Two days later, the expedition entered the cave system. The subterranean world that opened before them stretched for miles, governed by its own laws, its own climate, and an entire ecosystem cut off from the surface since time immemorial.
The ceilings vanished into darkness, hung with stalactites the size of cathedral columns. Strange luminescent lichens threw a ghostly light across the limestone walls, and in the crevices grew plants that had never seen the sun. Jones had to float several orbs of magelight overhead before the group could see where to put their feet.
"Extraordinary," Jones whispered, bringing a light close to the walls. "An entire ecosystem. Look at these formations..."
Berit followed his master with the field journal open, sketching every detail in a neat hand and adding notes. Now and then he pointed out something the professor, in his excitement, would have missed.
"Uncle," Sophie called. "Look. The path opens up ahead."
Jean raised his light higher. The trail indeed led through an arch into a spacious square chamber hewn from the solid rock, with identical arched portals gaping on three of its walls. But the moment Piet set foot on the stone slabs...
"Back!" Jean shouted, too late.
Lightning struck from the ceiling in a blinding white flash. Piet didn't even have time to scream. Where he had stood, only a red mist and the stench of charred flesh remained. Jean caught a rising hum vibrating through the floor itself.
"Nobody move!" Jean flung his arm out, blocking the others.
Jones, who had already begun to take a step, stumbled and almost lost his footing. Berit reacted instantly. The demon lunged forward, knocking the professor back onto the safe trail just as a second bolt tore through the air. The familiar vanished in a spray of blood. The hum began again.
"Berit!" Jones gasped, sinking onto the stone.
A second later, the demon materialized behind his master, casually brushing off his sleeve.
"I'm here, old man. You're losing your edge. You need to get out in the field more often."
"Did it hurt?" Sophie asked, turning pale.
"Imagine you were switched off from a dream for a second," Berit shrugged. "It's disorienting."
"Thank you," Jones squeezed the demon's shoulder.
Jean crouched at the threshold and lowered his light to the floor. He needed time.
Jones turned away from the slabs.
"Edgar. Come here."
The man came, pulling off his hat.
"Did Piet have family?"
Edgar glanced back at his men as though one of them might supply the answer.
"Same as all of us, monsieur. Mademoi... You ordered it yourself. Grown son, same as every man here." He shifted his feet. "No need troubling yourself. They'll get by."
"That is not yours to decide," Sophie said.
"My lady?"
"What is his name?"
"Whose?"
"The son's."
The head porter blinked.
"Wilfred, my lady. Wilfred, Piet's boy. Seventeen, he is. Serving in the garrison."
"Berit. I need a letter sent."
The incubus tore a leaf from his journal, uncapped the ink, and with a turn of his hand spread the sheet flat in the air at a comfortable height. Sophie wrote fast, signed with a flourish, and held it out to Jones.
"Professor. Send it by air."
"Perhaps you're not ruined after all. Perhaps you're exactly what's wanted." He weighed the letter in his hand. "Where are we sending it?"
"To the garrison commander."
The professor waited.
"My arms are on it. Damn what he makes of it. Piet's family will want for nothing." Sophie held out a pair of quartz coins. "Not now, and not a year from now."
Edgar got it out, staring at the ground.
"Mademoiselle, begging your pardon, but we're small folk. If the commander takes against Wilfred... You'll be gone... and we've got to live here."
"I know." Sophie put a hand on his shoulder. "But I expect the young esquire and his demon will manage him."
The poor wretch went down at her feet.
"On your feet, Edgar."
"That is too much even for you, Sophie," Jones said.
"Professor, you're behind the times. These days it is only a matter of price. And I have not been bound by that one for a little while now."
Jean stayed at the very threshold, not daring to step onto the chamber floor. He lowered his light, studying the massive geometric pattern carved into the stone. The outer square frame of the design fit the chamber walls perfectly. T-shaped protrusions along the sides led to the exits. Within the square lay concentric circles carved with lotus petals, and at the dead centre, five concentric triangles pointing towards the left portal.
Above the left portal, the stone had been crudely chipped away, but the ruined face of a woman could still be discerned. The other arches remained empty.
"I've seen similar chambers in the southern ruins," Jones muttered, backing away. "But there, the defensive slabs were deactivated by placing an offering on the central altar. Jean, do you think this basalt block is a basin for gifts?"
Jean remained silent, studying the interlocking lines. His gaze focused on the absolute centre of the pattern.
"No," Jean shook his head. "This pattern is the symbol of an ancient god. It is self-sufficient. There shouldn't be any altars here. This isn't a trap; it was meant to be a place of worship. Kneel before the face of the god and walk on."
"So you're saying it's a later addition? Let's get rid of it then."
Jones stepped to the edge of the chamber and focused on the basalt block. It rose from the ground, and with a flick of his chin, the professor hurled it out of the room through the right portal.
The incubus sighed, pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and looked at his master. Jones gave a silent nod.
Berit stepped onto the chamber slabs, and nothing happened.
"That was incredibly rude," he grumbled.
"But safe," Jean stepped over the threshold. "Come along."
Beyond the portal the passage opened into an underground clearing. At its centre stood a black obelisk inscribed with ancient script. Jean bent over the inscriptions, translating.
"'Kali, my wife, come to me and take me...' " He frowned. "Strange. Nothing after that."
He was tapping the stone without noticing. An unfinished formula... they wanted the demon to dictate the terms. A chill traced his spine. He'd seen the remains of people who tried to improvise with rituals like this one. Too many times.
Sophie reached toward the inscription, drawn by the pulse of the stone. Her fingers hovered over the unfinished glyph.
"A summoning formula..." she whispered. "It feels like it's... waiting."
Her hand moved toward the stone. Jean watched her, ready to catch her wrist if he had to, but he didn't interfere. Sophie blinked, shaking off the trance.
"An open contract?"
"Clever girl." Jean brightened. "An old-fashioned contract. A duel of will and speed. This is a blank page. The demon will write in whatever it wants if you're not fast enough."
Jones came up and lifted a magelight higher, throwing it over Jean's shoulder onto the obelisk.
"I heard talk at the club," he said. "They say you once held a ritual for four hours straight, rewriting the terms for some count's son. The boy nearly died, and you never made a single error. A thousand lines, wasn't it?"
"Seventeen hundred," Sophie corrected. She circled Jean and stood beside him, bending over the obelisk as he did.
Jean glanced at her. "And where did you pick that up?"
"I read the protocols in the Academy library. Don't be modest, Uncle. It was virtuoso work."
Jean twitched a shoulder and checked the fastenings of his gear.
"It was exhausting. Are you thinking of becoming a Sigil?"
"No. But this is exactly what I need." Sophie turned to face him. In the lantern light her face was serious. "My Coming-of-Age ceremony is in a month. I want you standing beside me."
Jean went still, his hand still on the obelisk.
"Sophie, I'm sure Isabella will want to guide the ritual herself..."
"Mother sees me as a dowry on legs," Sophie cut in. She gripped his elbow. "She wants to sell me into a political marriage. I want the person who sees me as a human being at my ceremony."
Jones stepped back, giving them room. He turned to Berit and gave a quiet snort.
"Scandal in the noble house?"
The demon allowed himself the faintest smirk.
Jean looked at the obelisk, at the unfinished formula, at Sophie's hand on his arm.
"Your mother will never forgive me."
"We have that in common," Sophie said, and tightened her grip.
Jean pressed his thumb to the pad of his middle finger, closing a familiar circle. He took a deep breath through his nose, held it to quiet his thoughts, and let the air out through slightly parted lips. The tension dissolved, leaving only a cold clarity.
"At home. We'll discuss it at home. Let's keep moving while there's still light."
Sophie took his arm and walked beside him.