The red monk nodded again. The monks all threw back their robes. Beneath they were dressed in clinging black, with swords, daggers and tasers strapped to their bodies. Additional monks brandishing crossbows appeared in the booths along the walls.
‘You have been warned,’ called the red monk.
‘Gots it,’ said Zyra, grabbing the keys from the altar. The map disappeared, and the light within the altar was gone.
Vera backhanded another monk. Pandemonium broke out as the monks attacked.
‘Don'ts suppose there's a back way?’ Tark asked the red monk hopefully.
The red monk flung back his robes. Dressed like the others, he had but one weapon. As he drew the scimitar o’ light, he inclined his head to the drapes at the back of the Temple.
‘The crypt has an entry to the sewers.’
‘Thanks,’ said Tark.
‘Praise be to the Designers,’ added Zyra.
‘Praise be to the Designers!’ boomed the monk, as he walked purposefully towards the fight.
‘Comes on,’ said Zyra, as she dashed for the drapes. Tark followed, pulling the cart and glancing over his shoulder. Vera, crossbow arrows sticking out of her fleshy arms and torso, looking like an enraged bull, was flinging monks in all directions as her dress and apron swished about her bulk. But she was outnumbered. The monks swarmed over her like ants.
Zyra pulled back the drapes to reveal steps disappearing down into darkness. Between them, she and Tark carried the shopping cart down into the crypt.
It was a long narrow cellar. Cubicles lined the stone walls on either side from floor to ceiling. In front of each opening hung a small television screen with an image of a solemn monk with a haze of static behind him. In the darkness beyond each of the screens, Tark glimpsed brown robes. In the floor at the end of the crypt was a rough hole, which looked as if it had been hand-carved in a hurry by an inexperienced stonemason with a hammer and broken chisel.
‘This musts be it,’ said Zyra.
‘Pew!’ Tark sniffed the air. ‘Smells likes a toilet, nots a crypt.’
‘Maybes it's both,’ suggested Zyra. ‘The ’ole does lead to the sewers.’
‘Oh great,’ said Tark. ‘This just gets betta and betta.’
From above, they heard an almighty crash. Without further hesitation, Zyra jumped into the hole.
There was a splash, then Zyra's voice echoed up:
‘Throws down the stash.’
Tark pushed the cart into the hole, waited for the splash and Zyra's voice calling ‘Gots it’, then, holding his nose, he followed.
11: Underground
Tark and Zyra wheeled their treasure trolley through the ankle-deep, foul smelling sludge. The darkness of the sewage tunnels was oppressive, but not complete. The rounded walls were dripping in phosphorescent green slime. Rats scurried about in the sludge and sat on stone ledges that dotted the walls.
Tark and Zyra walked for ages in silence — around bends, down ladders, through narrow connecting tunnels. Always Zyra leading the way, the Oracle's map burned into her brain.
‘I don't likes this place,’ said Tark.
‘Me neither,’ agreed Zyra.
‘I don't likes the way the Oracle tolds us,’ continued Tark.
‘Me neither.’
‘I don't likes the stink.’
‘Me neither.’
‘I don't likes the way them rats is watching us.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Ya noticed some is different. The way their eyes is glowing?’
‘Yep.’
‘Same green glow as the slime on them walls.’
‘Yep.’
‘Ya thinks maybe — ’
‘Shuts up!’ yelled Zyra, her voice echoing along the tunnels. ‘Let's just gets to the door. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ Tark kicked at one of the rats in frustration.
As his foot connected with the animal, an eerie howl echoed through the tunnels. Tark looked at Zyra, but said nothing.
They proceeded in silence for a while.
‘Ya knows,’ said Tark, breaking the silence again. ‘The further we go, the more rats there are.’
Zyra glared at him.
They continued for another few minutes before Tark spoke again. ‘I don't likes rats.’
‘They're not all that fond of you either,’ said a mysterious, squeaky voice out of nowhere.
Tark and Zyra stopped and scanned the tunnel. The rat horde stared back at them, some with phosphorescent slime reflected in their dark eyes, others with a glowing greenness all their own.
‘Don't says nothin’,’ said Zyra, holding up her hand to stop Tark.
Tark nodded and they kept walking along the tunnel. But Tark couldn't go for long without saying what was on his mind.
‘Ya don't thinks the rats can talk, do ya?’
Zyra glared at him.
‘It wuz a squeaky kinda rat-likes voice.’
Zyra didn't respond.
Under the watchful gaze of the rats, they finally came to a fork in the tunnels.
‘Which ways?’ asked Tark.
Zyra indicated the left-hand tunnel.
‘But the other way is much more interesting,’ said the mysterious, squeaky, rat-like voice, echoing around the sewer.
Ignoring the voice, Zyra headed down the left-hand tunnel, Tark following.
‘Not willing to take advice,’ said the voice. ‘No matter! This is my domain. And all tunnels lead to … me!’
‘Are ya sure we is goin’ the rights way?’ asked Tark.
‘Yes!’ hissed Zyra.
Suddenly the rats were scurrying forward. No, not scurrying, thought Tark,
Tark glanced nervously over his shoulder, hoping that there wasn't anything chasing the rats — and them.
But there was.
Tark yelled loud enough to make Zyra stop in her tracks and turn around to see a wall of fire whooshing down the tunnel towards them.
‘Run!’ she yelled, grabbing Tark with one hand and the trolley with the other.
As they ran, the sludge at their feet seemed to become thicker and stickier, slowing their progress. Tark chanced another glance over his shoulder. The fire was almost on top of them. In his fear and panic, he never stopped to ponder the fact that they could feel no heat. As the fire bore down on them, Tark pushed Zyra to the tunnel floor and threw himself on top of her.
After a few seconds, Tark realised that he was not being roasted alive. He warily raised his head. His eyes widened with surprise.
‘Woulds ya get off a me,’ gurgled Zyra through a mouthful of sludge.
