The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [349]
Antoine’s mother.
Pendergast turned away from the tomb. Then he stopped, glancing back. A smaller, simpler mausoleum of gray granite lay beside the greater one. The engraved plaque on its face read, simply, Carlotta.
He paused, recalling the words of his great-aunt: And then he began spending a lot of time down… down there. Do you know where I mean? Pendergast had heard the stories about how the necropolis became Antoine’s favorite place after his mother’s death. He’d spent his days here, year in and year out, in the shadow of her tomb, practicing the magic tricks his father and grandfather had taught him, performing experiments on small animals—and especially working with chemicals, developing nostrums and poisons. What else was it Aunt Cornelia had said? They say he always felt more comfortable with the dead than with the living.
Pendergast had heard rumors even Aunt Cornelia had been unwilling to hint at: rumors worse than the bad business with Marie LeClaire; rumors of certain hideous things found in the deep shadows of the tombs; rumors of the real reason behind Antoine’s permanent banishment from the house on Dauphine Street. But it wasn’t just the prolongation of life that had fixed Antoine’s attention. No, there had always been something else, something behind the prolongation of life, some project that he had kept the deepest of secrets…
Pendergast stared at the nameplate as a sudden revelation swept over him. These underground vaults had been Antoine’s workplace as a child. This is where he had played and studied, collected his appalling childhood trophies. This was where he had experimented with his chemicals; and it was here, in the cool, dark underground, where he had stored his vast collection of compounds, botanicals, chemicals, and poisons. Here, the temperature and humidity never changed: the conditions would be perfect.
More quickly now, Pendergast turned away, walking back down the pathway and passing beneath the tunnel, beginning the long climb back toward consciousness. For he knew, at last, where in the house on Riverside Drive the missing collection of Antoine Pendergast—of Enoch Leng—would be found.
TWO
NORA HEARD THE FAINT RATTLE OF A CHAIN, THEN A FAINT, whispered exhalation of breath from out of the nearby darkness. She licked dry lips, worked her mouth in an attempt to speak. “Pendergast?”
“I’m here,” came the weak voice.
“I thought you were dead!” Her body spasmed in an involuntary sob. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry I had to leave you. How much time has passed?”
“My God, are you deaf? That madman’s doing something terrible to Bill!”
“Dr. Kelly—”
Nora lunged against her chains. She felt wild with terror and grief, a frenzy that seemed to physically possess her body. “Get me out of here!”
“Dr. Kelly.” Pendergast’s voice was neutral. “Be calm. There is something we can do. But you must be calm.”
Nora stopped struggling and sank back, trying to control herself.
“Lean against the wall. Close your eyes. Take deep, regular breaths.” The voice was slow, hypnotic.
Nora closed her eyes, trying to push away the crowding terror, trying to regulate her breathing.
There was a long silence. And then Pendergast spoke again. “All right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Keep breathing. Slowly. Now?”
“Better. What happened to you? You really frightened me, I was sure—”
“There’s no time to explain. You must trust me. And now, I’m going to remove these chains.”
Nora felt a twinge of disbelief. There was a clanking and rattling, followed by a sudden silence.
She strained against her chains, listening intently. What was he doing? Had he lost his senses?
And then, abruptly, she felt someone take hold of her elbow, and simultaneously a hand slipped over her mouth. “I’m free,” Pendergast’s voice whispered in her ear. “Soon you will be, too.”
Nora felt stuporous with disbelief. She began to tremble.
“Relax your limbs. Relax them completely.