly.”

“But still, like I've said before, why didn't he do something about it years ago? I mean, he's a lawyer – surely he could have found a legal way to punish the La Lunes.”

“Good point. So maybe your aunt's right – maybe it is Claude. Everyone says he's super-jealous of Belle and, if
CAT
means what we think it does, he knows about the catacombs.”

“And I wouldn't put it past him to hit us and leave us—”

Sebastian stopped abruptly and pointed upwards with his torch. In the dim light I could just make out a circular shape about a metre in diameter, snugly encased in the ceiling directly above our heads.

“This should lead us into their house.”

Sebastian pulled a rickety collapsible ladder down from overhead and climbed up it. Then, gathering his strength, he pushed against the trapdoor. Despite appearances to the contrary, it lifted easily and quietly.

“This has definitely been used recently,” he said as he poked his head through the opening. After listening carefully for a moment, he pulled himself out of the catacombs and into the house. A moment later his hand reached down, searching for mine. I climbed the ladder and, placing my hand in his, let him lift me out.

With intense satisfaction we looked at each other, our eyes blazing with the same sense of victory: we'd found the secret entrance! We were in the La Lune house.

The kidnapper must have used the catacombs to go in and out of the house unseen. But how and where had they taken Belle and Darius? Could
they
be in the catacombs? But how would they survive? Or maybe Belle and Darius had been smuggled through the catacombs and were now somewhere else entirely?

Questions whizzed through my mind, but however much I wanted to go back down to the catacombs and search for more clues, I hesitated. I felt I'd already pushed my luck more than enough for one evening – furthermore, the water would be high now. Who knew how we'd be able to find our way around?

At least we'd solved a key riddle to this case: how did the kidnapper get in and out of the La Lune mansion – and on and off the grounds – undetected? Answer: the catacombs!

As for searching for more clues in the house, we could hear footsteps coming and going. The house was clearly full of people, and therefore too risky – no matter how tempting. In fact, I was starting to ask myself how we'd get out.

Carefully we crept along the corridor, following the beam of the torch, looking for the door.

“Sebastian?” I asked, as we shuffled along in the dim light.

“Yeah?”

“If we can't get back through the catacombs now the water's risen, how are we going to get out of their grounds?”