~ Lucy's Profaning ~
by Alexander de Barr
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Lucy took a step towards the stone door. Its surface was old and frayed, layered with damp moss and flowering creepers. White shards of cold moonlight pierced through the cloudy veil of the night sky, reflecting off of the freezing granite, tapping angrily at the young girl's retinas; she raised one hand to shield her gaze from their intensity. "Where is Mr. Deringer?"
She leaned closer to the great door, intent on examining it, but the overgrown vegetation obstructed her: this site had not been tended to in a long, long time.
She began pulling at the vines with her soft hands. Some yielded with little effort, whilst others gave way with strain. The young lady climbed on top of a large fallen slab to reach the biggest vine, which grew out of a massive hole in the shrine's outer wall. By the time Lucy was done clearing the doorway, her palms were black with dirt and sticky with viscous sap.
The entrance leading to the underground sepulchre was rectangular, towering above her head at a good twenty feet. With no obvious lever or handle to open the massive double door that obstructed her, Lucy was at a loss as to what to do next. Mr. Deringer's gift, the orb, came to mind. "Maybe it's a key of sorts?"
She fumbled through her purse until she found the shiny black object. Allegedly it was hand-carved centuries ago, but that couldn't be true: despite its supposed age it looked new, almost timeless, and besides, its spherical shape was too perfect, the gleam of its varnished exterior too strong, the black of its wood too deep to have been made by men's hands, no matter how skilled. The orb rested neatly in her dirty palms, no bigger than an apple. The sticky sap from her hands refused to cling to its lacquered surface, even as she turned it over and over again under the moonlight: it wanted to stay pristine.
The orb, like the door, was made of two perfect halves that interlocked. They complemented each other and could be rotated like an egg timer. Scattered to and fro across the halves were simple circular sigils of unknown origin, some etched in gold, some embedded in silver, which had become dull with age, and some empty wooden gashes, carved deeply and with great care: the sphere bore them like the scarifications from an intense whipping. Standing in front of the great doorway, Lucy, cradling this little black apple in her palms, began playing with it.
At first, she held it so its equator was horizontal and turned the upper half until the sigils aligned with those of the lower. But several different alignments seemingly matched. The orb made no special sound to indicate progress. She looked for pressure points: none to be found. "Where is Mr. Deringer? He said he would be here at midnight. Surely he would know what to do..."
She then turned it vertically, aligning its equator with that of the doorway. She looked for another line along which the puzzle could rotate and again, came up empty-handed. In frustration, she began straining the box, wringing it like a piece of old cloth, desperately looking for some pressure point, button, or hidden latch. All of this was to no avail.
Now she lifted the orb high above her head: the moonlight sank into its right hemisphere, as if some black hole were siphoning it away with greedy purpose. Within the contraption, beneath its shiny exterior, several decorated layers were superimposed on top of a dark red core that was its jewelled centre. The dirt and fingerprints from her clumsy manipulations now smudged the black apple, obscuring her vision. She began rubbing it gently with the white of her dress, and as she did, it began to hum.
"I can't be imagining this!"
Faint vibrations, barely perceptible at first, emanated from within. The tremors spread through the tips of her fingers to her hands, turned to cool, pleasurable shivers, and travelled up her arms to her neck and into the back of her head. A soft pink warmth enveloped her, like the soothing heat from the first morning sunbeams, and shielded her from the now biting chill of the night. Lucy's eyes closed, and she sank into what felt like a hot spring. Her thoughts paused. A little warm ball of sunlight fluttered in her chest, lifting and caressing her heart.
When her eyes opened again, the moon was gone, hidden behind a billowing shroud. She still held the orb, now clean and shiny once more, but something had changed: It was no longer a perfect sphere. It had split along the middle. If she could wedge her nails down the furrow perhaps it would give way and reveal its secrets. She tugged ever so gently, and the orb extended into her palms, making intricate clicking sounds as its inner workings uncoiled. Then, a thunderous boom!
Lucy looked up to see the doors of the sepulchre; they had parted suddenly by an inch. A thick dust cloud blasted out from the crevice, covering her from head to toe in dust and soot. She gagged, coughed, and covered her mouth. The orb fell at her feet, into the moist, glistening grass, and rolled away. Anxiously, she dropped to her knees in search of it.
"Lucy!" -- A man's voice called out from the shadows.
Mr. Deringer was behind her, leaning against a majestic oak. He was a tall, slender man with intense auburn eyes. He dressed in a fine suit of deep burgundy red, adorned in places with ornate patterns depicting thorned roses, under which he wore a pinkish-white chemise. Whilst he did dress elegantly, his style was most peculiar and surely drew attention, for better or worse. And though he was in his early forties at the most, his hair was of the purest white. His shoes were fine black snake leather, polished to a mirror sheen and far too luxurious to be worn whilst trudging around in the wild, and he'd brought with him his customary ebony walking stick, tipped with a golden pommel.
"Hello, my dear. I see you've made progress," he said with a pleased grin.
"Mr. Deringer! You made it," the young girl exclaimed. "I must be a poor sight to behold, filthy as I am."
He locked eyes with her and stepped into the clearing. Over his burgundy suit he a wore black coat, whose collar was lined with white fur, giving him a savage yet sensual appearance. He politely removed his top hat and offered her a gloved hand. She took it gladly and lifted herself off of the damp ground. Much to her surprise, the orb was rolling around inside Mr. Deringer's hat. "But... I'm certain it fell at my feet..."
"I'll take it from here," he said assuredly.
He dropped the round bauble into her hands and made his way to the ever-so-slightly opened door, which he tapped three times firmly with the pommel of his walking stick. The sharp cracks sent shockwaves through the clearing that dazed Lucy, bringing her to her knees again; it was as if he'd knocked on her skull.
Mr. Deringer didn't notice. His attention was focused on the door, waiting for its reaction: he was certain of his method, but there was always a small doubt...
Total silence befell the clearing, as if the wind had carried off all of nature's creatures.
Then, suddenly, there was a deep, raspy heave. The doors were pulled from each other with tremendous force. Mr. Deringer stood there, unflinching. The look on his face turned to one of satisfaction. Stone racked against stone, the ground trembled, ancient hidden mechanisms turned and shifted until finally the doors opened.
The clouds parted once again, shining a singular beam into the open portal, as if the heavens were inviting them in. Mr. Deringer turned to the young maiden. "You must go first. I will follow."
Going on an adventure was an exciting idea, but now it was quite real: subtle fear clawed at the back of Lucy's mind and tickled her throat. But she felt safe enough in the presence of her mysterious companion. "We don't have a light. How will we see?" she asked.
"Your eyes will get accustomed to the dark," he replied with an attractive smile as he extended an inviting arm towards the now open stone mouth that yearned to gobble them up.
Lucy took a few steps forward until she came to the top of a vertiginous stairway that sank into the bowels of the earth. It was damp, and so very silent too. She paused a moment, soaking it all in.
"Are you ready, my dear?"
"I am."
They began their descent.
The stairs were uneven. Each step Lucy took had to be taken with great care. The centuries had not been kind to this place. The earthen ceiling was low, old support pillars were brittle, and some had given way completely. The girl struggled with every step, whilst Mr. Deringer glided quietly behind her. He was quite at ease, seemingly used to spelunking.
The darkness grew thicker. Lucy glanced back over her shoulder. The moon peeped down at her through the entrance, which was now as small as a pearl. Soon they would lose sight of each other entirely. The gentleman and his protégé pushed on a little further.
Suddenly, a wail resonated up from the abyss.
