Following a large crashing sound
From a back room at Nocturna,
Marcel Carreau and Daniel Hargaves
Rushed to the office doorway
To check on the builder working inside.
“Monsieur is everything okay?”
Marcel enquired as he peered
Through the dust filled room.
Raphael de Koont had been
Working throughout the day
Moving the large mirror
That was mounted to the oak wall panels
Adorning Marcel’s office.
“I’m fine Mr Carreau,
I fell through,
There is another room
Hidden back here.”
“Oh really?
That is most inconvenient,
But it does happen
From time to time.”
“Do you require assistance”
Asked Daniel Hargraves
“I’m fine,
But this will take a while to fix.”
With that Hargraves returned to door duty.
Marcel stepped into his office
“My goodness what a mess,
Monsieur De Koont
It looks like a large room.”
“Yes, it is rather,
There are stairs leading downwards”
“Downwards?”
Marcel repeated.
“Yes,” replied Raphael de Koont.
He stood ankle-deep in plaster dust,
his jacket powdered white,
his hair containing
a surprisingly large amount of ceiling.
“There are stairs leading downwards.”
Marcel stared at him.
Then at the stairs.
Then at the enormous hole
where his office wall
had previously been.
Then back at Raphael.
“How far?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where do they go?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Then I think,
Monsieur de Koont,
we have discovered a staircase.”
Raphael nodded.
“Yes.”
“A staircase
which apparently goes
somewhere.”
“Yes.”
Marcel sighed.
He reached into his waistcoat
and removed his pocket watch.
It was a habit he had developed
for situations in which there
Was no useful thing to say.
He opened the case.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Perhaps,” he said,
“we should contact Gideon.”
Gideon Rook
was in the adjoining corridor
when Marcel found him.
He was carrying
a silver tray
containing six empty glasses,
three spoons,
a teapot
and something
that might once
have been a biscuit.
“Gideon.”
“Yes, Monsieur Carreau?”
“I have a staircase
behind my mirror.”
Gideon stopped.
“You have a what?”
“A staircase.”
“Behind the mirror?”
“Yes.”
“Going where?”
“Down.”
Gideon considered this.
“Have you tried going down it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am the manager.”
Gideon nodded.
“Quite right perhaps
we should ask someone
who knows more about old buildings.”
Gideon thought.
“Alistair Fisk?”
“Precisely.”
“Arthur Coldbottom?”
“Precisely.”
“Both?”
“Both.”
Gideon nodded.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
Later that evening,
Alistair Fisk and Arthur Coldbottom
arrived at Nocturna.
Marcel intercepted them
before they had reached
the main lounge.
“Gentlemen.”
“Marcel,” said Fisk.
“Good evening,” said Coldbottom.
“I have a mystery that you may be
able to assist me with”
Fisk raised one enormous eyebrow.
“Does it involve a deceased bishop,
a misplaced umbrella,
or the disappearance
of the west staircase?”
“No.”
“Then I’m interested.”
Marcel explained.
There was a mirror.
There had been wall.
Raphael de Koont
had been moving the mirror.
There was now a hole.
Behind the hole was a staircase.
The staircase went down.
Fisk listened carefully.
Coldbottom listened carefully.
Then both men looked at one another.
Coldbottom spoke first.
“A staircase behind a mirror.”
“Yes.”
“That can only mean one thing.”
Fisk nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Marcel waited.
Coldbottom leaned closer.
“It is almost certainly
the staircase of an upside-down house.”
Fisk frowned.
“No.”
Coldbottom looked surprised.
“No?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because an upside-down house
would require an upside-down staircase.”
“But the staircase
is going down.”
“Precisely.”
Coldbottom considered this.
Then his face brightened.
“Then it must go to yesterday.”
Fisk stared at him.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because today has already been used.”
Marcel looked at Fisk bewildered.
Fisk looked at Coldbottom.
Coldbottom looked
entirely satisfied with his reasoning.
Fisk finally spoke.
“Then perhaps
the staircase leads
to tomorrow.”
Coldbottom’s eyes widened.
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Tomorrow hasn’t been built yet.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
“That is a very good point.”
Coldbottom smiled.
“I thought so.”
Marcel cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen.”
“Yes?”
“Could either of you
possibly tell me where the staircase
actually goes?”
Both men looked
towards him.
“No,” said Fisk.
“Not yet,” said Coldbottom.
Marcel sighed.
“Excellent.”
They proceeded towards the library.
On the way, they passed
Seamus Draker and Dante Ververs
taking tea.
Seamus sat comfortably
in a high-backed chair,
with Bella Dolce
curled upon his lap.
Dante sat opposite,
his familiar black teacup
resting upon its saucer.
They stopped.
“Gentlemen.”
“Ah Mr Fisk,” said Dante.
“Seamus.”
“What is the matter?”
asked Seamus.
“There is a staircase behind Monsieur Carreau’s mirror.”
Dante slowly lowered his teacup.
Seamus looked up.
Bella Dolce opened one eye.
“A staircase?”
“Yes.”
“Behind a mirror?”
“Yes.”
Dante considered this
with considerable seriousness.
“I always suspected mirrors were dishonest.”
Seamus nodded.
“They’ve been hiding things for years.”
“What sort of things?”
asked Coldbottom.
“Mostly reflections,”
said Dante.
“Very suspicious things,
reflections.”
Dante took another sip.
“Where does it lead?”
“Downwards,” said Coldbottom.
Seamus frowned.
“Then it is probably full of stairs.”
Coldbottom nodded.
“Exactly.”
Dante looked impressed.
“A most logical conclusion.”
Fisk sighed.
“We’re going to the library.”
“Why?”
“To find out what is beneath Nocturna.”
Dante raised his teacup.
“If you find the nineteenth century,
do bring it back.”
Seamus nodded.
“It’s probably under a sofa somewhere.”
The library at Nocturna was rarely quiet.
But that evening
it seemed to hold its breath.
Tall shelves rose into darkness.
Dusty ledgers filled the walls.
Old plans,
maps,
deeds,
receipts
and correspondence
had accumulated there
for generations.
Fisk approached the archives.
Coldbottom followed.
“What are we looking for?”
“Something about
the building.”
“Such as?”
“A plan.”
“Of the building?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we look
for a plan of the staircase?”
Fisk stopped.
“Because we don’t know
where the staircase is.”
“It’s behind the mirror.”
“Yes.”
“Then surely
the plan should be
behind the mirror too.”
Fisk stared at him.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“Please stop helping.”
Coldbottom nodded.
“Of course.”
Fisk began searching.
Minutes passed.
Then more minutes.
Ledgers were opened.
Maps were unfolded.
Ancient property documents
were examined.
Nothing.
“Nothing,” said Fisk.
Coldbottom picked up a particularly enormous book.
“This one?”
“No.”
“This one?”
“No.”
“This one?”
“No.”
Coldbottom looked disappointed.
“What about this one?”
Fisk snatched it from his hands.
“That’s a cookbook.”
Coldbottom nodded.
“It might be useful.”
“How?”
“If the Romans are involved.”
Fisk paused.
“The Romans?”
“You said there might be something underneath.”
“Yes.”
“Romans liked baths.”
Fisk stared at him.
Then at the book.
Then back at Coldbottom.
“You know what?”
“Yes?”
“You may have accidentally
said something useful.”
He opened another archive box.
Inside were old property plans.
Fisk unfolded one.
Then another.
Then another.
Finally,
he stopped.
“Here.”
Coldbottom leaned over.
“What is it?”
“A reference.”
“To what?”
“An old substructure.”
Fisk traced a faded line with his finger.
“There’s a note here about a Roman bath.”
Coldbottom’s expression changed.
“A Roman bath?”
“Possibly.”
“Under Nocturna?”
“Possibly.”
“Then I was right.”
“No.”
“You were thinking about yesterday.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I absolutely was not.”
Coldbottom smiled.
Fisk continued reading.
The reference was brief.
An old survey.
A mention of masonry.
A tiled floor.
An underground chamber.
Then nothing.
No plans.
No description.
No explanation of why it had disappeared
from subsequent records.
Fisk closed the folder.
“We’re going down.”
By midnight,
A small expedition had assembled.
Arthur Coldbottom.
Alistair Fisk.
Raphael de Koont.
Major Bramwell Thorne.
And, after Gideon Rook
had spoken to him privately,
Percival Rook.
Gideon himself remained upstairs.
Someone needed to keep an eye on the club.
And, more importantly,
someone needed to ensure
the expedition didn’t accidentally
bring anything unpleasant back.
Percival carried a lantern.
Major Thorne carried a stout walking stick.
Raphael carried a toolbox.
Coldbottom carried a sandwich.
Fisk noticed.
“Why do you have that?”
“Exploration.”
“It’s a sandwich.”
“Exactly.”
They entered Marcel’s ruined office.
Raphael examined the opening.
“I can make this safe enough.”
“Safe enough?”
asked Major Thorne.
“Yes.”
“How safe is safe enough?”
Raphael considered.
“Enough that we probably won’t die.”
Major Thorne nodded.
“I’ve worked with worse estimates.”
They descended.
One staircase.
Then another.
The air grew colder.
The sounds of Nocturna
slowly disappeared.
Above them,
music faded.
Conversation faded.
The clink of glasses faded.
Until there was only the sound
of their footsteps.
The staircase
eventually ended
at a narrow landing.
There was another door.
Rotten wood.
Iron fittings covered in rust.
Raphael examined it.
“This is old.”
“How old?”
asked Coldbottom.
“Very.”
“Older than the sandwich?”
“Yes.”
Coldbottom looked concerned.
“Then we should be careful.”
They opened the door.
It collapsed almost immediately.
A cloud of dust filled the passage.
Everyone coughed.
Major Thorne waved his walking stick.
“Is everyone alive?”
“Yes,” said Fisk.
“Yes,” said Coldbottom.
“I’m missing a button,”
said Raphael.
They proceeded.
The passage sloped gently downward.
The walls changed.
Brick became stone.
Stone became something
far older.
Then they reached another barrier.
This one was worse.
An ancient rotten door
had swollen inside its frame.
Raphael examined it.
“I can remove this.”
Major Thorne stepped back.
“Everyone stand clear.”
Raphael attacked the door with a pry bar.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The wood groaned.
Coldbottom tightened his grip on the sandwich.
Then,
CRACK.
The door burst inward.
Dust rolled across the floor.
Beyond it was darkness.
Percival Rook raised his lantern.
Light travelled forward.
Then stopped.
Everyone stared.
Nobody spoke.
Major Thorne was the first.
“My word.”
The chamber was enormous.
Columns rose from the shadows.
Stone benches lined the walls.
Ancient arches curved overhead.
And directly before them,
stretching beneath the ruined foundations
of Nocturna,
was a great Roman bath.
Its floor was covered
in an extraordinary mosaic.
Tiny tiles formed elaborate patterns
of sea creatures,
vines,
mythological figures
and strange geometric shapes.
Despite the centuries,
the colours remained.
Deep reds.
Ocean blues.
Soft greens.
Burnished gold.
At the centre was a magnificent
circular design of a sea serpent
coiling around a crescent moon.
Raphael stepped forward.
“This is beautiful.”
Fisk could barely speak.
Coldbottom removed his hat.
Major Thorne stood silently.
For once,
nobody had anything nonsensical to say.
Then Coldbottom whispered,
“I think the Romans were expecting guests.”
Fisk smiled.
“For once,
Arthur,
I believe you may be right.”
They returned to the upper levels
before dawn.
Marcel was waiting.
So was Gideon.
“So?”
Marcel asked.
Fisk smiled.
“You’ve lost your office.”
Marcel stared at him.
“What?”
“There is a Roman bath underneath it.”
Marcel blinked.
“A Roman bath?”
“A very large one.”
“With mosaics,” added
Coldbottom.
“Beautiful mosaics,”
said Raphael.
Gideon looked at Marcel.
Marcel looked at Gideon.
Then both looked
towards the ceiling.
“Where,” asked Marcel,
“does one obtain a new office?”
Gideon shrugged.
“I believe that depends upon
how many Roman baths
one has underneath the existing one.”
Marcel sighed.
Then smiled.
“Very well.”
He looked at Raphael.
“How difficult would it be to restore the staircase?”
Raphael grinned.
“Not very.”
“And the bath?”
Raphael looked towards Fisk.
Fisk looked towards Coldbottom.
Coldbottom looked towards Major Thorne.
Major Thorne looked towards Gideon.
Gideon looked towards Marcel.
Everyone turned back towards Raphael.
“Very difficult,”
he said.
Marcel smiled.
“Then let’s begin.”
Several months later,
the office was gone.
Not destroyed.
Reimagined.
Raphael de Koont
had worked tirelessly
with craftsmen
to restore the hidden staircase.
The rotten doors were replaced.
The walls were repaired.
Handrails were installed.
Soft lamps were fitted
along the descent.
The ancient bath itself
was carefully preserved.
The mosaic remained untouched.
The great sea serpent continued to coil
beneath the moon.
New changing rooms were constructed
in adjoining chambers.
Private bathing areas were discreetly screened.
Comfortable seating was installed.
And, naturally,
a tea service was arranged nearby.
Marcel stood at the entrance on opening night.
He looked at the staircase.
Then at Raphael.
Then at the sign.
THE NOCTURNA ROMAN BATHS
PRIVATE MEMBERS’ RETREAT
Marcel smiled.
“I suppose I have lost my office.”
Raphael nodded.
“Yes.”
“But gained a Roman bath.”
“Yes.”
“I think I’ve done rather well.”
Raphael smiled.
“I believe you have.”
From somewhere
behind them,
Henley Marcus-Walker called loudly,
“WHAT?”
Marcel closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
“Nothing, Henley.”
“WHAT?”
“Nothing.”
Henley nodded.
“Very good.”
He wandered down the staircase.
A moment later,
his voice echoed through the ancient chamber.
“MY GOODNESS!”
Everyone waited.
Then
“THERE’S A BATH!”
Marcel smiled.
Gideon laughed.
Raphael shook his head.
And somewhere beneath
the foundations of Nocturna,
the ancient Roman mosaic gleamed softly
in the lamplight.
After nearly two thousand years,
the bath had found its guests again.
