Underworld
It took some time before Beregond and Bergil reached the first entrance of the sewers. It was located at the other end of the city and there many others on their way there, true. However, Beregond wanted to see the entrance near which the last of the victims was discovered. Moreover, it hadn’t rained and the place wasn’t as bustling with life as other areas of the city were, so Beregond hoped that he would be able to discover some clues there.
It was a strange sight to see the father and the son walking in such a hurry, torches in hand. But only the curious, yellow gaze of a black cat on the rooftops locked on them momentarily before returning to its semi-alertness for any game truly worthwhile.
It was just as well. Beregond didn’t want to be seen by anyone, especially the murderer.
“Hold the torch,” he said briefly to Bergil, handing his light over.
Bergil obeyed, making sure that he illuminated the spot his father was now examining. Beregond had sat on his heels, his eyes scrutinising the ground close to the iron lid that separated the houses from the other, darker world of swirling filth underneath.
Truly, the ground had markings that signified that it had been disturbed. Even so, it wasn’t what dismissed all doubts within Beregond’s mind as to the importance of his discovery. For Beregond could see that the lid had been removed; it wasn’t closed all the way as it was supposed to.
He looked up at Bergil. He could see in the boy’s eyes that he had noticed it, too.
The same thought entered both their minds.
They had to go down.
Opening the lid wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t as heavy as it appeared. However, as soon as the opening was revealed, the man and the boy had to turn their heads away. The putrid smell that permeated their nostrils nauseated them, making them wince visibly. Beregond instantly tore off one of his sleeves, making two improvised masks for him and Bergil. He covered their noses and mouths carefully, securing the knot in place.
“Breathe through your mouth,” he said, his voice coming out muffled. “And stay close to me.”
He was the first to go down, stepping carefully on the iron bars that served as a ladder. As soon as he was down, he signalled to Bergil to throw the torches down to him, so that the boy had no problem coming down.
Bergil nodded his understanding and, moments later, he was once again by his father’s side in darkness – he had closed the lid again. Meanwhile, Beregond had found a small recess on the wall and touched it with the torch’s flaming side. There was an echoing whooshing sound as fire sprang suddenly to life, travelling ahead and devouring the oil with which the recess was coated, lighting the way.
Bergil’s eyes widened to see the vastness of the tunnel, and he placed a hand on his sword, gripping the handle tightly.
“Maybe we should separate...”
“No,” Beregond answered at once. He pointed at the stony path that unravelled before them, keeping the foul waters at bay. “It is this way.”
“How can you be certain?” Bergil asked, surprised.
“Because of the last victim, Bergil.”
“I do not understand.”
Beregond faced his son. “Ponder on this: if you were a murderer, what would you do with the body?”
“Get rid of it,” Bergil said at once. “The farther from me, the better.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I’d drag him by the arms.”
“Exactly,” Beregond said. “That means the legs would point in the direction from whence the body was dragged. The direction we’re facing now.”
“But the place is still a maze,” said the boy, shaking his head.
“Nevertheless, it is the best clue we have for now.” Beregond pointed at a couple of etched markings on the wall. “You remember how to read the Dwarven runes, do you not?”
Bergil nodded.
“Good. Keep an eye on them and commit them into your memory. They will be our markers to find our way.”
“I will.”
And with that, the two ventured forward, stepping carefully on the narrow stony path that served as barrier to keep the water away from them. They didn’t know how long and through how many arches and tunnels they walked, Beregond leading the way and Bergil on the lookout for the runes. Nevertheless, it was becoming clear to both of them that their search was more difficult than they had believed at first. And when they reached into a crossing, Beregond’s grip on his torch tightened in frustration.
“Father.”
Beregond turned, surprised to see Bergil looking intently on one of the corners the wall. When he walked up to his side, however, the man discovered what it was that caught his son’s attention. He placed a tentative finger on the brownish stains and brought forward his torch.
“Are they--?” Bergil started.
Beregond proved faster. “Finger marks. Bloody ones at that.” He cocked his head, his brows locking in a thoughtful frown, and then carefully placed his hand over the stains. “It’s a left hand. And judging by the angle…” He crouched slightly. “Well, whoever’s hand it was, he placed it there so he could support himself.”
“Maybe because he was burdened? With a body?” Bergil ventured.
Beregond nodded. “It seems the most probable explanation for now. We are on the right track.”
“So are we turning right now?”
“You catch on fast,” Beregond said, his eyes reflecting his pride. “In which tunnel are we?”
“F 14,” answered the boy.
“Which means we should now be on…”
Beregond never finished his sentence. He stared at the runes incredulously, stiffening.
“What is the matter?”
The captain shook his head in answer. “Probably nothing. Let us continue on.” However, when he took a couple of steps more, he turned to his son again. “Bergil? This time say the runes aloud as we pass them by.”
“Why?” Bergil asked, not really understanding.
“Just indulge me.”
And so they set off once again. The only sounds that echoed throughout the tunnels were their footsteps and Bergil’s voice, reciting the numbers as soon as he caught sight of one.
F 12… F 10… F 9… F 6… F 3… F 2… F 1… and, finally…
“F.”
At that moment, Beregond also came to an abrupt halt, facing before him a large stone wall.
A dead end.
“Did we make a mistake on our way?” Bergil asked.
“No mistake,” Beregond answered. His hands started fumbling the wall fervently, eyes so close that his nose almost touched the stone.
Understanding as to what his father could be looking for, Bergil started looking for any kind of latch or secret switch, too; yet there was nothing. Beregond swore under his breath, a sign to Bergil that the man was quite angry.
“It must only open from the inside,” Beregond said through gritted teeth. He placed a fist on the wall, groaning his dismay at this turn of events. But, he soon regained his composure, and he was contemplating matters carefully once again. “No matter.” He turned on his heel and patted Bergil’s shoulder. “Let us go.”
“But we were almost at the end!” the boy said, rushing beside Beregond. “We cannot abandon our search now!”
“I am by no means abandoning it, Bergil,” the man replied. “We have already discovered more than we had in the last month.”
“But the murderer…”
“Is someone from Faramir’s household.”
Bergil stopped in his tracks at once, eyes widening. “You mean that F I kept reading was… the area around the fortress?”
Beregond nodded. “And that wall was a section of the fortress itself. The murderer has his haunts behind that wall, and uses this passage to find his victims, have his way with them in some other forsaken area, and then uses it again to dispose of them.”
“But everyone in the household is respected and honourable, loyal to Lord Faramir!”
“Apparently not everyone,” Beregond said grimly. “The question now is who could be…?”
The man froze in his tracks, because it was then that another set of footfalls started echoing through the tunnels. Alarmed, Beregond and Bergil drew their swords and moved forward cautiously, waiting to see who was coming.
They were certainly surprised to see that it was Dûrinas who appeared from around the corner, holding a small lamp. And he was just as surprised to see the man and the boy in this place.
“Captain, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Beregond answered, his hand instinctively held in front of Bergil in a protective manner.
Dûrinas sighed wearily, as though he was about to explain things to a person with intellectual drawbacks.
“I was testing a theory of mine.”
“Such as?” Beregond asked, his voice perhaps a bit harsher than he intended.
“Whether the murderer could use these passages so that he can be at every part of the city he wishes undetected. It is the only logical explanation I, personally, could come up, other than assuming the murderer to be a ghost. When I came down here, I noticed that there was light in the tunnels, so I ventured to see for myself what has been happening.”
Beregond still wasn’t assured though. “You came here on your own?”
Dûrinas smiled, yet that smile never reached his eyes as he regarded the captain almost coldly. “Let us say I acted on impulse. In much the same way as you foolishly brought your son with you.”
Beregond clenched his jaw, not expecting the retort. Bergil, on the other hand, seemed as though he was ready to voice his own objections at such words, but his father stopped him at the last moment.
“Very well,” he said, deciding to accept Dûrinas’s explanation for the present. “It would seem that we were spared from encountering the murderer anyway.”
Dûrinas nodded. “Indeed. We should be going back, though, before we push our luck any further.” He beckoned the man and the boy to follow him. “Did you find anything else while here, Captain?”
Beregond, who was now walking between Dûrinas and Bergil, thought of his options carefully before answering. After all, there was this terrible suspicion that someone from the household was the culprit behind those murders. That meant Beregond didn’t know who he should trust. On the other hand, he didn’t want to show Dûrinas that he was currently under suspicion as well.
So there was no other option but to answer quite evasively: “Nothing palpable.”
“I see,” Dûrinas said. “Do you intend to report to Lady …owyn?”
Beregond frowned at the question. “Yes.”
The shadows that flickered on Dûrinas prevented Beregond from noticing a strange gleam in the old man’s eyes.
“Should you not wait until you have something palpable, Captain?”
That tone made Beregond feel more than just a little comfortable. And that was the only reason he answered: “She needs to know what her husband said to me before his departure.”
Dûrinas didn’t say anything this time. He simply led the father and the son back to the surface in silence, hardly seeming to acknowledge his companions anymore.
TBC…
It was a strange sight to see the father and the son walking in such a hurry, torches in hand. But only the curious, yellow gaze of a black cat on the rooftops locked on them momentarily before returning to its semi-alertness for any game truly worthwhile.
It was just as well. Beregond didn’t want to be seen by anyone, especially the murderer.
“Hold the torch,” he said briefly to Bergil, handing his light over.
Bergil obeyed, making sure that he illuminated the spot his father was now examining. Beregond had sat on his heels, his eyes scrutinising the ground close to the iron lid that separated the houses from the other, darker world of swirling filth underneath.
Truly, the ground had markings that signified that it had been disturbed. Even so, it wasn’t what dismissed all doubts within Beregond’s mind as to the importance of his discovery. For Beregond could see that the lid had been removed; it wasn’t closed all the way as it was supposed to.
He looked up at Bergil. He could see in the boy’s eyes that he had noticed it, too.
The same thought entered both their minds.
They had to go down.
Opening the lid wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t as heavy as it appeared. However, as soon as the opening was revealed, the man and the boy had to turn their heads away. The putrid smell that permeated their nostrils nauseated them, making them wince visibly. Beregond instantly tore off one of his sleeves, making two improvised masks for him and Bergil. He covered their noses and mouths carefully, securing the knot in place.
“Breathe through your mouth,” he said, his voice coming out muffled. “And stay close to me.”
He was the first to go down, stepping carefully on the iron bars that served as a ladder. As soon as he was down, he signalled to Bergil to throw the torches down to him, so that the boy had no problem coming down.
Bergil nodded his understanding and, moments later, he was once again by his father’s side in darkness – he had closed the lid again. Meanwhile, Beregond had found a small recess on the wall and touched it with the torch’s flaming side. There was an echoing whooshing sound as fire sprang suddenly to life, travelling ahead and devouring the oil with which the recess was coated, lighting the way.
Bergil’s eyes widened to see the vastness of the tunnel, and he placed a hand on his sword, gripping the handle tightly.
“Maybe we should separate...”
“No,” Beregond answered at once. He pointed at the stony path that unravelled before them, keeping the foul waters at bay. “It is this way.”
“How can you be certain?” Bergil asked, surprised.
“Because of the last victim, Bergil.”
“I do not understand.”
Beregond faced his son. “Ponder on this: if you were a murderer, what would you do with the body?”
“Get rid of it,” Bergil said at once. “The farther from me, the better.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I’d drag him by the arms.”
“Exactly,” Beregond said. “That means the legs would point in the direction from whence the body was dragged. The direction we’re facing now.”
“But the place is still a maze,” said the boy, shaking his head.
“Nevertheless, it is the best clue we have for now.” Beregond pointed at a couple of etched markings on the wall. “You remember how to read the Dwarven runes, do you not?”
Bergil nodded.
“Good. Keep an eye on them and commit them into your memory. They will be our markers to find our way.”
“I will.”
And with that, the two ventured forward, stepping carefully on the narrow stony path that served as barrier to keep the water away from them. They didn’t know how long and through how many arches and tunnels they walked, Beregond leading the way and Bergil on the lookout for the runes. Nevertheless, it was becoming clear to both of them that their search was more difficult than they had believed at first. And when they reached into a crossing, Beregond’s grip on his torch tightened in frustration.
“Father.”
Beregond turned, surprised to see Bergil looking intently on one of the corners the wall. When he walked up to his side, however, the man discovered what it was that caught his son’s attention. He placed a tentative finger on the brownish stains and brought forward his torch.
“Are they--?” Bergil started.
Beregond proved faster. “Finger marks. Bloody ones at that.” He cocked his head, his brows locking in a thoughtful frown, and then carefully placed his hand over the stains. “It’s a left hand. And judging by the angle…” He crouched slightly. “Well, whoever’s hand it was, he placed it there so he could support himself.”
“Maybe because he was burdened? With a body?” Bergil ventured.
Beregond nodded. “It seems the most probable explanation for now. We are on the right track.”
“So are we turning right now?”
“You catch on fast,” Beregond said, his eyes reflecting his pride. “In which tunnel are we?”
“F 14,” answered the boy.
“Which means we should now be on…”
Beregond never finished his sentence. He stared at the runes incredulously, stiffening.
“What is the matter?”
The captain shook his head in answer. “Probably nothing. Let us continue on.” However, when he took a couple of steps more, he turned to his son again. “Bergil? This time say the runes aloud as we pass them by.”
“Why?” Bergil asked, not really understanding.
“Just indulge me.”
And so they set off once again. The only sounds that echoed throughout the tunnels were their footsteps and Bergil’s voice, reciting the numbers as soon as he caught sight of one.
F 12… F 10… F 9… F 6… F 3… F 2… F 1… and, finally…
“F.”
At that moment, Beregond also came to an abrupt halt, facing before him a large stone wall.
A dead end.
“Did we make a mistake on our way?” Bergil asked.
“No mistake,” Beregond answered. His hands started fumbling the wall fervently, eyes so close that his nose almost touched the stone.
Understanding as to what his father could be looking for, Bergil started looking for any kind of latch or secret switch, too; yet there was nothing. Beregond swore under his breath, a sign to Bergil that the man was quite angry.
“It must only open from the inside,” Beregond said through gritted teeth. He placed a fist on the wall, groaning his dismay at this turn of events. But, he soon regained his composure, and he was contemplating matters carefully once again. “No matter.” He turned on his heel and patted Bergil’s shoulder. “Let us go.”
“But we were almost at the end!” the boy said, rushing beside Beregond. “We cannot abandon our search now!”
“I am by no means abandoning it, Bergil,” the man replied. “We have already discovered more than we had in the last month.”
“But the murderer…”
“Is someone from Faramir’s household.”
Bergil stopped in his tracks at once, eyes widening. “You mean that F I kept reading was… the area around the fortress?”
Beregond nodded. “And that wall was a section of the fortress itself. The murderer has his haunts behind that wall, and uses this passage to find his victims, have his way with them in some other forsaken area, and then uses it again to dispose of them.”
“But everyone in the household is respected and honourable, loyal to Lord Faramir!”
“Apparently not everyone,” Beregond said grimly. “The question now is who could be…?”
The man froze in his tracks, because it was then that another set of footfalls started echoing through the tunnels. Alarmed, Beregond and Bergil drew their swords and moved forward cautiously, waiting to see who was coming.
They were certainly surprised to see that it was Dûrinas who appeared from around the corner, holding a small lamp. And he was just as surprised to see the man and the boy in this place.
“Captain, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Beregond answered, his hand instinctively held in front of Bergil in a protective manner.
Dûrinas sighed wearily, as though he was about to explain things to a person with intellectual drawbacks.
“I was testing a theory of mine.”
“Such as?” Beregond asked, his voice perhaps a bit harsher than he intended.
“Whether the murderer could use these passages so that he can be at every part of the city he wishes undetected. It is the only logical explanation I, personally, could come up, other than assuming the murderer to be a ghost. When I came down here, I noticed that there was light in the tunnels, so I ventured to see for myself what has been happening.”
Beregond still wasn’t assured though. “You came here on your own?”
Dûrinas smiled, yet that smile never reached his eyes as he regarded the captain almost coldly. “Let us say I acted on impulse. In much the same way as you foolishly brought your son with you.”
Beregond clenched his jaw, not expecting the retort. Bergil, on the other hand, seemed as though he was ready to voice his own objections at such words, but his father stopped him at the last moment.
“Very well,” he said, deciding to accept Dûrinas’s explanation for the present. “It would seem that we were spared from encountering the murderer anyway.”
Dûrinas nodded. “Indeed. We should be going back, though, before we push our luck any further.” He beckoned the man and the boy to follow him. “Did you find anything else while here, Captain?”
Beregond, who was now walking between Dûrinas and Bergil, thought of his options carefully before answering. After all, there was this terrible suspicion that someone from the household was the culprit behind those murders. That meant Beregond didn’t know who he should trust. On the other hand, he didn’t want to show Dûrinas that he was currently under suspicion as well.
So there was no other option but to answer quite evasively: “Nothing palpable.”
“I see,” Dûrinas said. “Do you intend to report to Lady …owyn?”
Beregond frowned at the question. “Yes.”
The shadows that flickered on Dûrinas prevented Beregond from noticing a strange gleam in the old man’s eyes.
“Should you not wait until you have something palpable, Captain?”
That tone made Beregond feel more than just a little comfortable. And that was the only reason he answered: “She needs to know what her husband said to me before his departure.”
Dûrinas didn’t say anything this time. He simply led the father and the son back to the surface in silence, hardly seeming to acknowledge his companions anymore.
TBC…
Subtitles
- Brother's Debt
- Fullmetal Body, Fullmetal Heart
- A Quiet Day
- In The Night
- Two Men's Faces
- Transfer
- Making Plans
- Shadows Of The Past
- Underworld
- The Price Of Immortality
- Departure
- The Key
- Enemy Revealed
- A Step Back
- A Step Closer To The Truth
- A Race
- Rush Valley
- Responsibility
- Izumi
- Time To Stand Still
- Wild Child
- Encounter
- Riddles In The Dark
- In Search For Answers
- A Teacher's Mistakes
- Complications
- Visits
- The Nature Of A Homunculus
- Dante Of The Deep Forest
- Kidnapped
- Fight At The Devil's Nest
- Innocence Lost
- Blood Spilt
- Recovering
- Bearers Of Ill News
- The Flame Alchemist
- True Colours
- Markings On The Ground
- The Mission
- Heading To Liore
- Change Of Plans
- The Scar
- Holy Mother
- A Mother's Face
- Final Moments