Mistress of Helena

Chapter 10

At the room’s end, a table drew Carrack’s attention. Draped over it was a dirtied white sheet, roughly covering a humanoid form. As he approached, the grisly details unveiled a grim, albeit expected scene. Several small candles flickered below metal pans, their flames’ dance casting eerie shadows over the body. The unmistakable scent of burning flesh lingered in the air, melding chillingly with a strangely appetizing aroma.

The sheet had been crudely cut away to reveal a forearm. The skin had been sliced, seemingly by the blood-streaked knives discarded close by. From what Carrack could see, whoever had started this horrid act hadn’t finished it, perhaps deterred by the body’s state of decomposition.

But, amidst the gruesome scene, something else caught his attention. A peculiar scent emanated from the exposed limb. Peering closer, he noticed the blood wasn’t the bright red of life but a thicker, blackish hue. The surrounding tissue under the skin was oddly colored, transformed in inexplicable ways. Recollection gripped him.

Carrack whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “Alaina … what did you do to this man?”

Their hushed inspection was disrupted by a muffled sound echoing from somewhere deeper within the bathhouse. It was indistinct, but the telltale signs of movement were unmistakable. Quickly, Carrack signaled the team to regroup.

“Captain, you and Hunter take the body out. We’ll use the cart to get it back, make sure no one slips out of here, but keep us from having company as well. Adcock and I will see what that noise is about.”

“We will?” Adcock voice cracked slightly at the suggestion.

“Yes, soldier, we will.” Carrack reiterated.

“Extra guns can’t hurt, sir,” Foeham suggested. “We can be back in pretty quick.”

Carrack shook his head firmly. “Leaving the body unguarded isn’t an option. And truthfully, it’s an ambush from behind that concerns me more than whatever’s ahead.” He gave Adcock a playful slap on the arm. “Besides, with that sharpshooting of yours, I reckon we could face down an army.”

“Let’s not get too carried away, sir,” Adcock said with a gulp. “It was a lucky shot.”

“Well,” Carrack said, smirking, “stay lucky. If things get hairy or we don’t return within ten minutes, come after us.”

Foeham and Hunter swiftly wrapped their bodies, with the latter shouldering the weight with a grunt before they made their exit. Carrack, turning to Adcock, patted him reassuringly on the back, signaling their departure. Adcock’s anxiety was palpable, a tense nod acknowledging Carrack’s command.

The adjacent corridor greeted them with an oppressive darkness, the way littered with waste and fallen debris of their surroundings. Their vision struggled against the blackness; it felt like staring into an abyss.

“Fetch a lamp,” Carrack whispered to Adcock, the weight of the darkness pressing upon them.

Returning with a lamp from the previous room, Adcock handed it to Carrack, who held it aloft, his other hand gripping his pistol with white-knuckled determination. They advanced, the dim halo of light pushing back the shadows. Their steps were measured, every rustle and distant drip amplified in the enveloping silence. An unexpected humidity began to oppress them, and the air grew thick with a stifling warmth.

The only visible path seemed to guide them towards the bath chambers. Approaching its entrance, Carrack pressed himself against the wall, using the lantern as bait, extending it into the void beyond. If anyone lay in wait, he hoped they’d reveal themselves by attacking the light source. Yet, silence reigned, the darkness offering no reply.

Carrack and Adcock exchanged glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Adcock moved opposite the entrance while Carrack held the lantern low. With a silent count of three on Carrack’s fingers, they swept into the chamber in tandem, weapons ready.

Yet, the chamber seemed empty, the weak glow of their lantern barely revealing a few steps ahead. As they treaded carefully, the soft tapping of their footsteps echoed across the tiles, which glistened with a thin sheen of water. An unexplained warmth enveloped them, as if a furnace smoldered nearby. Carrack found himself pondering the odd choice of the squatters. Why hole up in the cold rooms when there was warmth here?

Adcock’s footsteps made a slight squelching noise on the wet tiles, betraying his nervousness. As they ventured deeper, Carrack detected a stronger scent of chemicals. He followed the scent until it led him to a pool’s edge. The water in the pool was dark and viscous. Curious, Carrack leaned closer, but jerked back with sudden understanding.

“Oil,” he whispered, catching Adcock’s attention.

In the seafaring nation of Oren, oil was a treasure. New ships were being built, powered by this liquid gold rather than coal. And on land, it had myriad uses, from lighting to machinery. Helena had stockpiled a bit of this precious commodity. And there were cases of theft by those that wished to profit from it on the black market, it was rare, but it did happen. And Carrack began to understand that he might have discovered the remnants of a cache of the stolen goods. As Carrack surveyed the area, he found a tipped-over drum—its seal broken, with the dark liquid pooling around it.

A sudden clatter disrupted their inspection, pulling their focus to the chamber’s depths. The cacophony was eerie—a mix of metal scraping against stone and muffled, indistinct groans. The acoustics played tricks, suggesting the source of the noises might be closer than it seemed, though darkness veiled the truth.

Carrack’s fingers tightened instinctively around both his weapon and the lantern—the latter he thrust forward, trying to fend off the darkness. As they inched nearer, the noise grew more pronounced. The ground was slick with chemical residue, marked with smeared imprints of hands and signs of dragging.

The metallic sounds, louder now, gnawed at their composure. And as the lantern’s feeble light slowly crept forward, it unveiled a grotesque sight. Dragging itself toward them was a figure—a man, or what once was. One elongated arm, skinny, and caked with muck, reached forward, pulling the rest of the maimed body closer. Where the other limbs should have been, only raw, amputated stumps remained. The man’s emaciated form was a stark contrast to the grimy floor, a pallid, sickly thing writhing in the gloom.

But it was the face that seized Carrack’s soul—a visage hollowed by despair, eyes devoid of life yet focused intently on him. Most horrifyingly, the man’s lips were stitched shut, silencing his cries, and reducing them to the haunting moans they’d heard.

Carrack’s mind reeled, horror arresting his voice. He managed to whisper, “Ever-loving Gods.”

Adcock, usually composed, erupted. “What in the seven hells?!”

They recoiled in tandem, the shadows momentarily reclaiming the tortured figure, which, undeterred, inched inexorably closer.

“Fuck this!” Adcock, wild-eyed, stumbled backward.

“Adcock, hold!” Carrack’s voice wavered but retained a commanding undertone. Their situation spiraled further out of control when a second entity lunged from the darkness, its grasp snatching at Adcock’s ankle. Reflexively, Adcock fired a hasty shot at his assailant and turned to flee, but his frantic escape was cut short when he plunged into one of the pools. Splashes, interspersed with muffled gasps of panic, echoed hauntingly.

“Adcock!” Carrack, driven by a mix of duty and fear, turned to his fallen comrade, but the first figure managed to snag his leg, toppling him. As he went down, both his pistol and lantern flew from his grasp. The gun was swallowed by the blackness, but the lantern met a fate far worse. It skidded into the oil-filled pool, and in a blink, the chamber transformed into an infernal landscape.

Helplessly grounded, Carrack’s vision was dominated by the ghastly sight of Adcock, a figure aflame, thrashing desperately in the ignited oil, his agonized screams rising above the roaring fire. The blaze’s intensity was such that even after Adcock’s cries ceased, Carrack remained paralyzed by its heat and light.

Yet, as the fire’s illumination filled the chamber, an even grimmer scene emerged. Along the walls, mutilated forms, more shadows than people, dangled from rusting chains. Their anguished, incoherent sounds melded with the dissonant rattling of their bonds. Despite the deafening blaze, their collective moans and frantic motions added another layer to the cacophony, leaving Carrack frozen in horrified disbelief.

In a frantic frenzy, Carrack fought to his feet, battling the treacherous, slippery ground beneath him. His heart raced as the pulse of adrenaline overrode the paralyzing grip of fear. But the queasiness in his stomach persisted. The room swiftly filled with choking, black smoke, punctuated by the erratic dance of flames that reached hungrily for anything they could devour. As the blaze consumed its surroundings, the ceiling disappeared beneath the thick curtain of smoke.

Instinct took over, driving Carrack toward the exit. He strained to block out the desperate cries and tortured sounds from the chained souls he was leaving behind to a fate too horrific to contemplate. As he crossed the threshold, something involuntary compelled him to look back into the blazing chamber. It was a vision of sheer terror, one that would forever haunt him. He had glimpsed hell, yet unlike those trapped within, he had been denied the merciful release of death.

Bursting through the hallways and past the lab, Carrack raced to the entrance. Foeham, already on the steps, barely managed to avoid being toppled as Carrack rushed out, his clothes steaming and reeking of smoke.

“What happened in there, sir?” Foeham demanded a mix of confusion and urgency in his tone.

“Go! Now!” Carrack wheezed, motioning to the cart, each word punctuated by his labored breathing.

Hunter, positioned beside the cart with the body secured, darted anxious glances, unnerved by Carrack’s evident distress.

“Fire!” was all Carrack managed to explain.

“Adcock?” Foeham shouted, desperate for answers.

“Gone,” was Carrack’s breathless reply.

Foeham’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

But before he could get more answers, disaster struck. Either the fire reached the laboratory’s volatile contents or another hidden cache, setting off a catastrophic explosion. The bathhouse’s walls burst outward, the roof becoming a flaming beacon. The blast hurled Carrack and Foeham onto the street. Carrack’s ears rang, his senses disoriented. A glance downward revealed a shard of wood impaled in his leg. The shock masked any pain.

He turned to see Hunter clutching his bleeding abdomen, his face twisted in agony. Carrack’s vision blurred, his mind struggling to stay focused amidst the chaos. Foeham’s muffled voice reached out to him as he moved between Hunter and Carrack, swiftly shifting them onto the cart. Wedged between Hunter and the corpse, Carrack felt the scalding heat from the flames, the rain doing little to quell its fury.

The cart jolted; Carrack saw Foeham straining to move it. Mesmerized momentarily by the roaring flames and the memories of what he saw, Carrack was jolted back to reality when Foeham made another effort to push. Driven by adrenaline and desperation, Carrack mustered the strength to push the corpse off, lightening their load. With that, Foeham began to move the cart forward.