Ajatasutra, still bent over the heavy chest, turned his head. His eyes were like hot coals. “If you want to live more than two minutes, Balban, help me get this damned chest off the trapdoor.”
Balban remained standing in place, rigid, still frowning. Narses immediately rose from his chair and went to Ajatasutra’s aid. For all his age and small size, the eunuch was not weak. With his help, Ajatasutra moved the chest out of the closet.
“Against the wall,” grunted the assassin.
A moment later, the chest was pushed into position. Ajatasutra sprang nimbly into the closet and rolled back an expensive rug. Then, fiddling a moment with a plank which seemed no different from any of the other wood flooring, he levered up a small trapdoor.
“Get in,” he ordered Narses.
The old eunuch hesitated not an instant. He began lowering himself down a ladder.
Halfway down, the ladder began to shake. Narses stopped, waist high in the trapdoor, and stared up at Balban. The spymaster was now standing in the door of the closet.
He was still frowning—but with puzzlement, now, more than anger. Balban looked down at his feet.
“Why is the floor shaking?” he asked.
Narses glanced quickly at Ajatasutra. The assassin’s face was stiff with suppressed anger.
“Mother of God,” muttered Narses. To Balban: “What have you done, you damned fool?”
Balban glared.
“That’s none of your concern, Narses!” he snapped.
Then, frowning at his feet, he asked yet again:
“Why is the floor shaking?”
Narses sneered.
“I take it you’ve never faced a charge of cataphracts in full armor?” he demanded. “That’s what you’re feeling, fool. Several hundred tons of approaching death and destruction.”
Balban goggled at him.
“What are you talking about? We’re in the middle of Constantinople!”
Narses sighed, looked over at Ajatasutra. The assassin, through tight lips, said: “He ordered Antonina’s murder.”
“Marvelous,” muttered Narses. “Just marvelous.”
The eunuch began lowering himself down the ladder. Very quickly. His voice came from below: “You’re not in Constantinople now, Balban. You’re in Thrace.”
A smashing sound came from outside the villa. After a second, Balban realized that it was the outer gate. Shattering.
Shattered.
A scream. Cut short. Another. Another. Another. All the screams were cut short, but Balban recognized the voices. His Malwa guards. Dying.
Dead.
Ajatasutra sprang to the door of the salon and stared down the corridor leading to the villa’s main entrance. A moment later, there came a splintering crash.
He leapt back into the room and slammed shut the door.
“That,” he announced, “was a lance driving through the main door.”
Balban hesitated no longer. He scrambled down the ladder after Narses. Before his head sank below the level of the floor he heard a rolling series of thunderous noises. Doors and windows being shattered. By the time he reached the small tunnel fifteen feet down, he could already hear the screams echoing through the entire villa. The rest of the Malwa mission resident in the villa were being butchered.
Ajatasutra took the time to close the closet door before he started down the ladder. As best he could, feeling his way in the darkness, he tried to position the rug so that it would cover the trapdoor after he lowered it.
When he reached the tunnel below, he found the two other men waiting for him. Balban had lit the small lamp which was kept in a cubby.
“I don’t know the way,” whispered the spymaster. “I’ve never been down here.”
Ajatasutra took the lamp from his hand.
“Follow me,” he ordered. “And watch your step. We never bothered to grade the tunnel floor. I didn’t really think we’d need it.”
After the three men had inched their way down the narrow tunnel for hundred feet or so, Narses asked:
“How much farther, Ajatasutra? My shoes aren’t designed for this kind of travel. And—damnation—they’re silk! Expensive.”
Ajatasutra chuckled, grimly.
“Forget about your shoes, Narses. We’ve another two hundred feet to go. Before we reach the sewer.”
“Marvelous,” muttered Narses. “Just marvelous.”
Fifty feet down, he sneered: “What other brilliant ideas did you have today, Balban? Did you jump into the Bosporus to see if it was wet? Did you swallow a live coal to see if it would burn your throat? Did you—”