The level of the rank-smelling sewer water rose as we headed farther away from the mad scene behind us. The stone walls of the passage were increasingly covered in a grey fungus that fought for space with the dangling spiderwebs that swayed above as we hurried by. More than once, Scar angrily flicked bits of web from his face, muttering. There was clearly no one following us, but he kept looking back anyway, and he paused as we reached a neat pile of skulls stacked like blocks in a recessed section of stone. I recoiled when he lifted the jaw of the topmost skull and reached inside it. At this, the stack of empty heads swung to one side like the devil’s garden gate, and we plunged into yet another level of darkness. Either those ashy eyes could penetrate the dark, or he was very familiar with the place, because Scar whisked along the winding paths.
The sewer smell was fading, and its place was taken by a salty mineral odour. The dampness was even more present than usual, and the temperature was rising. I loosened Sashay’s scarf so that I could breathe a bit more easily. Then Scar passed through a rounded arch just ahead and stopped to snap on his mirror glasses. A large room with a domed ceiling lay before us with walls of huge amber stones, and there were smoking pots everywhere. A series of long, smooth marble steps led to a steaming pool that was decorated at the edges with carvings of people in flowing robes, some with dogs’ or horses’ heads, some with wings for arms. A chubby stone violinist with curly hair dominated the centre of the pool and a fountain of water flowed from the head of his instrument into the steam below. The only sound was the bubbling of the pool. This was the source of the mineral smell, now almost overpowering.
In a hesitant, almost hushed tone, Scar finally spoke to the bubbles. “Boss? Louche? Sorry to bother you, but ...”
A voice responded from the cauldron of steam below, and I could just make out the shape of a head seeming to rise disembodied from the warm fog. “Yessss, ouiii ... welcome, little mole. Few have seen this place, and then only Shadows. What do you think?” He seemed to be wheezing steam.
“Louche, uh I’ve gotta tell you ...” Scar interrupted before Louche cut him off.
“Roman, little one, but I suppose for you ancient history would be the lunar landing, or maybe Woodstock.”
Scar was twitching like he had to go to the little Shadows’ room. His voice was nervous, but he persisted. “Louche, it’s all gone up in smoke. The lights out plan. The clouds, the mini cranes, all of it. Once they access emergency power, it’ll be back to the city of light as usual.”
“Yessss, ouiii, Scar. Breathe. Have a smoke. Relax, a drink perhaps.”
Louche gestured toward a large corked bottle of black liquid resting in a stone holder at his side, and his teeth gleamed into a slit of a smile. I recognized the bottle from my first visit to the lab but tried not to focus on it too long.
“Sure, boss,” laughed Scar nervously, sounding a little more like his old nasty self.
“Fear not, the underworld will rule when the time is right,” Fiat went on dreamily.
I could feel a speech coming on with lots of cheesy references to dark destiny, the true Paris, and maybe even his great-great-grandmother’s birthday cake, so I risked an interruption. “Look, Louche, you could return the monuments, no real harm’s been done. A good lawyer, a full confession, you’re maybe looking at a suspended sentence, some community service erasing graffiti in the Métro, I don’t know.” It was desperate, and he wasn’t buying it, but I kept going. “There’s no need to keep me here. I won’t mention this place, you know, your Roman sauna, or whatever you call it.”
This seemed to have the opposite effect on him, and he hissed his reply. “I may be mad, but I’m not stupid, little one. Nor am I finished, despite what my smoky associates believe, either. You see, unlike my dim bulb of a brother, I could never live above ground, not that I would want to in that baguette-and-brie mall they call a city. Scar, my robe.”
Scar handed Louche a black toga as he emerged from the steaming liquid. I caught a glimpse of his greyish, perfectly smooth shoulders and chest before looking away, hoping to find a quick exit. Scar, anticipating this, was soon back at my side. “Louche, what do you want me to do with the twerp?” he rasped, lighting up and blowing smoke at me.
“Nothing, mon flou. She will be my accomplice in a final, albeit symbolic act that the darkness will allow us, the sweet desecration of the soul of the city, Notre Dame de Paris.”
While I was trying to sort out what this meant and how I could possibly be regarded as an accomplice, he slipped into an adjacent room and emerged minutes later, dressed in a tight-fitting black outfit, with gloves and hood to match.
Scar led the way out of Louche’s private Roman bath, which was extraordinary, I had to admit. My curiosity got the better of me. “How come nobody knows about this place? It looks like an archaeologist’s dream.”
Louche eyed me with suspicion but replied anyway, “Ouiiii ... quite right, little wisp. The Crypte Archéologique is right next door, with its admirable Roman ruins, but they stopped excavation before finding the real treasure for fear of weakening the foundation of the great cathedral. At least, that was the reason given in my brother’s report to the city.”
He narrowed his eyes, and a most sinister look came over his face. “But tonight, a new chapter will be added to the history of Notre Dame. Yesss, something added ...” he paused and snarled “… and something taken away. Let’s go.”