Damn, she should have brought Francois. He had a knack for this sort of thing. As she turned to go, one side of the panel moved out from the wall a quarter inch. Her kick must have sprung the device. Dropping to her knees, she pried the panel open a couple of inches with her fingertips. When she paused to listen, she heard very faint voices in the distance.
Whoever had gone through the secret door did not appear to be waiting on the other side, so she eased it open and slipped inside. The door clicked shut, and panic choked her until she found a handle behind her. As soon as she lifted up on it, she felt the door start to give. She could get out, praise God!
She stood still until her thundering heart slowed enough for her to hear. The voices were louder from here, but still muffled and distant. Gradually, shapes emerged as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Merciful God! She flattened herself against the door as she realized she stood at the top of a long flight of stairs. The staircase dropped steeply through a tunnel built of stone blocks into a deeper darkness below.
This must be an escape route leading to the river. Relations between England’s royalty and the powerful London merchants were often uneasy; any one of the prior kings could have foreseen the need to be able to escape Westminster unseen.
She thought again of the alderman’s odd behavior and the other merchants’ unease with her tonight. If the alderman was one of the caped figures she was following, she had to find out whom he was meeting in secret and why. Perhaps she should go back for Francois… Nay, that would take too long—she could miss her chance.
She opened the door a crack so that a thin line of light shone along its edges. Taking a deep breath, she eased one foot down to the next step.
A shiver went through her as she heard the old herbalist’s voice in her head, telling her curiosity was in her nature… just as evil was in others. She would go but a little way, just far enough to hear the voices a bit more clearly—or see where the tunnel came out. If she kept a safe distance, she could come to no harm.
Holding her arms out to brush the walls on either side to keep her balance, she took the steps one at a time. The darkness grew deeper and the smell of dank earth grew stronger the deeper she went. Finally, her feet hit the dirt floor.
She peered into the black passageway before her. Her mouth was dry with fear, though of what, she could not say. The voices were louder here, but still muffled. It was hard to tell how far away they were. She looked back over her shoulder. The dim light at the top of the steps seemed a long, long way off.
She licked her lips. Should she go back? Every muscle tensed, screaming for her to run—but she might never get another chance to find out what this was about.
After the alderman’s strange behavior, it seemed quite possible his business down here had something to do with her. So far, all her efforts to find out who had ruined her grandfather had come to naught. If whatever was down here could shed light on that, she had to know.
She would just go far enough to see who the voices belonged to and hear the words they were chanting. For it was a chant, she could tell that now. It sounded like monks… and yet not.
She was beyond the reach of the light from the top of the stairs now and had to feel her way along the passage. The walls here were damp, rough-hewn rock, as if the passage had been cut through sheer rock face.
She rounded a bend and suddenly the chanting was louder, insistent and repetitive, and there was light up ahead. She could make out the words now: “Come to us. Come to us. Come to us.”
As she drew closer, she saw that the passage opened into a room that extended to the left. She could see only a small part of it from where she stood, so she took a step closer. Through the opening, she saw candles on the floor and dancing shadows.
Fear shot through her, making her knees weak and her head feel light. Every child grew up hearing the stories: sorcerers and witches consorting with the devil; stolen children never seen again; horned demons called up from hell; dark rituals of bloody sacrifice. Her palms went clammy as all the tales she had scoffed at as a child raced through her head.
With her heart pounding in her ears, she dropped to her knees and crawled forward. She had come this far. She was going to see what was in the room before she fled back down the passageway and up the steps.
Just one peek. She sucked in her breath as something crawled over her hand. Over the stench of damp earth, she smelled incense, and beneath that a tangy, musky odor. She inched forward, craning her neck to the side to see farther inside the room.
She caught glimpses of dancing figures in capes moving in and out of the part of the room within her sight. They appeared to be dancing within a ring of candles on the floor. She crawled a little closer. All at once, she saw that the figures did not wear hooded capes as she first thought. They wore masks and the hides of animals.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
There could be no doubt what this was now. She was witnessing a sabbat, a ritual meeting of witches. Their chanting pulsed in her blood and throbbed in her ears.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
Linnet could see the edge of a table covered in black cloth at the center of the circle. Pressing against the wall of the passageway, she scooted forward, then got up on her knees to see what was on the table. Her mouth fell open, and she sucked in her breath. She was rooted to the ground, too shocked to move.
A woman lay on the table. A stark naked woman.
Of course, Linnet had seen other women partially undressed—even naked briefly—as they changed clothes in a shared chamber. But that was nothing like what was before her now.
The skin of the woman glistened with oil, and her nipples were erect. Dark tendrils of her uncovered hair fell over the end of the table nearest Linnet. She lay on her back with the soles of her feet together and her knees splayed apart.
And all she wore was a mask.
Linnet knew intuitively the woman was not here against her will. Whatever was taking place here, she was a willing participant.
A tall figure in a wolf’s mask and hide appeared from the other side of the room holding a bowl aloft. As he approached the table, the others began to chant, “Goddess, Goddess, Goddess.”