The Ruby Locket (4 page)

Chapter Six

Anne

T
he air was close in the passage, like it was wrapping its blackened fingers over my eyes, mouth, and ears. Wyatt fumbled for my hand in the darkness and grabbed it, strong and warm. Normally I would pull away, but in the darkness I didn’t mind it so much.

              “Come on,” he whispered, “there’s a light switch farther down.”

              Our hands still clasped, he led us deeper into the passage, his other hand making a quiet hiss as it slid along the wall ahead of him to guide our way. After half a minute or so, Wyatt found the switch and turned it on. Lightbulbs positioned every twenty feet along the ceiling flickered and buzzed to life. In the sudden glaring light, a few black spiders scurried away along the wooden walls and floorboards. I looked up to see Wyatt squinting at me. I pulled my hand from his.

              Pointing forward, he said, “Let’s keep going. The passage exits into the boardroom.”

              As we forged ahead, I asked, “How did you discover this secret passageway?”

              “A few years ago Ivan left out the blueprints of the abbey on his desk.”

              We both ducked under a low hanging beam. “Let me guess. You broke in.”

              “Anne, Anne. Always accusing. You should learn to have a little faith.”

              “Says the boy who can jimmy a lock within seconds.”

              I expected Wyatt to have a comeback, but he only laughed.

              Pulling my long hair back into a ponytail, I said, “So did you discover any other secrets from the blueprints?”

              Wyatt glanced back at me with a smirk. “Surely you can’t expect me to tell all my secrets. We’ve only just met.”

              I rolled my eyes. “So much for a little faith. I guess you’re not going to tell me what you know about Ivan Helsburg.”

              “Depends on what you ask.”

              A little farther ahead, the passage widened. A stretch of several shelves hung on the wall, holding flashlights, batteries, tools, and other odds and ends. Veering to the side, I went to inspect the shelves, now determined to investigate whatever I could. That love letter had definitely raised a red flag.

              As I poked around the dusty miscellaneous, the floorboards groaned under my feet and Wyatt paused.

              “Hey,” he said, his voice suddenly filled with concern, “watch where you’re standing. I think that flooring might be rotten.”

              I turned to face him. “What?”

              Just as he was reaching for me, the boards beneath me gave way, splitting open and swallowing me whole. A scream escaped from my throat, high and piercing, as I fell into a pitch black abyss. My feet landed hard on a stone floor, twisting my ankle, before I collapsed heavily onto my side.

              “Anne! Anne, are you okay?” Wyatt’s stricken face leaned over the edge of the gaping hole.

              I groaned, bending my ankle slightly to test it. The joint moved but it was stiff and smarting. “Yeah, I’m all right. Nothing broken.”

              “Let me try to find a rope or something.” Wyatt disappeared and I heard him rummaging around above me. I hoped that part of the flooring didn’t buckle too.

              As the shock from the fall began to wear off, I strained my eyes in an attempt to see into the darkness of the room I’d tumbled into.

              There was a stone wall to my right, but the blackness drank up the rest, leaving me to wonder what lay beyond. The room smelled musty and ancient and it had a clinging chill that gave my bones a shiver. I felt something skitter over my hand and I yelped, pulling my arms into my chest. Had that been a rat or a really, really big roach? I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

              I craned my neck up to the hole. “Wyatt! Any luck with that rope?” My voice wobbled.

              The rummaging stopped and Wyatt appeared again. “I’m sorry but I couldn’t find any rope. Do you think you could search for something down there that could boost you up? Like a table? Then I could grab your arms.”

              “I can try. Although I don’t know if I’ll be able to push anything too heavy.”

              Wyatt bit his lip. “Well, if that doesn’t work, I could string my clothes together to make a rope.”

              My face flushed. “Uh, I think I’ll try your other idea first.”

              A shadow of a smirk passed over his face. “Okay. Hey, head’s up.” He tossed a flashlight down to me, and I caught it and snapped it on.

              What the light revealed made me recoil.

              Etched in the stone of the close cell-like walls surrounding me were hundreds of tally marks, grouped into crooked batches of five. Counting something. And there were disturbing carvings. Pictures of disembodied heads with faces twisted in pain and crude drawings of people enduring violent deaths—all with eyes made of X’s.

              Had someone actually been imprisoned down here? I could hardly believe it. And it seemed as though the prisoner had been driven mad. Could the tally marks be the number of days someone spent here? For my mother’s sake, I hoped that whatever had happened here occurred long before Ivan was master of Belrose.

              My breath coming quicker, I stood, wobbling a bit as I shifted weight to my good ankle. There, in the corner, I saw a large wooden chest. If it wasn’t too heavy, maybe I could drag it over to the opening and stand on it.

              Glancing up at Wyatt, I said, “I found something that might work.” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice.

              He nodded, looking worried. My brave face wasn’t fooling him.

              As I limped toward the chest, a giant rat—gray and mangy with a tail like a worm—scrambled out from behind it and slipped through a crack in the stone. I squealed, clutching at the collar of my shirt, the beam of my flashlight trembling.

              “You okay?” Wyatt called.

              “Yes,” I bleated.

              Taking a deep breath, I gritted my teeth and covered the rest of the distance to the chest. Without allowing myself a moment of hesitation, I threw open the lid, hoping it was close to empty so it would be light. After seeing the horror of the etchings on the walls, I guess I had expected a collection of rat bones or knives or something demented in nature.

              But instead, there was just a lone wooden toy at the bottom. A delicate sailboat, oddly preserved.

              Drawn to its lovely innocence in the midst of so much darkness, I reached into the chest and took out the toy, turning it over in my hand.

              My revelry was interrupted by Wyatt’s voice. “How’s it going down there?”

              Stuffing the sailboat into my jacket pocket, I said, “Good. Just gimme a second.”

              I put the flashlight down and got behind the chest, being careful with my injured ankle. Then I pushed the chest so it sat beneath the hole in the ceiling. Thankfully, it was fairly light.

              Wyatt—who was lying on his belly with his arms already extended toward me—gave me a thumb’s up. “Great. Now get on it and give me your hands.”

              “Are you really going to be able to pull me up?”

              He smiled. “Have a little faith.”

              I shrugged. “Okay, here goes.” I got up onto the chest, swaying a bit, and reached up and grasped Wyatt’s wrists, my hands clammy against his skin. He squeezed my wrists tight and said, “Ready?”

              “Yes.”

              Then he pulled, with greater strength than I predicted, grunting as he raised me to the upper level. Our faces inches apart and our breathing ragged, I grabbed the edge of the floor with one of my hands, the rough splinters piercing my palm.

              With one last burst of effort, Wyatt pulled my entire body out of the hole. We lay there for a moment, ribcages heaving. As I sat up, I looked over at Wyatt and noticed that there was a small tear in the fabric of his shirt around the upper chest. Beneath the cloth, a red stain was slowly widening.

              “Oh no. You’re bleeding. How did that happen?” I asked.

              Rising to a squat, he felt the cut gingerly with his fingertips. He made a “huh” sound, like he was just now noticing he was hurt. “It’s not too bad. I guess some splinters got me.”

              “Really? It looks deep.”

              “Don’t get all Florence Nightingale on me now. I’m fine. Promise.”

              I sighed. “Okay. Hey, thanks for helping me. Really.”

              Shrugging it off, he said, “No problem.”

              “What was that place?” I nodded toward the dark hole.

              “They’re the catacombs that run under the abbey. I haven’t been able to get in for years. Ever since Ivan blocked the only entrance.”

              “Well, we just made our own entrance.”

              “Yeah. Although I don’t think Ivan will be very fond of it.” Wyatt stood and helped me up.

              “Why would Ivan need a secret passageway?”

              Wyatt held out his arm to support my limping walk and we continued down the passage, giving the hole a wide berth. “Use your imagination.”

              “That’s not a very satisfactory answer.” Being so near Wyatt, I could smell him. The scent wasn’t like soap or deodorant or anything store bought. It was just
him
.

              “Yeah, well, you’d better get used to having unanswered questions.”

              “By the way, I saw some pretty freaky markings on the walls down there.”

              Wyatt glanced at me, interest sparking in his eyes. “Really?”

              I described what I’d seen, minus the sailboat still hidden in my pocket.

              “I might have to find a way down there and check it out.” There was a feverish intensity in his voice that I hadn’t heard before.

              “Well, just be careful if you do. You wouldn’t want to get trapped down there,” I said, shivering.

              After a few minutes of walking, we reached another panel in the left wall. The passage continued on, curving out of sight. I’d definitely have to explore more later.

              Wyatt flicked a switch beside the exit to the douse the lights and then he cracked open the panel to the boardroom. Seeing that it was empty, we emerged into the yawning room. After being in such a small space for so long, the boardroom’s ceilings seemed as high as the sky.

              Finally, after passing through another hallway and the foyer, we left Belrose through the main entrance’s massive arched doors. Wyatt pointed to the guest house a short distance away. “There you are, milady. Safely delivered to your destination.”

              “You call
that
safe?” I gestured to the blood on his shirt and my swollen ankle.

              Wyatt grimaced. “I guess not. Can I make it up to you? Give you a piggyback ride to the door perhaps?”

              I laughed despite myself. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

              “Okay. I’ll make amends some other way.” Wearing that smug smile, he turned and headed back to the abbey.

              Smiling, I hobbled down the walkway to the guest house, ready for a bag of ice on my ankle and a quiet moment to digest all that had just happened. A hidden love letter to a mystery woman. A secret passage. Catacombs. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

              I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the toy sailboat. It was beautifully crafted and intricate in its detail. It looked as though it could set sail at that very moment. I brought it closer to my face, inspecting the tiny portholes, the figurehead, and the helm. There were small, black markings on the inner side of one of the sails. Curious, I angled the ship so the sun would shine on the wording. The name that the letters formed stopped me cold.

              IVAN