Anne-Claire gasped, but then logic’s haughty mouth entered the argument and cast doubt on her conclusion, forcing her to argue with herself. Get a grip, girl. The earthquake must have tripped the lights out and you’re probably still in the dungeon. But if that is so, then why hasn’t a castle guide come with a flashlight to help me and show me the way out? And how did I get this gash on my head? Anne-Claire strained her ears to listen for the sounds of rescue, but all she could hear was a far off... drip...drip...drip... as water forced its way into the stifling room.
Mesmerised by the water’s incessant song, an abrupt memory invited panic back and he settled beside Anne-Claire, fanning her imagination into a raging nightmare. The secret room must be below the surface of the lake...! Am I safe?!
From out of nowhere, a sudden distant movement rumbled around her as if reverberating off empty ancient halls and forcing her to hold her breath in fright... listening. Her eyes opened wide in the complete blackness, straining to recognise any moving shape and the author of her fear. But unable to discern fright from harm, Anne-Claire’s heart raced, pumping adrenaline through her injured body, throbbing through her mind and overtaxing the flimsy walls of consciousness. She flinched and stifled a scream, feeling reality draining through her fingertips while a gentle breeze wafted around her, caressing the softness of her skin as if someone had just walked past and disturbed the stagnant air.
Stretched beyond the realms of safety, Anne-Claire’s mind sought refuge in oblivion and shut down, opting to deal with the fallout from the sinister scene at a more congenial time.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 33
Awakening with a start, Anne-Claire stirred, fighting back waves of nausea and listening intently for the sounds of a challenge. Prepared to fight for her life, she held her breath for long moments, stressing her lungs and straining her ears, yet all she could hear in the inky blackness was her own heart pounding in a steady beat. Even the dripping water had stopped, leaving her dark world completely dumb. It seemed that whatever had threatened her had passed by unconcerned, or at least unaware of her presence and maybe in this instance the blanketing darkness had worked for her. She lifted an unsteady hand to the injury site and tenderly traced the outline of the wound. An egg-sized lump had formed but at least the blood flow had stemmed, leaving a rough, dry river bed as evidence to the trauma.
Diverting her attention away from the complaining lesion and stretching numb arms and legs in succession, she tried to gauge the depth of damage to her extremities. To her relief, all appeared sound and willing to cooperate. Anne-Claire’s mind had cleared to some extent too, lifting the black foggy curtain and making her feel calmer after the strange ordeal even though there seemed to be no explanation for the new vigour. Breathing deeply and considering a forming plan, she attempted to draw attention to her desperate plight and maybe bring rescuers scurrying to her aid.
A high-pitched scream rattled up and down the dank darkness, using every available muscle in her torso to lend its assistance to the volume and penetrate the encompassing prison walls. But holding her temples and trying to relieve the sudden onslaught of agony, her head began to complain in a barrage of pain. Caressing the injury with tender fingers and trying to allay the searing throbbing, Anne-Claire listened to the darkness in despair.
Not even a murmur or a breath of wind answered her desperate cry.
Then a sobering vision of the castle dungeon walls and roof entered her mind, figuring their sheer physical features were too overwhelming to carry the sound outside and with no sound able to penetrate into the strange solid rock prison. Frustration began to haggle against fear for dominance, but the seeping cold became a new contender in the race for Anne-Claire’s attention, causing the pain to amplify with every passing moment. She had to make an attempt to move from the numbing ground and force her cold limbs from their paralysed state, even with the possibility of stumbling over something unpleasant.
Cautiously pushing her palms to the floor, her fingers stumbled upon a hard, smooth surface. Anne-Claire winced and pulled her hand away from the unidentified article in a fearful act of revulsion, trying to distance herself from the object, unaware if the thing was alive and able to cause her harm. Cowering in the darkness, she listened intently for the sounds of scurrying movement, but nothing offered a clue, the atmosphere remaining intensely silent.
She swallowed hard and began to wonder what the thing could possibly be. Then with all the courage she could muster, she slowly reached down to the spot where she thought the vulgar object had been lurking and expecting an unpleasant response, cautiously searched the ground but ready to pull away if it inadvertently attacked. With a circular grasping motion, she searched the cold dark floor and jumped as her fingers brushed against its icy body; nevertheless she forced herself to continue the search, groping for the unmoving something and waiting for the feared response.
As her fingers cautiously gauged its cold frame, recognition slowly settled and a large grin flooded across her face. Turning the familiar item over, she felt for the stringy tentacles and followed the strands to their ends... they were still there. A huge sigh of relief echoed around the dark, pulling the thing into her grip and pressing it against her chest as if she had found a long lost friend. Fumbling with its face, she caressed it with a swiping finger until a small light broke into the gloom and filled her soundless world with... Bastone i vostri occhi insieme con Sicad!... repeated over and over and screamed at high volume from Niccolo’s tonsils and backed up by the crashing musical nightmare of the Sticky Lizards. Anne-Claire broke down and wept relieved tears. She had been infatuated with Niccolo ever since she’d first heard his music, but now he had saved her life and she was even more in love with the idol.
With Niccolo by her side offering a small light to divide the fearful darkness, Anne-Claire was no longer timid and frightened of the location. As the faint light emitting from the play function illuminated her surroundings, she could see she had stumbled into a winding passageway and the desire to explore became overwhelming. With Niccolo’s screech—filtered through minute earphones—rattling out into the unknown tunnel and the small LCD screen reflecting off the tunnel walls like a searchlight, Anne-Claire found the strength she needed to precariously lift herself from the floor into a unsteady standing position.
Supporting herself against the wall, she began to step along the corridor, picking her way with the aid of the tiny light. But a sudden giddy episode stopped her in mid tread and threatened to derail her adventure, sending her plunging back to the floor. Taking a number of quick breaths and with her head pounding from the exertion, the compelling biliousness finally settled into a dull throb. Eager to find shelter and a way out of the darkness, Anne-Claire lifted the screeching iPod above her head and noticed the corridor ahead deviated away from a straight line; instead turning sharply, as if surrounding something or diverting around a hidden hazard. Moving forward and sweeping the walls with her makeshift flashlight, Anne-Claire became aware that the corridor was leading to a narrow subway and appeared to descend deeply underground.
Approaching what seemed to be a hole in the ground but turned out to be a flight of ancient steps, she cautiously transferred her body weight to one leg and stepped down, her knee trembling under the strain as she descended. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, her last step splashed into a deep puddle and as she held the light above her head, she could see reflections of the light shimmering against the tunnel wall. Pondering the sight, she wondered if it was wise to continue, thinking maybe the water depth across her path wasn’t as innocent as it first seemed. The quandary of which route to take made her head ache. She shone the makeshift torch back the way she’d come and felt weak at the prospect of climbing the steep steps back into the darkness. Although the water across the path was an equal challenge without a gauge to measure its depth, she could be stepping into an unknown minefield but by then it might be too late and she didn’t feel strong enough to swim
for her life.
“I must be under the lake by now,” Anne-Claire’s unsteady voice trembled with uncertainty into the still, musty air. Left with no other choice but to go on, Anne-Claire leaned against the damp tunnel walls for support and guardedly stepped into the unknown.
The water seemed cold at first and quickly the clear stagnant pools clouded over as her footsteps stirred up countless ages of dust and mud settled on the tunnel floor. As she stepped further, the sediment stuck to the bottom of her sandals and sucked down on her foot, making it difficult to lift her feet without substantial effort. Just ahead, the tunnel made a sharp turn to the right and jumped up slightly onto dry ground, but as she made the last struggling steps towards the darkened corner, the ground abruptly gave way under her feet, threatening to swallow her. A short, sharp scream escaped Anne-Claire’s lips as the sudden movement stole the dwindling courage from her resolve. The tunnel walls seemed to mock her, echoing her scream as she sank into the steadily deepening mud.
Struggling with all the strength she could muster and holding Niccolo above water, her foot contacted a solid rock shelf protruding into the sticky sludge and gave her a firm step to steel herself against. Breathing heavily and almost blinded by a throbbing headache, Anne-Claire waited for courage and strength to reunite in a marriage of cooperation, working together to free their dependant from a dire situation.
With a sudden burst of energy, Anne-Claire lunged from the mud, guided by courage and invigorated by strength with a little help from adrenaline’s surging stamina. Free of the cloying mess, Anne-Claire leaned heavily against the tunnel wall, panting and holding her aching head, at the same time taking stock of the situation and revulsed by the stench emanating from the clinging sludge caking her limbs. Quickly brushing as much of the slime from her legs as she could, the stench became overpowering and inescapable, adding to the pain throbbing through her brain. But as she tried to wash the staining chaos from her legs, it spread to her hands and arms, repulsing Anne-Claire to the point of gagging, putting an immediate halt to the mining operation and making it even more imperative to find an escape route. With anxiety and revulsion firmly onboard now, she quickly turned the bend in the tunnel and climbed the heavy sloping floor away from the pungent water.
A glimmer in the distance confused her. It looked like dappled daylight forcefully entering the tunnel, but just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, she swiped the iPod and silenced Niccolo’s tinny screaming bawl and doused the light. Standing, staring at the invading light, Anne-Claire’s spirits soared and hope flooded her mind. She’d done it. She had escaped the dreadful darkness a-n-d found the secret room Grandpa had told her about.
Forgetting about Niccolo and the light source from the iPod, Anne-Claire hurried on towards the raiding daylight. Yet as she pressed on, the tunnel narrowed until it was barely wide enough for her to squeeze through. Committed to the narrow passage, she pushed against the dirt walls, thinking she was about to become stuck, but instead sucked in her stomach and made herself smaller. With a final concerted effort, Anne-Claire forced her way through a small opening hidden by a bush and into the bright daylight. Overwhelmed to be finally free, her emotions spilled over and she sobbed, tasting the fresh crisp air and squinting in the lazy warm sunshine through grateful whimpers.
A glance over her dirty blouse and stained Bermuda shorts, accompanied by the ever-present stench, pushed her on towards a glistening beach surrounded by the clear waters of Lac Léman hiding in the shadow of the great castle. Finding a shallow stretch of crystal clear water, Anne-Claire made a careful beeline for the shore and picked her way into the invigorating lake and began to wash away the mud, blood and stench before she was recognised by anyone she knew. Her heart sang as she cleaned away the filth from her face and limbs, while the cold lake water relieved her aching head and soothed her tired body.
The familiar sound of a steam whistle chortling through the quiet morning air made her glance up and smile, catching the fleeting image of a steamboat stern as it disappeared from view behind the castle's towering walls. Waving enthusiastically in the direction of the disturbance, it was as if Grandpa was welcoming her back from her adventure, but she was sure he hadn’t seen her and in her present grubby state she was glad he hadn’t. Eager to be with her hero again and bristling with the news of her find, Anne-Claire couldn’t wait to capture her adventure and write it down for Danica and Grandpa to enjoy. Grateful for the rock group who had accompanied her through her trial, Anne-Claire sighed and hugged the iPod to her chest.
This would be a story of Niccolo and the Sticky Lizards, and how they had saved a damsel in distress.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 34
Amused by their antics and surrounded by circling schools of small inquisitive fish, Anne-Claire stood ankle deep in the chilling clear-blue-grey waters of Lac Léman, hidden by bushes from the roadway and in the shadow of the Château de Chillon. Taking great care and effort not to wash too much water and grime onto her clothing, she rubbed off the last of the dirt and blood from her head then gauged the extent of the wound with a tender hand. Her fingers gently traced the gash and relayed a desperate picture to her mind. She’d have to find her mother quickly before infection set in and complicated the injury, but she wasn’t looking forward to the expected lecture. Repulsed by the feel of a dirty scalp, Anne-Claire squatted carefully, placed one hand against the rocky lake bottom and dunked as much of her head into the shallows as she could, delicately washing her immersed locks. Then standing cautiously and with her hair soaking wet, she leaned backwards and squeezed long brown velvet strands with her hand and purged the excess water back into the lake, leaving a small remnant of moisture seeping down from her crown onto her blouse and dripping water droplets onto her Bermuda shorts.
Disgusted by the clouds of grime rinsed from her crest staining the clear lake water, Anne-Claire stared in wonder as frenetic fish boiled around her feet, looking for any morsel to eat in her discarded wash water. Although the sunshine was quite warm, the water was cold and it began to numb her feet. She couldn’t risk catching a dose of the flu and suffering the ire of her mother for bringing unwanted sickness into the chalet, so she’d have to find a place in the sun and tease out her wet locks until it dried. As her teeth began to chatter, she completed the grimy chore, feeling much better. Swivelling her head and torso, Anne-Claire did a final check and searched her body for remnants of dirt before exiting the chilling lake water. The seat of her shorts were almost black and she figured the back of her blouse would be, too; but until she found her family there wasn’t a lot she could do about it.
Then from out of nowhere, an incredulous voice called to her from the roadway, “Mademoiselle, do you have no shame?! Where is your gown?! It is not a ladylike or safe thing to do bathing in your underwear in such a public place. There are many scoundrels roaming these hills who would take advantage of an unchaperoned and unprotected beauty like yourself in such a state of undress!”
Anne-Claire frantically searched for the owner of the sudden voice, wondering whether the impassioned speech was directed at her. She gazed in awe at a young man mounted on a fine black horse, dressed in some kind of period costume and deliberately turning his head away, purportedly giving her a chance to regain her modesty and cover herself with her gown. There was something strange about this man that made Anne-Claire feel frightened. If this was a television stunt, he played the part eloquently, pulling her into the act against her will.
“A... are you talking to me?” Anne-Claire focused her attention unwaveringly at the man and managed to speak against chattering teeth as the cold lake water numbed her body.
“Yes, Mademoiselle, my speech is directed to you!”
He dismounted, careful not to look at Anne-Claire’s shame, removed his cape, dropping it from his shoulders and stepped backwards, holding the cape out towards her and behind himself in a gentlemanly attempt not to stare at her immodest and shameful condition. It didn’t take
long for Anne-Claire to figure out what this guy was trying to do and it began to frighten her even more.
“What are you talking about, Monsieur? These are my clothes, not my underwear!”
It was then that Anne-Claire noticed the A9 directly above them was peculiarly quiet. She listened for sounds of passing cars and the ever-present electric railway that skirted the shores of Lac Léman. It, too, was bizarrely quiet. With a gathering sense of bewilderment and chaos, she anxiously gawked around the scenery looking for familiar landmarks, but as she stared everything seemed unusual. Even Chillon Castle appeared strangely different.
As panic overrode rational thought, she knew she had to give this guy the slip before she lost her mind completely. Certain the harrowing bump to her head was at the seat of her delirium and sure she was hallucinating, Anne-Claire decided to play along with the caped avenger until she could locate the tunnel entrance and escape safely into the castle’s deep interior. Then retrace her steps in search of the rescue party she was absolutely convinced would be probing the tunnels for her by now and could deliver her to medical assistance, disinfecting her wounds and helping her escape the confusion she was suffering. Feeling trapped by the presence of the caped horseman and needing to flee the bone-chilling water, Anne-Claire tried to keep her voice steady.
“Okay, I am coming out of the water; keep your eyes averted.”
She paddled through the icy lake water, taking small steps but never diverting her stare from the horseman’s back and the cape he held out to her, ready to take evasive action if he suddenly changed his stance. Reaching the spot where the stranger stood, Anne-Claire took the cape from his hand, feeling the velvety black cloth in her cold and numb fingers, but never dropping her gaze from the man’s back. With the cape in her grasp, she swept the area with a frantic gaze, searching for the small tunnel opening. Then with relief, she recognised the bush hiding the passage breach and without a moment of hesitation, stole across to the familiar landmark and lowered herself feet-first into the small aperture, wriggling until her body disappeared from sight and slipped back down into the confined darkness and out of view.