“It’s called individuality. You should try it sometime,” said Jeffries.
He pushed the pistol into the holster of his Sam Brown and flung Bell to the floor before picking up a jar of sacred unguent. He swirled it around and watched particles of aromatic compound dance in a thick suspension of what he surmised was some sort of oil. He pulled the stopper from it and sniffed cautiously.
“It contains a distillation of ancient proverbs,” explained Chandar.
“And this?” Jeffries asked, indicating another jar.
“The commentaries of Thradagar.”
“And this?”
“The Osmissals of Skarra.”
“And this?”
“The Aromathia Colonia.”
All Jeffries could smell was rotting plums, pine sap and a hint of motor oil. It was intensely frustrating. All this knowledge and no way to access it. He pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief from his trouser pocket and poured some of the oil onto it, soaking the cloth before stuffing the handkerchief into the neck of the bottle. From his pocket, he withdrew a battered packet of gaspers, put one in his mouth, took out a packet of Lucifer matches and struck one against the box. It flared brightly.
Chandar staggered back, awed by the sight, and watched nervously, its eyes locked on the jar.
“What are you doing?” The pungent smell of phosphor drifted around the room, which seemed to alarm and frighten the other Chatts, who backed up against the wall, all except Chandar.
Jeffries casually lit his cigarette, took a deep draw, and smiled before holding the lit Lucifer to the corner of the oil-soaked cloth. He hurled the improvised petrol bomb down a gallery where it smashed with a splash of flame, catching other containers which quickly combusted. Jeffries watched in satisfaction before making another makeshift bomb, this time ripping a strip of cloth from Bell’s already torn dress to use as a wick.
“What have you done?” cried Chandar, his mouth parts slack with horror.
“I’ve done you a favour,” said Jeffries, pulling his pistol from his belt once more. Thick heady smoke coiled against the roof of the Receptory chamber and began to sink down. He grabbed a coughing Bell and a shocked Chandar, bereft at the sudden brutal loss of its precious scent texts. He urged them at gunpoint down the interconnecting passage that led to the Chatt’s alchemical work chambers, closely followed by tendrils of smoke.
The smell of the smoke had already alerted the Chatts in the Olfactory, where they worked their strange mixture of theology and alchemy. They were running hither and thither in great agitation as Jeffries shoved Bell and Chandar into the room. Jeffries casually surveyed the space and chose his target.
“No! You can not,” wheezed Chandar.
“Dwyer, you’re mad!” said Bell. It earned her a vicious slap across the face and she staggered back, stunned.
Taking the lit cigarette from his mouth and touching it to the oil-soaked wick, he watched the flame lick up the cloth before casting the bomb into a workshop beyond. It smashed in a spray of fire amongst the volatile distilling jars, prompting soft whooffs of combustion whose gentle sound belied their ferocity.
Waiting only long enough to watch the fire catch, Jeffries took a last drag and flicked the glowing Woodbine into the strengthening blaze, before pushing his hostages on.
In the chamber beyond, where the Chatts had stored the trench equipment, Jeffries reloaded his pistol and picked up a webbing belt of Mills bombs. Keeping a wary eye on Bell and Chandar he hastily emptied boxes of small arms ammunition into haversacks along with tins of Machonochies, Plum and Apple and bully beef. Using webbing, he tied them together with several rifles and, as gently but hastily as he could, lowered them out of a window opening on a length of rope. He could hear the rifles clatter against the face of the edifice below. Then the rope ran short and he had to drop his load to tumble down onto a midden heap far below. He could only hope it wasn’t all damaged beyond use once he retrieved the items.
He noted the trench mortar ‘Plum Puddings’ and smiled to himself. They should go up nicely. There would be little danger of pursuit after that. And after his sacrilegious arson a state of such enmity should exist between the Khungarrii and the Pennines that there would be no chance of a ceasefire. They would be locked in a cycle of mutual attack and counter attack. Everson and his men would have stepped from one war only to find themselves in another, leaving him free to follow his own path unchallenged. All he needed was that map.
“Take me to your Urman artefacts,” he ordered Chandar. Gripping an increasingly dishevelled Bell by the unravelling bun at the nape of her neck he dragged her along impatiently as Chandar led the way, leaving the sounds of explosions and dying Chatts in his wake.
Outside the artefact chamber he beckoned Chandar to open the plant door. Inside, Jeffries swung Bell around and flung her against the wall. She dropped to the floor, dazed by the impact. He jerked his chin and ushered Chandar over against the wall beside her. Bell felt the back of her head and examined her hand, blinking incomprehensibly at the blood she found there.
“You know, until I met you I’d begun to lose all hope,” said Jeffries, addressing Chandar, as he glanced around at the priceless archaeological treasures.
He strode straight to the niche containing the map, lifting it from its bark backing where it had been pinned like some entomological specimen. He folded it along well-worn creases and thrust it into his tunic.
Jeffries wheeled about, his eyes sweeping across the niches and exhibits of Chandar’s collection. He walked to the wall and swept several items into the open maw of his haversack.
“So you were aware of these things? They do have meaning?” said Chandar.
Jeffries had the feeling the Chatt was learning more about ‘Urmen’ now than it had done in all its studies and it didn’t like what it was seeing.
“Oh yes,” said Jeffries. “More than you can ever know. I will be eternally grateful to you. I’m sure you’ll be eager to know that you’ve served your part as an instrument of Croatoan.”
“You dare accuse me of heresy! This one serves only GarSuleth.”
“Only at the behest of Croatoan,” countered Jeffries, grabbing the wrists of the dazed nurse and ushering her out of the chamber. “And as an instrument of Croatoan, I shall spare your life, as it was you who showed me the next step on the road toward communion with Croatoan himself. But that is the only grace you have earned from me.”
Once outside the chamber Jeffries pulled the pin from a Mills bomb, before tossing the grenade into the room and ushering Chandar and Edith swiftly away. No one else would have access to the secrets he now possessed. The explosion brought the earthen walls crashing down behind them. Weakened, several chambers above collapsed, leaving a gaping breach in the side of the edifice through which they could just make out the jungle beyond.
A venomous hiss was the only warning Jeffries received before Chandar launched itself at them. Jeffries swung Bell into the creature’s path. She screamed as she collided with the Chatt, sending them both careening into the wall. He put the pistol against the bony chitin of Chandar’s head.
“Try that again, old thing, and I’ll break more than your antennae. I’ll blow your bally head off, hmm?”
Chandar hissed again, but this time in impotence, its mouthparts waving in frustration.
DAZED, EDITH CAUGHT sight of the folded parchment peeking out from inside Jeffries’ jacket as he bent over the insect. She was sure he would kill her but she wouldn’t die quietly like Elspeth and Cissy. She had finally faced her demon — and he was just a man. And what did men want? Power. That parchment had to mean a great deal to him if he’d gone to these lengths to obtain it. So if he wanted it, she wanted it. Maybe it would give her something with which to bargain. Before she even knew what she was doing she slipped her hand into his tunic and snatched the parchment. He lashed out with a howl of fury, grabbing the hem of her torn uniform. She kicked out, ripping it away from him. He stumbled. Edith darted back into the chamber where the trench equipment was held. Perhaps there she could find something with which to defend herself.