Chapter 1
“Care for a drink, Masters?” the major asked, holding up a clear bottle of verdant green liquid. It was unopened, still sealed with wax across the cork. He was a man in his late fifties, with a short crop of wavy, white hair and a friendly but commanding manner. He wasn’t someone who demanded you follow him; he was someone you followed because it seemed he knew what he was talking about.
I held both of my hands up, palms out, and shook my head “I don’t drink, sir,” I said quickly, certain that even if I did drink, I wouldn’t drink whatever was in that bottle.
“It’s just as well. This particular liquor is incredibly illegal.” He set the bottle back down on his desk, gazing into its murky green depths. “Have you ever heard of absinthe, Lieutenant?”
“I can’t say that I have.” I leaned against the arm rest of a chair, watching his inspection. “Why is it illegal?”
“That would depend on who you ask. One side claims that it is illegal solely because sales were cutting into the wine industry. The other says that it causes violent hallucinations and anger. The truth is somewhere in between, I’m certain.” He looked up at me, finally, and gave a lazy smile. “I’m sure you’re fascinated, but this is relevant to your next mission. How would you like to attend an exclusive party?”
“I’m not really the partying type, sir. Like I said, I don’t drink.” I frowned, quirking my head to the side.
“I’m sure you can fake it, Masters. Bootleg absinthe is beginning to crop up across Paris. Usually, this would be an issue for the municipal police, but I suspect this is linked to other criminal operations within the city. The bootleggers seem to be using the old mines as a means to travel quietly to various dive bars, hole in the walls, what have you.”
“They’re using the catacombs?” I asked, swallowing heavily at the idea of descending into the ossuaries beneath the outskirts of Paris.
“Well, to a degree, but the catacombs make up a very small portion of the quarries themselves.” He gave a shrug and an apologetic smile. “I am afraid that your precise destination will bring you into the catacombs themselves.”
“And what would be my destination, sir?” I pried.
“We have reason to believe that the distributor of this absinthe has set up an underground speakeasy, quite literally. The criminal elements congregate in one of the larger hidden chambers to revel and imbibe. I’ve had a few of the other agents track this bone room down, and they’ve set you up with an invitation.” He rifled through the top drawer of his desk after speaking, pulling out a small card. Ornate calligraphy covered one side, accented with stylized skulls and bones along the border.
“Not to be disrespectful, major, but why me?” I took the offered card, seeing my name jotted across the front. Eve Masters. Unsurprisingly, they’d left my rank off.
“I need someone who is a combination of resourceful and unexpected. If I thought I could convince you into a dress, I’d do so. As I know all too well that you will not, I don’t think your cross-dressing should be all that out of the norm down there.” He paused, tapping his finger against the desktop. “I want you armed down there, Lieutenant. You’re not the first agent I’m sending in, and I’d hate to send in a third.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, looking down at the floor upon learning of another agent’s death. Couriers tended to work in pairs or alone, but it was never pleasant to learn that someone had been lost in action. “Do we know anything about the ring leader?”
“I wish I could say we did, Lieutenant, but thus far it is a total mystery.” He lifted the bottle once more, offering it across the table. “That could change, depending on how successful you are.” I nodded, taking the offered bottle from his grip. It was heavy, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.
“I’d suggest you learn what you can about the drink and find a set of clothes that don’t make you stand out quite so blatantly.” He paused, considering my face for a long moment. “Don’t get a tuxedo, Masters.”
“I wouldn’t!” I squeaked, holding the bottle tightly against my chest, a blush forming on my cheeks. “Just because I wear pants, doesn’t mean--”
“Right, that’s fine.” The major cut me off, making a shooing motion with his right hand. “On your way, Lieutenant. Now find me an absinthe bootlegger.”
The light wool jacket that served as my civilian coat wasn’t quite up to the task of protecting me against the cool night wind, and the silk blouse underneath didn’t help. It trapped the temperature and left me feeling chilled. The black slacks did a better job of keeping my legs warm, while still managing not to make my overall situation any better. I still felt cold, and I felt somewhat naked without my officer’s cap. I tugged the light newsie cap I had purchased down low over my eyes.
The address I had been given seemed utterly abandoned at first glance. It was a decaying three story brick residential building, soot and grime covering every exterior surface. The cracked windows had a scant few boards apiece, utterly failing in any attempt to keep out intruders or the elements. I tapped my knuckles against the unlit doorway that served as the only entrance into the building, before jamming my hands back into my jacket pockets to keep warm. I could just barely hear movement behind the door, which kept me from abandoning my attempt. Nearly a minute passed before the door cracked open, exposing the craggy face of a man who was clearly in the security profession.
“Yeah?” he rumbled, making no acknowledgment that I was at the right location. “You want something, kid?”
I didn’t say anything, flashing the invitation so that he could see it clearly.
His eyes narrowed, and a few seconds passed as he scanned my form before he shrugged and pulled the door open fully. “Boss is making some weird choices these days.”
“At least he knows which thugs to leave outside of the party,” I snapped back, my chin lifting defiantly as I strolled by the man, who rolled his eyes and returned to his discreet watch. The interior of the building was no better kept than the exterior. The paint on the walls was peeling in long ribbons, several of which had detached and floated to the floor, where they joined a layer of grime and rust shavings. There was only the one path to follow, lit by a string of gas lanterns. It led further into the building, which may have been an office at one point, and down a set of stairs to the cellar.
The first sign that betrayed the true nature of the place appeared at the bottom of the stairs. A woman in a black dress was seated behind a counter, a deep alcove behind her serving as a coat room. She had a newspaper out in front of her and barely looked up as I entered. A door prevented seeing anything further below, and I felt hesitant to give up my jacket without knowing the temperature in the catacombs. Sensing my reluctance, the woman snorted and shook her head.
“Honey, you cram that many people in a small room with so little air in and out?” She folded the newspaper in half, raising an eyebrow at me. “You’re not even going to want to be wearing the rest of it by midnight.”
“I guess I’ll trust your judgment on this one,” I said with a laugh, tugging the wool jacket off and placing it on the counter. She gave me an appraising look, her lips pursed.
“Look, kid, you sure you’re old enough to be here? This isn’t some local bar, you know?” She settled her hand on the jacket but didn’t take it quite yet. “You’re not going to find any girls down there to take back to your parents.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, and slapped my palms down on the counter, with just enough force to make her jump.
“Ma’am, first off, I’m old enough to have fought at Verdun. Second, I’m no schoolboy looking for a date.” I set the invitation on the table, tapping at my name on the card. “That would be Miss Masters, if you please.” She took a moment to process the information, looking across at me in a new light. The pieces seemed to fall into place, and she gave a quick nod. She took my coat and placed it on the rack before handing me a token with a number on it.
“Just one question, before you go.” She was chewing on her lower lip, glancing up at the stairs. “When you say you you’re old enough to have fought in Verdun, you don’t mean…?”
“I fought at Vaux.” I said quietly, picking the token up from the counter. “They weren’t too concerned with my gender when the Huns came over the top.” I tucked the item away in my pocket and turned to the next door before she could finish puzzling that through. I didn’t wait to see if the door was locked, throwing it open with an agitated movement. I was struck by a blast of damp, cool air that went against what the woman had suggested, but stepped forward nonetheless.
A narrow spiral staircase led down into the earth, tall candles set at regular intervals. I estimated that I was a solid hundred feet down before I came out into a flat passageway that was well lit with electric lanterns. People milled about at the edges, their conversations hushed yet echoing. I had no trouble weaving my way through the small crowd and came to a T-intersection. Straight ahead, the tunnel stopped after about twenty feet, in a clearly newly added wooden wall and a door. A sign showed that this was management’s office. Turning the corner, I saw a massive domed room. A brass band was set up on a stage and was playing a rapid little tune that kept the patrons dancing.
A complex machine sat near the far wall, consisting of a large, clear tank of what I assumed was absinthe. An electric light illuminated the virulent green liquid inside the container, highlighting the rush of green absinthe as it flowed through pipes and across to spigots, where bartenders worked feverishly to refill party-goers drinks.
Despite the intricacies of the machine, it was nothing compared to the exterior of the dome itself. Stretching from floor to ceiling a macabre design of human bones decorated the plaster. Femurs and spines formed the central stanchions, capped by skulls. The occasional ribcage could be seen, each with a single bare electric bulb burning a sickly yellow within. The majority of the bones were not set in a way to suggest a full human body. Only a single skeleton had that distinction. Above the doorway, grinning down at anyone who entered, a single set of bones hung, cautiously dressed in the outfit of a priest. One hand held out to the crowd, the other clutching an open Bible. I could only shake my head at the showiness of the entire chamber, and proceed in further.
I gained a handful of looks, but the majority of the attendees were clustered in small cliques, saving me from what would be a frustrating amount of small talk and distractions. The crowd at the bar was sparser than that near the entrance, as many had abandoned it in favor of the dance floor as the band began playing a slower number. I took a seat at the far end, hunching my shoulders up before lifting a single index finger at the bartender. He gave a nod and went about operating the absinthe machine, cutting the high-proof liquor with water before strolling across to set the drink in front of me. The water had an interesting effect, turning the green drink to an opaque off-white. It came with a silver, slotted spoon that had been adorned with a sugar cube, but I ignored the drink after offering the man an exorbitant amount of francs.
“We don’t see too many new faces down here,” He said, his shoulder coming to rest against a set of femurs that formed a pillar. “Those we do see usually come in a group.”
“I don’t do so well in groups,” I murmured, finally turning my attention to the absinthe. “I’ve never had this junk before. Does it really do what they say?”
“Depends what they say,” he offered smartly, a look of mild bemusement crossing his features. “The absinthe is just liquor, but we add a drop of laudanum. You’ll be miles away in a few minutes.”
“I’m sure.” I dropped the sugar cube into the drink and stirred idly, turning my attention to the crowd. “Is it always this busy down here?”
“Lady, if there’s one thing I know about people, it’s that they want what they can’t have.” He punctuated the quip with a laugh, still watching for me to take a sip from the drink. “If you ban something, it’s going to become the hottest commodity on the black market before the day is through.”
“You certainly hopped right on that opportunity, didn’t you?” I snorted, lifting the glass to twirl it between my thumb and forefinger. I watched the sugar crystals float through the milky green liquid. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
“I wish they wouldn’t.” The man grimaced, and I touched the edge of the glass to my lips as he continued. “They talk too much, and we start seeing strangers down here. The kind that asks too many questions, you know?”
I slowly lowered the glass, looking across it to the bartender.
“I can’t say that I do.” My voice was quiet, and I noticed with growing alarm that two large men with dark clothing were pushing their way towards us through the crowd. I slid my hand beneath the back of my blouse, feeling the heavy weight of the Colt strapped in against the small of my back. I gripped the gun at the same instant another hand grabbed my wrist, preventing me from drawing. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw the security guard from the entrance glaring down at me.
“You’re not going to let me finish my drink?”
“You can bring the drink with you,” he rumbled, still holding my wrist tightly, “But not the gun.”
“Can I trade? You can keep the drink, and I’ll keep my gun.” I offered, even as the man hauled me to my feet.
“No.” It seemed he was not in a joking mood. He pulled my Colt from my hand and shoved me away from the bar. The crowd fixed their eyes on us now, but the brass band kept up the dancing beat. The other two men had caught up by now and flanked the doorman as we moved through the crowd. I could already hear the din of conversation restarting when we left the domed chamber and turned into the management office.
A decent amount of work had been put into the office space. You could just barely tell that you were still within the catacombs. Wallpaper and carpets helped the illusion. A few bookcases up against the far wall, a large mahogany desk, and a handful of chairs were the only furniture. A man with platinum blonde hair and small, round spectacles was seated behind the desk, rummaging through a series of papers. There was a bottle of absinthe nearby, unopened, along with a pair of small drinking glasses.
“Good Day, Miss Masters, or perhaps I should say Lieutenant?” He smiled up at me as I was shoved into the office. The doorman left soon after, but the other two guards remained at the entrance. “Ah, how dreadful that I have not introduced myself. I am Reinhardt Schuntzel. I believe you, and your illustrious commander, have been looking for me?”
“You’re behind the absinthe ring,” I stated, glancing down at the bottle. “The major said we’ve been looking for you for some time; why show yourself now?”
“You seem to be mistaken, Miss Masters. I’m not showing myself to anyone.” He snorted, plucking the bottle from the table as my attention fell on it. He produced a corkscrew from within the desk and began to twirl it into the cork, “Or at least, not any more than I have previously. Tell me, have you sampled our product yet?”
“I don’t drink,” I snapped quickly, watching as he tugged the bit of cork from the bottleneck.
“Nonsense. Everyone drinks, Masters.” He poured the liquid into two glasses, before returning the bottle to the table. “Otherwise, why would we be down here?”
“That would be the question I came here to answer.” I said with a frown, watching as he pulled a sugar cube from a small dish, using a pair of silver tongs.
“Sugar? Ah, yes, you don’t drink. Trust me, it makes the flavor infinitely better.” He dropped a cube into each drink, smiling rakishly. “Some insist it has to be done in order, but I’m sure you won’t mind, hm?” He set the corkscrew back on the desk and pulled a small amber dropper bottle from a drawer, placing a drop of yellow liquid in only one of the glasses, which he proceeded to push across the desk. “Drink,” he commanded.
“I’m not touching that,” I said, swallowing once as I locked my eyes on the glass and its contents. The yellow liquid from the dropper sat heavily in the center of the clear green liquor, forming a swirling ribbon.
“I’m afraid you will,” Reinhardt said cheerfully, gesturing with his hand. I felt the barrel of a gun prod at the back of my head before hearing the sound of my Colt’s hammer being drawn back. The man’s use of my own gun to threaten me was particularly grating.
“You don’t need to do that,” I seethed, my head remaining still while my eyes darted to the side. “It’s a single action, it’ll fire when you pull the trigger” Despite my chastisement in the face of danger, I still knew better than to refuse again. I lifted the glass, but Reinhardt was quick to grin.
“One moment, Miss Masters!” He quickly brought his glass up, clinking it against my own. “Cheers.”
I stared daggers at the man, feeling my upper lip curl back as I lifted the glass to the lower lip. I tossed back my drink in a single motion, a strange burning sensation filling my mouth. I nearly coughed it immediately back up, but the gun at the back of my head encouraged me to finish the drink. I slammed the glass back down against the table, planting either hand on my knees.
“Now there is the face of someone who needs another drink.” He said.
“I’m not going to just drink myself to death, Schuntzel. You may as well shoot me,” I snarled.
“Oh, no, Miss Masters. You’ll leave this office very much alive. You’ll merely be incredibly inebriated.” He chuckled, refilling my glass. This time, he made no show of sugar and laudanum, simply pushing it back to me. “Who’d believe a girl passed out drunk in the gutter? Do you think your major will believe that I, a German in the center of the Paris underground, forced you to drink?” He made a drinking motion with his hand, and I complied, downing another of the burning shots. “Or will he believe that you were a little too curious, and a little too immoderate?” The guard had taken a step back, removing the gun barrel from the back of my head. He now leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t understand what there is to enjoy about this,” I fumed, even as he was pouring a third drink. I reconsidered my words, looking down at the glass. “Not to say I’d enjoy being forced, even if I did drink.”
“Most aren’t quite as prudish and focused as you are, Masters. They like to let loose, enjoy the world. It hasn’t been all that long since the Bohemians ruled Paris.” He finally began to sip at his own drink. “Perhaps you’ll find you enjoy drinking, after all. Do you feel fuzzy yet? Perhaps a spot of tunnel vision?” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
“So long as you’re feeling talkative,” I began, feeling the liquor still burning as it gurgled in my stomach. “Why don’t you tell me what the real plan is? You aren’t here just to bootleg absinthe.”
“I know you’re not that dim, Fraulein.” He laughed out loud, setting his drank down. Spreading his hands wide, he made a gesture that suggested he was indicating the entire city. “There’s a damn war on, what do you think this is all about?”
“That’s an awfully simple answer.”
“You asked an awfully simple question.” He smirked, taking another long drink from the absinthe. My head was swimming, but I couldn’t say whether it was the liquor or the opiates taking effect. I gripped the edge of the desk, closing my eyes tightly. I knew I’d only have one opportunity to pry information out of the man, so I tried to remain lucid to ask further questions.
“Did you send the man in gray to Bordeaux while I was looking for Napoleon’s rose?” I could hear myself slurring the words, but I got the idea across.
“If you mean the poltergeist, then yes, I did.” He tipped the bottle up once more, filling my glass. “Curious, I didn’t know you’d be sent on that little errand. You shouldn’t be too concerned with the intangible today; what you’ll be dealing with is all too real. One for the road?”
“What?” I mumbled, feeling a hand grab either of my biceps. He held the glass up to me, and I drank the absinthe obediently.
“You’ll recall I said that you would leave this office alive,” he began, gesturing to the door behind him. “I’m sorry to say that never meant you’d make it out of the catacombs.” He turned his chair slowly, pivoting until he was hidden from view. He lifted a hand above the back and made a shooing motion, which cued the guard to begin dragging me out of the room.
The passageways were incredibly disorienting, no doubt even more so as a result of my impaired state. Each twist and turn left me at a further loss, although the guard seemed to have no trouble finding his way through the labyrinth. The incredibly dim lighting and the haze surrounding my mind combined to make the walk seem to last an eternity, but I had no idea of the time. We reached the edge of a steep ramp, and the guard unceremoniously pushed me over the edge. I was only barely aware of what was even happening by this point, as I rolled and slid down into the depths. The descent took agonizing seconds, but the rough stone surface kept me from accelerating much beyond a painful tumble.
I struck a horizontal plane and rolled several times before coming to a stop on my back. I could see the dim light of the guard’s kerosene lantern in the distance, at the top of the ramp. He soon faded from view, the light winking out in the process, leaving me trapped in the pitch black of the catacombs. I had very little time to contemplate my situation, as the combination of powerful alcohol and opiates took full effect, leaving me dead to the world.
