“Aye, we are. Sewers, basements, old wells often have secret entrances into the ancient catacombs. C’mon, then, I’ll show ye.”
He climbed down, and she followed. She expected it to smell foul, ripe with the slough of the city above. But she found it only dank and moldy. They descended at least two stories, until at last she was able to step back onto solid footing. She cast her light around. Mortared blocks lined the old sewer’s walls and low ceiling. Her boots sloshed in a thin stream of water along the bottom.
“Over here.” Renny led the way along the sewer with the assurance of a well-schooled rat. After thirty yards, a grated gateway opened to the right. He crossed to it and tugged the gate open. Hinges squealed. “Now through here.”
Crude steps led deeper into the darkness and down to a room that made her gasp. The walls had been painted in a riotous garden of flowers and trees set among trickling waterways and azure pools. It was like stepping into a Monet painting.
“Welcome to the true entrance of the catacombs,” Renny said.
“Who did all of this?” she asked, sweeping her light, noting a few sections marred by graffiti.
He shrugged. “All sorts of dobbers make their way down. Artists, partiers, mushroom farmers. A couple years ago, the cataflics — that’s our name for the police who patrol down there — discovered a large chamber set up as a movie theater, with a big screen, popcorn maker, and carved-out seats. When police investigators returned a day later, they found it all gone. Only a note remained in the middle of the floor, warning ‘Do not try to find us.’ That’s the underworld of Paris. Large sections still remain unexplored, cut off by cave-ins or simply lost in time. Cataphiles, like me and my mates, do our best to fill in those blank spots on the old maps, tracking our discoveries, recording every intricacy.”
“Like you’ve done with your tattoo.”
“It was Jolie’s idea,” he said with a sad smile. “She’s a tattoo artist. A dead good one, she is. She wanted to immortalize our journey together underground.”
He went silent again, but only for a moment.
“I met her down below, not far from here, both of us all muddy. We exchanged phone numbers by flashlight.”
“Tell me about that day she disappeared.”
“I had classes to go to. She had the afternoon off and left with another girl, Liesl from Germany. I dinna know her last name. They went down after hearing rumors of some secret group moving through the area.”
“The Order of the Solar Temple.”
“Aye.” He worked the back of his shirt up. “At the base of my neck, you’ll see a room marked with a little flower.”
She peered closer at his tattoo, shining her flashlight. She found the tiny Celtic rose and touched it with a finger.
Renny shivered. “That’s where we are now. We’ll follow Jolie’s map to the newest piece of my tattoo; that was where she’d been headed. She found an entrance into a forgotten section of the labyrinth, but she’d only just begun to explore it when she heard that rumor about the Solar Temple.” He lowered his shirt and pointed to a tunnel leading out. “I know most of the way by heart, but I’ll need help once we’re closer.”
He set off through the dark labyrinth, winding through tunnels and across small rooms and past flooded pits. The walls were raw limestone, sweating and dripping with water. Fossils dotted the surfaces, some polished by previous cataphiles to make them stand out, as if the prehistoric past were trying to crawl out of the rock.
The way grew rapidly cooler. Soon Seichan could see her breath. The echoes of their footsteps made it sound as if they were constantly being followed. She stopped frequently, checking warily behind her.
She could see that Renny was growing impatient. “We’re not likely to find anyone down here. Even the cataflics rarely come to this remote section. Plus there was a gas leak reported near the tourist area of the catacombs. They’ve been closed for three days.”
She nodded and checked his tattoo again. They were not far from the freshly inked section of his map. “If I’m reading this right, your girlfriend’s new discovery opens along that passage.” She pointed to a narrow tunnel and checked her wristwatch.
Seventy-two minutes left.
Anxious, Seichan led the way. She hurried along, looking for the branching side passage marked on the tattoo.
“Stop!” Renny called behind her.
She turned and found him kneeling beside a tumble of stones. She had walked past the rockfall without giving it a second thought.
Renny pointed his helmet lamp to a rosy arrow chalked above the rock pile. “This is the entrance. Jolie always uses pink chalk.”
She joined him and spotted a low tunnel shadowed by the rocks.
Renny crawled on his hands and knees through the opening first. Seichan followed. Within a few yards and a couple of short drops, the way dumped into another tunnel.
As Seichan stood, she saw more shafts and smaller side passages heading off in several directions.
Renny touched a palm against the sweating dampness of the limestone wall. “This is definitely a very old section of the catacombs. And it looks to be a fousty maze from here.” He twisted around and fought to raise his shirt. “Check the map.”
She did, but the ink of the tattoo stopped at the exact point where they were standing. A cursory exam of the tunnels offered no other chalked clues as to where Jolie might have gone.
From here, it looked like they were on their own.
“What do we do?” Renny asked, fear for his girlfriend frosting his words. “Where do we go?”
Seichan picked a tunnel and headed out.
“Why are we going this way?” he asked, hurrying after her.
“Why not?”
Actually she had a reason for the decision. She had picked the passage because it was the only one that headed down . By now, it was clear to her that these tunnel crawlers were drawn to nether regions of the world, driven by curiosity about what lay below. Such snooping always kept them digging deeper . Only after reaching the bottom would they begin exploring outward.
She hoped that this was true of Jolienne.
Within a few steps, though, Seichan began to regret her choice. To either side, deep niches had been packed solidly with old human bones, darkened and yellowed to the color of ancient parchment. The skeletons had been disarticulated and separated into their component parts, as if inventoried by some macabre accountant. One niche held only a stack of arms, delicately draped one atop the other; another was full of rib cages. It was the last two niches — one on either side of the passage — that disturbed her the most. Two walls of skulls stared out at the tunnel, seeming to dare them to trespass between their vacant gazes.
Seichan hurried past with a shiver of dread.
The tunnel finally ended at a cavernous chamber. While the roof was no higher than the passageway, it stretched outward into a vast room the length of a football field. Rows and rows of pillars held up the ceiling, like some stone orchard. Each support was composed of stone blocks, one piled on another. Several looked crooked and ready to fall.
“This is the ancient handiwork of Charles Guillaumot,” Renny said, speaking in a rushed, nervous tone. “Back in 1774, a major section of the catacombs collapsed, swallowing up several streets and killing lots o’ people. After that, King Louis hired himself an architect, Guillaumot, to shore up the catacombs. He became the first true cataphile . He mapped and explored most of the tunnels and had these room pillars put in place. Not that collapses don’t still happen. In 1961, the ground opened up and swallowed an entire Parisian neighborhood, killing a bunch of people. Even today, cave-ins occur every year. It’s a big danger down here.”