“No. We’re familiar with the target area, and it won’t take two of us to get into the cellar. She’ll deter anyone wanting to use the pavilion and ensure we can get out easily enough.”
I kept my eyes on Mathi’s butt—never a bad sight, despite the loose coveralls—and studiously followed. As Locryn had promised, the drain tunnel soon opened into a larger, older one, giving us room to actually stand.
“This way,” he said, and marched away at a good clip, his boots sending sprays of too-thick water flying.
Mathi glanced my way, eyebrow raised in silent question. I hurried after Locryn, letting him bring up the rear. It had occurred to me in the brick tunnel that if there were indeed rats here, then the middle position was likely to be safest.
Locryn’s light played unevenly across the walls, and our footsteps echoed. The air was musty and odorous, and water ran steadily through the grasslands of slime and lichen that covered the ceilings and walls. Though the air remained foul, it was at least moving, suggesting there was an opening somewhere up ahead. That wasn’t really surprising, given many of these tunnels had once provided safe passage to and from the various underground military installations during the Second World War. There were few—aside from the dwarves, I’d wager—alive these days who knew the full extent of them. Most of the maps had disappeared, though whether that was deliberate or merely a consequence of time and their perceived unimportance once the war had ended, no one could say.
We continued on at a good pace; the air got colder, fouler, while the moss now covered the stone underfoot and made each step that much more treacherous. I kept my gaze on the ground,watching every step, not wanting to fall in this rank place even if I was almost completely covered.
I had no idea how long we traversed this underground hell, but eventually, after turning into a smaller, narrower, and oddly squarish tunnel, Locryn stopped and pointed his flashlight up at the ceiling, highlighting not stone but rather wood.
“A trapdoor?” I said in disbelief. “The cottage has a fucking trapdoor in its basement?”
“Many of them around this area do. Before it became upmarket, it was something of a haven for black marketeers, thanks to its closeness to the river and all. This one was jammed, but with a little encouragement, we did get it open.”
“Hence the comment that it wasn’t much of a hassle to get in,” Mathi said, voice dry.
“Indeed, lad, indeed. Now, there’s an old metal ladder attached to that wall there.” He motioned to the left but didn’t move the light, which remained trained on the trapdoor. I squinted, and after a moment, saw the rusted remnants. “But I’d advise against using it. We’ve made some hand-and-foot holds in this here wall for you both.”
“You’ll wait here for us?” Mathi said.
Locryn’s cheeks dimpled. “Lad, you’re paying us by the hour, so yes. And please, feel free to take your time.”
“The timing is up to Bethany, not me, I’m afraid.”
He reached for the first handhold and climbed. Once close enough, he placed a hand on the trapdoor and pushed it upward with some force. It didn’t, as I’d half expected, crash backward and make an ungodly noise.
Locryn obviously saw my surprise, because he said, “Rigged up a harness to stop it flipping completely open. I’ll return the door to its normal state once we see you back to the pavilion.”
Mathi clambered into the basement and briefly disappeared. I waited and, after a moment, he reappeared above me. “It’s safe. Your turn.”
I drew in a deeper breath, regretted it the moment the foul stench of the place coated my throat and made me cough, then gripped the first handhold. Locryn had spaced them perfectly apart, and I climbed without much problem. Mathi helped me over the edge, steadied me as I rose, then turned on his phone, which he’d obviously retrieved from under his coverall, and flicked on the flashlight. The shadows were banished, revealing a small room that had wine racks lining one side and different-sized plastic boxes on the other.
He stripped off the coveralls, then walked over to the racks, randomly pulled out a bottle, and blew off the dust. “A Vosne-Romanée Cros Parantoux 1999. Nice.”
“And expensive.” I tucked my coveralls next to his. “Christie’s sold a bottle for over one hundred pounds a few years ago. I imagine it’s gone up in value since then. You want to bring that light over here so I can check the boxes?”
He placed the bottle back in its rack and walked over, shining the light on the boxes while I opened them one by one to check the contents. Nothing stirred my second sight, and the Eye remained mute.
“I guess it was never going to be that easy,” I said, replacing the last lid.
“No.” Mathi turned and walked toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. He flicked off the light, then cautiously opened the basement door and looked out. “Clear.”
“I know you said there wasn’t internal security, but what happens if the cops outside are using motion sensors or infrared?”
“I doubt they are—it would be overkill for what is basically a watch and intercept operation. Besides, it’s doubtful they knowof the trapdoor’s existence.” He glanced back at me. “It would be advisable to keep away from the windows as much as possible, though, just in case.”
He pushed the door all the way open and stepped out into a small kitchen. Thankfully, the window almost directly opposite had the blinds pulled all the way down. I followed, then cocked my head to one side and listened to the building’s very distant wood song. It was a forlorn sound that spoke of abandonment and abuse, suggesting this house had gone through multiple changes over the years without the aid of a pixie, thereby all but severing the golden rivers of its life. That, unfortunately, was not uncommon in these redeveloped old cottages, as many saw the hiring of a pixie to reinstate and repair the rivers—and thereby the health of the entire house—a waste of time and money. It was also why so many newer houses had problems, be it mold or movement.
I did a quick search of the cupboards and drawers, but neither the Eye nor my second sight found anything. We moved on. There was no furniture in the small living room at the front of the cottage, though the carpet still bore the dents of several chairs and a coffee table. The blinds here were also drawn, so hopefully luck was with us and the rest of them would be, too.
After checking the understairs storage area—empty aside from a vacuum, a mop, and a bucket—we headed upstairs, discovering a bedroom on either side of the landing and a small bathroom directly opposite.
There was nothing in either bedroom—the smaller one had been set up as an office, but the wall safe was indeed empty and the desk held only dust bunnies—but the minute I stepped into the bathroom, the Eye flared to life, spearing red lightning through the semi-shadowed room.
“To state the obvious, it looks like there’s something here,” Mathi said.
