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CHAPTER FOUR: FLEUVE DE SANGE AND PRES HERBEUX
Fleuve de Sang was more of a village than a town. Tucked away in farming country, it only had a few streets and looked as if it hadn't changed in centuries. Sydney stopped her rented car in front of the town's one inn, a large two story brick building with a wooden sign on iron hooks creaking in the breeze. It said “Repos Doux”. Entering the inn, she saw the inside was done in dark mahogany with rich red accents. Behind the admittance desk stood a young man who looked to be about nineteen. He was tall with blond hair that flopped into his eyes. “May I help you?” he asked in French. “Yes,” she replied in the same language. “I would like a room, please. My name is Sydney Fox.” She gave him her credit card and he gave her her room number and key. Once inside, she took out her phone and dialed Turnbull's number. There was something that had been niggling her about his notes. Sydney listened with a frown as the phone rang five times. Not wanting to give up, she let it ring another four before snapping it closed. She decided to have a shower since she hadn't taken the time to have one at Nigel's that morning. After that, she planned on asking the locals if they remembered seeing Morgan come through. Maybe she'd even be lucky enough to get a guide to the castle so she wouldn't have to try to find her way on her own. Someone in the town had to know where the ruins were located. Once clean, she combed her hair and brought it up into the simple ponytail she preferred when hunting. Her satchel contained a change of clothes, so she donned those, hoping she'd have time to wash the others. Then, she tried Turnbull again. Still not getting an answer, she made her way back down to the lobby. The young blond was still behind the desk. He looked up and smiled as he saw Sydney approach. “Is your room satisfactory?” “It's very nice. Can you tell me if another American has been through here in the past couple of days?” He looked surprised. “Actually, yes. An American checked out this morning. He was interested in the ruins of Pres Herbeux.” “Pres Herbeux? And that was just this morning?” “Yes. Is there a problem?” A grin crossed Sydney's face. It was about time something started going right on this hunt. “No, nothing's wrong. This American, was he about my age, with dark hair and a round face?” “Yes, ma'am. And rather stocky.” It was Morgan all right, and she was just mere hours behind him. There was a chance that she could overtake him and get to La Mort Rapide before he did. “Thank you. The man was my friend, Morgan. Did he get a guide to Pres Herbeux? Can I get a guide as well?” “He preferred to go alone. Jacques Rouleux drew him a map of the area. He left not more than three hours ago.” Sydney frowned. “Jacques Rouleux?” “He and his brothers know the ruins better than anyone else in town. He claims to have even been inside the castle.” The young man shook his head. “That is hard to believe. No one gets inside the castle.” “How do I find Jacques Rouleux?” “When he's not wandering the countryside, he can be found at Chez Etienne.” Chez Etienne turned out to be the only bar in the small town. It was located just down the street from Repos Doux in a rustic building made of rough wood. The inside was the same, decorated sparsely. It was almost as if some hallucinating lumberjack had cut the furniture straight from trees with his chainsaw. At this time of day, the patrons were few and the ambiance was dark and sombre. All looked up as she entered, except for a man at a corner table. Her eyes went to him immediately, and somehow she knew he was Jacques. He could have been any age from twenty to fifty, he had that kind of face. His body was lean, almost to the point of emaciation, and both his beard and his hair were dark and scruffy. Sydney made her way across the room to his table, feeling the eyes of the others on her the whole way. “Mr. Rouleux?” she asked. He finally looked up at her, squinting in the dim light. “Who wants to know?” “My name is Sydney Fox. May I sit down?” “What do you want, Sydney Fox?” “I need your help.” He hadn't offered her a seat, but he hadn't refused her one either, so she pulled out a rickety wooden chair and settled into it. It made ominous noises, but decided to hold her weight. “What kind of help?” His voice hadn't gained any warmth. “I need a guide to Pres Herbeux.” He frowned and took a drink of the deep amber liquid in front of him. “Lots of interest in a pile of tumbled stones.” “Will you help me? You'll be compensated, of course.” Jacques's eyes met hers and seemed to look right inside her. “It's not the ruins you're interested in, is it? It's the castle, and what's buried within it—like he was.” “Does it matter?” He shrugged. “Not to me. I've got nothing to do, and I could always use some extra cash. When would you like to leave?” “As soon as possible.” Jacques smiled for the first time, but it wasn't a friendly smile. “I'll get my coat.” As they started out, less than ten minutes form the time Sydney had entered the bar, she watched Jacques out of the corner of her eye. Her first instinct was not to trust the man, and when her gut told her something so strongly, she usually listened. There was something dodgy about him. It wasn't anything she could pin point exactly, but it put her nerves on edge. She would be glad when they parted ways at Pres Herveux and all she had to rely on were Turnbull's notes and herself. They set out on foot, walking a winding path through the dense forest that nestled against Fleuve de Sange. Their path was barely an animal track, and Sydney had no idea how Jacques knew where they were going. The guide remained mostly silent, leaving her to her own thoughts through the hours of pushing their way through grasping foliage. She should have taken this time to plan the hunt ahead and worry about the damage Morgan could do with La Mort Rapide. Instead, she found her thoughts turning to Nigel. On reflection, she felt guilty for leaving without saying good-bye, even though she had a good reason for doing so. Logically, it made sense to leave as quickly as possible in order to catch up to Morgan Lewis, but that didn't make Sydney feel any better about it. He had been so sweet, lifting her flogging spirits and giving her her next clue. She had needed to allow herself a moment of vulnerability, and she had chosen the one friend she trusted not to throw it back in her face. For that, he deserved more than a note. She owed him at least another grateful hug, and she promised herself that she would give it to him as soon as this mess with Morgan Lewis was cleared up. Thinking of him made her smile. It had been so nice to be with him again. She wished he were on this hunt with her. It would have been comforting to have him by her side instead of the sullen, not-to-be trusted Jacques. Her guide set a brisk pace with few breaks, but Sydney was used to physical exertion. The two of them moved quickly through the forest, and it was only a matter of a few hours before trees gave way to lumpy and overgrown land. It was clear that no one had lived there for awhile, but it was also clear that the environment had been tamed at one time. Grass grew, long and scraggly, up to Sydney's knees, and it was only interrupted by the rocky stretch of mud bordering the river the town was named for. The water ran cool and clear, giving no indication as to why it was named The River of Blood. Sydney wondered if it had anything to do with Le Sorcier. “How far to the ruins?” she asked eventually. He stopped and regarded her, his dark eyes unreadable. “We should reach them by nightfall. It will be best if we rest there and you go on to the castle in daylight. The castle has protections that can be very dangerous.” Sydney nodded solemnly, not telling him that she had a document that could be used as a map to get through to the hidden chamber within. “Just getting into the castle is hard work. I'm the only one I know of who has done it.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Your friend seemed to think this wouldn't be a problem.” She just shrugged. “Either I'll get in or I won't. You could always...” “Pres Herbeux is as far as I go,” he cut her off sharply. “Then, I'll manage.” The sky hadn't yet begun to darken when he stopped and pointed. Sydney shaded her eyes to see tumbled stones and hunched earth. No structure stood, but it was obvious that there had been several at one time. There was even a faint track, just a difference in the way the overgrown weeds grew, that must have once been a road. “Pres Herbeux?” she asked. “Pres Herbeux.” Not long after the appearance of the ruins, Sydney began to notice something gray on the horizon. As they moved closer, it began to grow until she recognized the castle that had once ruled over the tiny village. The two of them made their way carefully towards it on the uneven ground. They reached the village just as twilight started to fall. On the walk, Sydney had decided that she didn't want to wait until morning to go to the castle. Morgan Lewis had a good lead on her, and if she stopped to sleep, that lead would widen. He might even have the amulet before she woke. That was unacceptable. A better plan would be to wait until her guide was asleep, then give him the slip. With that thought firmly in mind, Sydney moved past Rouleux to enter the ruins. Her only warning was the sound of him shifting positions. Sydney turned quickly and saw a knife plunging towards her. With no time to be shocked, she acted on instinct, bringing up her arm to block his wrist with hers. The impact as their bones met jarred painfully, but Sydney shoved the pain to the back of her mind. Rouleux slashed at her again and, this time, she gracefully dodged out of reach. “What are you doing?” she asked, dropping her satchel. The guide finally genuinely smiled. “Isn't it obvious?” “Lewis paid you, didn't he?” Sydney asked, avoiding another swipe. “He paid you to make sure I'd never reach the castle.” The man pulled back and regarded her, his body tensed for movement. He was obviously thinking out his next attack. “Yes, he paid me well...but I might have done it for free.” “Why now? Why not kill me earlier? Why bring me to Pres Herbeux?” “Several reasons. Chief among them is that only a handful of people know how to find this place. Your body may never be found.” He shrugged. “If it is, they'll probably blame it on Lewis.” He lunged again, but Sydney had been expecting it. Instead of blocking or dodging the blow, she grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. The knife missed her body by less than an inch, but her fist didn't miss Rouleaux's face. It connected with a satisfying crunch. She followed it up with a firm knee into his stomach, which doubled him over. Sydney let go of his arm and cracked her elbow against the back of his head. He tumbled to the ground, still clutching his knife. Surprisingly agile, he sprang up again almost immediately. She lashed out and kicked the knife from his hand. It landed ten feet away with a heavy thunk. She followed up this kick with another, this time aiming at his face. Rouleaux moved quickly, and the blow just glanced off the side of his head. He reached for her, so Sydney threw a simple right hook, putting all of her weight behind it. He stopped, stunned, so she added a left. Then, she twirled. This time, the round house connected as it was supposed to. Rouleux flew backwards and lay still. Sydney knelt and saw that he was still breathing. Then, she got up and headed towards the castle. It seemed she wouldn't have to wait for Rouleux to go to sleep after all. Using Turnbull's notes, Sydney didn't head directly for the castle. She knew that any possible or visible entrances at the structure were heavily trapped and almost impossible to use. The main entrance was actually a ways from the castle, in a bunch of piled rocks. Sydney found these easily enough, despite the fact that it had grown dark and she had to use her flashlight. When she reached the stones, she leaned against them and dug in her satchel for her phone. Quickly, she dialed Turnbull's number and waited for an answer. As it had at her hotel, the phone just kept ringing until she gave up and snapped it closed. Where was Turnbull? She thought he'd be waiting impatiently, hungry for news. With a shrug, Sydney dropped the phone back into her bag. It would have been nice to have Turnbull's advice, but she didn't really need it. She turned and studied the stones, flicking her flashlight along them, looking for the trigger. It was well hidden and just a small, jutting piece of rock, but she found it quickly. Her long fingers ran over the smooth and weather worn surface before giving it a firm push. The whole structure in front of her gave a deep groan. Then, with a scraping noise that set Sydney's teeth on edge, it began to shift. In seconds, an opening was revealed where before there had been only blank stone. Peering inside, Sydney saw damp stairs made of the same stone. The darkness was so deep, it seemed to absorb the beam from her flashlight. A strange feeling prickled along her backbone, and she shivered. Part of her did not want to find out where those stairs led. Shrugging this feeling off, she began the climb down. She was only on the second stair when the rock behind her shuddered and the opening screeched shut behind her. She paused for a moment, thinking of the heavy walls surrounding her, before reaching out her foot for the third step. Sydney had to walk carefully because puddles of water made the stairs slick. Faintly, she could hear a steady drip. She did not touch the sides to help her balance unless she absolutely had to. She wasn't trusting ancient notes translated by someone else to tell her everything. Experience had taught her that, in both relic hunting and in life, traps were everywhere. The flight was shorter than she expected, about twenty steps. At the bottom, she found a narrow corridor. The floor was made of hard packed dirt. On the walls, there were brackets for torches, but they were empty. Sydney followed the corridor slowly, noting that hundreds of years worth of cobwebs had been broken and were hanging down limply, as if in dejection. Their tendrils tickled her face and clung to her clothing. The dust in front of her feet was carelessly disturbed, and it was obvious that Lewis had arrived before her and that he was confident she wouldn't be following. She smiled grimly at her rival's cockiness. It would be his downfall. Sydney began to move more quietly, alert for any sound that could be made by Lewis. Even so, she heard nothing and saw no sight of him. She wondered how far behind him she was. The corridor seemed to go on forever. It was silent and still. In fact, it seemed to muffle both sound and light, though Sydney knew that was probably just fanciful imaginings. There was something about it that made her uneasy. This was unusual, but the whole hunt had been like this—unsettling. Maybe it was because of Carmen's broken body. Maybe it was because she had felt so lost standing on Nigel's doorstep in the rain, not knowing what to do next. Whatever it was, she didn't feel like herself. After what seemed like an eternity, Sydney came to a large wooden door. It was slightly ajar, only half blocking the passageway. Her sense of unease grew as she approached the opening and peered into the blackness beyond. Cautiously, she touched the door. She was about to open it a bit more so she could slip by when something caught her eye. The door had a sharp metal clasp, and something had been impaled upon it. She reached out and gently took the object in her fingers. It was a square of cloth, rough and ragged. The green plaid pattern was faded and dirt smudged. She recognized the material. If she hadn't been sure the person she followed was Morgan Lewis, this would have confirmed it for her. Tucking the scrap in her pocket with one hand, she opened the door wider with the other. She carefully avoided both the protruding metal and the cold wetness of the door frame. That's when it hit her. Sydney felt as if she were running into a physical wall as her senses were overwhelmed by the stench of death and decay. She would not have been surprised if her flashlight's beam discovered piles of rotting corpses or discarded, ruined fruit. Immediately, her left arm came up to shield her face, and her eyes filled with tears. Fearing what she'd find, Sydney ran her flashlight around the small room she found herself in. It was completely empty. In disbelief, she searched every nook and cranny, discovering only a rusted metal doorway, partially ajar as the wooden door had been, and some more rough hewn stone stairs. She wiped her eyes and wondered if she should investigate where the door went or make her way up the stairs. The clues in her hand said to make her way upward, ever upward, until she found the library—which she hoped was still recognizable after all of these centuries. Even so, she let curiosity lead her to the metal bars. On the other side, she discovered a hallway filled with cells. The hallway was so narrow that someone could stand in the middle and touch the cells on either side. In the nearest cell, a wretched skeleton hung from iron chains, its one remaining foot dangling off of the floor. At the end of the hallway was another barred door, similar to the one Sydney was looking through. She had a feeling it led to another row of cells. She turned her back on this depressing view and went up the stairs. The higher she got, the fainter the stench of death and decay became. Grateful for that at least, she had shaken off some of her unease by the time she reached the next level. The room at the top of the stairs was large and empty. There were four doors leading from the room and another flight of stairs. Without hesitation, Sydney began to climb these as well. She climbed for a long time until she came to a stark and chilled hallway. Once rugs might have softened and warmed the harsh floor, but now it lay as bare and cold as Fabrice DeViega's heart. Windows were spaced at even intervals along one wall, paneless gaps that let in the darkness of the night beyond. With so many windows, the hallway should have been clear of the cloying odor that plagued the lower levels. Instead, the air was close and smothering, and the smell was as strong as it had been in the dungeon. Even having smelled it before, Sydney's stomach rolled. A feeling of wrongness surrounded her, and she wondered what kind of magic user Le Sorcier really was. She followed the hallway, her footfalls sounding unusually loud in the silence. As she passed the first window, she was almost afraid to turn her head. An irrational thought lurked in the back of her mind, telling her that if she looked, all she would see was an empty void of sucking darkness. Knowing this was silly, she forced herself to look out the window. Nonetheless, relief flooded her as she saw a simple, overcast night and the faint outline of trees below. Doorways started at the same point as the windows, running parallel like ancient pairs of dancers. Most of the doors were somewhat intact, though some gaped malevolently. Curiously, she shone her light into one of those, only to find it empty. She had passed several doors when her ears picked up the faint sound of someone mounting the stairs. She paused, wondering if somehow Lewis had gotten behind her. She didn't see how, unless he had been sidetracked by one of the branching hallways. Puzzled, Sydney moved across the hallway to the nearest doorway. This one still had a sturdy wooden door, though it hung crookedly on one hinge. Slightly open, there was enough space for a slim body to slip through. She did so, pressing to the cool stone of the wall inside, unmindful of the centuries' worth of grime she could feel against the bare flesh of her arms. None of the faint moonlight reached this far, and Sydney had turned out her light before entering. She waited silently in a blackness so thick it was almost tangible. The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. They were even and sure. As they came closer, Sydney was surprised when she didn't see the faint beam of a flashlight as it showed the owner of the footsteps his way. She frowned and waited, her body tense and ready to spring. She was so still that she barely breathed. Then, she thought of her crossbow. Slowly, Sydney eased it out of its sheath. She winced at the sound it made, easily audible in the complete silence, when she opened and then cocked it. The footsteps did not falter, and she wondered if it was because the person following her hadn't heard or because he knew she was there. She held the crossbow loosely in her right hand. The other held her flashlight. Her thumb found the square button on the top, and it hovered there expectantly, waiting for just one push to shed light on the situation. The footsteps reached her doorway and continued by. Sure she was going to find either Morgan Lewis or Jacques Rouleaux, Sydney slid through the door's thin crack into the hallway. Both her crossbow and flashlight were ready for action. She pushed the button on the latter with her thumb. Her mouth dropped open as she took in the empty hallway in front of her. Puzzled, she turned and studied the rest of the corridor behind. There was nothing. Even the sound of footsteps had stopped. All was silence. She studied the hallway once more, sweeping her light along it. There was no way someone could have gotten to the nearest door before she turned on her light. Warily, Sydney uncocked her crossbow and folded it to fit into its holster. Deliberately turning her back on the hallway, she pointed the beam of her flashlight into her hiding place. She was close enough to the library's location that it was possible she had found it. She was tense as she re-entered, half expecting someone to attack her while her back was turned. Everything remained silent and still. The room had once been some sort of study or sitting room, but Sydney was pretty sure it wasn't the library. An ancient desk sat lopsidedly against the far wall. Age had weathered and pitted it, but it was still recognizable. Ancient and tattered cloth hung from the wall in strips, all that was left of the tapestries decorating the room. A big stone fireplace was waiting to dispel the chill, and there was even something that might have once been a chair. Interesting but not what she was looking for. She was going to turn and leave when something caught her eye. It glinted as her light passed by. Frowning, Sydney gave in to curiosity and moved forward. A faint click was her only warning, and she jumped back just in time. Something flew through the space she had just been standing to embed itself, quivering, in the far wall. She studied it and discovered it was a crossbow bolt as thick as her wrist. The crossbow that fired it must have been at least four times the size of hers, but she saw no sign of it. The wall the bolt had come from was smooth stone. She approached it cautiously, aware that where there was one trap, there could be a dozen. The wall remained smooth—or as smooth as rough cut blocks that had been neglected for centuries could be. It would have made more sense to continue looking for the library, but her gut told her there was something she needed to do first. Where that bolt had come from was important. She reached out to touch the wall, body tight and ready to spring away at the slightest scent of a trap. Her fingers expected to feel stone, but instead only felt a slight tingle. Sydney's eyes opened wide as her fingers touched the stone and then went beyond, disappearing into the wall with only slight resistance and strange sensation. She pulled her hand back, startled, before biting her lip and trying again. This time, she let her arm slip in to the elbow. It was almost like putting your hand through jello—well if the jello were vibrating. Once more, Sydney removed her arm, wondering if she should see if her whole body could go through the wall. She did not want to get stuck half way through if the wall hardened or find herself in a place where it was impossible to breathe. In the end, it was her gut feeling that decided her. Slowly, she slid one arm into the wall, up to about her elbow. Then, she tried the other. When nothing happened, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes before moving her whole body into the wall. The resistance got slightly stronger, but she was still able to push herself forward. Suddenly, the resistance stopped, and Sydney almost stumbled. Her eyes flew open, and she allowed herself to breathe when her light showed she was in another small room. The air was free of the cloying scent of death that permeated the rest of the castle. After taking one small breath, Sydney gratefully took another. The tiny room contained only two uncomfortable looking wooden chairs and a large crossbow that was now empty and benign. Sydney studied it without touching it, though her fingers itched to do so. Her eyes told her that it was no longer dangerous, but the rest of her wasn't so sure. She moved further into the room, wanting to inspect the strange designs on the chairs. As she stepped forward, a slight shifting of the rock beneath her foot made her curse. She had been so intent on danger from the walls that she hadn't been paying attention to her feet. Senses completely alert, Sydney held her breath to see what form the trap would take. Movement from the corner of her eye had her dropping and rolling before her mind could even comprehend that she had seen it. Her drop was just in time. A blade on a pendulum swept across the room, slicing air where her body had just been. It passed three times before being sucked back into the wall with an audible squeal. Sydney lay on the floor, forcing her breath to become even. She hated blade traps. Really hated them—more than spikes, more than arrows. When she was absolutely sure the blade wasn't coming back, she got to her feet. She avoided the trigger for the trap and went to the chairs. They were simple and unadorned for the most part, but the arms and part of their backs were carved with symbols. Sydney bent closer to study them. There were some that she didn't recognize, but the skulls stood out as clear as day. She also saw bats and dragons. The chairs were not facing each other but the wall, and Sydney wondered why. Almost without her conscious thought, her fingers reached out and traced one of the symbols. Realizing what she had done, she snatched her hand away, alert for the springing of another trap. She froze as the wall in front of her began to change. Much like the one behind her, it wasn't what it seemed. It began to shimmer and gave off its own faint light. “What the...?” Sydney whispered as shapes began to appear in the soft glow. At first, they were unrecognizable, just wisps of soft color that twirled in and around one another. Then, the images grew clearer, and her hand went to the back of the chair for support. She saw Nigel. His face came into focus, so sharp that he could have been looking into her eyes. He smiled sweetly, then was quickly taken over as the whole wall suddenly seemed to be dripping with blood. It ran down in crimson rivulets, tracing ancient seams in the cold stone. It too faded away, revealing the form of a torn and fly covered Carmen Facey. What was left of her face stared lifelessly into the night sky. Sydney swallowed and her hand gripped the chair it rested on so tightly that the symbols bit into her flesh. Once more, Nigel appeared. She was relieved to see him alive and whole, still smiling. Then, he reached out to someone, and Sydney felt a sudden jolt as she saw herself appear. She was also smiling as she moved into Nigel's arms, and the two of them began to dance. Their dancing figures swirled and faded to show Sydney alone. She was walking down one of the castles many hallways, but this one was a bit different. The stones beneath her feet were slightly colored, showing faded blues and reds and greens. The Sydney in the picture stopped suddenly and turned just as a spout of fire erupted in front of her. She then began to carefully step on only blue colored stones. The real Sydney took a step back, releasing the chair. As she did, the wall went black. What she had seen so shocked her that she almost forgot about the blade's trigger. She stopped just in time. Angrily, she shook off all feelings of shock. She had been relic hunting a long time, and she had seen many strange and supernatural things. She wasn't going to let some medieval moving picture intimidate her. A scowl came to her face, and she turned away from the wall and its visions. She had a library and a murderous bastard to find. Moving to the hidden doorway, Sydney had a moment of worry. What if it only worked one way? What if she were trapped? She held her breath as she reached forward and let it out in a sigh of relief as her questing fingers slowly moved into the wall. The rest of her quickly followed, aware that she had squandered a half an hour on her little side trip. Morgan Lewis could have found La Mort Rapide while she was watching mystical movies. She hurried through the outer room without even a sideways glance and slipped past the crooked doorway into the hall. From there, she started checking every doorway, looking for the library. As soon as Sydney saw the door, she knew it was the right one. Unlike the rest of the castle, it looked new. The wood was as bright as if it had just been hung, and the iron that lashed it together was shiny. She opened the door, noting how easily and noiselessly this was accomplished, to find herself in a room untouched by time. It was huge, so huge that Sydney's footsteps echoed in the deathly silent and chill air. No dust drifted up from her feet. Le Sorcier could have just left the room. There were shelves and pigeon holes lining the walls. Where there were no shelves, there were bright tapestries, woven with amazingly lifelike dragons and scenes of hunting and death. Like the last room, this one had a desk, though this desk looked as shiny and new as the door. It was dark wood, and the clawed feet and part of the sides were carved with the same symbols as the chairs in the hidden scrying room. Ink, quills, and a piece of parchment sat on top, waiting for someone to come and fulfill their purpose. Behind the desk was a huge painting. It was of a man with hard, dark eyes and a hint of a smile on his face. It wasn't a nice smile. He was dressed in black robes, and around his neck hung a simple amulet adorned with a madly grinning skull. La Mort Rapide. Sydney approached the desk. Behind it there was a stone she had to step on to open the secret passage leading to the hiding place of La Mort Rapide. The cruel eyes of Le Sorcier followed her in disapproval. She ignored them and crouched to study the floor. The symbol was small and worn but still easily visible if one knew what to look for. She traced it with a finger before leaning forward to press her weight down on the stone. Sydney gasped when the cold rock under her hands suddenly disappeared. She pitched forward and released an undignified cry as she tumbled, face first, into darkness. |
