And One for All, from Sign of the Cross

And One for All, from Sign of the Cross

Sign of the Cross

By JeanTre16

Chapter 20

And One for All

For three days the lone Musketeer had been trapped in the bowels of the palace, hoping to find proof of Cardinal Mazarin’s secret society. Having heard the sound of running water, he followed the trail of lit torches only to find them leading nowhere a short distance later. ‘Why would someone light only a few torches and then leave the rest unlit?’ he hypothesized nearly aloud. Siroc sighed heavily to shake off his lack of concentration. He was tired. He had been alone in this time-eluding prison too long and was beginning to feel the effects.

Again, he forced himself to focus on the evidence presented. He felt the surface of an unlit torch and rubbed the soot between his fingers. With squinted eyes he adjusted his vision to get a better look. The residue was anything but fresh. Progressing down the corridor, he observed that the remainder of the torches lining the descending steps also showed no sign they had been used for some time. Then, the path abruptly ended at an empty, unvisited chamber. Siroc frowned and shook his head, perplexed. More mysteries, he reasoned, were not exactly what he needed right now.

Holding his lantern up, he walked about the vacant stone room, studying it. He stopped to listen to the sound of steadily flowing water, which seemed to come from beneath the ice-cold flooring. Seeing a grate, he placed his lantern down, removed the heavy barrier and slid it aside with effort. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes adjusted he made out the movement of the blackish fluid running lengthwise from under where he squat. He surmised its path led to the Seine.

Inquisitively, he speculated the purpose of the chamber and the utility of its water source. It was a handy place for disposing unwanted evidence; no one would ever find a discarded object there. Consequently, the scientist wondered how many secrets presently lay at the bottom of this forgotten tributary or somewhere downstream from where he was.

Staring at the water, his vision caught on several obscure objects obstructing the current. He brought his lantern up over the opening to shed more light below. They were unrecognizable at first, but then, he saw them. Horror crept over his face. There, resisting the blackish current, like great stones, were the remains of several corpses, buried forever in the dark, cold waters beneath where few would ever tread. An unnerving wave coursed over Siroc’s dampened skin, and he quickly rose to his feet, backing off from the demons that lurked below. With his lantern clutched in his hand, he fumbled his way backwards, all the while his eyes never leaving the haunting pit. When he had reached the steps, he physically shook off his fright and made his way hastily out of the chamber, up to where the last lit torch had been.

Reaching the illuminated spot, he leaned his back heavily against the wall and closed his eyes. “Damn!” he cursed aloud, not caring or even giving a thought of anyone hearing him. He reopened his eyes and ran a shaking hand through his hair as he tried to focus his thoughts. “Get a grip!” he reproved himself sternly. Terror blazed in his orbs and a sickly pallor hued his fear-etched features. While intentionally taking deep, extended breaths to calm his nerves, he reached into his sack and withdrew his flask of water. Removing the lid, he emptied it into his parched mouth. When he caught his breath, he replaced the lid — more out of habit than necessity, since there was nothing left inside — and shoved the useless container back into his work sack.

His non-existent water supply and nearly depleted food rations only fed his discouragement. The water beneath the palace was out of the question for drinking with the pollutants of decaying flesh so near. “Perhaps there’s nothing else here but dead men, no lair of the Dark Order and no masterminded plot to manipulate the king,” Siroc voiced his uncertainty.

He wiped the beading sweat from his brow and leaned his full weight against the stone to study his surroundings. He couldn’t be very far from where he had started his journey after leaving Cardinal Mazarin’s office. The thought was disheartening. He stared at the cross-shaped mounted torches and their flickering flames. Then it hit him. “Wait one minute,” he extrapolated, scrunching his face in astonishment. “No torches were lit when I entered.” His mind raced. Who lit them and why had only a few been ignited? And where were these mysterious men now? Overcome by the new wave of questions, he groaned angrily and slammed his fist in frustration on the stone behind him.