Malcolm shot them a cross look and put a finger to his lips.
Kate’s muscles tensed for action as the watchman stopped in front of the office door. He came so close she could make out small details like a half-healed welt on his face, perhaps due to a wild blow from a crazed inmate or a drunken brawl after hours in a pub. His bored gaze swept over the door and stopped right at her, as if he could see her, but he didn’t react. It was uncanny how Simon’s transparency spell worked. However, it was also unnerving how exposed she felt. Even her breathing stilled as the keeper stared oddly at the door, his face twisting in a grimace. Then, gripping his lantern tighter, he walked toward the men’s wing. His echoing footsteps faded, and for a moment, Kate imagined what it felt like to be an inmate here, fearful at such a sound.
Minutes passed before Simon moved to open the door to peer out. The hallway was empty. He rubbed out the script, smearing the ink before they headed left for the female wards. The front hall was carpeted with a threadbare rug up to a point. The closer they got to the east wing, simple amenities like side tables and plants vanished. Every several feet they passed under gas fixtures set high in the arched ceiling to prevent the inmates from tampering with them, and to keep the miniscule light focused above and not below.
Simon was in the lead while Malcolm took up the rear. As they made a turn to the right and started down another long corridor, the atmosphere changed. Beneath the hissing of the gaslights and the clanking of metal upon metal, there were incessant moans and grunts and pitiful wails. The sounds echoed around the stone walls, rising and falling, until Kate was tempted to cover her ears with her hands to silence it.
Simon paused to slide back the narrow viewing slot in one of the doors. The piteous face that showed in the dim glow reared back in abject fear, crying out and scrambling as far as her chained foot would allow. Taken aback, Simon closed the slot and regarded his companions.
“I might’ve been the devil himself the way she reacted.”
“The devil does walk these halls.” Kate resettled her bandolier for reassurance.
“The keeper may swing back this way soon enough,” Malcolm added.
The carpeting muffled Kate’s footfalls but every few feet the sound changed oddly, as if she passed over something hollow then solid again. She pointed it out to Malcolm beside her. “What do you think it means?”
“Beams in the floor most likely,” Malcolm stated, eager to be on their way, his eyes flashing from one dark corner to the next. He hurried her along after Simon.
An eerie sound that hadn’t been there before penetrated the air. A faint scratching. Muffled and distant. It seemed to be following them, first loud then faint, then loud again.
“What is that noise?” Kate asked, her eyes tight with trepidation.
“Perhaps rats?” Simon offered, his mouth twisting with disgust.
Then something caught Kate’s ankle and she was flung forward against Malcolm. She had the forethought to keep her cry of alarm in her throat. Only when she saw milky white fingers protruding from under the edge of the carpet did she gasp.
Simon quickly turned back, staring at the frantic hand slapping the floor. He seized the edge of the stained wool runner that covered the hall.
Malcolm placed a hand on his arm. “Are you daft?”
“Can’t hurt to check under the rug.” Simon waited until Malcolm moved his feet, which the hunter did grudgingly. “At worst we may find just how bad they clean.”
“You’re too glib by half, Archer.”
Simon smirked, but it didn’t linger. “I’m not leaving something behind that could attack our rear or call out an alarm.”
Neither Kate nor Malcolm could argue that point.
“Stand ready,” Simon told them.
Kate put her back to the wall and raised a vial in her hand while Malcolm aimed his pistol.
Simon flung up the rug with a great rolling wave that cleared ten yards down the center of the corridor. Down the length of the passage, a series of rectangular hatches were set in the floor. The hatch at their feet had a hole gouged out of it. The pale hand extended from the jagged gap, touching the floor around it, as if seeking the iron bar that locked the door into place.
Simon knelt and the ghostly hand slid back into the blackness. He peered into the hole with the candle, then reached for the bolt. Kate and Malcolm came even more alert. Simon pulled back the bar and lifted the hatch. Nothing leapt out at them save a horrid stench.
Kate leaned over to look. “Oh my God.”
Under the hatch was a rusted grate of iron. Beneath that was a homunculus huddled inside a cramped space that was no more than four feet square and perhaps four feet deep. Its white head awkwardly tilted up. Inhuman black eyes were dull with pain.
“What in the name of hell?” Simon whispered. He looked along the row of hatches. “They keep them under the floors.”