Le Mirabel (Ruinand underwater city)
Marathon Bay, Greece
Present day
John Halland came round and tried to get his bearings. He struggled to get his head around what happened to him. His head was hurting. Still unsure of himself and his sanity, he woke up to survey his venerable prison.
He felt this unfamiliar space suffocating him and it wasn’t because of the shackles that had appeared on his legs and arms. He was desperate to scratch at the heart of the claustrophobic feeling that clutched at his throat and flowed down all the way to his lungs and squeezed his heart in its fist.
The place was bathed in almost total darkness. He could not make out any windows. He could only just about see what appeared to be solid walls. But however much he had tried he could not make out the total size of his prison cell.
Somehow it did not feel that small, though, in spite of the feeling of being trapped that his shackles and isolation gave him. He decided to conduct a simple test. He shouted. The echo travelled far and bounced around, hurting his ears and making the whole of him shake and, in combination with his chains, vibrate painfully.
He thought about repeating it until his chains and his body vibrated with the same resonance and came into sync and his shackles snapped. It was a wonderful idea in theory, but most likely impossible to put into practice.
The space sounded larger than he thought at first sight. He tried to get up and walk, but the chains resisted and pulled violently, straining and cutting into his wrists and legs and throwing him back down in agony.
There should be an opening somewhere, as the air smelled fresh and he could feel a welcoming breeze that offered some relief to his hangover-like head which felt about to explode. He thought that maybe his shouting would, hopefully, have invited a reaction by his captors, whose identity he did not know, and they would have paid him a visit.
It all happened so quickly in New York, that by the time he realised what had happened, he was already being knocked unconscious and it was too late to do anything about it, assuming he could. He waited, straining his ears to pick up a sound, but nothing happened. Nobody came in.
In his clouded and mushy mind everything was a blur. He suddenly recalled the dream he had so long ago now. He had no idea it would turn out to be a vision of his future. The only thing he knew was that he should think of something, anything, to extricate himself from this predicament.
He was staring intently at a point a few paces away from him, lost in his thoughts, when, as his eyes began to adjust to the dim light, he realised that he was looking at a strange lump. He focused his eyes further at that lump that at first glance looked like a sack of something or other.
Then he noticed that the lump was moving rhythmically up and down. Then it hit him. The lump was breathing. For a terrifying second he feared it might have been a large animal, a dog or something vicious, placed in there by his captors to guard him and keep him terrified and subdued.
But no, it was another human being, another “inmate”. He studied his fellow cellmate from a safe distance. It wasn’t out of caution. He had no choice really as he couldn’t move closer. The lump or body seemed slumped in an awkward position, as if thrown away as waste from an abattoir.
As John Halland was going in and out of consciousness, images and sounds came and went, people manhandling him, probably his captors, whispering and pointing. He caught a name: Giorgos… James. He was too confused to connect the name with the Giorgos he had met recently in James Calvell’s office.
He thought about his captors. What could he remember about them? How many were there? What did they look like? What did they sound like? What did they do? How far back could he go to remember, to make sense of what had happened to him. He looked again at the living dead lump near him and wondered what happened to that poor soul.
Where was he? Was it the underwater city he saw in another of his dreams? The name that crept into his mind was Le Mirabel, but he did not know where that came from, how he knew this. He looked back at his dreams that had troubled him for some time now.
He remembered another name, Aristo, and then another, that of an intimidating but gentle woman, Elli was it? Names flew off his mind like a trickle of a river starting at the source and then gaining volume and force as it flowed on its way to the sea, by then a growing unstoppable torrent.
It was names he did not recognise. Apart from “Valchern Corporation”. That was a familiar name. He had heard of that powerful company, its tentacles spread all over the globe, and its interest in the funding of archaeological expeditions, and not any old expeditions for that matter. All had a common theme: Byzantine relics and artefacts.
And there were rumours of the organisation’s famed collection of antiquities, relics, artefacts and other valuable objects, that not even the greatest museums of this world could rival. But they remained mere rumours. He had found no-one who had seen the collection to confirm its existence and provide details on its contents.
The lump stirred again. Suddenly he heard voices and they were coming closer. Then he saw a light approaching. He heard a noise at the far end of the room, a key turning, a bolt being removed. Then there was the echo of a light switch being flicked on and a bright light overhead flooded the space.
He could see that it was a huge cavernous space made of stone, coral and crystal. So those were the blinking lights he caught see from time to time. He could now get a better look of the lump near him. For the lump seemed to have woken up as if from the dead and sat cross-legged looking around dazed.
John could just about see that it was not an animal, but a man he didn’t recognise. The man’s face was badly bruised. He looked despondent and tortured, as if he had been through hell and back. The poor guy looked like a tramp dressed in rags, like a large-sized doll, lifeless and limp and dirty as if he had been doused by a bucket of mud or manure.
The man’s chest heaved and bounced up and down as if he was in the throes of an anxiety attack. Who was he? Then it came to him. It was difficult to tell at first who was hiding under all the layers of mucky make-up. But when he concentrated hard he saw that it was Giorgos, the archaeologist and friend of James. James… where was he, he wondered? Had something happened to him?
If he, John, was here captive, surely James must have been taken too? Perhaps James was also here. And with Giorgos here as well, there was only one explanation, one thing they had in common: the icon and the ring and that business with the last Byzantine Emperor.
He looked around but he couldn’t see James. He could have been kept in another cell. What he saw, though, was another man slumped with his face on the cold floor with the strange texture, both firm but almost liquid jelly-like to the touch.
The two men who entered the room ignored him and Giorgos and went straight to the other man. One of them shook him violently.
‘Aristo Symitzis, you need to come with us. You’ve been summoned.’
Now he knew the identity of that man. He had heard of Aristo Symitzis, son of Elli Symitzis, one of the wealthiest and most powerful women in the world. Aristo looked up, confused.
They had no way of knowing that he had hoped it was all a bad dream, and his confusion was disappointment when he realised his ordeal was real. Aristo stood up with difficulty as a result of his maltreatment in their hands. They saw him shaky on his feet and held his arms to steady him. They led him out and the door was firmly closed behind them.
John and Giorgos were not left alone in silence for long. A four-band escort arrived soon after. They dragged John and Giorgos away from their cell, their temporary small corner of comfort and cold, dark cosiness. They were led through bright, lavishly decorated corridors, a stark contrast to the cold and damp dark cell.
The pace was fast, and exhausted as they were, they were struggling to keep up with their escorts. Their escorts were vocally and physically pulling them forward, their actions lashing them like a whip.
John and Giorgos had no choice but to fight the urge to give up, tortured by their escorts setting an increasingly faster pace that reminded John of being chased by a hungry wild animal or an invisible enemy bend on catching up with them and annihilating them.
They reached an antechamber to a grander chamber that they could see through the doorway beyond. The four-band escort stopped. John and Giorgos obeyed the silent order of their temporary masters and stopped behind them. They waited there, presumably until called into the grand chamber up ahead.
They saw that man, Aristo, being paraded past them, appearing to have been cleaned up, and dressed in clean clothes, but with the bruising standing out, more prominent and ugly than before. Aristo looked at Giorgos and John and acknowledged them with a slight nod of his head. Aristo was led into the grand chamber.
The four-band escort turned and stood two at either side of Giorgos and John and, grabbing their arms, pulled them forward and through the doorway. They were led to an eerie chamber, to what looked like a throne room, a woman’s testament to her ambition and self-importance, a dark parody of a hall of justice of the palace of the kings of Egypt and pharaohs in Alexandria in the presence of none other than the Madame Marcquesa de Parmalanski, leader of the Ruinands.
She was sitting, resplendent in her finery, on a golden throne with sphinxes for handles and onyx cobras forming the back of the throne and rising upwards with their frightening heads turned towards the entrance.
The Madame Marcquesa’s servants were standing on either side of their mistress, in silent reverence for the “living goddess”. A man moved forward from a place just below the throne. He stood next to Aristo and indicating him, he bowed to the Marcquesa.
‘My lady, I present your guests, here to pay homage to your Majesty and grace.’
‘Thank you, Koutsoparontis.’
Koutsoparontis bowed again and moved back to his original position. Aristo, Giorgos and John were led to one side to clear a path from the entrance to the throne.
They waited in silence for only a few seconds before trumpets were heard from a remote end of the chamber and a procession of five men entered with none other than Elli Symitzis in the middle, obviously being gently, but still with stealthy determination, pushed forward.
A man from this escort split from its main body, approached the throne and bowed.
‘My lady, may I present your guest of honour, the notorious Elli Symitzis.’
Those present, excluding the captives, sniggered, out of loyalty to their mistress. The man then moved immediately back into place. Another man whispered something in Elli’s ear and forcibly nudged her forward.
She walked to a distance of a few paces from the throne and kneeled down bowing her head to the Marcquesa. The Marcquesa was amused and she smiled a victorious smile and laughed an ugly victorious laugh that echoed long after her face attained its serious distorted mask.
‘If it isn’t Elli Symitzis… Dear Elli, what an honour that you deign to grace us with your presence, how blessed we are to be generously granted such precious time which is but a small window in your so busy and valuable time.’ She was spitting the irony to all the corners of the chamber and beyond.
Elli did not hesitate to respond in kind. ‘I must say, Madame, this spectacle, this show of pomp and circumstance is pointless and wasted on me. It shows insecurity. I would credit you with more class and style than that.’ The Marcquesa did not acknowledge the insult, but simply smiled, giving Elli a hard stare and then looked to all those present, to her literally captive audience and loyal fans.
‘We are here today to pass judgement on these poor specimens that want to pass for people. Your fate will be decided in due course. First things first. You may know by now that I have in my possession the Likureian icons and the Emperor’s ring. And I have recently acquired a third icon, the one that was stolen from the auction at the Topkapi in Istanbul.
‘I am aware, as I know you are, of the power residing with the last Emperor hidden in his tomb and I want to be the one to initiate and complete the revival process. When he comes to life, I’m the one he will see and the one he will speak to first and I’m the one he will be a servant to.
‘His power will be placed in my service to be harnessed for what purpose I decide. With that power in my disposal the world does not stand a chance. You and your organisation are in my way and will be but an ant to be squashed to let me pass on my destiny to world domination.’
The Marcquesa paused and stared intently at Elli, her expression of triumph over her adversary a vision for sore eyes, a precious snapshot of invincibility, of immortality. Was it to last, though, or would it crumble?
‘Elli, accept the fact that you have lost and can no longer stand in my way. We have obtained Giorgos’ research.’ The Marcquesa paused. Her tone when she continued was one of ruthless superiority poured on absolute authority. ‘Yes…’ Another pause. She had everybody present eating out of her hand waiting for her next morsel of revelation.
‘He has found quite a lot it seems, a lot for which I would bet you have no idea. But I confess I don’t know either. Because it is encrypted. Giorgos here who holds the key to those findings as he was the one that encrypted them, will decrypt them for me and will give me the location of the last Emperor’s tomb and what is necessary to be done for the last Emperor’s revival and the use of his powers which will be all mine.
‘Before you think that you could use Giorgos as a bargaining chip, let me tell you that he will have his own reasons not to refuse to serve me, even if he may think that he and the subject of his reasons may be perishable when they have outlived their usefulness. Then again it will be a risk he will have to take as I may decide to be merciful.
‘And do you know why he will have no choice but to comply? Not because you will tell him to, if I agree to let you all go, if you are so deluded as to foolishly believe that I could ever agree to that in the first place, but because he will not want for any harm to come to his beloved parents, tough but gentle Andros and sweet Anna, who are as we speak on their way here to be my guests.
‘Yes, it is high season for this hotel of mine that is fully booked and will soon be fully occupied. But fear not. Catering-wise we are prepared for any eventuality. But I fear that we may have overbooked, so one of you will have to go, disposed of gently and discreetly.’ She paused and indicated for Aristo to be pushed slightly forward and down to the ground on his knees.
‘Look at your son, Aristo. If you want him to stay alive you will give me your kalbendium mines.’ The Marcquesa saw in Elli’s face the hint of surprise, barely perceptible. ‘Ah, I see you are surprised.’
Elli racked her brains for how the Marcquesa could have found out about the kalbendium mines. Who apart from her knew? Of course. Iraklios. The first seed was planted in her mind of the identity of her traitor. But she could not allow it to sink in.
She simply would not make herself believe that there was any truth in it. The Marcquesa was looking at her in silence as if waiting for her to finish her train of thought, enjoying Elli’s torment. Let her stew, she thought. I won’t reveal my source, but she may have guessed. The Marcquesa wondered whether she had been too rush, too obvious.
‘I know you won’t give them up without a fight. So I will just ask for the key once, nicely, and, let me remind you, that you are in no position to refuse.’ Elli was trying to think of a way to escape. It seemed impossible to do that and save the others as well. It was the Marcquesa’s home ground. She had the home advantage.
The Marcquesa was still speaking. ‘In case you have in mind to try anything silly, remember this: you have no bargaining power. You are in no position to barter. However, I won’t be cruel and unfair and will offer something in return.’
Elli looked at the Marcquesa with disdain dripping from every pore. ‘What can you possibly have to offer me that I want or need and don’t have already?’
‘Me.’
‘You? Please, don’t make me laugh.’
Elli’s host was incensed by her defiance.
‘Elli, it is not a request. I will repeat my demand only once more and then you will lose something precious to you and then another, and then one by one, you will watch while you lose everything, until you capitulate and submit to me and give me what I want. Let me clarify what I meant by “me”.’
The Marcquesa stood to her full height of six feet, briefly towering over all around her, an effect accentuated by the raised platform she was standing on. She held the audience’s attention for a full minute before proceeding to walk slowly and purposefully out of the chamber.
Hushed silence descended. Nobody dared speak in anticipation of something significant and shocking they knew was coming. They did not dare speculate as to what that might be.
Time appeared to have stood still in the chamber. Five minutes ticked by. There was a brief murmur and shuffling at the doorway. The Marcquesa was back. She looked the same as before but different somehow. Everybody in the chamber saw it.
The Marcquesa’s resemblance to Elli was uncanny. She seemed to be the spitting image of Elli, the only difference being her darker colouring. Elli wondered whether the disguise was deliberate. Was it to confuse her, to scare her or to show her that she could be disposed of and easily replaced?
The Marcquesa smiled an ironic smile. ‘You don’t remember do you?’ She paused. ‘Think back, a long way back, to when you were a child. Do you remember your parents? Shall I answer it for you? Of course not. You were too young when they perished. You remember what happened, don’t you? And do you remember whether you had a sister? You do. Good.
‘Do you remember her? She was innocent back then, wasn’t she? None of you knew what hit you, what dark forces shattered your charmed existence. You thought that girl was dead, didn’t you?’
She paused for effect, her eyes looking directly at Elli, searching Elli’s face for any sign of recognition. And she waited. And waited. And waited. To her disappointment no such sign came.
‘I am that girl, Elli.’ She declared slowly, emphasising every word. She paused to let it sink in. There was almost a hint of regret in her words, easily missed. ‘You were lucky. You were left behind and raised by a good family. Demetrius and his wife loved you like a daughter. But I was not so lucky. I ended up here. Do you want to know why they only took me while they spared you?
‘They could have killed you of course, but they didn’t, probably because at the last minute they decided they wanted the challenge that you would give them in the future. They kept me, Elli, because I had a defect, a stigma. Do you remember that tattoo-like mark near my navel? That was the mark of the Ruinands.
‘As I found out much later, their oracle told them that I could not be brought up to be good, but was rotten to the core. Do you see? I was doomed from birth. My future was written at my birth and there was nothing our parents or I could do to change it. They were told I was one of them, one of the Ruinands. It’s too late to change now, to go back to those lovely carefree days, to what might have been. But who says I want to do that?’
Elli was not yet ready to accept what she had just heard. It all sounded too preposterous to be true. Even though the facts were staring her in the eye, surely those were facts that the Marcquesa could very easily have found out from various sources.
There was nothing unique in that story that only those present, the exclusive group of the Marcquesa and Elli, would have known. ‘I see you have left any hint of decency, principle or humanity at the door, or in your own personal prison that you inhabit. I don’t know what you are playing at.’
‘You don’t believe me, I see. Well a DNA analysis would resolve your dilemma and dispel your doubts and in fact we can have it done right here in this city. You can observe in case you may think I will interfere with the result. We’ll take a recess until this is done. Elli, you are coming with me. The others will stay here. Enjoy yourselves. We will not be long.’
A roar of voices filled the chamber in defiance to the Marcquesa, but taking advantage of her absence. The gossip and speculation flowed freely.
Those present could not believe their luck at the prime entertainment enacted for their benefit, a rare sight indeed, made all the more exciting because of the dreariness of this little place that was governed by fear, a depressing life that was in stark contrast to the impressive visual accomplishment surrounding them, the living and extraordinary testament to the talent and vision of the creators of this city, of this marvel that was Le Mirabel.
The audience marvelled to at the tingling-to-the-ear sensation of the contrasting female voices of the two protagonists in the drama that had unfolded in the chamber, one deep (Elli), the other high-pitched and painful to the brain (the Marcquesa).
Huge enjoyment was derived from the high-octane verbal battle of wills, the exchange of civilised insults back and forth like a tennis match. The audience was anxiously looking forward to the next act. How delicious. They wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Within twenty minutes they were back. From Elli’s face they all knew that what the Marcquesa said was true. They were indeed sisters.
‘Now, my dear Elli, there is someone here I want you to meet.’ She turned to one of her servants. ‘Bring him in.’ Andrew Le Charos was brought in none the worse for wear, looking as fresh as if he had come out of a mountain spring moments before. ‘Andrew and I have found some common ground, haven’t we, darling?’ The Marcquesa gently squeezed and pulled at his chin as she said that.
Elli was confused. This was an unexpected development. ‘What is the meaning of this, Marcquesa?’ Then she turned to Andrew. ‘Do you know what you are doing allying yourself with her?’ Even as she said it she knew it was pointless when she saw his blank face looking at his mistress with complete adoration, enraptured by her.
What had they done to him? It was obvious to Elli that Andrew had been brainwashed. But how? The “why” was easier to guess, considering Andrew’s connection to Elli’s and Andros Markantaskis’ families. Was there anything of him left in there at all, she wondered. Elli addressed the Marcquesa. ‘What are you planning to do with us?’
‘Well, I do want the mines and the information from you and from Giorgos, and until you give it to me, you are not going anywhere. You will be wondering why John Halland is here. I thought about that long and hard and almost left him behind, but he has been close to this matter and I’m sure that he has certain knowledge he would be very kind to share with us, though he keeps protesting to the contrary.’
The Marcquesa paused and turned to look at Giorgos.
‘Giorgos, you may be interested to know that your dear old friend, James Calvell, has joined his maker in the sky and will no longer be helping you or anyone else for that matter. Nor will he be bothering us either.’
Giorgos went ashen. He felt a chill travel down his spine and through his veins and arteries reach every part of his body. He was in a state of shock and disbelief. She must be lying, he thought. But would she be bluffing to scare us into submission? He answered his own question. Yes, of course she would.
She couldn’t exactly be trusted, now, could she? She would have no compunction whatsoever in toying with them, just to see her captives squirm and to amuse herself with watching her captives’ reaction to her tricks and surprises and her inflammatory verbal bombs that had been premeditated and were carefully targeted.
The Marcquesa cut through Giorgos’ thoughts.
‘Maybe we should have done the same with John here. He is disposable, just like his boss. But maybe, Giorgos here will be persuaded with the death sentence hanging over John as well as his parents to cooperate. One by one you will be tortured slowly with the others watching. So, Giorgos, I would suggest that you reconsider.’
The Marcquesa addressed her minions.
‘Put them in the isolation cell where they shall remain until they come to their senses.’
Before she was led out, Elli had a last word. She turned and looked at her nemesis and sister. Her captors holding her by the arms and pulling her away sensed the strength emanating from her and washing over them and automatically released her as if hypnotised by her defiance into doing so. Then Elli spoke.
‘My dear Marcquesa, that power of the last Emperor you seek is not real. It’s just a myth. Stop this ridiculous charade and let us do the good deed we have to do.’
‘Elli… defiant to your last breath. Why am I not surprised? You can’t fool me with this desperate act. You are as ruthless and power-hungry as I am. We share the same blood, the same genes after all.’
Elli spat irony. ‘I wouldn’t want to see you disappointed, that’s all. Because I know your fury will consume you and those working for you, and anyone unlucky enough to inadvertently cross your path will dearly pay for your loss. You don’t know how to lose graciously, dear sister. I haven’t forgotten how you would react as the precocious child that you were, if you did not get your own way.
‘And you would take revenge. A child’s revenge can be cruel, but yours was in a league of its own, crueller than most. Yes, you were right and they were right to tell you that you were rotten from birth. It was in your genes. You were spiteful with a sting that stung more savagely than anything anyone had experienced, than I have experienced since then. I still bear the marks and scars of your endeavours and taste its bitter taste all the way to my heart. Yours is a mean streak like no other, such an integral part of you, that it doesn’t go away.’
Elli said her piece in one fast torrent. She was almost out of breath. Then she relaxed, but was still shaking and panting from the effort. She was desperately taking in mouthfuls of air as if she had just been drowning and was saved from the teeth of certain death.
The Marcquesa, though secretly boiling with anger at the truth of Elli’s words, did not make any attempt to interrupt her and furthermore indicated to her underlings to do the same.
When Elli had finished the Marcquesa did not reply, but just laughed, a loud, ugly laugh that made the hairs of everybody present stand on end, in salute, as if ordered to attention by her power.
After that surreal exchange the prisoners were led away back to the minimalist comfort of their cells.