The Vanishing Villa: An Inspector Ambrose Story (Inspector Ambrose Mysteries Book 2), Page 3

  Ambrose finally stopped and shook the outstretched hand. He was about to say they could talk in the morning, when James insisted, “It’s rather urgent I’m afraid. Perhaps we can find some shelter for a moment?”

  Ambrose nodded with a sigh. Sleep would have to wait. They headed further down the hill to find out what was so urgent that it simply couldn’t wait till the next day.

  Thick drops of rain pounded hard on the cobblestones. It was early the following morning, and grey clouds hung low over Traville.

  Ambrose and Percy walked along the side of the road, each huddled beneath a large black umbrella. Steam wafted from their mouths as they breathed out warm air into the chill. Ambrose was deep in thought as they wound their way down the hill towards the slums. Soon The Freeze would be upon them, covering any evidence for weeks. They needed to find the missing Mech as soon as possible, or risk losing the trail of whomever made Francis Finney’s villa vanish.

  As they followed the road down the hill, the complexion of buildings around them began to change. Simple brick terraces replaced ornate grey and black houses as they moved into the poorer suburbs.

  Percy interrupted Ambrose’s thoughts as they moved through the rain.

  “Inspector, I was reading up on Dwarf Mechs earlier. There’s an entire chapter dedicated to them in Murdoch’s Rare Mechs Vol. III.”

  Ambrose turned his collar up as the wind began to bite. “Yes, what of it?” he asked.

  “Well it was interesting to note why they chose to stop making Dwarf Mechs. It wasn’t so much a choice to do with materials or fashion. It was because of the nature of Dwarf Mechs themselves.”

  “And what was the problem with their nature?” Ambrose found his interest piquing.

  “Playfulness, in a word. Or as Murdoch puts it: ‘Prone to excessive bouts of mischief.’ The decision to stop production came from the very highest level of The Order.”

  “Really?” Ambrose frowned. Why would senior figures in The Order be so concerned with the production of a certain type of Mech?

  “Did they have any common function?” he asked Percy.

  Percy smiled. “I knew you’d ask, Inspector, and that’s the interesting thing. Their most common use was as maintenance workers… in the Temples of Light.”

  Ambrose looked over at his partner. “Well… that is interesting. To think that Francis Finney mentioned that he thought he’d found one of those temples too.”

  Percy chuckled. “I think that’s unlikely, Inspector, with all due respect. For a man like Francis Finney to simply stumble across the Great Central Temple of Light… it just seems so far-fetched. It would be one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of our time, akin to opening the Crimson Crypt, or proving that Gothmore the Destroyer actually existed.”

  “Well never write someone off as a fool, Percy. Some of the greatest feats in human history were achieved by people who were written off by the masses,” Ambrose looked over at Percy, “And Gothmore is a myth, nothing more. The Grand Central Temple of Light… there’s something in that. Now come on – it’s time we found this Mech.”

  Ambrose and Percy slowed their pace as they reached the base of the hill. The rain was pouring down, but up ahead Ambrose could see the beginnings of the slums, where a four metre high stone wall marked the edge of the city.

  Through an archway that ran high above the road, Ambrose could make out a large open square filled with carts and stalls. A crush of people bustled about inside, buying supplies before the cold set in.

  Ambrose turned to Percy and said, “Remember, we’re looking for a Dwarf Mech, or anyone who’s seen a Dwarf Mech recently with a supply of Lightstone. And why are we looking for a strange Dwarf Mech?” Ambrose prompted.

  Percy pulled out his notebook and flicked through it. “Because… we know one that got lost down here last week and we’re worried about his wellbeing!” he responded hopefully.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Ambrose sighed, “but one small observation: you’re unlikely to have time to pull out your notebook when someone asks, so try to memorise that story.” Percy blushed a bit and gave a quiet nod.

  With their stories straight, the detectives walked into the slums of Traville to pursue their only lead.

  The slums looked out of place at the foot of the hill. Sandwiched between the Boer River and the walls that surrounded Traville, the slums were never supposed to exist. Traville was a swirl of greys and blacks set upon a hillside in the middle of a large valley, while the slums were a vibrant wave of colour breaking upon the drab inner suburbs.

  From inside the heaving mass of shoddily-constructed buildings, a hundred shades of red, green, and blue screamed defiance at the rulers of Traville, opposing uniformity with each cramped structure that arose. There was little planning to the alleys that snaked through the slums, except where they gave way to a huge square beneath the city’s outer wall. Ambrose and Percy were now bearing down on Revolution Square (as the local slum-dwellers had named it), as it was home to an impromptu market that sprung up early every morning.

  Ambrose led the way into the bustling square. It was surrounded by tall, three-storied wooden buildings, each painted a different colour from the next, as if a kaleidoscope had burst in the middle of the slums and coloured every house in a different way. From the richest red to the dullest yellow, the buildings housed builders, bakers, metalworkers, and candlemakers, along with other, less legal service providers. Each building oozed personality as it stood watch over the loosely organised chaos below.

  Below the buildings, Revolution Square was an assault on the senses. A cacophony of sound rose from the crammed stalls of traders selling almost anything imaginable. With little interference from The Order, the market overflowed with illegal goods. Rotten food, stolen goods, and questionable services were the trademarks of the marketplace. People milled around between the stalls, bargaining loudly and laughing heartily. The rain pelted down on the thin cart awnings, adding a swell to the shouts that filled the air.

  “Cheeses from the West! Figs from the South! We work hard to import the best”

  “I say sir, have you ever seen a timepiece of this quality?”

  “Day-old bread! Double the flavour, half the price!”

  “You, sir, are a crook and a liar, which I love!”

  Puddles splashed, coins clanked, and a peal of thunder ripped through the sky as Ambrose stopped to inspect a stall selling stone. Amongst the crowd of raggedy traders, he and Percy stood out in their smart red coats, which were a stark contrast to the rags most of the folk in Revolution Square were wearing. By the time the detectives had made it halfway down the first row of stalls, Percy was turning slightly green from the smell of overcooked eggs and burnt onions that permeated the air. Ambrose noted his obvious discomfort, but pressed on with the search.

  The next hour turned up nothing. Vendors shrugged, pickpockets ran away, and residents refused to give any indication as to whether they had seen a Dwarf Mech wandering the streets. Ambrose was almost prepared to call it a day and get out of the rain when he spotted a Mech selling rocks and knick-knacks near the south end of the square. He beckoned Percy on, and they approached the tall black Mech to make a few enquiries and inspect his wares.

  “Good morning!” said Ambrose, as he and Percy moved in closer to the stall. The Mech looked up at them, clearly not keen on a conversation with the authorities. “Morning,” it muttered back. It was a tall Mech, built from an obsidian-like metal, with sharp lines decorating its head. It began to search inside a box as Percy started looking at the collection of stones on display.

  “May I ask your name?” Ambrose enquired.

  The Mech continued its rummaging, obviously trying to remain busy. “Name’s Pitch,” he muttered.

  Ambrose smiled broadly in return. “I am Inspector Ambrose, and this is my partner, Detective Percy,” he said, waving a hand at the somewhat-sick looking detective, who was now closely inspecting a white stone.

  “We’re lo
oking for a Dwarf Mech,” Ambrose continued, “he’s a friend of ours who went missing in this area recently. Have you seen anyone like that around here in the past few days?” Pitch shook his head, but Ambrose was sure the Mech had paused ever so briefly before giving his response. “Very well, if you happen to spot a Dwarf Mech, do let us know. We’ll be back later on this morning,” Ambrose said.

  The detectives were about to start walking away when Ambrose spotted something that made his heart leap within him. Pitch was still rummaging in his box of rocks, but there in the corner, gleaming away in the dim light, was a white, slightly translucent stone.

  Ambrose cleared his throat. “Any chance you could tell us how you managed to come across such a fine piece of Lightstone?” he asked, pointing to the stone.

  Pitch was now clearly concerned. “Look, I don’t want any trouble…” he began.

  A break at last.

  Ambrose knew they had come to the right place. He smiled slightly and said, “Don’t worry, there won’t be any trouble. Just tell us how you came that stone came into your possession, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Pitch looked between Percy and Ambrose, and with a slight inclination of his head, pointed them towards the opposite corner of the market. There, carrying a small sack over his shoulder, stood a Dwarf Mech, nervously looking back and forth as the rain pelted down all around him.

  “Bingo,” whispered Percy under his breath.

  Ambrose and Percy turned from the cart and started walking towards the corner where the Dwarf Mech stood, but as they took their first steps, a voice rang out above the noise of the crowd.

  “Gasquet! Run!” Ambrose whirled around – it was the voice of Pitch, who had obviously decided not to let the Inspector have his way after all. Ambrose didn’t have time to respond, because the Dwarf Mech immediately dropped his sack and ducked down the nearest alleyway that ran towards the river.

  Dismissing his severe dislike for getting his uniform wet, Ambrose threw his umbrella to the ground and charged through the south entrance of the square and into another alleyway that also ran south. Percy hesitated for a second, but proceeded to follow suit, tossing his umbrella in a puddle and heading down the street, leaving Revolution Square and behind him.

  “Out of the way!” shouted Ambrose as he charged through the crowded street, bumping into peddlers and pedestrians as they tried to move aside. Percy was by now a strange shade of red and green, owing to exertion and sickness, but he pounded the cobblestones and mud behind Ambrose, doing his best to keep up. Ambrose kept looking through alleyways to his left as they ran, and he could see the figure of Gasquet sprinting along, apparently unaware that they were so close to him. Unfortunately for him, Ambrose knew the layout of the slums intimately.

  “The two paths meet up ahead!” Ambrose yelled back to the panting Percy, “We’ll catch him there!”

  Soon an intersection loomed into view, and the small figure of Gasquet ran across it. Ambrose moved to his right slightly as the two alleys joined, and found himself around twenty paces behind the speedy Mech. The road was less cluttered than the crammed alleys around Revolution Square. “Stop!” Ambrose Shouted. “Gasquet! Don’t make this worse for yourself!” unfortunately, that only seemed to spur the Dwarf Mech on as he headed towards the end of the street.

  Ambrose suddenly realised how close they were to the river. Was the Mech planning on making an escape there? They were a long distance from the wharf where trade goods and passenger boats made their moorings, so that seemed unlikely.

  Soon the buildings began to thin, and the Boer River came into view. Brown and murky, the river was twenty metres wide, and traversed by three stone bridges – one of them lay directly ahead. By now, Ambrose’s lungs were burning. He looked behind him and noticed that Percy was now far off in the distance, looking like last night’s dinner was about to reappear. Up ahead, the Mech had reached the middle of the bridge. Ambrose sprinted with all his might as he saw Gasquet jump up onto the side of the bridge.

  “Wait!” Ambrose shouted. Gasquet looked back at him, raised his hand to wave, and dropped into the water below. With a quiet curse, Ambrose reaching the spot where Gasquet had just jumped off. A mighty splash erupted from the water below as the Mech’s metal body impacted with the river. Ambrose peered through the rain into the brown water, looking for a sign of where the Mech was heading. He smacked the side of the bridge in frustration as Percy arrived on the scene.

  “I almost had him,” Ambrose puffed, doubling over as the toll of the chase caught up with him. Steam rose from both his and Percy’s bodies as they stood in the pelting rain, puffing and panting, watching the river for any sign of the Mech.

  After a few minutes, Ambrose let out an exasperated groan. “We were so close Percy! I could have caught him, but he jumped. Why hasn’t he surfaced?” Ambrose asked as they peered at the river. The bubbles had disappeared, and it was as if nothing had happened.

  Percy slumped down on the ground as a few of the local slumdwellers hurried past, throwing occasional glances at the bedraggled pair. Moments passed. Ambrose felt like he had reached the end of his tether. “Why on earth hasn’t he surfaced?” He repeated.

  Percy gave a resigned shrug, and turned to his side to throw up. At that moment, Ambrose wondered why they had ever thought coming down to the slums was a good idea. There were many more important cases that they could be working on – every day in Traville, citizens were mugged, Mechs were getting into trouble, and people were robbing banks.

  Banks.

  Banks!

  Ambrose looked over at the muddy banks of the Boer river, thinking about the Mech’s sudden disappearance. There was a rising sense of hope in Ambrose’s mind as he knelt down next to Percy, who had finished emptying his stomach on the pavement.

  “How are you feeling?” Ambrose asked him.

  “Well, I’m feeling a lot better now that I don’t have to worry about losing my dinner anymore.” Percy mumbled, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “You sound awfully good for someone who’s just lost our only lead, and got sopping wet in the process.”

  “Well, I’m happy because I have a hunch as to where that lead might have gone.”

  Percy stared blankly at Ambrose, waiting for him to continue. Ambrose nodded towards the river bank.

  “Is it possible that the Mech might not have needed to climb the bank to escape?” Ambrose said. “What if he didn’t go up the bank, but-”

  “Into the bank.” Percy looked at Ambrose with a flash of inspiration. “It is possible,” he said, “I just read about something similar the other day; the tactics used by the hill tribes of the Go-Cho jungles. The used that exact tactic during the Fifth Rebellion years ago.”

  Ambrose smiled. Percy had clearly forgotten his nausea in the excitement of this realisation.

  “The rebels dug holes in riverbanks,” Percy said, “They shaped the tunnels like a sideways S. When they were in danger, they could jump into the water and simply disappear.”

  The detectives stood and looked down at the muddy waters.

  “So I guess he’s in the riverbank,” said Percy.

  “That’s right,” said Ambrose, “And in light of current damp situation, we’re going in after him.”

  And so it came to be that Ambrose and Percy found themselves on a small rowboat near the north bank of the Boer River in the middle of a rainy afternoon. A stone wall loomed up on either side of the river, and several intrigued residents stopped to stare as the detectives pushed their way along the bank, shoving an oar into the mud under the water every few inches.

  To passers-by it must have seemed a simple process, but to Ambrose and Percy it was hot, uncomfortable work lifting the heavy oars in the driving rain. After what felt like hours (it was a matter of minutes), Percy let out an excited yelp and Ambrose smiled a wry smile. The oar sunk deep into the bank, uncovering (as Ambrose had predicted) a hidden passageway leading into the dirt.

  People passing by must also have
found it strange to see the two men hopping into the water a moment later and disappearing, leaving behind an empty rowboat and a rainy afternoon.

  Ambrose broke the water with a gasp. He grabbed Percy’s outstretched hand and lifted himself out of the cold water. They had just swum through the hole in the riverbank, and were now standing under the north bank.

  Ambrose had expected to come up into complete darkness, but to his surprise they were now standing in a warm, well lit cave. Immediately in front of them, two torches burned brightly, attached to either side of a tall brick arch. Through the archway, a long passage disappeared into the distance, with an occasional torch burning on the wall.

  Ambrose and Percy stood there for a minute. There was no sound beyond the flickering of the torches. Percy cleared his throat and articulated exactly what Ambrose was thinking: “I suppose we’ve got to go down that passage now.”

  Ambrose nodded, “No point getting wet and coming down here only to leave before we find out why that Mech ran away so fast,” he said.

  Before they started moving, Percy turned to Ambrose and said with more than a touch of uncertainty, “You don’t suppose there are ghosts down here, do you Inspector?”

  Ambrose looked at Percy with a sceptical raise of his eyebrows. “My dear Percy, there’s nothing to indicate that ghosts really exist. And if they did, I’m sure they wouldn’t be waiting around in a warm, inviting place like this.”

  Percy gave a weak smile, but was clearly not comfortable with the thought of walking down the tunnel, no matter how warm and inviting it was. Ambrose did pause for a second, however. There was something about the tunnel, something he couldn’t put his finger on… as if they had suddenly discovered something lost in time. And in his experience, the past was often best left buried.