

### A Whisper in the Dark

By: TD Bauer

Published by: TD Bauer

Copyright 2013 TD Bauer

Cover art by: Allison Preswick

www.allison-preswick.com

Smashword's Edition

### License Notes

All rights, including the right to reproduce this eBook, or portions thereof, in any form, are reserved by the author. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be resold or given to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

### Other Published Works

by TD Bauer **:**

(Tales of Katsume Shogoro)

A Ronin's Honor (#1)

Duel at Strolling Ponds (#2)

### Dedications

To Mom

For all the encouragement over the years

to keep writing, for being a supportive beta-

reader, and just because.

To Dad

You've set so many great examples over

the years, one of which has been

tackling your interest and hobbies

head-on.

To Nancy

For putting up with my craziness that all

authors go through from time to time.
Table of Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

About the Author
Chapter I

Despite the seaside-sounding name, Tulle-sur-Mer was located half a league inland. Once it had been a sleepy port, but long ago the Rennes River silted up where it emptied into the ocean and left the town dry. These days Tulle-sur-Mer managed some minor fame due to the efforts of a local winery, but even then it had been some years since a noteworthy vintage had been produced. With the port long gone and the town a few days ride from notable crossroads, Tulle-sur-Mer was considered out of the way by most travelers.

The sun had already set hours earlier when two men on horseback approached the town's southern gate. No guards stood watch, and the travelers rode into the town without comment or question. The narrow lane they followed was sparsely lit and cobbled. Stone and plaster houses as well as shops lined both sides of the street and were built wall to wall with no space between. Every hundred feet another narrow street would branch off, winding its way to another part of the town. In the distance the sounds of an occasional drinking house with its music and laughter could be faintly heard. Most of the dwellings the two travelers passed were dark and showed no signs of light from within, indicating people were likely fast asleep, which was to be expected at such an hour.

One of the two travelers was a man in his late twenties with shoulder length dark brown hair, dark calculating eyes, and neatly trimmed goatee. His name was Navarr Doucette, a shrewd man in the service of the Queen Mother. He was of average height for a man of Rennardy, lean of build, with a square jaw and slightly retrousse nose. He was dressed in the attire of a chevalier; with brown leather breeches, brown leather vest over a white sleeved shirt, turned down knee boots, matching gauntleted gloves and baldric, and wide brimmed hat upturned on the left side and adorned with a white ostrich feather. Attached to his baldric, at his left hip, was a well-crafted swept-hilt rapier. Further back behind his rapier was a parrying dagger. Both weapons looked the part of having seen some use. His only other armament was a heavy wheel-lock pistol concealed beneath his travel cloak.

The man riding alongside Navarr was ten years older and already showing signs of graying brown hair in his thick goatee with a few wrinkles about the eyes. His name was Gaston Charboneau, the Duke de Bouford, brother to the Queen Mother and uncle to the King. Though his dark red doublet was in fact suitable for arduous travel, it spoke of newness and finery more accustomed to that of a wealthy merchant or tradesman. Boots, gloves, and wide brimmed hat were of matching color, with the later decorated with a black ostrich feather. His collar, cuffs, and the trim of his turned down thigh boots were bedecked with white lace, and noticeably dusty from the road. He was armed in a similar manner as his younger traveling companion, though his rapier and dagger were fanciful in appearance with gold-gilt trim along their hilts and ruby pommels.

The Duke's attire concerned Navarr more than a little. He was supposed to be discretely escorting the nobleman to the city of Bayonne where the Queen awaited her brother's arrival. The need to travel in secrecy and avoid undue attention was something Navarr stressed implacably from the start of their journey. But the Duke refused to wear second-hand clothing or anything that was faded from previous use. It was all Navarr could do to dress the nobleman down to his current choice of clothes. He just hoped it would be enough so the Duke would not be recognized for who he really was during their long journey. Already they had been on the road for three days and all had gone well, which did little to relieve Navarr of his concern.

Navarr and Gaston continued following the main street north in silence. After a short while the narrow lane opened up into a small market square. The item hawkers and laborers had long ago taken their goods and returned to their homes at dusk, leaving row upon row of empty stalls and booths in their absence. The only indication that people had been present at all was from trampled remains of vegetables and broken glass that marked the ground around several of the booths.

"That looks like a suitable establishment," said Gaston. He gestured to a large building made entirely of cut stone located across the square. An oil lantern above the building's doorway provided enough light for the sign hanging left of the doorframe to be clearly depicted; The Blue Sparrow Inn.

Navarr nodded and the two men guided their horses in that direction. Upon dismounting they both took a moment to stretch before grabbing their saddlebags and heading for the inn's large door. Gaston moved to open the door but it wouldn't budge. It was locked tight.

"Landlord!" shouted Navarr at the door. He turned from the sturdy looking oak door and studied the outside of the inn, noting its small windows that were heavily barred. "Locked door, barred windows," he murmured to Gaston, "not particularly inviting for those wanting rest for the night."

Gaston didn't have a chance to reply before the inn's door swung slowly open several inches. The bearded face of a middle-aged man peered out and looked curiously at the two travelers with small, dark eyes.

"What do you want?" asked the innkeeper.

"I'd think that obvious, monsieur," said Navarr incredulously. "It's late and we're weary from the road."

Uncertainty etched upon the innkeeper's grisly face as he looked back and forth from Navarr to Gaston.

"We're not without means of payment," Gaston said as he produced a bulging coin purse from inside his doublet. He gave it a few shakes for emphasis and the coins inside clinked together.

"Silver?" asked the innkeeper doubtfully.

"Better," replied Gaston with a smile, "gold, freshly minted _pistoles._ "

Navarr sighed inaudibly. No matter how often he stressed to the Duke the need to avoid undue attention the man didn't seem to care. Flaunting a coin purse and displaying such wealth did not help to maintain obscurity. He would have to comment further when both men were alone.

"Your names?" asked the innkeeper.

"I'm Gaston and my young friend with the brash manners is Navarr."

The innkeeper steeped back and opened the door wide. He made a quick gesture for the two companions to enter. Inside a few candles burned low on tabletops and a fire smoldered in the fireplace. A young boy of about twelve years of age sat at a small table outside the kitchen door and looked on with interest at the two travelers.

"They've horses that need tending," said the innkeeper to the boy as he disappeared in the kitchen. The boy quickly rose from his table and went to tend the animals without a word spoken to either traveler.

Both Navarr and Gaston removed their travel cloaks and sat at a table with the bearing of men who had traveled far. Gaston couldn't help but cringe under the withering stare that Navarr set upon him, and before long his own eyes dropped to the tabletop. Few were the men who could exchange hard looks with the Queen Mother's most trusted agent. Gaston didn't need to ask what was bothering the younger man, for he knew his own actions outside the inn's door was the cause of it.

After a few minutes of silence the innkeeper returned from the kitchen with a tray of food, two bottles of wine and cups. After sitting the tray down on the table he went and sat in a chair near the fireplace. Navarr and Gaston wasted little time as they eagerly helped themselves to the cheese, bread, and cuts of beef on the tray.

"You receive many guests, monsieur innkeeper?" Gaston asked between bites.

"Just occasional travelers passing through. Few are the locals who frequent my establishment. They prefer the gambling and drinking halls when compared to the simple fare that I provide."

A dozen minutes passed with more silence as Navarr and Gaston filled their bellies. Finally Navarr pushed the tray to the side and stood with Gaston following suite.

"If you don't mind," Navarr said to the innkeeper, "we must rise with daybreak and be back on the road. Can you see us to a room with a couple beds?"

"Certainly. I'll show you to my best room."

The innkeeper reached for a lit candle sitting atop one of the tables and gestured for the travelers to do the same. He waited a moment until both men had their saddle bags and candles in hand then led them to a dark hallway towards the back of the main room. The innkeeper led them past a handful of doors lining both sides of the hall before finally opening the last door at the halls' end. He led the travelers through the doorway and into a modestly decorated room with two small beds, a round rough-hewn table, and two chairs. The walls were lined with dark wood panels and a small brick fireplace was on the opposite side of the room from the beds.

"Is this the best you have?" Gaston asked. He wasn't overly impressed with what he saw.

"Yes, monsieur. I apologize if you are used to more finery, but I try to keep things simple." The innkeeper lit a small lamp that sat on the table brightening the room considerably from what meager light the candles had provided.

"This will more than suffice," Navarr said, giving Gaston a disapproving glance.

"Will you gentleman need anything else?"

"We'll be early to rise," Navarr answered. "If you could see to it our horses our ready at first light as well as our bill it would be appreciated."

"And something to break our fast," Gaston quickly added.

"Yes, of course," Navarr agreed, "but have it ready for us to take on the road," he said to the innkeeper. Then he turned to Gaston, "We'll eat in the saddle."

"The saddle? I've never-"

"Thank you, that will be all," Navarr said, cutting off his traveling companion and dismissing the innkeeper.

As the innkeeper left the room Navarr closed the door and bolted it making sure it was secure. Turning he stood and squarely faced Gaston with a disapproving look.

Gaston sighed, "Please, not another lecture."

"I'd say you need it."

"What's wrong with wanting to be comfortable while traveling?"

"As brother to the Queen you're certainly entitled to a lavish carriage with a team of six white horses as well as a score or two of armed guards. However-"

"No 'howevers' and no 'buts', if you please," Gaston interrupted, already feeling defeated. He plopped down in a chair, wishing he at least had one servant to see to his needs.

"However," Navarr continued, "the need for you to travel and arrive quietly at court was expressly ordered by your sister. That's why we're traveling the back roads, that's why you don't have a carriage to ride in, and that's why I wanted you to dress below your station. Flaunting your wealth and desiring treatment you're typically accustomed to doesn't bode well for the purpose of our travel."

"I'm just bored, is all."

Navarr kneeled down before the fireplace and began to stack some kindling and wood to make a fire. "Oh, and why is that?" he asked over his shoulder.

"When I heard I'd be traveling alone with you I was certain there would be some adventure to be found, some excitement."

"And why would you think that?" Navarr asked, though he already knew the answer. He was at the Queen's beck and call, just like his father was before him, and like his father he found himself mixed up in many intrigues. Stories of some of those adventures, where danger and daring was found around every corner, became common gossip among the nobles of the kingdom.

"You're the Queen's agent after all! But we're halfway through our journey and there's been nothing but dusty roads and dreary little inns."

"Good, let's keep it that way."

Navarr took his candle and lit some parchment, and then in turn used it to start the kindling on fire in the hearth. He fed the growing fire as it continued to spread. The sound of popping wood and acrid smoke faintly filled the room.

Standing, Navarr moved towards one of the beds but stopped short when he noticed Gaston looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Navarr asked.

Gaston looked at his dusty boots, "I don't suppose you've pity enough in your heart to re-"

Navarr held up his hand for silence, "You may be the Queen's brother and the Duke de Bouford, but I'll not help you remove your boots."

"Well it was worth a try."

"If you knew me at all from these past few days you'd know it wasn't."

Chapter II

"Wake up..."

Navarr woke with a sudden jolt and sat straight up in his bed, his right hand holding his parrying dagger at the ready. Slowly he glanced around with squinting eyes in an attempt to pierce the darkness of the room. The fire he had made was now nothing more than a few smoldering coals providing little in the way of light. Peering into the gloom showed that aside from Gaston, who was snoring softly in his own bed a few feet away, there was no one else there with them.

It must have been a dream, he thought to himself.

Laying back down Navarr closed his eyes. It was late at night and soon he felt himself beginning to drift once more to sleep.

_"You'd best wake, monsieur._ "

This time Navarr didn't just sit, this time he was up and out of bed with his dagger in one hand while reaching for his pistol with the other. He knew without a doubt that he had heard a voice. It sounded like a child, a little girl. It had spoken softly and it had to be within the room. A quick look about in the gloom revealed nothing. Gaston was still asleep in his bed, but aside from the two of them there was nobody else in the room.

Even so, Navarr knew he heard a voice, and he knew what it had said. The tone of the child's voice sounded as if it was pleading with him to wake up, and to do so quickly.

Carefully he made his way towards the room's small table and quickly lit a candle. The room was bathed in faint white light as the candle's flame flickered and pushed back at the darkness. Navarr held the candle up over his head and peered into the far corners of the room, yet all he saw there was an empty space with dark paneled walls. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.

_"They come in the darkness_."

"Who said that?" Navarr demanded. "Show yourself."

He glanced about the room with darting eyes. The voice sounded like it came from the center of the room, but he wasn't certain for there was still no one there.

After several quiet moments passed Navarr moved to Gaston's bed and gave it several firm shakes with his foot. "Get up," he barked.

Gaston, comfortably covered up beneath a couple of blankets, rolled over with a yawn and began to softly snore once again. Navarr gave Gaston's face a sharp slap and this time the Duke's eyes popped open his face blank and his eyes expressing no emotion.

"I just had the strangest dream," Gaston mumbled. "My goodness, is it morning already?" He slowly sat up and stretched as he watched Navarr begin to hurriedly get dressed.

"Get your clothes on, there's something amiss."

Gaston frowned slightly and stretched again. "If we've overslept a little I'm sure you'll find a way to make up the time." He didn't understand Navarr's urgency. Still feeling tired he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed for a little while longer.

_"They come for gold and blood._ "

"Mon Dieu, what was that?" Gaston exclaimed as his eyes widened with fright.

Even in the dimly lit room Navarr could see the other man's face go completely white. Just then the candle's flame began to flicker softly. Navarr thought it odd it was doing that, since there was nothing near the candle to disturb the flame. As he stepped closer to the table the flickering stopped and Navarr began to look around the room once again, this time his eyes focused on the walls.

"I fear we may have to make a hasty exit from this inn." Navarr finished buckling on his sword belt and reached for his vest and gloves, leaving his wide brimmed hat resting on the corner post of his bed.

While Gaston scrambled to put his clothes on Navarr took a moment to examine the room more closely. He held the candle before him as he walked slowly around the room, examining the walls with careful scrutiny. As he approached the southwest corner of the room the candle flame began to flicker a little more. Reaching out with his left hand that was holding his parrying dagger, he used the pommel of the weapon to lightly tap the walls. The south corner wall had sounded different than the west corner.

Navarr tested the difference in sound several more times before deciding the south wall did not sound as solid as the west.

Suddenly the room grew brighter and Navarr turned slightly and saw that Gaston had lit the room's lantern. He turned his attention back towards the corner walls as Gaston continued to get dressed. Without a doubt Navarr knew there was a secret door cleverly hidden in the south corner wall. Sheathing his dagger he began running his left hand over the wood panels. Past experiences had told him that usually there was a release mechanism that would open and close secret doors. Before too long he found what he was searching for. Up high on the wall there was a small knot in the wood. When he pushed harder on the knot it gave way slightly. Pushing a little harder produced a barely audible click followed by what sounded like a spring being released on the other side of the wall. At that same instant a section of the wall panel popped open two inches revealing the hidden door.

Whoever had built the secret door had done a marvelous job of it, Navarr thought to himself, as he examined the edges around the narrow doorway. It was not at all detectible with the naked eye or by touch. If it wasn't for the slight draft coming from within the passageway that caused the candle to flicker, and his tapping on the walls, Navarr knew he would not have detected the door otherwise.

_"I'm so cold._ "

Navarr and Gaston shared a questioning look after hearing the whispering voice once again. There was no doubt it was the voice of a little girl they were hearing, but the question was why?

"Obviously the whispers have something to do with that secret door you found," said Gaston.

Navarr nodded. Of that he was certain, but beyond that he would be hard pressed to offer further explanation.

"Please tell me we're leaving, and not through yonder passageway," Gaston said imploringly.

"I thought you wanted some adventure?" Navarr said, his right eyebrow raised in a questioning slant.

"Supernatural voices spoken from mid-air, secret doors..." Gaston stood across the room shaking his head defiantly. "My preference is for the sort of adventure that coincides with drinking, eating, spending large amounts of money, and coquettish women."

"I'm going to check this passageway and see where it leads. You can stay here if you like, but I for one would like some answers."

"You'd leave me alone now, with all this strangeness about? Are you mad?"

"Then grab the lantern and come along. Just stop being foolish and stay out of my way," Navarr replied curtly. He was getting irritated with the Duke and turned his attention back towards the secret door.

Navarr reached out and pulled the door open wide. The light from the candle revealed a dusty and web covered narrow stairway constructed of flat field stones that descended down into the ground. He couldn't see how far down the stairs went, for the candlelight did not penetrate deep into the darkness of the passageway. It was as if the blackness there repelled the light.

Navarr regarded the secret passage for a moment as thoughts of waking the innkeeper entered into his mind. Did the innkeeper know about the passage? Did he know about the strange whispering voice in the dead of the night? Both were questions Navarr wanted answered, and he was sure there would be other questions as well. After a moment of consideration he decided to first explore where the stone stairway led, and ask his questions later.

Navarr drew his wheel-lock pistol and checked that it was primed and ready, then stepped into the passageway and began to descend the stairs. The candlelight continued to have a hard time penetrating the darkness. He wondered if the damp and musty air that filled the passage had something to do with it, or if it was perhaps something else along the lines of the supernatural. He silently hoped it was the former opposed to the later of the two possibilities.

After having traveled down a handful of the steps, a brighter light flooded from behind Navarr as Gaston followed with the lantern in hand, having set the shutters wide open to give off the most amount of light. Navarr turned his head slightly to regard the man and gave him a reassuring nod. He was glad to see that Gaston had his pistol in his other hand as well, pointed high but primed and ready.

The additional light from the lantern, though partially blocked by Navarr as he walked ahead in the stairwell, was able to provide enough illumination that the darkness did not seem so forbidding as before. There was enough light now that Navarr, moving slowly down the steps, could see that there was dust covering everything. His footprints were leaving slight marks in the dust. It appeared it had been sometime since the stairway had been used.

The stairs were narrow and just wide enough so that Navarr and Gaston could walk down them single file without having to do so at a sidestepping angle. Navarr counted each step as he descended, and at twenty-five he couldn't help but wonder just how far down into the ground they were going to end up. At forty steps the stairs finally leveled off and came to an end, with the narrow hallway opening up into a tunnel carved out of the bedrock. The tunnel was several feet wide and just as high, and reached as far ahead of the two men as the lantern light allowed them to see, which was only about thirty feet. The two men stopped at the bottom of the stairs to examine their surroundings closer.

"What is this place, do you suppose?" Gaston said with a hushed tone. He stood an arm's length away from Navarr and shifted uneasily on his feet. He was clearly nervous.

"I don't know," Navarr replied, in an equally quiet tone. "The town above certainly has sewers under their city streets, but this is both naturally eroded and carved stone, and not part of any sewer, to be sure."

Cautiously, Navarr proceeded forward into the tunnel and tried to walk as silently as possible. He was calm and reserved, yet alert and ready for just about anything to come at him from the darkness ahead. People who knew him well were known to comment on his nerves of steel, and how he was always able to keep a clear head and make decisive decisions followed by quick and necessary action.

Gaston was the direct opposite of Navarr at that very moment. He was clearly on edge and shuffled his feet restlessly while gripping both the lantern and his pistol in white-knuckled fists. His eyes were firmly set on the edge of the darkness directly ahead, and he found himself swallowing often and hard.

After slowly advancing down the tunnel for a few minutes the walls began to gradually narrow, and the lantern light illuminated a doorway ahead. The door was old and made of wood. It looked blackened and was covered in small cracks that extended up and down its six-foot height. There were three large hinges on the left hand side and a large door handle on the right with a locking mechanism. At close examination Navarr could see that the hinges had a great deal of rust on them.

Navarr, still holding the candle in his right hand, tucked his pistol he was holding in his left beneath his right arm. Then, with his free hand, he reached forward and turned the door's handle. With a light pull the door started to open with only slight creaking from rusted hinges. Once the door was opened wide it revealed many layers of thick spider webs on the other side, though no spiders were in sight. The webs were so thick and dusty that Navarr couldn't see past them. He returned his pistol to his left hand and angled himself so he could partially face Gaston.

"I really don't like spiders," Navarr said.

"Not that anybody could tell by looking at you. Even standing this close to such a tangled nightmare of webbing you have that stone-like expression you wear so well," Gaston smirked with just a hint of envy.

Navarr didn't reply, instead he turned back towards the web and used the flame from his candle to slowly burn them away. After a few minutes he had created a large enough hole in the webbing where passage through would not be an issue.

Stepping through the remnants of the silky barrier, Navarr and Gaston found themselves standing in a small cavernous room about fifteen paces across that the lantern was able to easily illuminate. Looking around the room both men immediately knew they had entered into a section of catacombs underneath the city. Niches, two feet deep, two feet tall, and six feet long had been cut into the stone walls. Resting in the niches were skeletal remains, their clothes and burial garb having deteriorated away centuries ago. Most of the bones of the skeletons had crumbled into dust leaving only the largest of bones intact. A thin layer of spider webbing lined the walls all the way around the room that only added to the eerily illuminated scene. Across the room there were two passages, one that curved out of sight to the left, and another that curved out of sight to the right. A rat could be seen meandering at the base of the opposite wall.

"Mold, dust and decay," Gaston murmured as he continued to look about the chamber. "It has the look and smell of death. I'm ready to be far away from this place."

"First time in a catacomb?"

"Yes, and I don't like it," Gaston said with a little more apprehension in his voice than he would have liked. "I'm glad the practice of burying the dead has changed to cemeteries above ground. This all seems so morbid. I can't help but feel like I'm intruding here."

Navarr nodded in agreement. This was not the first time he had found himself wandering through catacombs. A few years ago he had ventured into the labyrinth of burial tunnels and chambers under Saint Bartholomew's Cathedral. It was a time in his life that he would never be able to forget. The living had no business wandering among the dead. He had felt out of place then, and now that he was in another catacomb he felt much the same once again.

Walking across the burial chamber both men carefully examined the two passageways. Other than the fact that the passageways curved away from one another, there was really no difference between the two. Navarr shrugged and led the way into the passage on the right. Just like the burial chamber, the passageway also had niches cut into the wall that were occupied by dry and dusty remains. The passageway didn't go very far before both men found themselves standing inside another chamber.

This new burial chamber was about twice the size of the first. Stepping further into the chamber both men noticed that the floor was littered in human bones, and the further the lamplight reached into the room the more numerous they became. The floor also became darker in color the further into the room the two men could see. There were a few dozen rats milling about, but both men paid them little attention.

"Look there," Navarr pointed with his pistol to the far end of the chamber. There was a large pile of skeletal remains stacked as high as his waist. Ribcages, hipbones, spinal columns and skulls were easily identified from where they stood.

Gaston didn't have anything to say. He just stood silently as he looked on at the heaping pile with a tight and uneasy expression on his face.

Navarr walked over to the pile of bones. As he did so he noted that shreds of clothing were also scattered around the room and could be seen inside the pile. Kneeling down at the edge of the bone heap he noticed some of the bones looked small, like they probably belonged to children. He also noticed that some of the bones were broken, in particular ribs appeared cracked and the occasional crushed skull.

Gaston set down the lantern in the middle of the chamber and picked up a small wooden doll, a child's toy, dirty and stained with dried blood. He turned the doll over in his hand and then looked at Navarr as the younger man examined the pile of bones.

"What happened here?" Gaston asked uneasily.

"I'm fairly certain bodies were dumped in this room after they were murdered," Navarr replied as he stood and continued to look upon the bones. Then he pointed to a skull sitting at the edge of the pile and looked to Gaston to make sure the other man saw what he was pointing at.

Gaston could see that the skull was cleft open above the left eye-socket and suddenly understood. "They were taken from their room in the dead of the night. Killed and robbed." It was then that he realized the dark coloring of the floor was probably the stain left over from dried up blood.

Navarr nodded in agreement. "Then their bodies discarded here were they would not likely be found. Their bones picked clean by rats."

Gaston's face paled at the thought of rats having their fill. He gingerly set the doll back down on the floor and picked up the lantern. He couldn't help but wonder if the doll belonged to the whispering voice they had heard. Awkwardly, with the hand that held the lantern, Gaston made a sign of blessing over the pile of bones, much like a priest would over somebody sick or recently deceased.

"I wonder if other chambers are filled with something similar," Gaston commented absently.

Navarr wondered the same thing, but at the moment he was thinking about the innkeeper. He remembered how he had commented that few visitors came to his inn, that most who frequented his establishment were travelers passing through. Navarr knew that if a traveler's absence was noted at their destination it would be impossible to track any misdoing back to the inn. Besides, accidents and brigands were frequent enough on the roads between towns, and all the innkeeper had to say if somebody did come around later asking about a missing person was to deny ever having seen them.

Gaston could see that Navarr was deep in thought. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"About our gracious host, the innkeeper. As soon as you showed him that bulging coin purse of yours he planned for us to join these other poor wretches."

"We must have words with him, and soon."

"Words will not suffice enough for me," Navarr said darkly, "I like not the thought of being murdered in my sleep."

"Do you think that ghostly voice we heard was a victim now lying in yonder pile-"

_"They're coming!_ " the strange whispering voice returned, interrupting Gaston mid sentence.

Chapter III

Navarr rushed back into the passageway that led back to the first chamber with Gaston just a few steps behind. Halfway down the narrow passage he paused and Gaston bumped into the back of him. Navarr raised his hand holding his pistol in what he hoped would be taken as a sign for silence, and cocked his head slightly as if trying to listen to a faint sound. After just a few moments he heard voices echoing through the burial chambers and passageways. They were hard to understand, but it sounded like at least three different voices. And they were coming closer with each passing second.

"What do we do?" Gaston whispered. There was fear in his voice and it was plainly evident on his face. He wasn't used to such things like his life being in mortal danger.

"We try and find a place to quietly observe whomever it is that's coming."

"Observe? If they intend us harm wouldn't it be better to attack them first?'

"Possibly. No time to chat about it right now, let's go."

Navarr moved as quickly as he could while trying to still be somewhat quiet. He led Gaston back to the first chamber and then into the other unexplored passageway. The passage was much shorter than the first, and soon they found themselves in another burial chamber much like the others, however this one had a large stone sarcophagus covered in dust and spider webs sitting in the middle. There were three new passageways at the center of each of the room's other walls that led to other parts of the catacombs.

Navarr and Gaston stood quietly for a moment to listen. The voices they had heard seemed much fainter than before. It was hard to tell from which of the three new passageways they were coming from, which led Navarr to believe the catacombs were possibly quite large and mazelike.

Navarr decided to go through the passageway directly opposite the one they came in. This new passageway was narrower than the others and had a lower ceiling. It ran straight for nearly a dozen paces before it came to another chamber. The new chamber was slightly larger than all the others and had two stone sarcophaguses in the center several feet apart. Off to the left side there was a small ante-chamber with smaller niches cut into the stone where scores of urns sat covered by centuries of dust. Two more passages located in the corners of the chamber opposite from where the two men came in could be seen curving away into the darkness.

Again both men stood silent for a moment as they tried to listen for voices. At first they heard nothing, but then suddenly they heard what sounded like a hard cough.

"That sounded close," Gaston whispered.

Navarr nodded in agreement. Then there were more coughing sounds and Navarr pointed to the passageway across the room on the right. "It's coming from there."

"Are you sure?"

"Quickly, this way." Navarr made for the other passageway on the left.

If the ghostly voice they had been hearing could be trusted, Navarr was certain whoever was coming was going to be headed in the direction he and Gaston had come from. From the passageway they now stood in, they could see the rest of the burial chamber and would be out of sight. Navarr hoped to observe the would-be murderers as they made their way through the chamber.

Navarr blew out his candle and tucked it into his vest. "Close the shutters on that lantern," Navarr ordered Gaston, "but be ready to open them quickly if need be."

Gaston did as ordered and immediately the catacombs went dark. He felt his heart race faster as his fear began to rise. He didn't like the darkness. It was the blackest darkness he had ever experienced, and he couldn't stop thinking that he was in catacombs surrounded by dusty corpses. Furthermore, he didn't understand how Navarr could be so driven and calm under the current circumstances, and couldn't decide if he should feel dismayed or amazed by the younger man.

Navarr and Gaston were not standing in the dark for long before the faint glow of light began to softly illuminate the chamber before them. As the next few moments passed the burial chamber got brighter and brighter, and then suddenly it was filled with flickering torchlight as four men entered the chamber. Navarr and Gaston never saw their faces, as the four men mostly had their backs to them as they walked to the passageway across the chamber. All four men appeared to be dressed in similar dark robes, but not at all like priests or monks would wear. Two of them carried torches. All of them were armed with short heavy clubs and rapiers.

Just as they were about to enter the far passageway all four of the men stopped and exchanged looks with each other, then in unison they all started looking about the chamber. Navarr wasn't sure what had tipped the men off, but something must have alerted them to his and Gaston's presence.

"What do we have here?" one of the men holding a torch said. He was looking directly at Navarr and Gaston, who stood quietly in their passageway across the room.

Navarr stepped into the chamber and Gaston did likewise, though slightly behind Navarr and to his right side.

"I was going to ask you the same," Navarr replied. He stood about fifteen feet away from the closest of the four men with his pistol leveled and its hammer cocked and ready to fire. Navarr noted that the four all looked similar, with short dark brown hair, small black eyes, and faces that appeared narrow with wide mouths and long noses. He couldn't help but find it oddly peculiar.

The man who had been leading the four others through the chamber stepped forward. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sheathed rapier, and he had a cunning looking smile upon his face as he spoke. "You shouldn't be down here," he said.

"Should we be sleeping soundly in our beds at the Blue Sparrow Inn?" Gaston asked. He opened wide the shutters on his lantern and flooded the chamber with additional light. In his left hand he held his pistol pointed at the man who had stepped forward. He was more nervous than ever, and it showed.

Immediately after Gaston spoke, Navarr noticed the two men standing in the back share knowing glances at each other. Upon seeing the exchange of looks, there was little doubt in his mind that these men where exactly whom the ghostly voice meant to warn he and Gaston about.

"You obviously know what we're about," said the man with the smile. "Did somebody warn you of our coming? Don't lie and tell me it was the innkeeper, because I know better than to believe that."

Navarr shook his head. "It was a whisper in the dark."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I don't."

"Really, and why not?"

"What will it matter when one soon finds himself dead?"

"Good, then you understand your fate."

It was Navarr's turn to smile, and it showed upon his face ever so slightly. "I wasn't talking about me, monsieur."

Then Navarr fired his pistol. The roar of the gun was deafening within the chamber, and the visual affect from the black powder discharge filled the immediate area with thick sulfurous smoke. Navarr had his pistol pointed at one of the men holding a torch when he fired, and he had no doubt that the shot was true. He tucked his pistol into his belt with his left hand while at the same time he drew his rapier with his right.

Through the quickly dissipating smoke, the man who had been doing most of the talking came rushing forward with rapier in hand. Though once he was through the cloud of smoke he looked less like an actual man and more like a cross between a man and a giant walking rat. His head and torso were very much like that of a rat and he had a long wiry looking tail. His limbs looked like that of a man, though covered in short hair, and his hands had long narrow fingers with black claws.

Gaston stood there stunned as he watched Navarr and the wererat exchange attacks and parries with one another. Not even in his darkest dreams had he ever imagined such terror as ratmen, but to see one before him now was almost beyond reason. With a few rapid blinks and a strong shake if his head, Gaston managed to clear his thoughts enough to act, and he did so by firing his pistol nearly pointblank at the wererat.

The second gun blast was just as deafening as the first, and the same acrid cloud of smoke filled the immediate area, but it was close proximity to the end of the barrel and heavy percussion that sent Navarr reeling away to his left and from Gaston. At the same time the wererat was struck in his left arm with the heavy round bullet and thrown backwards into one of the sarcophagi.

Navarr stumbled away from the heavy percussion and managed to turn around in time to see the wounded wererat rush between himself and Gaston. The wererat headed into the right side passageway and out of the chamber before Navarr could stop him. Back across the room, through the clearing smoke, the other two men had also changed their form and appeared as ratmen. Both held rapiers in their long clawed fingers, and one of them continued to carry a torch in his other hand.

Gaston threw his empty pistol across the room at the wererats but it missed completely. He drew his decorative rapier and moved closer to Navarr as the wererats slowly advanced closer.

Navarr drew his parrying dagger and held it before him in his left hand while he positioned his rapier in a low guard. Stepping in front of Gaston, he advanced forward between the two sarcophagi in the center of the chamber, and met the two wererats as they came at him in tandem.

The sound of sword work between the three combatants filled the room while Gaston stood back and watched. Navarr's left hand that held the parrying dagger worked separately from the rapier he held in his right. While he managed to parry every attack from the wererat on his left, his rapier did the same on the right but also managed to follow up with lightning fast ripostes that ended in piercing hits on his foe. In just a few moments the ratman he had been battling with his rapier stumbled back and out of the fight, having been struck more than a few times by Navarr's flashing blade.

As soon as Navarr found himself facing one foe, he made very short work of what needed to be done to end the battle. With a sharp striking beat-parry, Navarr knocked his opponent's blade aside with his rapier and stepped into him with a hard thrust from his parrying dagger leading the way. The dagger's thrust angled up from the ratman's abdomen and pierced his heart. Just as fast as Navarr had delivered the fatal thrust he disengaged and stepped back, both blades at the ready for any unexpected attack from elsewhere. A second later the wererat crumpled to the floor, dead.

Gaston had seen Navarr's father teach swordsmanship at the Academy nearly twenty years ago, and had even taken a few personal lessons from the man. Navarr's father, before his untimely death nearly a decade ago, was considered a grandmaster with a rapier, and Gaston could see that Navarr was certainly his father's equal if not his better.

Two wererats lay dead by Navarr's hands, one shot by pistol and the other's heart pierced by a sharp blade. One other wererat was severely wounded and leaning against the burial chamber's wall. The fourth had been wounded by Gaston's wild pistol shot and had run off into the catacombs.

Navarr cleaned the blood from his parrying dagger and sheathed it. He then picked up one of the still lit torches that had been dropped by one of the ratmen. He walked over to the passageway the fleeing wererat had taken and did a quick examination of the floor. There were a few specs of blood that would provide a trail to follow.

"Come on," Navarr said urgently. "We're going after the one that got away."

"What about him? Should we slit his throat and finish him quickly?" Gaston said as he pointed at the wounded wererat starting to loose consciousness. He had heard stories of such creatures, but never had he ever encountered anything like he had tonight. It all felt incredibly surreal.

"He's done for. He'll soon pass out and bleed to death. It's a fitting death for one such as him, though he probably deserves worse."

Navarr rushed into the passageway the wounded wererat had fled down. He held the torch up high above his head as he quickly scanned the blood spotted floor while keeping his eyes looking forward. Gaston followed closely behind and was keeping a close watch from the direction they came, for fear of possibly being snuck up on by more of the wererats. As they continued to follow the blood-trail they passed through several more burial chambers, most with multiple passageways. The place was certainly maze-like, and if not for the trail they followed Navarr knew they could easily end up lost in the catacombs.

Several minutes more had passed of their rushing through the dank and dark tomb, when finally Navarr stopped in the middle of a burial chamber they were passing through. He paused to make a closer examination of the blood trail and noticed it seemed to be diminishing.

"Our quarry managed to staunch his blood flow," Navarr said matter-of-factly. "I fear before long we may loose his trail."

"I remember reading somewhere that lycanthropes can heal very fast and can only be killed by silver weapons," Gaston said absently as he kept watch on the passageways in the chamber. He noticed there were a few rats scurrying around the corners of the room, and he couldn't help but cringe at the thought of them gnawing on the bodies back at the bone pile.

"Don't believe everything you read. Those two that I killed were certainly dead. And that third that was wounded did not appear to be healing from his wounds as he bled out."

"True enough."

Navarr regarded Gaston for a moment. He noticed the other man seemed less fidgety than what he had been before, and he was glad for it. However, as much as he wanted to push forward and find the wererat that got away, Navarr also knew he needed to look out for Gaston's safety and make sure he arrived safely to the Queen as ordered. He had already taken a great risk by leading the Duke into the secret passage from their room in the inn. Hindsight being what it was, Navarr knew he shouldn't have done that, but his curiosity of the unknown had gotten the better of him.

"We should probably head back to the inn," Navarr said. "Where there are a few wererats I'm certain there are probably more to be found. And we're wandering around in catacombs they probably know very well."

"I wouldn't mind pressing on, actually. Mon Dieu, I probably wouldn't have said that twenty minutes ago, but I admit I wouldn't mind seeing this through to the end, bloody as it may be."

"I don't necessarily disagree, but check your lantern and I'm sure you'll find we're low on oil. Once this torch goes out and the oil burns out we'll be in total darkness. And though those wererats were carrying torches with them, I can't help but wonder if they have good enough vision or an awareness that lets them get around in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't forget that the one you shot whose blood trail we are following ran into the passageway without any light. His blood trail is deliberate, and does not in any way indicate he is stumbling along through the darkness."

Gaston paled slightly at the thought of being caught in the catacombs in complete darkness, with wererats that could see easily enough. He looked at the rats scurrying around the edges of the room and realized they must be able to see somewhat in the blackness of the catacombs, why not a wererat? "Do you suppose in human form they need light just as a man would, but in their wererat form they can see well enough?"

"I don't know how well they can see in the dark, but it would seem better than we can."

"Then I've changed my mind," Gaston replied skittishly. "Let's make haste and remove ourselves from this tomb. We'll confront the innkeeper then report this entire matter to the local guard captain or provost marshal – let them deal with it!"

Navarr nodded in agreement and was about to start following the blood trail back the way they had came, when suddenly he and Gaston began to hear the sounds of booted feet echoing in two other passageways that led into the chamber. It was the distinctive sound of boot heels clicking loudly on the stone floor, and they rapidly approached.

"This isn't going to be good," Gaston grimaced.

Then both men noticed increasing amounts of light coming from the echoing passageways.

"Back the way we came," Navarr ordered and pointed with his rapier. "Run!"

Chapter IV

Gaston lead the way into the passage with Navarr right behind. Just as the two men ran out of the burial chamber, Navarr glanced over his shoulder and saw that several wererats came rushing into the room from separate passages. All of them were armed with rapiers and just a few carried torches. The ratmen never hesitated or broke stride as they rushed after the two men, and Navarr was certain he heard what sounded like hissing as they were being chased.

Gaston and Navarr backtracked through a handful of passageways and burial chambers as fast as their legs could carry them. Gaston never took a moment to look behind at their pursuing foes, instead he remained focused on the floor and the blood trail, making sure not to loose sight of it and become lost in the underground labyrinth. Navarr, taking up the rear, did take the occasional look over his shoulder. He was relieved to see that the wererats, while in their half-man and half-rat form, were not as fast as a regular man when running. They appeared to have a loping run, which obviously hindered their movement, allowing both Gaston and Navarr put some distance between themselves and their pursuers.

Gaston was a dozen paces ahead of Navarr when they entered another burial chamber in their mad dash to flee the catacombs. The room had four other passageways that led into it, and the one the companions needed to follow was on the opposite side from where they entered. Three waist high stone sarcophagi, all unadorned without carvings or unique designs, were arranged a few feet apart in the middle of room. Gaston managed to weave his way around the large obstructions and was entering the correct passageway as indicated by the blood trail Navarr, having slowed a moment to check behind them, was only approaching the first of the sarcophagi.

Just as Gaston entered into the passageway two small groups of wererats came rushing in from two of the chamber's side passages. The two groups, each consisting of three wererats, nearly collided with one another as they turned to face Navarr and affectively blocked him from following Gaston across the room.

Navarr's pace never faltered as the wererats entered the room in front of him. He continued running forward past the first sarcophagi, and then leaped up unto the second directly in front of the line of wererats. His leap caught his opponents off guard, and as he stood solidly atop the stone tomb his rapier made an amazingly fast slash along one of the wererats necks. Navarr rolled his wrist and extended his arm out slightly, thrusting his sword's point into the heart of another wererat killing it almost instantly. So fast were the two strikes from Navarr's sword that he was already withdrawing his blade from the heart of the second wererat, when the first one he struck was just bringing its hand up to its neck to stop the blood from pumping out its gashed jugular.

Then with a sweeping gesture of the torch he carried in his left hand, Navarr sent two of the ratmen on his left jumping back and away. The result of his quick actions left a large opening before him that allowed him to jump to the third sarcophagi. As soon as his feet solidly landed, Navarr spun back around with his sword slashing low and all the way across the space in front of him as he turned. His fast action struck aside the blades of two wererats that had overcome their surprise and had tried thrusting their own rapier blades into his briefly exposed back.

One wererat was dead and a second, holding his bleeding neck, collapsed near the passageway he and Gaston had used fleeing back into the room. The four remaining ratmen leaped forward all at once with frantic sword thrusts at where Navarr was standing above them, but at the last moment Navarr stepped backwards off the sarcophagi, and out of the range of their attacks.

Three of the wererats broke to the left in a mad dash to run around the sarcophagi to try and reach Navarr, while the fourth broke to the right in order to the same. Navarr noticed his best odds immediately and rushed towards the wererat on the right that was attacking alone. He met the wererat's slashing attack by using the torch to parry it, and then followed up with a shallow thrust of his rapier into the creature's abdomen. The wererat dropped its sword and clutched at its wounded belly, and Navarr tossed the torch atop the sarcophagi as he spun back around, drawing his dagger as he did so.

He turned in time to meet the attack of two wererats. The space they were in only allowed two of the three to attack at once, for which Navarr was grateful. As his rapier and dagger worked back and forth parrying the attacks of the two wererats, he noticed the third turn and began climbing atop the sarcophagi he had jumped down from just moments before. Navarr didn't like the thought of one of the ratmen having the position of higher ground, so after he beat back the attacks of either wererat he turned again and darted away. As he did so he dashed past the wererat with the wounded abdomen and sunk his dagger into the creature's side for good measure.

Instead of running around the middle sarcophagi Navarr leaped forward and across it with his right shoulder leading the way, performing a side rolling somersault across it, and coming to his feet once again on the other side. He spun in time to see the wererat that had climbed atop the sarcophagi just moments ago leap across to the middle one. Navarr slapped aside the creature's rapier that was leading his leap, and stuck his own rapier up and at the creature. Its forward momentum caused it to impale itself on Navarr's sword, and it stumbled backwards, severely wounded, and fell off the sarcophagi onto the floor. There was a loud cracking sound like a melon being smacked with a cleaver, and Navarr was sure the wererat cracked its head pretty good as it fell.

The last two wererats came at him from opposite sides around the central sarcophagi. Navarr met the closer of the two ratmen first. He traded three fast parry and reposts before stepping forward and kicking the creature in the gut when an opportunity to do so presented itself. He would have liked to finish off the wererat, but he knew he didn't have the time to do so. As the wererat went reeling away, Navarr spun around and met the other remaining creature just as a vicious slash was heading towards him. He parried the attack with his dagger but was slightly out of position to use his rapier to effectively counter attack. He did so anyway, but the wererat was able to parry the attack easily enough.

Time wasn't on his side. Navarr knew that at any moment more wererats, such as those that had been chasing after he and Gaston, could come flooding into the chamber at any moment, and he was certain the one he had kicked was recovering and about to attack him from behind. He did the only thing he could do, he pressed forward against the wererat he was facing and pushed him back with a dizzying display of thrusts and slashes. It only took a few seconds, but in doing so he opened up enough space to dart past the wererat and around the center sarcophagi, and back towards the tunnel Gaston had fled down.

Navarr only ran into the dark passageway a few strides before he realized he didn't have a torch and stopped and turned back around. The two wererats were fast on his heels, but it didn't matter, because by facing them together in the tunnel he could deal with them both in front of him, and not have to worry about one being able to sneak around behind him. He only hoped his actions were giving Gaston time enough to escape the tombs and reach safety, and that other wererats wouldn't sneak up behind him in the passageway while he dealt with the two before him.

Two wererats stood side by side and came at Navarr hard as they pressed their attack in tandem. Navarr retreated half a step, taking himself a little further out of their reach as he easily beat their blades aside. He stood directly in the center of the passageway as his blades danced back and forth with ease against his opponents. Within a few seconds he found the rhythm of his attackers, and soon began the dance of dodges, parries and counterstrikes.

Navarr was faster on all accounts.

With a roll of his wrist Navarr's rapier went from parrying a thrust underneath his foe's blade, to suddenly being on top. Then with a thrust of his own, Navarr used his opponent's own rapier to guide his own straight into the wererat's heart. At the same time Navarr used his dagger to parry the attack of the other wererat, who was slowing down considerably from the exertion of fighting. The wererat he had just run through stood still for a moment as shock and realization sunk in, and then the creature slowly slumped backward and stopped moving.

Navarr pressed forward on the last wererat, who was trying to disengage and retreat away from the man who had just killed five of his companions. Navarr wouldn't allow it however, and before a dozens seconds passed the last wererat was bleeding from a handful of small slashes and puncture wounds. The creature lowered his sword for just an instance, and Navarr stabbed forward quickly with his rapier striking the creature in the chest. Navarr felt the sharp point is his blade scrape and deflect off a rib bone before pushing through more flesh and into the creature's lungs.

Navarr stepped back and withdrew his sword. The wererat just stood there looking back at him as its sword fell from its hand and clattered to the stone floor. It was as good as dead. Both Navarr and the wererat knew it. Then slowly the wererat fell to the stone floor.

Navarr wasted no time looking over the results of his sword-work. He could hear the approaching sounds of more wererats in the catacombs, and was fairly certain it must be the large group that had initially started the chase several chambers further back. Without further ado Navarr grabbed the torch he had discarded atop the sarcophagi and immediately rushed off after Gaston, hoping he would be able to catch-up to the other man and find him safe.

The next two burial chambers the blood-trail passed through had no sign of Gaston or wererats for that matter. Navarr pressed on, his breathing coming more labored from all the running and swordplay. He noticed his torch was not burning as brightly as it was before, and wished he had taken a newer one from one the wererats he had recently killed. The last thing he wanted was to be killed, but after that the next least thing he wanted was to be stuck in the catacombs without any light.

Navarr was passing through another burial chamber and guessing he was two-thirds of the way back towards the first chamber where he and Gaston had initially encountered the wererats, when he heard sounds coming from the passageway ahead of him. The blood-trail lead into the passageway in question, and Navarr charged ahead faster than ever, certain that Gaston had gotten himself cornered or captured, and hoping that he wasn't too late to help.

Like all the passageways, the one Navarr now ran down had gradual curves in them making it impossible to see directly from one chamber to the next. This passageway in particular was longer than the others he had been in, and Navarr remembered it distinctively because it had one sharp curve in particular that was close to the chamber he was approaching. Because he remembered the passageway, he knew for a fact that the stairs leading up to the room in the inn was about a minute away by hard running. He just hoped that whatever he found in the next chamber he would be able to overcome and still make good an escape with Gaston.

Rounding the sharp corner in the passageway, Navarr ran a dozen more feet and entered the burial chamber. There was enough commotion going on in the room that his fast approach was not noticed as he came to a skidding halt. Quickly taking in the scene before him, Navarr noted a burial chamber was void of stone sarcophagi, and across the room with their backs towards him were four more wererats. They had Gaston cornered and appeared to be toying with him as they playfully thrust at him with their rapiers. Gaston had his own sword in hand and was slapping away their attacks as best he could. Navarr also noted his companion appeared to have a minor wound in his left arm. The only other light in the room was coming from Gaston's lamp, which he still held onto.

Navarr could see Gaston's face and noted the man didn't appear afraid, but rather an expression of firm resolve crossed the other man's face. The expression was one that he often saw on men who knew their time was coming to and end, but wanted to make the most of it and die with honor.

Then Gaston saw him from across the room.

"It's about time!" Gaston shouted.

The wererats that had Gaston cornered noticed their prey's eyes focus on something behind them as he spoke, and they all quickly glanced over their shoulders. They noticed too late, however, as Navarr was already making his attack. He thrust his rapier into the side of one wererat and was smashing his failing torch onto the skull of another. At the same time Gaston used the distraction to run his sword through one of his other attackers. Both wererats that were pierced by blades went scurrying away while the one Navarr smashed with his torch simply crumbled to the floor.

Navarr stepped back, drew his parrying dagger and parried an attack by the forth wererat. He easily parried two more attacks with his rapier as he noticed Gaston facing off against one of the wounded wererats that was coming back into the fight. Navarr riposted after parrying the very next attack and scored a vicious gash on his foes sword arm. The wound was severe enough that his opponent was unable to hold his sword and dropped it. Just as the wererat was turning to flee, Navarr expertly used the end of his blade and slashed a deeper gash along the creature's left leg hamstring. The wererat collapsed when it put weight on the wounded leg, and Navarr stepped forward and thrust his sword into the creature's heart.

Navarr accessed the rest of the room and noted one of the wounded wererats must have gotten away. The one that Navarr had hit with the torch was still unconscious on the floor, he had just killed the one that had not been wounded in his and Gaston's initial attacks, and the last wererat left in the room was one that either he or Gaston had wounded moments ago, that was now battling with Gaston.

Navarr stood back and let Gaston fight his foe alone, knowing his companion was capable of dealing with the creature, but also because he knew Gaston needed the victory and the self-confidence.

Gaston, with his lamp in one hand and his rapier in the other, danced back and forth with the wounded wererat. Their swords flashed back and forth between each other a half dozen times as they gauged each other's defenses. Suddenly, Gaston stepped into his opponent and used the lamp to parry his foe's attack with a sweeping gesture, while at the same time he managed a counter thrust with his own sword that struck the wererat in the shoulder. The wererat jumped back from the sting of the wound, but Gaston stayed on him by following up his wounding strike with a series of more attacks. The wererat was barely managing to parry Gaston's attacks, and certainly was unable to counter attack, when finally Gaston managed to sink another piercing thrust into the creature, this time to the side of his chest.

With a squeak, like a normal sized rat would make, but much louder, the wererat stumbled and fell to the floor. It was having trouble breathing as Gaston's blade undoubtedly pieced a lung. Just as Gaston was about to finish him off with a killing thrust, the wererat dropped his sword and held up his hand in surrender, then quickly fell over as it passed out.

Gaston relaxed never delivering the last blow, instead he immediately turned to face Navarr.

"Where were you?" he fumed. "I thought you were behind me? They had me cornered and all I could do was hope and pray you would soon come along and offer some aid. But I feared you dead and gone and my end soon to follow."

Navarr shrugged slightly. "A few chambers back just as you were running into the next passage, six wererats came dashing in from two others and blocked me from following."

"Six?" Gaston asked incredulously.

"I had to deal with them before continuing after you."

"You fought and defeated six by yourself?"

"Yes."

"And your not even wounded," Gaston said with a flippant gesture to his own wounded arm. "If you can so easily dispatch that many by yourself then why are we running away?"

Just then the familiar sounds of the wererat horde could be once again heard fast approaching.

"Because that sounds like at least a score of those damn things," Navarr said grimly. "That's more than we can handle at once."

Navarr gestured for Gaston to continue following the blood-trail, but Gaston waved him off.

"They came at me from the passageway ahead," Gaston said urgently, "and then forced me back into this chamber here. There were more than these four, however; at least twice that number and I suspect more in the chambers beyond, though I know not where they went. They have us cut off from the inn, I'm sure of it."

Navarr nodded in understanding. The wererats knew he and Gaston were in the catacombs and they knew they had come from the Blue Sparrow Inn. There was also no doubt the wererats knew the catacombs quite well, and Navarr was sure they hade more of their numbers in the passages ahead to try and stop Gaston and himself from getting back to the Inn. He was certain the creatures didn't care about the money Gaston carried, at least not anymore. What they were after now was revenge for the deaths of their fallen comrades.

"This way," Navarr said as he gestured towards the third passageway in the room.

Gaston didn't argue as he ran into the indicated passageway. Navarr was right behind and didn't want to get to far away from his companion, as Gaston had the lantern, which was now their only source of light. They ran down the passageway at a steady pace but not as fast as they had been moving before, as the last several minutes of continuous running and fighting was starting to take a toll on them. Both men knew that without the blood-trail to guide them they would be at the mercy of the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers that made up the catacombs.

They entered another burial chamber much the same as all the others before, with multiple passageways and the all too familiar notched walls holding dust and bones. Gaston halted and turned to ask Navarr which of the three other passageways they should take when he heard the strange whispering voice once again.

_"This way_ ," the voice said, and it sounded like it came from the passageway on the right.

Gaston immediately set off in that direction and Navarr followed. The passage was narrower than the others they had been in, and curved slightly to the left as they ran down its length. Eventually it ended in another room, but instead of a typical burial chamber they entered into a large square gallery.

Both men stopped abruptly as they came into the chamber. There were two rows of sarcophagi that extended before them, each row containing seven of the stone coffins. But what really caught their attention were the dusty skeletal remains that were intact and lined the walls all the way around the room, with strands of old spider webbing cross-crossing back and forth over them. There were easily a hundred of them. The corpses no doubt were positioned standing up when they were first brought into the large tomb centuries ago, with their arms crossed and heads hanging down or resting on either shoulder, and they were tightly packed next to each other side by side. Over the many years their earthly remains decayed and rotted away, leaving to be seen today just their skeletal bones. There were smaller skeletal remains as well, obviously belonging to children, that were standing up and leaning back against the larger ones. Some of the skeletons still had pieces of clothing hanging from their bony remains.

"If I never see anything like this again I will die happy," Gaston commented softly at the eerie sight. A Sudden shiver wracked his body and his next breath came as shudder.

The companions made their way into the hall, walking between the rows of sarcophagi, while the vacant eye sockets of a hundred skeletons gazed onward. It was incredibly unsettling to be surrounded by so many dead, and both men couldn't help but feel a little uneasy, especially considering how their night started with the whispering words of a ghostly voice.

They were halfway through the chamber when suddenly Gaston stopped walking and turned to the side. "Did you see that?" he murmured as he pointed at one of the skeletons. He noticed his arm and hand was shaking slightly and quickly lowered it.

"See what?" Navarr replied. He eyed his companion oddly then looked at the skeleton in question.

"It moved."

"Stop it," Navarr scolded. "You're seeing things and frightening yourself. And if you keep it up you'll start frightening me as well."

"I know what I saw," Gaston said emphatically.

"Do you really?"

"I think so, yes."

Navarr shook his head absently at Gaston and quickly looked away with a slight scowl. It was Navarr's way of telling the other man that any further comments on the subject should be kept to himself. Then he turned his attention back towards the burial gallery. "I don't see another passageway out."

That got Gaston's attention and he began to turn all about looking at the walls, holding his lantern up high to shine as much light as possible. Everywhere he looked the skeletons were lined up against the walls, with the exception being the tunnel that he and Navarr had just come from.

"Damn-it," Navarr cursed.

"What is it?"

"They're coming."

Then Gaston heard the distant sound of the wererat horde coming from the passageway and he understood at once. They had nowhere to run.

They were trapped.

Chapter V

"It didn't take them long to realize we didn't continue following the blood trail back to the inn," Navarr said.

"Then it's a fight," Gaston replied somberly. "I wish we had brought our saddle bags with us or at least the powder and shot to reload our pistols."

"You don't have your pistol. You threw it at one of those wererats shortly after you fired it."

"Damn, your right."

Then both men noticed the light from the lamp became a little less bright. The oil that fueled it was starting to burn low. Both men shared a knowing glance, understanding that their situation just went from bad to worse. However low their chances of survival were against the wererats fast approaching, without light on their side to see and fight they were certainly doomed.

Navarr stepped back towards the passageway and readied both his rapier and dagger by performing a few slashing and thrusting moves. He was certain they both faced death in the near emanate future, but he planned to take as many of the wererats to the grave as he possibly could.

"Come," Navarr said. "By the sounds of it they're getting close. We should face them well inside the passageway to nullify their numbers they can press against us. The tunnel will also help focus what little light we'll have left. Let's hope enough of their numbers are carrying torches and we can get our hands on one."

"Wait a moment, what's that there?" Gaston pointed to the ceiling above one of the sarcophagi at the center of the gallery.

The ceiling, like the walls of the chamber, was obscured in spider webs that in turn were full of dust. The ceiling in particular was nearly covered from the dusty webbing and hidden, but Navarr could make out the square outline of something that was there beyond the webs.

"It could be a trapdoor," Navarr reasoned. "Come on, we don't have much time."

Navarr ran over to the sarcophagi directly below the hidden shape and jumped up onto it. He quickly sheathed both of his weapons. Gaston was there in an instant and sheathed his blade as well. Navarr leaned down and offered the other man a hand and pulled him up beside him. Even on top of the stone coffin the ceiling was four feet out of their reach.

The wererat horde drew nearer. By the sounds of it they were in the next burial chamber over.

"Sit yourself up on my shoulder's," Gaston said as he dropped down to one knee.

Navarr did as instructed, and as soon as he was in place Gaston stood back up with a grunt. The Duke had strong legs and offered a solid perch for Navarr, who was now able to reach the ceiling with arms only half way stretched out above him. With haste Navarr started brushing away the cobwebs and found what did in fact look like a trapdoor. It was made of thick looking oak planks, old and tarnished, and appeared to open upwards into whatever space there was above.

"It's a door alright," Navarr exclaimed. He gave the door a shove and it cracked open slightly but then slammed back shut. "We're in luck. It's not locked but it opens upward and something heavy seems to be holding it closed."

"Can you force it open?"

"Best brace yourself, I'm about to try."

Navarr pushed up with all his might and could feel Gaston underneath him tense up from the added weight being exerting down onto him. Gaston managed to stand firm, and Navarr was able to push the trapdoor up and open. The hinges on the other side of the door could be heard squeaking loudly, and then there was a loud crash as whatever was sitting on the door above was pushed over. The open door above looked ominously dark, and from Navarr's vantage point he couldn't see anything beyond.

"I need the lamp," Navarr said.

Gaston handed it up to him, though a bit reluctant at first to do so. The gallery became much darker as Navarr took the lamp and held it aloft. Navarr still couldn't see any better what was on the other side of the trapdoor. He was going to need to climb up to investigate.

"We need to hurry!" Gaston grimaced under Navarr's weight, as the sounds from the approaching wererat horde grew suddenly louder. "They're coming down the passageway!"

Navarr reached up through the trapdoor and set the lantern down inside the room above. The gallery of the skeletons got very dark at that moment, with just a sliver of light filtering down from above. Gaston sucked in an audible breath as the icy grip of fear wrapped around his heart. Then suddenly the weight from Navarr on his shoulders shifted slightly and was gone. Looking up, Gaston could see that Navarr had pulled himself up through the trapdoor.

Navarr disappeared from sight for just a moment then reappeared in the trapdoor opening, reaching down with both arms. Just then the gallery became brighter as the host of wererats came running into the room, some carrying torches.

"Jump!" Navarr shouted, as he saw the wererats rushing forward with their swords and claws ready to kill.

Gaston did just that, with arms reaching up, and both men grabbed on to the other by the arms. As soon as Navarr had a solid grip he wasted no time and starting to pull with all his might. The dead weight of Gaston was a lot for Navarr to lift straight up, and he let go of one of Gaston's arms to grip the other with both of his hands. He began to pull with all his might as he twisted and rolled his torso over, trying to get as much leverage as he could to lift the Duke up towards the trapdoor. It wasn't easy, as his sheathed rapier hilt was in the way and digging into his side.

The wererats were climbing atop the sarcophagi just as Gaston was lifted high enough where his arms were inside the edge of the trapdoor. Gaston was holding himself aloft when Navarr let go of his one arm and reached over to grab him by the doublet. With another hard pull, Navarr was able to pull Gaston's torso through the opening. Once the bulk of his frame was through the trapdoor, Gaston was able to pull and crawl himself forward and all the way through.

They managed to escape the burial gallery below at the last possible instant, and as Navarr looked down through the trapdoor he could see a score of the wererats swarming madly with red hate-filled eyes looking up at him. A few of the creatures were on top of the sarcophagi with weapons jabbing and slashing upwards, but their reach even with their rapiers came at least a foot short.

Navarr slammed the trapdoor shut then got to his feet and started dusting himself off. Gaston was doing the same when he looked at Navarr with a smile.

"It doesn't come much closer than that, eh?" Gaston said euphorically. He was glad to still be alive.

"I thought the mysterious voice had led us astray when it led us into the room below."

"I did as well. But the trapdoor was our escape. I'm glad I spotted it, else things could be very different for us right now."

Navarr nodded in agreement, then picked up the lantern and held it up to get a better look around the room they were in. The place looked like a cellar or storage room. The walls were made of large fieldstones and mortar, and were mostly lined with wooden shelves holding crates of bottles and small wooden casks. It looked like several crates had been stacked atop the trapdoor and that was what had been knocked over when Navarr forced it open. Along one wall was a wooden staircase that led up to a narrow wooden landing and a large wood door. The door looked very heavy and strong, with metal bands across it to help reinforce its construction. The frame the door was set into was stone.

Navarr pulled one of the bottles from a crate and examined it. "Chateau LaFleur Twenty-two," he read aloud. It was tightly corked and sealed with wax. Then, holding the base of the bottle Navarr struck the head and neck against a section of the wall, shattering the top. Carefully he took a few sips, careful to not let the broken glass touch his lips, which of course caused some of the wine to dribble down his chin.

"What do you have there?" asked Gaston, as he walked over to Navarr.

"A merlot."

Gaston took the bottle as Navarr offered it and took a drink in much the same way as Navarr had done to avoid cutting his lips. He paused between a few swallows and frowned darkly.

"This tastes terrible," Gaston lamented. Then he took a few more sips and paused again, then took a few more even longer sips.

At that moment the trapdoor suddenly opened halfway and both companions turned and saw a wererat head peaking up through the opening directly at them. Navarr grabbed another bottle of wine and threw it at the wererat's head, hitting him soundly with a thump followed by a load squeak. The wererat disappeared back down and the trapdoor slammed closed.

"You better stand atop that door," Navarr suggested as he turned and walked towards the stairway.

"What you are going to do?"

"I'm going to see if we can get out through that metal banded door."

As Gaston stood on top of the trapdoor Navarr climbed the stairs and examined the door. There was no knob or handle, and no locking mechanism that Navarr could see. He tried first to push it open with his hands, then, when it didn't budge, he put his shoulder into it and pushed harder but still without any luck.

Gaston gasped loudly as the trapdoor pushed up abruptly just a few inches then slammed back shut under his weight. He didn't loose his balance, but was surprised by the sudden jolt of force. Then it happened once again with a lot more force, sending Gaston stumbling back and off the door. The trapdoor was open several inches, but Gaston wasn't on the open side of the door so he couldn't see what exactly was going on in the opening below. He jumped back atop the trapdoor with all his weight with both feet at once, slamming it shut once again, which was followed by another angry squeak from the other side.

Then the lantern light started to dim every so slowly and the room began to grow darker by the second. Navarr gave the lantern a little shake but it didn't help any. The lantern was finally running out of oil and soon they would be in total darkness. He turned and pounded on the heavy door with his gloved fist repeatedly.

"Some help here, if you please," Gaston called with a shaky tone.

Navarr turned and saw in the fading light that the other man was on his hands and knees atop the trapdoor. Every few seconds the door would push open few inches only to slam back down instantly from Gaston's weight. Navarr rushed back down the stairs and set the quickly fading lantern down next to Gaston and the trap door. Then he went and started pulling crates off the shelves. His intent was to try and stack as many of the crates atop the door as was possible before the lamp completely died out. He hoped with enough crates on top the weight would be enough to keep the wererats from opening the trapdoor.

The lantern suddenly went out just as Navarr was setting another crate into place next to Gaston and the door. The darkness was so thick he couldn't see his hands in front of his face. It wasn't as bad as it had felt down in the catacombs, however, when they had voluntarily extinguished their lights to hide from their would-be attackers. But neither were they surrounded by the dead like they were before, which would make anybody feel out of sorts.

Both men kept completely still, and for several moments there was nothing but complete darkness and silence in the wine cellar. Then suddenly there was pounding on the other side of the trap door and it began to rise and slam back shut again. Every time it rose up a few inches some torch light from the room below would briefly and every so vaguely illuminate the immediate area of the cellar. Then suddenly the trapdoor lurched up with a great deal of force and twice as high as before, nearly sending Gaston reeling backwards and away. But then it slammed back down again and this time Navarr joined Gaston atop it, both of them on their hands and knees.

"Sacrebleu!" Gaston exclaimed. "This is intolerable! Are we to die like this?"

There was more pounding at the trap door and a few more attempts to push it open, but then it suddenly stopped. Once again Navarr and Gaston were surrounded by the darkness and silence. They held perfectly still yet incredibly tense waiting for the next jolt, hoping it wouldn't be enough to send them scattering away.

Then there was a loud chorus of squeaks and commotion that suddenly sounded from the other side of the trapdoor. Navarr and Gaston kept still and listened with interest, unsure of what was happening. It sounded like the wererats had turned on themselves, as the sounds of high pitched squeaks and squeals, accompanied by loud crashes and clanking rapiers rose up from below in a loud cacophony. It had all the sounds of a terrible melee. Then it started to slowly subside, and then moments later other sounds could be heard, like that of subtle clicks and muted rattles. Then too those sounds faded away and all was once again silent.

"What do you think just happened down there?" Gaston whispered.

"No doubt it was the sounds of a skirmish," Navarr whispered back. "The place is probably littered with the shattered remains of those skeletons."

Both men listened for several more moments but there were no other sounds that broke the silence. The trapdoor no longer jumped up below them, but all the same they remained firmly in place and kept waiting, and listening.

"We should open this door and take a look below," Navarr said at last, feeling a little curious.

"I'd rather not," Gaston replied hesitantly. "But we've come this far, so we may as well see things through."

Both men moved to the side and off the trapdoor. Then Navarr lifted the door, and flickering torchlight from below gently illuminated up. Looking down into the gallery below, Navarr and Gaston could see that wererat corpses littered the entire area. Red pools of blood were starting to collect around many of the bodies, and there was also red stains smeared along the tops of many sarcophagi. It was a scene depicting a massacre, and it looked like a thorough one at that, as Navarr counted no less than twenty-four wererat bodies littered around the room.

The most bizarre thing however, considering the amount of commotion that was overheard just minutes before, and the way the wererat bodies were strewn about the place, was that none of the skeletons lined up about the room were damaged or altered from their positions. They all stood, as they were last seen by Navarr and Gaston, still and silent.

"Do you believe me now?" Gaston asked confidently, as he pointed to the scene below.

"Believe what?" Navarr countered coyly, as he already knew what his companion was getting at.

"I told you earlier I saw one of those skeletons move, and I bet if we went down there and examined those wererat corpses we would find their wounds oddly peculiar."

"Perhaps you should go down and check then."

Gaston blanched at the suggestion. "I think not," he replied, hoping the other man was joking.

Just then there was a low pitched scrapping and rumbling sound that was coming from the corner of the room, where the stairs and the other door were located. Navarr and Gaston, still kneeling at the side of the trapdoor, turned to face the noise, their hands going to their sword hilts. The far side of the room was pitch-black, as not enough light from the opened trapdoor was coming through to illuminate the room.

Then the door at the top of the stairs opened wide and light from beyond softly filled the room. Seconds later two men stepped inside and stood at the top of the stairs holding lanterns. They immediately spotted Navarr and Gaston. Then their eyes noted many of the crates in the cellar had been moved about, and more importantly they noticed the crates that had been knocked over with broken bottles of wine. Neither of the men was armed with swords or pistols, but they both gripped short cudgels and appeared ready to use them. They eyed Navarr and Gaston suspiciously.

"I take it this is your cellar?" Navarr asked, as both he and Gaston got to their feet.

"That it is," said one of the two men. He looked to be in his later years, perhaps past sixty, but still robust in voice and stature. He had the look of authority that came with ownership, while the younger man at his side was probably a lackey or manservant.

"This is my vineyard's warehouse and storage cellar. What are you doing down here," asked the older man.

"We mean no harm," Navarr replied. "We happened upon the catacombs below and used this trapdoor here as a means to escape."

Both men seamed to relax as the explanation made sense when they considered the scene before them. After all, there was no other way into the cellar besides through the main door, which had been securely barred from the other side. They both walked down the stairs and approached the two companions.

"I haven't had that trapdoor open for a dozen years or more," the older man said as he came to stand before Navarr and Gaston. "Always kept its existence to myself. As far as I know it was one of just a few entrances to the tombs underneath the town."

"I'd suggest you keep it closed," Gaston replied dryly.

"Agreed," Navarr said, as he bent down and gently closed the trapdoor, affectively blocking the view below from the two men. "I'd say you have a bit of a rat problem in this town," he added, standing back up.

Gaston couldn't help but chuckle at his companion's remark.

"Rats? Not in this cellar," replied the old man. "My humble vineyard may not produce a large vintage but I keep it clear from rodents and other vermin."

"Not to change the subject," Gaston said, "but do you know the innkeeper at the Blue Sparrow Inn?"

"That I do," the old vineyard owner replied with a frown as he shared a knowing look with the younger man at his side. "He's a foul individual, not to be trusted. If you have business with him be advised to do so carefully. I refuse to sell him any of my wine. I'll not have anything to do with that man."

"We'll certainly take that into consideration," Navarr replied. "In fact we should be going. It just so happens that we have an appointment with him that he doesn't even know about, but one that I would hate to miss."

Navarr's comment drew confused looks from both of the other men.

"Here let me pay you something for your troubles," Gaston said nonchalantly, as he stepped forward while opening his coin purse. He counted out five gold _pistole_ and placed them all in the older man's hand.

"Thank you, monsieur," the vineyard owner replied sincerely, as he looked down smiling at the gold coins he held in his open hand.

Navarr and Gaston began to walk towards the stairs when suddenly Gaston stopped and looked about curiously. Then he turned back to the vineyard owner, who continued to look at his palm full of coins.

"Does all of this wine in your cellar have the Chateau LaFleur Twenty-two label?" Gaston asked.

"Yes, it does."

Gaston promptly reached over and plucked two of the five coins from the man's hand, much to the shock of the vineyard owner, who looked at Gaston with a confused expression.

"Let's be honest, now," Gaston said matter-of-factly, "your wine is not that good."

Then Gaston went to the stairs and with a brisk pace trotted up them and through the door. He found Navarr standing just on the other side waiting for him. There was a lantern hanging from a hook that extended out from a large floor post. Navarr was standing near the light with his rapier in hand as he examined up and down the length of the blade. Gaston gave his younger companion a warm smile, feeling much like his old self before the night events. He was glad for the warm glow of the lantern light and that he wasn't stuck on the dark cellar, or even worse, the blackness of the catacombs.

Navarr nodded towards a large open doorway across the warehouse that was large enough for a few horse and carts to pass through. Outside the large doors there was the faint light of sunrise. Gaston knew the sun wasn't up past the horizon just yet, but soon would be.

"We've unfinished business with the innkeeper," Navarr said evenly as he sheathed his sword.

Gaston couldn't disagree, as he wanted some answers from the innkeeper just as much as Navarr did. He had to admit to himself, he was looking forward to seeing the innkeepers face when both he and Navarr walked into the inn through the front door. Much would be told by the innkeeper's reaction at that moment, and Gaston didn't want to miss it for anything.

"When we're through with the innkeeper and before we leave town there is something we must do," Gaston said. He knew that Navarr was probably going to want to leave town and get back on the road as soon as possible. The Queen was waiting for their arrival a few days hence, after all.

"What's that?" Navarr asked as he started walking for the large door.

"We need to stop by the local church and tell them of the bone pile we found. Those poor souls deserve some sort of proper burial."

Navarr stopped and turned back to face Gaston. He nodded his head in agreement. "The Queen can wait." Then he turned and began walking for the exit once more.

Gaston stood there and watched the younger man go. He recalled his mounting hope, just a few days prior, for a little excitement in his otherwise boring life of being a nobleman and the brother to the Queen. The evening's excitement really wasn't what he had in mind, but Gaston had to admit to himself it was going to give him a very interesting story to tell.

He smiled to himself then jogged to catch up with Navarr.

Chapter VI

Navarr and Gaston were having a difficult time finding their way back to the Blue Sparrow Inn amid the many winding and twisting streets of Tulle-sur-Mer. Luckily along the way they caught the smell of fresh baking bread that led them to a small bakery. The shop wasn't open yet, but the baker and a few assistants was there preparing their pastries, pies, and breads for the coming day. After some incessant knocking at the bakery's locked front door, the owner eventually came forward and bargained directions for the purchase of some of his baked goods.

The two companions walked away from the bakery with detailed instructions through the mazelike streets, as well as half a dozen warm pastries. They ate the pastries quickly as they made their way towards the inn.

The baker's directions proved true, and within several minutes they found themselves approaching the Blue Sparrow Inn from the opposite direction they had come the night before. As the two men drew closer to the front of the stone building they both noticed the young boy who had tended to their horses the night before. He was sitting down crossed legged outside the inn's door.

Both men also noticed the door was ajar several inches.

The boy saw their approach right away and watched as they came closer. He had the same expressionless countenance as the night before. He didn't appear at all concerned and remained sitting. Both men watched the young boy closely for any telltale signs of apprehension, but saw none.

Gaston whispered to Navarr, "He's either unaware of the landlords dark schemes, or perhaps he's an imbecile and doesn't realize he should be fleeing from us."

Navarr didn't bother to answer. They would find out soon enough. A few moments later they stood at the front of the inn and before the boy.

"Boy, is the landlord within?" Navarr asked. He looked from the boy to the open door of the inn, half expected the grisly looking innkeeper to appear.

"I do not know, monsieur," the boy replied. "When I arrived at first light the door was as you see it there. The innkeeper doesn't like me being inside without his being present. After I called inside for him with no response I decided to sit here to wait."

"He's not your father then?" Gaston asked.

"Oh, no monsieur. I live with my mother and little sister. My mother is a seamstress at one of the shops in the square just east of here. My father abandoned us when he ran off years ago. He's not ever been seen or heard from since."

"That's very fortunate," Gaston replied with a firm nod.

The boy looked up at Gaston with a furrowed brown, clearly wondering why he was fortunate for his father having run off.

Navarr shook his head and gave Gaston a stern look. "Sorry lad, but my friend means to say that it's fortunate the innkeeper is not your father."

Gaston's eyes widened slightly as he realized his error. "Yes, of course. It's a terrible thing for your father to have abandoned your family. That's not at all fortunate... well, probably not, anyway."

Gaston reached into his coin purse and produced a coin. He quickly tossed it to the boy with a shrug, as his way of further making an apology. The boy caught it and his eyes lit up as he turned the coin over in his hand. It was more money than he and his mother would earn in a month.

"You should go find your mother, boy," Navarr said, looking back at the inn's open door.

"He's quite right," Gaston agreed. "Go find your mother. We have some business inside with the landlord. Odds are he'll not likely have need of your services after this day."

The boy didn't have to be told anything further. He jumped up and was running off with the _pistole_ clenched tightly in his hand, eager to show his mother.

Both men watched the boy disappear from sight. As soon as he was gone Navarr nudged Gaston and drew his rapier as he turned for the inn's door. Gaston drew his rapier as well and followed.

Both men stepped inside but stopped short after a few paces to listen and look around. There was a minimal amount of light filtering into the inn's common room from the barred windows set about the outside walls, but it was just enough to see by. Slowly the two companions moved further into the room, weaving about the many tables and chairs that were located all about. They were keenly alert, expecting at any moment more wererats to come rushing into the room from some shadow-obscured location, or from the hallway down which the inn's rooms were located.

Both men quickly made a search of the common room and the kitchen but found no signs of the innkeeper or a place where he would be able to hide. Both men shared knowing glances, thinking that more than likely the innkeeper disappeared when the night's events had not gone as planned.

Gaston gestured towards the hallway where the inn's rooms were located, as they had not searched there yet. Navarr nodded and headed that way.

The hallway was darker than the rest of the inn, as no outside walls were located there with light shining in. It didn't stop the two companions however, as the rooms themselves each had a barred window. As Gaston guarded the hallway, Navarr quickly searched each room. They moved from one room to the next, making sure each room was cleared and not hiding the innkeeper before moving on to the next. One of the rooms in the middle of the hall was obviously being used on a day to day basis, as it contained dirty dishes, dirty clothes strewn about, an unmade bed, and had a smoldering fire still burning in the fireplace. Both men agreed it was most certainly the room the innkeeper used. The other rooms they searched were all clean and well kept.

So far there was no sign of the innkeeper.

Finally they came to the last room in the hallway, the very room they had been in the night before. The door was open, with the cross bar on the inside that Navarr had made secure hours earlier having been lifted away. Neither man could tell if the bar had been removed from inside the room or from the outside, but both suspected that the innkeeper probably had a way of removing the bar from the hallway. It was also possible that during the maddening chase below in the catacombs that one or more of the wererats had come to their room by means of the secret door in search of them, and unbolted the door at that time. Either way it really didn't matter.

The room was pitch black inside, as it had no window, as did the other rooms, and the fire that had been burning hours earlier in the hearth had long gone out.

"I'd feel more comfortable if we had some light before going in there," Gaston said quietly as he peered past the door into the black void beyond.

"Agreed," Navarr replied with a look and a nod.

Both men backtracked down the long hallway. Standing in the common room, Navarr kept a close watch down the hall while Gaston searched for a source of portable light. Gaston didn't find anything readily available in the common room so then headed for the kitchen. After a few minutes he emerged from the kitchen with a small glass lamp, its oil soaked wick lit and giving off a soft glow.

The two men wasted no time and headed back down the hallway and into their room. Inside they found their personal belongings they had left behind strewn about the room. The secret door was once again shut.

They had come back to the inn searching for the innkeeper and challenge him regarding his obvious involvement in the nefarious activities taking place. Instead they found the inn deserted.

"Where could he be?" Gaston asked a bit perturbed.

Navarr shrugged, "He must have learned that things didn't go as he usually planned. He's obviously fled the city or escaped to the catacombs."

"I am profoundly disappointed," Gaston said with a huff. "I was really looking forward to giving that scoundrel a piece of my mind before hauling him to the magistrate."

"I would prefer to give him several inches of cold steel through his heart," Navarr stated grimly.

"I've never thought myself capable of a cold-blooded action such as that, but I must admit the thought appeals to me when I think about that pile of bones we found."

"Before locating a priest about the discarded remains in the catacombs, we should inform the local authorities of what occurred here. Perhaps our innkeeper will show himself again and be apprehended."

Navarr sheathed his sword and began gathering his items. He picked up his hat from the floor and dusted it off before putting on. Gaston wasted no time and quickly followed suite. As both men collected their few belongings and stuffed them back into their saddle bags, Navarr noticed a piece of paper sitting on the table in the room with writing on it. He picked it up and moved closer to Gaston and the lantern he carried.

"Look here," Navarr prompted, showing the letter to Gaston.

They both examined the letter together.

It would be best for you to watch your back. Not today nor tomorrow, but at some later time and place of my choosing I will extract revenge for what you've done to my brothers and me. Don't think that I will not, for I recognized you as the Duke de Bouford immediately when you came through my inn's front door. Your henchman I do not know, but where I find you I suspect he'll be close by. You'll both pay in blood for what you've done.

Your Once and Future Host

Navarr glanced sideways at Gaston and saw the man's face pale as the words from the letter sunk in.

"Oh dear," Gaston said as he wrung his hands in worry.

"It would appear we've made an enemy for life."

"My fear is that now my life will not be so long," Gaston shot back.

"You seriously think this is the first person you've encountered that would like to see you dead?"

"Yes. Wait, what do you mean?" Gaston asked uncertainly, suspecting Navarr knew something he didn't.

"You're the Queen's brother after all. Certainly you know she has enemies, and anybody who would see her ruined would see her entire family much the same."

"Why me? I've no claim to the throne? Her son is the direct descendant of the late king and would inherit."

"That doesn't matter. Her enemies and the enemies of Rennardy are also your enemies. And trust me, Rennardy has many. As an agent of the Queen I can attest to that with firsthand knowledge."

Gaston paused to think about what Navarr was saying for a moment. After a moment his brow furrowed.

"So you're telling me I shouldn't be overly concerned with adding another enemy to the many I already have?"

"Precisely," Navarr replied with a shrug. "You lived this long without issue, what is one more enemy?

"Yet before now I didn't even know I had so many enemies. If you're trying to make me feel better about the innkeeper you failed horribly by light of the larger detail you provided."

Again Navarr shrugged.

"Now you've given me much to think about."

"Come," Navarr said. "Let's go find our mounts and take care of the remaining business we have in this town. You can dwell on your recent revelations while we are on the road. We still have a few more days of travel ahead of us and the Queen is waiting for your arrival."

"Yes, let's make haste. I'm more eager than ever to get this inn and this town far behind us," Gaston agreed.

From the shaded doorway of a small herbalist shop two men looked on with much interest as Navarr and Gaston rode towards Tulle-sur-Mer's northern gate. It was midday and the northern square inside the gate was active with people milling about. Several merchant carts laden with produce were passing through the narrow gate into the city, as well as other country folk coming into the town to do business. The two companions had moved their horses to the side and waited for the gate traffic to clear before passing through.

One of the observers was the innkeeper from the Blue Sparrow Inn. He was wearing a dark travel cloak with its hood pulled low hiding much of his face. He had glaring eyes that seethed with hate as he watched Navarr and Gaston intently. The night's events had not gone as usual. Scores of his wererat brothers had been killed, some of them slashed and pierced by rapiers, but many more by means he couldn't identify. He himself had been forced into hiding, and his precious inn was no longer a safe haven. His life as a quiet innkeeper, and his secret life as guild leader to a den a wererat thieves, had come quickly to an end.

And he blamed the two men he watched from afar.

"I want them followed," the innkeeper said to the other observer at his side. "I don't want them to be suspicious of you, so keep your distance and watch them and learn what you can. I want to learn as much as possible about the younger man in particular. I don't know who he is, but I suspect he's more than a guard or lackey in service to the Duke."

The other man nodded, "That could take time and many coins. The time I have available, the coins I do not." He was dressed in a worn leather doublet and carried a rapier. His features were dark and he had a narrow scar that ran along his left jaw line.

The innkeeper produced a bulging coin purse from beneath his cloak and handed it to the other man.

"See to it," the innkeeper said. "If you need more you know where to contact me."

Again the other man nodded and placed the coin purse inside his doublet.

Both observers watched as Navarr and Gaston eventually rode through the gate. Once they were out of site the innkeeper smiled darkly to the other man.

"I'll have my revenge."
About the author:

I've dabbled in writing various genres of fiction, mostly for my own amusement, for as long as I can remember. From the prompting of friends in 2012 to share some of my stories with a larger audience came my 2013 New Year's Resolution to get something published.

A Whisper in the Dark is the lead in for a full length novel that will feature the same cast of characters, and many more. The forthcoming book does not yet have a name, but I decided to include a small excerpt in the hopes that it will entice you to look for it in 2014 when published.

Please take a few moments to write a short review of A Whisper in the Dark from where you purchased it. Your critique is greatly appreciated, and as an indie-publisher it really does help.

My blog page:

www.tdbauer.com

Facebook:

www.facebook.com/tim.bauer.77

Twitter:

@realtdbauer
Forthcoming novel excerpt that continues the adventures of Navarr Doucette

(unedited draft)

Natalia's hurled herself into a left-handed back spring somersault, landed with perfect balance on her booted feet, with her rapier held firm in her right hand and pointed at her opponent. A smirk crossed her lips as her foe looked on with an expression of complete surprise.

The moment passed and soon Natalia's opponent advanced. Their blades met with the classic sound of steel on steel dancing back and forth in a game of speed and agility. As the two plied their blades against one another, a small group of spectators looked on with smiles and occasional applause, already knowing how the spectacle before them was going to end.

Natalia Kovich was well known to the spectators as an acrobat, swordswoman and former cat burglar. Her features were exquisite and pleasing, and those who looked upon her did not easily forget her exotic beauty. Natalia was a gypsy with the typical olive skin and shiny raven-black hair she wore in loose curls about her head and neck. She was in her late twenties, had high cheekbones, green eyes, full lips, and the lithe body of a dancer and the grace to match.

Natalia never dressed like a typical woman who wore dresses, but rather preferred the tight cut of breeches and doublet, and currently wore such an ensemble the color of black and burgundy. She was always seen with a rapier at her side that hung from a black baldric, while on her opposite hip she carried a coiled whip and main gauche. It was not a common site to see a woman attired so, but for women who didn't seek a traditional life as wife, mother, or mistress, it was becoming the norm.

Her opponent was a man a several years her younger named Raul. Raul was a relative newcomer to Bayonne's secretive guild of thieves, and had fast earned himself a reputation as a capable swordsman among his fellow cohorts. He was quick to brag and make outlandish claims regarding his skill, as was typical of most self-righteous youth who felt they had something to prove to the world around them. As such, his closest friends and more experienced thieves wanted to put him in his place and teach him a valuable lesson at the same time. And so they had called on Natalia.

The friendly skirmish took place in the courtyard of the Hotel des Arnes, which was actually home to many of the guild's thieves. The courtyard was wide and open, covered with white flagstones, and decorated at the center with a small fountain surrounded by a low flat-topped wall.

Natalia had been letting Raul make one attack after another since their duel began a few minutes ago, parrying all his attacks but never riposting, allowing him to keep pressing forward while she would casually give ground. She kept herself purely on the defensive in order to determine the man's speed and skill with a blade. She came to the conclusion that he was very good, very good indeed, but that he was also brash and that he certainly thought himself young and invincible. He needed to be put in his place and allowed to reevaluate his skills with a rapier before he got himself into a situation where death was on the line.

Another minute of parrying continued before Natalia changed tactics and countered with a riposte, which immediately followed by a feint and attack that Raul barely managed to parry. She could see he was taken by surprise at how quickly she had turned the tables on him with very little effort. A look of determination crossed his face while she continued to test him with more ripostes and feints. It wasn't long before she noticed tiny beads of sweat appear on his brow just below his dark red hairline and knew he was going to start showing signs of tiring.

Natalia feinted towards the right and Raul was once again taken in by the sudden move, but instead of following up with an attack, Natalia cart-wheeled away to the left and towards the wall that lined the fountain. Raul recovered from the rouse and watched as Natalia did another cart-wheel before turning and jumping atop the fountain's low wall. She turned back around and regarded him once again with a smirk.

A few jeers and chortles erupted from some of the spectators.

"Your acrobatics do well to take you away from the danger that is the end of my blade, my lady," Raul commented with a hint of bravado as he approached the fountain, "but such tricks only postpone your inevitable end. They could never be used to your advantage to attack. Retreat, yes, but never attack."

"Oh, is that so?" Natalia replied with a hint of sarcasm. Her voice was dusky and she spoke with a slight accent typical among gypsies whose family ties originated from Valkavania far to the east.

"Do you speak from assumptions or what you know to be fact?" Natalia asked coyly.

"Fact, my lady," Raul smiled, enjoying the game of cat and mouse that they were playing, thinking of himself as the cat.

"But I have the high ground?" Natalia said as she gestured with her rapier to the low wall she stood upon. "Surely that serves me more than you?"

"Perhaps to an extent to give you a small advantage, but not enough to decisively matter, and certainly not to include acrobatics in your advantage to attack. Such tricks belong in a traveling road show with jugglers and animal tamers, but not a heated sword fight where life and death is on the line."

Raul didn't give Natalia the chance to respond, for he was close enough to once again press an attack and did so with a slash at Natalia's feet. Natalia knew he meant to put her off balance by forcing her to jump over his flashing blade. Instead she met his attack by crouching down slightly to parry his slash with the wider and heavier part of her rapier, the forte, located several inches before the hilt. She sounds stopped his blade's cutting motion and then lifted her left foot and stepped down on his blade trapping it between her boot and the top of the fountain's wall.

A look of shock and fear crossed Raul's face as he tried to pull his weapon free, but Natalia wasn't done just yet. She sprang and flipped over the startled thief's head, rotating herself halfway through the maneuver so when her booted feet landed with resounding clicks on the flagstones, she was directly behind her opponent and facing him.

Raul turned with his weapon in hand, but Natalia was less than several inches away from him and met his blade with a downward beat from her own rapier. It was at the same time that Raul felt the hard jab of a blunt object pressing into his lower stomach.

Both combatants stood frozen in place looking into each other's eyes. The all too familiar smirk was no longer present on Natalia's face, instead it was replaced with one of cold determination and a deadly stare. Raul's expression was one of abject surprise.

Slowly his eyes lowered towards his stomach and the sight of Natalia's main gauche held reversed in her left hand, the pommel pressing firmly into him where normally, in a fight to the death, the piercing blade would have been. He had never seen her draw the parrying dagger forth, and surmised she must have done so while she had somersaulted over him.

"It's a good thing death was not on the line," Natalia whispered.

Applause and cheers rose up from the spectators and a few of them crowded forward to congratulate Natalia while others began to tease Raul over his defeat. In the distance the bells of St. Martin Cathedral began to ring signaling the hour of midday.

Natalia stepped back from Raul and sheathed her weapons with fluid motion before bowing graciously to the group of thieves before her. "I thank you, messieurs, for this opportunity to instruct young Raul. But the bells toll and I must be away for an appointment. Do be so kind as to finish the lesson for me."

Then without further adieu Natalia turned and trotted off, leaving the gathered group of thieves standing and looking in her direction with a hint of admiration and desire.

Once Natalia was out of sight, Raul was the first to speak. He cleared his throat. "What is this lesson the lady spoke of?"

Brinson, a man fifteen years Raul's senior and a high ranking member of the guild slapped him hard on the back. "You're very good with your blade but new to the city, this guild, and still wet behind the ears. I've told you before that you're too headstrong and going to get yourself into a situation that may leave you bleeding and alone in some dark alley one of these nights."

"So you have," Raul commented, thinking back to the events of the practice match.

"This lesson was arranged for you to learn that no matter how good you may be, there is always somebody better."

Raul's gaze looked in the direction where Natalia had gone. There was a hint of longing in his eyes. "She's as beautiful as she is skilled. I can't imagine there could be any better than her."

More than a few chuckles erupted from the group of thieves at Raul's comment.

"I know of at least one," Brinson said knowingly.

