The Case of Notre Dame Cathedral
By evolution-500
Genre: Sci-Fi/Horror
Disclaimer: "TimeSplitters" is a property that belongs to Free Radical and Koch Media. I do not own the characters.
WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language and dark themes/subject matter. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter One: The Harlequin
"A time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance."
- Ecclesiastes 3:4
Footfalls echoed across the tunnel floors.
Keeping his weapon level, the detective stalked forward, moving through the various tunnel networks, stopping every so often or so to consult a map that he had.
Only a fool would risk going into the Parisian catacombs late at night and unprepared; at sixty-five feet deep and over three hundred and twenty kilometers of tunnels, if not potentially more, it would be easy to get lost, if not killed.
Thankfully, however, Algernon was no fool.
The detective stumbled slightly as his foot slid along some slippery surface, wavering for a moment before catching himself, regaining his balance.
'...Perhaps it would have been more advisable to have taken a guide with me, and not sneak into the catacombs late at night,' part of him reflected.
Still, all things considered, it wasn't too bad.
It was a long while before he found himself somewhere in the sewers when he heard a clatter up above.
Pausing in his steps, he glanced up to see a manhole cover move, forcing him to quickly blow out his lantern, his finger edging along the trigger hair of his weapon.
Algernon stayed completely still in the shadows as the manhole cover was removed, his clothes fluttering as wind, rain and moonlight swept in.
Leaning back, he watched and waited as he spotted a dark outline as they attempted to peer inside.
Finally, a lone figure soundlessly rappelled down a long rope, spiraling gracefully down like an acrobat.
Lifting his pistol, the detective silently approached the mysterious figure, bracing himself.
"You there!" He called out in English. "Stay right where you are, I say!"
Turning to face him, he saw and felt the enigmatic person's green eyes coolly stare at him, shining even in the dim light of the sewer.
"Come into the light so that I can see you," Algernon ordered. "Slowly, if you would please."
The figure said nothing for a long while, looking unintimidated by him, even in spite of the weapon pointed directly at them.
Finally, the person complied, allowing the detective to get a good look at them.
The mysterious figure wore a short, dark grey, silly-looking hat or hood made of cloth that had three horn-like jester-styled cones, two of which rested at the sides, while a third dangled from the back, each cone possessing a bell at the end. From head to foot, every part of the individual - clearly a woman, based on the curvature of the body - was covered by a full-bodied harlequin outfit with a repeating diamond pattern that alternated from pink to purple to orange, including her hands, which were concealed behind a pair of dark purple gloves.
Only the woman's green eyes were visible along with a few strands of blonde hair, while the rest of her face was concealed by a similarly patterned cloth mask, her eyes possessing a sharp edge that made Underwood wary, though he detected a certain hint of mischief.
Looking at the woman from head to toe, the detective studied what she wore, taking her all in. He wasn't certain what material the harlequin outfit was made out of, but from all indications, it appeared to be designed to allow for a greater degree of flexibility, if not agility, although her clothing scandalously hugged the woman's curvy form, much to his own embarrassment.
"Well," Underwood spoke conversationally in English, "isn't this an unexpected sight this fine evening. I can't say that many harlequins have ever roamed the streets of Paris, let alone the sewers and catacombs, Mademoiselle."
The woman said nothing in response.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She answered, her voice soft like dewed honey, with a slight hint of an accent. Italian, if he were to hazard a guess. "I have no quarrel with you, Monsieur," she answered politely. "Let me pass."
Algernon gripped his pistol, unrelenting. "I'm afraid that is out of the question, milady. Not until you answer my quest- I SAY!"
He barely had time to react as the woman swiftly moved, disarming him with such speed and grace that he was left reeling.
'What on earth happened?!' He dazedly thought.
One moment she was in his line of sight, the next he found himself flipped onto his back and his own pistol pointed directly at him, causing him to stare wide-eyed up at the harlequin.
"You should have heeded my words, Monsieur," she warned, her green eyes tightly-held in a fierce squint. "Tell me where your master is, and I will do you the courtesy of a quick death."
'Good God,' he thought with alarm, 'she really means it.'
She was going to kill him!
Algernon had met various types of people throughout his career, and he knew a vicious killer if he ever met one!
Swallowing, the detective steeled his nerve and stared defiantly back. "Take that gun out of my face, woman. The only "masters" that I serve are the families of those missing women. If you are going to kill me, then you better do it right now, or by Jove I will give you a damned good thrashing!"
For several minutes, the air was tense as the two stared each other down.
Finally, the woman let out an amused chuckle.
"Such fire!" She then curiously tilted her head, causing the little bells on her hat to jingle. "What is your name, Englishman?"
Algernon narrowed his eyes. "They call me 'Mister Underwood'!" He retorted.
Upon hearing the name, the harlequin blinked. "'Underwood'?" She repeated. "As in the British detective? The one who exposed the Brookes Brothers' Ghost Scandal in Liverpool three years ago?"
He tipped his bowler hat in acknowledgment. "The one and only, Mademoiselle," he replied. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
The harlequin said nothing for a long while, her weapon remaining trained on him.
"...Do you have anything to verify this claim, Monsieur?" she said doubtfully.
He bristled. "By Jove, woman, do you not trust the word of a gentleman?!"
"I do not, actually," the harlequin replied. "Just because one is a 'gentleman' doesn't mean that they are not a potential villain, Monsieur. I know plenty a gentleman, and a good many of them are the furthest things from being 'honorable' and 'good'."
Algernon held back a retort, exhaling as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "By Jove, woman, how vexing you are." Inhaling deeply, he started to cross himself, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I swear that what I say is true. I do not know who you are, nor why you are here, but all I ask is that you heed my words and let me continue my search for those missing women. If not, then please. Save them."
As he uttered the last few words softly, Algernon watched the harlequin stare down at him with his weapon in hand, her features hard to discern.
Finally, she relented. "Alright, Monsieur," she nodded. "I will take your word that you are who you say you are, since you are willing to swear on our Lord's name." Her eyes then narrowed, "But know this, Monsieur - should your claims prove false, it isn't just me whose wrath you shall feel, but also that of Almighty God for your blasphemy. My vengeance can be swift and brutal, but damnation is eternal. Do you understand?"
Tightening his jaw, Algernon nodded. "I do."
He then watched as her gaze lightened. "Good," she replied.
The harlequin lowered the pistol, then held it out in offering by the barrel, presenting the handle to him.
Hesitating, Algernon looked up at the jester with uncertainty. The harlequin wordlessly nodded, prompting him to look back at the offered weapon.
Sighing, the detective took it from her, pocketing it as he got back up to his feet and dusted himself off.
"Who are you?" he questioned the enigmatic woman.
She shook her head, the bells jingling with the movement. "The only thing you need to know, Monsieur, is that I am an interested party whose interests align with yours. I too am looking for the missing women as well."
He frowned as she started to turn away, the bells rattling. "I'm afraid that I am going to need more information than that, Mademoiselle," Algernon called.
"Well too bad!" The harlequin replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to-"
"Now just a moment!" The bells ceased their jingling as the masked woman suddenly froze before turning ever so slightly in his direction with a cold look.
Flinching under her harsh glare, Algernon let his shoulders sag as he exhaled. "Look," he said slowly, clearing his throat, "I...apologize for the way I've been addressing you so far. We've had a rough start, but you have to understand - if we are going to be working together, I'm going to need an assurance that I am not following you into some trap. All I ask is your cooperation."
The harlequin scowled, turning to directly face him, placing a hand on her hip. "Is now really the time for this?" she said with an impatient edge in her voice. "Can this not wait?!"
"No, it cannot," Algernon gravely replied. "I don't know who you are, and frankly I don't know how much trust I can put into a woman wearing a mask. For all I know, you could be leading me to my death. I need to know that I can trust you, Mademoiselle. All I ask in return is some information. Nothing less, nothing more. In return, I am willing to share some intelligence with you. Not all of it, mind you, due to the fact that I am bound by client confidentiality, but I am willing to make at least some compromises." Algernon then held out his hand. "Do we have an agreement?"
"The detective watched as the woman gave him a doubtful look.
Looking at the offered limb, the harlequin let out an annoyed breath. "Fine." Taking his limb, she shook it, then pulled away, crossing her arms. "What is it that you want to know?"
The detective gave her a steady look. "What are you to Jacque de la Morte?"
She quirked a brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Various witnesses have reported seeing you in connection to the disappearances of the missing maidens," Algernon elaborated. "What is your involvement with him?"
Even with the mask on, he could sense that she was giving him an irritated look.
"If you are implying that I am or was his mistress," the harlequin spoke seriously, "or that I have any affiliation with that villain, then I'm afraid that you are deeply mistaken, Monsieur. I do not lay my bed with the damned."
"Alright," Algernon nodded. "Are you related to any of the missing women?"
"Non."
"Then how is it that you've become involved with this matter?"
"Prior to these incidents, there had been a series of similar kidnappings in the past that I had been looking into."
Algernon stiffened. "There were...others?"
"Oui, Monsieur. I was working on a, shall we say, different matter when I stumbled across these new cases."
The detective pondered her words, his brow furrowing. "...How many?"
The harlequin shrugged. "Hard to say. I uncovered five other incidents where de la Morte was supposedly involved. Needless to say, the results were...not pretty. Believe me, you do not want to know the details. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if there have been more that have yet to be uncovered. The little shit has been very elusive."
"What do you know of this Jacque de la Morte character?" Algernon questioned. "None of the French police were able to find anything for him, let alone his real name."
The masked woman scoffed. "Can't say that I'm surprised. From my own inquiries, Jacque had something of a colorful background. I haven't found any information as to his real name, but from what I gathered, he had been a con artist selling useless trinkets and fake herbal remedies."
"A con artist, you say?"
"Oui. He had gone by various aliases and disguises. I'm pretty certain that he had once pretended to be a Chinaman, but I can't say with absolute certainty, however."
"So this de la Morte character had been a scoundrel prior to this," Algernon said slowly. "That doesn't explain what had changed."
The harlequin nodded. "From what I gathered, something had happened to Jacque that caused him to find religion. Supposedly he had been visited by "angels" and that they've appointed him as their apostle."
Algernon frowned. "Angels?"
She shrugged. "So he claimed. From then on, he had started preaching to anybody that would listen. Among his various claims were that he had uncovered the secrets of immortality itself."
"I gather that he would only be willing to share these secrets in exchange for currency," Algernon replied.
"One would think so based on his previous occupation, but surprisingly? Non. I've been following the movements of his cult for quite some time now."
Algernon quietly reflected on what he had been told, clicking his tongue as his brow furrowed. "How long?"
"About roughly two months." The harlequin nodded. "Now that I have shared information, I believe it is your turn, Monsieur."
Sighing, the detective complied with her request, telling her everything that he knew, including how he managed to track the movements of this cult.
"My sources inform me that he and his cult are using the catacombs in order to hide their activities, but locating the main hideout for the swine has proven to be difficult," he admitted.
He watched as the masked woman's eyes lit up. "Well, Monsieur, it would seem that fortune smiles in your favor. I believe that I can fill in the gaps based on the information that you have so kindly provided and find them."
"You can?!" He said, surprised by her words.
"Oui."
"Well then what are we waiting for?! Let's get going then!" He said a little too excitedly.
The harlequin raised a hand. "Calm yourself, Monsieur. We will in due time. But first, we need to gather our bearings and prepare."
As she turned away, one question nagged at him.
"Just what are you exactly?" he questioned, growing more curious about the masked woman. "As far as I can tell, you are most certainly not involved with the police. I'm not even sure that you are even native to Paris, in all honesty."
She offered a teasing smile underneath her mask, her eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't you like to know, Monsieur."
Dropping the smile, the harlequin reached behind a small pouch from her belt, taking out a rolled-up map.
The woman studied carefully, glancing side to side, making note of their surroundings.
Nodding to herself, the harlequin carefully placed the map back into the pouch, drawing out a pair of weapons from her belt behind her, causing the detective to blink.
By Jove, how on earth had he missed those?!
Curious, he studied the make and model of the weapons, watching as the harlequin examined them. Based on their designs, they appeared to be a pair of twelve-gauge 1894 AE Remington models with sawed-off barrels and stocks, immediately catching his attention.
"...I see that you are quite well-travelled, Mademoiselle," Algernon noted. "I can't say that I know of any harlequin that uses coachguns of all things, let alone two of them."
"Presents from some friends," the harlequin replied simply, checking her weapons without elaborating any further.
"...Interesting friends you must have," he mused. Clearing his throat, the detective gestured to the firearms. "Don't you think it's unwise to waltz around with that kind of firepower, Mademoiselle? You're going to be making an awful racket down here. Shouldn't keeping a low profile be our main priority?"
The harlequin didn't bother looking up at him as she carefully inspected the barrel of one shotgun, considering his points. "Stealth would be our best option, to be sure, Monsieur," she replied. Inserting two fresh shells, the woman then snapped the barrel back into place before inspecting the other shotgun. "However, in my profession, it helps being prepared. Besides," She inserted fresh shells into the other, clicking it back into place, "it's fun!"
He sputtered, staring disbelievingly at her, almost uncomprehending. "Wha-? 'Fun'?!"
"Oui," the harlequin nodded, the bells jingling from the gesture.
Algernon stared in complete bemusement at the masked individual.
Was she pulling his leg?
Shaking his head, the detective then gestured to the strange woman's costume. "Why do you dress like a jester?"
"Why do you dress like a boring detective?" she asked playfully, her eyes admiring the floral engravings on the barrels of her weapons.
"Don't be facetious, clown," Algernon sternly bristled. "What is the meaning behind this?"
"Tragedy and comedy are two sides of the same coin, Monsieur," the harlequin enigmatically answered. "The only difference between the two is the result." The shotgun in her one hand rolled with the movement of her right wrist. "One side is filled with laughter and joy," she continued, rolling her left wrist, "the other filled with tears and sorrow. For myself, I like to straddle the line between the two from time to time."
"A dangerous position to take," Algernon said seriously, "especially in light of the fact that you treat this like a game. You are playing with fire, girl."
A wicked gleam flickered over her green eyes, the cloth mask concealing her smile. "Well, what can I say, Monsieur? 'Laugh on laugh on, my friend...
He laugheth best that laugheth to the end.'"
For several seconds, Algernon stared at her as if she had grown a second head, muttering, "You, Mademoiselle, are a certifiable mad woman."
Tossing her head back, the harlequin let out a melodious laugh, offering a mocking curtsy. "You flatter me, Monsieur. You should learn to live a little and laugh at the absurdities in life. You can learn a thing or two, in my humble opinion."
"I appreciate the candor," Algernon replied, "but forgive me for not finding humor in a situation where lives are at stake! I fail to see the wisdom of carrying around a pair of sawed-off shotguns when all evidence points to the necessity of stealth over all else, especially in unknown territory, but I suspect that the only reason for their inclusion is because you want to cause trouble."
The harlequin paid no heed to his outburst, seemingly unfazed by it as she continued to calmly address him. "And you would be right," she nodded. "Well, at least with regards to Monsieur de la Morte and his followers. Ideally, we should avoid confrontation whenever possible, especially if there are large numbers of enemies. That being said, Monsieur, even you must realize that nothing is ever guaranteed. Think of these as, how you say, contingency plans in the event that we encounter trouble, which we most likely will. It is better to be prepared for a situation where there is no threat to worry about rather than to find one's self unprepared in a situation where there is."
Algernon clicked his tongue in thought, conceding. "Touché, I suppose."
Looking straight at him, the harlequin's eyes narrowed, losing all traces of humor as she looked seriously at the detective, her tone filled with caution she continued, "It would be advisable to keep your weapon drawn at all times, Monsieur, for where we are going, we will likely encounter many dangers. It isn't the noise that you should fear, Monsieur, but the cold dead silence. You never know who or what awaits, let alone whether or not you are being followed."
He quirked a brow, then nodded. "I will keep that in mind."
The masked woman nodded back, then started to turn away.
"You mentioned something earlier about your profession," Algernon noted, his words causing the woman to give pause, his curiosity returning. "...What is your 'profession' exactly?"
"Me, Monsieur?" Looking over her shoulder, the harlequin's eyes flickered in the dim light of the tunnel, betraying a hint of mischief. "I'm just a mere wanderer who likes to dance with shadows." Algernon watched as the woman's eyes and demeanor took on a more serious air as she gestured to him. "Come, Monsieur. We need to move quickly, for evil is afoot."
Turning away from him, the harlequin proceeded into the tunnel ahead, her footsteps and jingling fading into darkness.
Staring mystified at the strangely-dressed woman, Algernon shook his head as he followed, quietly pondering just what the hell he had gotten himself into.
The journey through the tunnels was long and fraught with peril.
More than once Algernon counted himself thankful for having the foresight of bringing a lantern and a firearm with him, but the journey was hardly ever uneventful.
The most maddening part of the journey, however, had to do with his companion.
Once or twice he had stumbled over a damned hole or slip due to the slippery surface, but one particularly embarrassing encounter with a very large rat that brushed past his ankle caused to him to let out a high-pitched scream and leap up in fright.
Rather than aid him, as he had hoped, the harlequin had been laughing in full-blown hilarity as she held her stomach, much to his indignation and embarrassment.
As the memory of the rat incident repeated, Algernon repressed a growl.
Never in his life had Algernon met anyone so maddeningly stubborn.
Whenever he tried suggesting a direction, the harlequin would take a different route. Whenever he tried to get a look at her map, she would quickly close it. He hadn't minded at first - after all, it was only natural that two people that just met would reluctantly just trust one another so soon - but as it repeated time and again, however, Algernon found that his patience with the damned clown was starting to wane.
"Blast you, woman, the map clearly says we should be heading in this direction!" Algernon angrily pointed at the carefully done sketched map in his hand.
The harlequin shook her head. "I'm afraid that is incorrect, Monsieur. If we go down this path, we'll be heading in the wrong direction, and the last thing that you want to do is get lost in either the sewers or the catacombs. My source has confirmed this is the way to go."
The detective refrained from strangling the masked woman and her damned air of imperiousness. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled.
"And who," Algernon said with clenched teeth, "exactly is your source?"
The harlequin stared at him for a long while silently, before finally shaking her head. "I'm afraid that I am not at liberty to say, Monsieur. Like you, I too am bound by confidentiality."
And with that, she said nothing more for the duration.
For a time, Algernon felt fine with not speaking to her anymore. However, as the journey resumed on, the more fidgety he became.
Contrary to earlier, the harlequin was unusually silent.
More than once Algernon had tried to make light conversation with her, if only to partially mask his own unease, while another part of him genuinely wanted to know more about his masked host, but the woman at every turn refused to dignify him with a straight-forward answer.
Sometimes she feigned understanding, while other times she would flat-out ignore him.
The harlequin spoke little, if at all, and the very few words that she spoke would often leave him with more questions than answers about herself.
She was graceful and nimble in movement as she was silent, every step and turn carefully measured, calculated, and coordinated, done in such a way that it was all perfectly fluid. Watching her take a single step reminded Algernon heavily of a cat in its poise and elegance.
From the way she stepped, the way she turned her body and limbs, the way she peered through the shadows or listened was graceful, so precise that it seemed as if she carefully calculated when and how to move. Every movement was done calculatingly, from the movement of her arms as she carefully maneuvered her weaponry, to the tilt of her concealed head to the side, there was purpose.
Once or twice the harlequin would do something odd such as twirl and pirouette around like a ballerina on stage, causing the little bells on her hat to jingle.
At first, Algernon had dismissed it as some strange attempt at being whimsical just for the sake of it, but as time went on, the more he found himself carefully watching her.
Everything that the harlequin did had a precise deliberateness that had really caught the detective's attention, but for what purpose, he could hardly even fathom.
Even the bells' ringing were precisely calculated in their volume, as if she were deliberately trying to catch the attention of someone or something hidden down here.
For a long time, Algernon had no idea what to make of his host's odd behavior, let alone her scandalously tight-fitting outfit.
The harlequin was confident yet commanding in her presence, standing tall and proud like a performer waiting for the show to begin.
Her form, however, was tense, like a wound-up spring of pent-up energy that was waiting to be released, and with it, all the fury and danger that it possessed.
What really caught Algernon's attention, though, were her eyes - even in the chiaroscuro lighting, her vibrant green eyes were so wild and bright that they seemed to light up even in darkness, possessing a sort of mania that was both alluringly, almost intoxicatingly attractive, yet dangerously lethal.
The harlequin was a figure of unusual contradiction; unusually reserved, often cold during her more serious moments, yet at other times playful like a kitten, even sensual.
Seemingly light and nimble on her feet, almost weightless in how she moved, and yet possessing a surprising degree of strength, dexterity and daring confidence that her deceptively slender frame carefully hid from all.
A woman dressed like a fool, but who, as far as Algernon could tell, was far cleverer than she let on; based on his interactions with her and from the things that she says, the harlequin was undoubtedly a very intelligent individual, though one with a mockingly acerbic though sometimes grim sense of humor.
Despite her apparent flare for the dramatic, never in his life had the detective met an individual so fearlessly dedicated and driven, so utterly concentrated on what they were doing.
And yet, Algernon couldn't help notice, one who also had a deeply melancholic air about her, which she carefully hid.
Every so often, he would catch glimpses of this surprisingly vulnerable aspect in her character, so quick and fleeting that it often made him wonder if he had seen anything at all, but it was noticeable the more that he studied her mannerisms and body language over time.
It had been noticeably perceptible when he had asked her about family, the mere mention of which instantly causing her to stiffen and give even colder responses than usual.
When he had refrained from questioning any further, Algernon noted the wateriness and drooping of her eyes, the subtle sag of the shoulders.
'Just who or what are you?' he wondered. 'And what sorrow ails you, dear lady?'
Was this sorrow the reason why this person decided to put on a mask?
Shaking his head in uncertainty, Algernon let out a tired sigh.
The harlequin was a walking puzzle box of a woman, more infuriating than any mystery he had ever known. More than once he found himself questioning his decision to follow this strange individual, and more than once he found himself questioning whether or not the person that he was following was even sane.
Was this all some sort of joke? Had he been following some deranged lunatic on a wild goose-chase?
More and more Algernon found himself questioning everything.
Following the harlequin into the tunnels was a strangely surreal experience, especially with the way the kerosene lantern highlighted her fleeting form as it twirled through the various shadowy vaults and chambers.
Seeing her pirouette through the shadows was probably the strangest vision that Algernon had ever seen and experienced in his life, and the more that he watched the harlequin, the more Algernon had silently wondered to himself if he was asleep and that this was all a dream.
Was this really happening?
Was this real?
Letting out an exhausted yawn, the detective pinched the bridge of his nose.
'I should have gotten more sleep,' he reflected.
Or maybe drank a nice cup of coffee earlier to help prepare him for this evening, for he was having trouble trying to stay awake.
Feeling a little disoriented, Algernon wavered on the balls of his feet, his eyes fluttering.
SMACK!
The slap was harsh and loud, the sound echoing through the various chambers, the stinging pain on his face bringing Algernon back to reality as he saw his companion's irritation.
"OW!" He cried, massaging his cheek. "I say, what-?"
"Idiota! What are you trying to do, get us killed?!" The harlequin angrily admonished him in a harsh whisper, the shotgun pointing dangerously in his direction. "What the hell is the matter with you?!"
Rubbing his sore cheek, Algernon winced. "Ah, apologies, Mademoiselle. I hadn't slept in quite a while. It had been a few days since I have," he said, looking a bit sheepish.
The harlequin glared at him, her green eyes burning hot.
"Fall asleep again, Englishman, and I will leave you down here with the rats! Now wake up, we have a job to do."
Feeling his face heat up at the disparaging remark, Algernon placed his hands on his hips, opening his mouth to make a retort.
Only for nothing to come out.
Slumping, the detective let out a weary sigh, only offering a conceding nod before following her lead.
The lantern flickered as it illuminated the tight-fitting corridors of the catacombs.
A rat scratched at its ear and gnawed on its left hind leg before suddenly skittering away at the harlequin's approach.
Algernon was no stranger to horror - as a detective with thirty years experience, he had bore witness to many a crime, including some of the most heinous imaginable - but even he was no immune to the chilling phantasmagoric scene before him.
Skulls.
Dozens upon dozens of skulls that formed entire walls amidst the limestone.
Seeing them protruding from the walls made the detective shudder.
Noticing his reaction, the harlequin offered him a glance, raising a brow. "Are you alright, Monsieur Detective?"
Taking a handkerchief out from his pocket, Algernon wiped the sweat off from his face. "Y-Yes. It's just...typically speaking, one doesn't usually see sights such as this very often."
The jester offered a sympathetic and understanding hum, clicking her tongue. "Your reaction is understandable."
The detective then gave her a curious glance. "Are any of your family members amongst them?"
His companion tilted her hooded head slightly, humming in thought before shrugging. "It's possible I may have cousins that I was never made aware of, but who knows."
Looking back at the staring skulls, Algernon swallowed, unnerved by the empty gazes and smiling teeth. "How...how many are buried down here?"
"Six to seven million," the harlequin answered. "The entire underground population of Paris' cemeteries had to be relocated to quarry tunnels outside the city limits in 1786."
Algernon didn't hide his shock at the number, staring aghast at the wall of skulls as he breathed. "By Jove!"
Six to seven million?!
The thought of that many bodies being was staggering, even terrifying to contemplate.
Granted, in retrospect, the infamous Black Death had wiped out twenty-five to fifty million people, a far greater number than one could ever imagine, but still, the knowledge of so many bodies down here, buried just where he stood, how could one not shiver at the very notion?
Algernon watched as the harlequin's hands tightened around her shotguns, a dark aura surrounding her.
"Are you," he said hesitatingly, "...are you alright?"
His companion was grimly silent, her green eyes flaring with anger and righteous indignation.
"Non, Monsieur Detective, I'm not," she answered. "I am disgusted by the lack of respect being displayed here. That de la Morte and his scum would dare desecrate this place with their vile presence and activities, to so dishonor the men, women, and children that lie here..." The harlequin's eyes narrowed, "I look forward to wiping his stain out from existence."
Hearing the threatening tone in her voice made the detective give pause as he warily eyed his companion. "By wiping out, of course, you mean neutralize rather than kill, right?" he said with uncertainty.
Sparing him a glance, the masked woman offered him a neutral look. "...We shall see, Englishman."
With that ominous statement lingering, the masked woman looked back to the tunnel ahead, then resumed on. As Algernon followed after her, a feeling of unease started to form in the pit of his stomach.
Pools of water slushed and dripped from vaulted ceilings as the duo traveled through the labyrinthine corridors.
Algernon watched as the harlequin suddenly halted, raising a hand in alert.
"What's going-?"
"Shush!" She interrupted, her form stiffening.
Furrowing his brow, Algernon blinked at the woman as she silently tilted her head left, then right, looking and listening intently.
He heard something like scratching in the walls, followed by movement.
Straining his hearing, Algernon unconsciously mimicked the harlequin as he tried listening.
'What is that?' he wondered.
The catacombs echoed with drips as a loud groaning reverberated along the walls.
Clutching his pistol, the detective waited alongside the harlequin for the sound's source to appear.
The sound travelled and reverberated everywhere.
At first it was distant, but then it sounded somewhere closer to the right.
Once or twice Algernon could have sworn that he had detected movement or seen a pair of glowing white eyes staring at him from the shadows, but those images were so quick and fleeting that the detective wondered if they had ever been there at all.
Once or twice he heard splish-splashes, the tell-tale signs of someone moving through a stream, followed by clacks on cobblestone, the sound moving further and further away.
Finally, after a minute, Algernon released a breath that he realized he had been holding in.
"Looks like it's all clear for now," he commented in a hushed voice.
Looking over to the harlequin, he noticed the woman staring down into the shadows, her green eyes burning with a fierce determination that glowed, threatening to burn through even the most tenebrous of passages.
"Mademoiselle?"
Clenching tightly on the shotguns, the harlequin started forward, toward the sound.
"Wait. Where are you going?" he questioned, his voice low.
She didn't answer, proceeding forward slightly hunched, like a hunter that found its prey.
Frustrated, he growled. "Mademoiselle, stop! We must think this through! We've been wandering around for Lord knows how long, and so far you have proven uncooperative! I don't know what you are doing save for wasting my time, and so far, we are no closer to saving those women! Do you even know where the hell we are?!"
"I do, as a matter of fact," the harlequin answered, her eyes focused on the shadows. "We are close. Very close. And it is for that reason, Englishman, that you should always be on your guard. Never let your guard drop down here, not even for a single moment. Otherwise, it may cost you more than your life."
Something about her tone and body language struck the detective as off. Knitting his brows together, Algernon carefully studied her as those words were uttered, puzzled by her demeanor.
Every part of the clownish figure was rigid and alert, like an animal sensing danger. But from the very subtle tremor in her body and the look in her eyes, however, he detected small traces of what looked unmistakably like fear.
"...Are you alright?" Algernon asked.
The harlequin stared for a long time at the shadows, her index fingers brushing the hair triggers of her weapons.
"Tell me, Monsieur Detective," she spoke in a low voice. "Do you believe in demons?"
Blinking bemusedly, Algernon's eyes widened at her question. "I beg your pardon?"
"Demons!" The harlequin repeated, her tone impatient.
He stared at her for a long time, then slowly shook his head. "I don't, actually." A wry smile formed from the corner of his mouth, "Why? Do you?"
"Oh, I most definitely do, Monsieur."
For a while, he stared perplexedly at the masked woman, wondering what her game was.
Realization dawned on the detective as he slowly let out a hearty chuckle. "My good woman, I have to say, you are quite the character! It's not everyday that I've met someone who can make such a good joke!"
His chuckle turned into a laugh.
The harlequin, however, wasn't laughing; instead, she was staring stonily at him, her eyes clear and focused, possessing a grim quality about them that the detective didn't like.
Ceasing his laughter, Algernon blinked, staring back. "You were being serious?"
"I never joke when it comes to the Devil, Monsieur Detective," came the reply, spoken with an air of tense seriousness.
Algernon gave a dismissive snort, rolling his eyes. "The Devil indeed!"
The harlequin gave him a careful look. "You do not believe?"
He huffed. "Of course not!" The detective asserted. "What do I look like, a young schoolboy? The only evil that exists, Mademoiselle, is within the hearts of men, not ghosts, ghouls and goblins!"
Algernon half expected the harlequin to make some sort of sharp retort, to lash out in denial, maybe shriek at him for being a non-believer.
Instead, to his surprise, she gave him a pitying, almost knowing look.
Letting out a mirthless chuckle, the harlequin shook her head in a slightly despondent manner. "If only that were true, Monsieur. You would be surprised by the things that I have seen. The stories that I can tell!" She then tilted her head in reflection, the bells rustling slightly from the action. "On the other hand...perhaps it would be better for you not to know. There is bliss in ignorance, after all."
The detective bristled. "Nonsense. What is there to gain in being ignorant?! This is the nineteenth century, Mademoiselle, a time for illumination, not the Middle Ages! Reason and Science exist for the purpose of explaining the unexplainable, shining a light on the truth!"
"Perhaps, Monsieur," the harlequin nodded, "but even so, there are forbidden corners that should never be explored."
Algernon crossed his arms, sneering with a patronizing voice, "Why? Because the road to truth is too scary?"
"Because it is dangerous!" The harlequin sharply replied, giving him a steady stare. "Your achievements and education leave no doubt that you are a man of the world, Monsieur Detective. With that said, your greatest failure lies in your pride and inability to see past yourself. You are so smugly certain of everything, mistakenly believing that you have all the answers, but you don't, Monsieur Detective. You don't. Truth is not some mystic weapon that destroys evil and barbarity, Monsieur, it is a mirror, one that reflects reality as it is. It exposes the parts that everyone wants hidden, the good and the ill, and it cares not for the consequences, nor to whom. Some of us have peered more deeply into it than others and have seen the truth of the world as it is, and it is terrifying to behold."
He frowned. "So what are you proposing then? That I should pretend to ignore it?"
"I am urging you to use caution and sense, man! Truth isn't a weapon to combat the world's ills, nor is it one that will guarantee happiness. In some instances, truth can be even more devastating and harmful than any weapon, for once it is uncovered, it can never be taken back, and the damage is done. You are in danger of flying too close to the sun, Monsieur Detective. Heed my words, or otherwise, you will get burned."
For a long time, Algernon carefully considered her words, watching the masked woman carefully as she disappeared into the shadows.
Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, then sighed.
He had no idea where he was going, and his best possible lead at either finding the women, if not a way through this labyrinth, was a bloody insane clown.
Part of him wondered if God was perhaps punishing him, if not having a laugh at his expense.
Adjusting his bowler hat, Algernon followed after the strange woman, hoping that he was getting closer to finding de la Morte and those unfortunate women.
