….and Down the Apples Again

„Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent/

neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me."

Paradise Lost

It took all of my courage to follow Holmes into the utter darkness of the church. My nervousness, heretofore directed against people from the outside, who might notice our attempts to force our way in, was now elicited by a less tangible source of potential danger. I raised the petroleum lamp, so as to get at least a small glimpse of our surroundings.

It was a high, vaulted room. Somewhat to my relief, it was outfitted rather with objects for everyday use than with the mysterious paraphernalia of worship - there were cupboards and a sink; the vestry, I suppose. In a hushed voice, Holmes asked me to help him find the passage to the altar.

„There", I muttered, lifting my torch to show him the round arch, framed with sandstone.

„Very well", he whispered. „And then there must be another passage…one by which the clergyman may enter without crossing the apse."

„That would be the one by which we caime, I s'ppose."

He snarled. „He barricades it on the outside, and takes everything down when he returns? I should think not. No, no, my girl, this door hasn't been used in years. There must be some other channel by which one may come and go. Ah!" And he snatched the light from my hand to turn away from me.

„Don't leave!" I squealed, startled and at the same time despising myself for the cowardly ring of my words.

He looked back, and smirked visibly in the half light. „Not to worry, Frances. If you don't go astray, there is no danger of loosing sight of me. Just follow the light. Come along now, we yet have to find the entrance to the subterranean passage."

I shuddered when I thought that we had not even arrived where we wanted to be - well, where he wanted to be, for I, at this moment, had not the least inclination to step down into a dark and mouldy tunnel, without having told a soul where we would be going. Who knew whether the brickwork had not decayed over the centuries? It might come loose, and we would be buried alive!

But Holmes beckoned me on impatiently, and I dared not let him out of my sight. Thus I followed him through an opening in the wall, two or three steps down, and through a short corridor that brought us into the nave. By the light of our poor lamp, it looked gigantic, its thick, round columns vanishing in the shadows above. I would have liked a lot to look at everything by daylight, presently, however, I was not in the mood for surveying. Neither had we time for that - Holmes did not seem to have a precise idea of where the entrance to the cellar might be located.

He thoroughly searched the floor, and cursed under his breath because he could see so little. He particularly explored the close vicinity of the altar, and even tried to move it without success. Meanwhile, I could not be of much help, without light or even a faint idea where to look. Instead, I rested myself against the baptismal font, and took out my handkerchief to dab my forehead. Cold sweat was gathering there, and it was probably just as well nobody could see my face.

„Frances? Come here, I would like to see whether the two of us could not move that monstrum of an altar a few inches to the side!"

Obediently, I set in motion, but suddenly realized that my hanky was no longer between my fingers. I looked around. The floor looked the same everywhere; namely dark.

„Holmes!" I called through the nave, „Holmes, I do need the light!"

„I beg your pardon?"

„I said, I need the light! I dropped my handkerchief, and now I can't find it!"

Holmes appeared from behind the altar, breathing heavily and, to all intents and purposes, frustrated. „You lost your handkerchief? For heaven's sake, Fanny, I daresay you have more than the one!"

„Yes…it's just…there's me name on it in embroidery…"

He stared at me for a second, then he groaned. Turning up the light a notch, he came to where I stood, conscious of guilt.

„Now, this is what comes from taking a woman on to the investigation", he grumbled, illuminating the ground inch by inch.

„It can't be very far away", I mumbled apologetically. „I dropped it right `ere…"

Suddenly, I spied a white speck on the ground and eagerly dashed at it. „My handkerchief!"

But Holmes, I realized, did not pay attention. He gazed intensely at something that looked like scratches in the stone, two long, curved scratches, parallel to one another. It seemed like something very heavy had been dragged over this short span of floor.

Holmes looked up, and fixed his eyes on the baptismal font. With two quick strides, he was there, and put all his weight against the massive stone work. However, it was not so massive as it appeared. With an ugly, screeching noise, the font allowed itself to be turned to the left, just far enough to reveal a quadrangular hole in the ground; the upper end of a rather steep flight of stairs.

„Voilà", he muttered, evidently still rather amazed by our discovery. I looked down into the hole.

„Mr. `olmes…" I began, but he did not let me finish.

„I know, I know. It is narrow, and steep. Madame Zhao could not have descended these stairs, even if she had known of this fabulous hiding place. But now we are here, we should not forego the opportunity to make certain she had not entrusted somebody else with the treasure, should we?"

I raised my brows. „I should think it highly unlikely. If she had done so, that person would of been me."

„You? You blanch at the mere sight of the tunnel. Maybe Madame thought you not hardy enough to perform the dangerous task."

That sufficed to silence me. Holmes returned the lamp to me, and before I knew what was happening, his long legs had disappeared in the black quadrangle. I squatted beside the hole to give him the benefit of my light for as long as possible. A long minute went by before I heard him call from below.

„It is your turn, Frances!"

I was not eager to descend into this dank dungeon, but what could I do? Pressing my lips together, I slung the handle of the lamp over my arm and carefully stepped downwards on moist and slippery stairs, facing the quadrangular entrance as I would have done on a ladder.

I felt myself close to the ground when a pair of hands slipped around my waist and lifted me off the slick stairs. My breath quickened, and when he had put me down to the floor, my manipulative consciousness expanded the fracture of a second before he let go to an eternity; an eternity spent leaning against him, with his breath close to my ear and his hands on my midriff.

But it was just a freak of the mind, an illusion. We were nothing but two people standing in a filthy old tunnel, probably bound for a wild goose chase. I was a little annoyed with him for insisting we come down here, and even more so for realizing that I was scared.

„After you", I said wrily, and indicated the way lying before us: an unpleasantly low passage that started within the radius of our light, and continued toward some unfathomable point ahead in the darkness.

He muttered something that sounded like cursing at the inferior hight of our forefathers, and with his back slightly bent proceeded into the gloomy dungeon. I followed on his heel so he should be able to see whither he trod, and also to be close to him, for in my state of anxiety, everything seemed possible down here. Who knew whether we were even alone in the passage!

All of my terrifying visions seemed confirmed when suddenly, there was a loud, dull thud, and Holmes, who recoiled quickly, stepped onto my toe rather painfully. I bit back a small cry, so he should not think it stemmed from poltroonery. However, raising the lamp, I could no longer check myself, and issued a stifled shriek: The object that had so unexpectedly dropped into our path was a scull!

A human scull, and no mistake! It grinned up at us as though it enjoyed the sight of our distraught faces. How had it come here? Who had played this nasty trick on us? And more importantly, where exactly was he?

I lifted the lamp higher to look around while Holmes kneeled and picked up the gruesome artifact. „Hullo! What have we here?"

„Holmes…."

By the light of my lamp, I had discovered whither the skull had come. It had not been cast at us by a frightening maniac.

Far worse.

Holmes lifted his head, following the direction of my outstretched arm. I could see enough of his face to realize his eyes widened when he beheld the origin of our scull. Slowly, he rose to his feet and took a few steps towards the wall. Standing in front of it, he gazed at its full length and hight.

It was plastered with bones! The skulls were on top, side by side. Underneath, bones had been painstakingly stacked, sorted into homogenous layers so that the overall impression was that of an orderly bookshelf - apart from the fact that there were no books in it! Our light did not reach very far into the tunnel, but as far as I could see, there was no end to the macabre exhibition.

„,What is all this, Mr. `olmes?" I exclaimed timorously. „What can it mean?"

He was busily browsing the bones on display, and hardly found the time to wave me away. „Oh, tut, Fanny, tut. You're incessantly startled, and for no good reason. Or what do you think these harmless mortal remains could possibly do to you?"

I was not scared enough not to take offense at his words. Crossing my arms, I returned: „May I bring t'er attention, Mr. `olmes, that ye stepped on me plates jus' know? If ya wonders at me yellin', ya won't need ter look any further for a reason!"

„A thousand apologies, Frances." He turned around to face me, and flashed his characteristic smile at me, which took about the quarter of a second altogether. „However, should you feel even the slightest discomfort in view of our surroundings, let me inform you that we presently are in an ossuary. It would seem that the local cemetery quite recently suffered an overflow. These skulls and bones can't be older than a hundred years, at the most."

That was hardly much good to put me at ease. „Why bring `em down `ere, then?"

„That was a common practice in the past century!" He shrugged his shoulders. „There are more places like this to testify to the fact. Aren't you aware that the greater part of the Paris streets owns a basement such as this? Why, the subterranean system is more than 186 miles in total length!"

„No, I wasn't aware. And I seriously hope ya doesn't plan her search the whole of it!" I pulled my scarf tightly around my shoulders. He chuckled.

„Don't worry, Frances. For now, we shall restrict ourselves to this tunnel."

And we continued on our way, though on my part with a queasy feeling, and clandestine glances to the left and right. Holmes was whistling, which caused an eerie echo to resound from the low ceiling. Just in order to provoke me, he had taken the single skull with him, and swung it on his arm like a sportsman testing which trajectory would be best to send the ball on.

It was most irritating.

Finally, I snatched the skull from his hand and put it back onto the stack. „Do ya mind?!"

He seemed mildly amused. „Why, what's the matter Fanny? Are our deceased friends here jangling your nerves?"

„Not so - but you are!" I stopped, and thus made him stop too, for he could not go further without my light. „Could ya please explain what ya means by this conduct? Maybe I ought ter remind ya that this is a grave of sorts, so pray show some respect!"

„I am inconsolable. Pray do, I am prone to forget my manners in charming society."

That was taking the joke a bit far for my taste. I glared at him angrily. „Yes, indeed you do! And pray, why can't you take the least bit of criticism from me? All I ask is that you stop frolicking in the presence of death!"

He laughed quietly, in a way that enraged me further. „Why, this is rather humorous, coming from you. I seem to remember you at the funeral of a person somewhat closer to us than these poor devils here, but respect is not exactly what comes to mind when I think of the way you behaved. Not only did you demean yourself in public, but also me, and not least your foster-father."

I felt the heat rise into my cheeks in spite of the damp coldness in the dungeon. His words would have constituted less of an offense if they had been untrue.

„Well, what do ye expect? Me an' my own, we are scum, or `ave you forgotten? But it don't detain ya from - "

„No", he coldly interrupted. „You would regret it if you were to speak."

I breathed heavily, my hands closed to fists by my sides. My brain was working at high speed, rummaging around for a suitable reply to hurl at him…when suddenly I realized his face had become ashen, and I looked around frantically in search of the reason.

I was not able to look very far, though. The flame of the lantern had dwindled during our argument. There was just time enough to trade an exasperated glance before it went out. We were encompassed by obscurity.

Somewhere next to me, Holmes calmly said: „I would suggest, Frances, that you concentrate your faculties for thought less on spite, and more on the question of how the deuce we are going to get out of here!"

Hello again!

Cliffhanger! Will Fanny and Holmes find their way out of the catacomb?

Btw the actual Paris subterranean world is not all that impressive. I visited last summer and was a bit disappointed, at least with the part of it that's open to public…

Love, Mrs. F