Michael snuck through the gap but snagged his belt buckle as he passed the door. Looking
down, he saw a large splinter of wood sticking out, nothing a gentle tug won"t solve. He took
hold of the metal buckle and pulled, hoping he would not make any sound, the last thing he
wanted was to alert anyone to his presence that would solve nothing. The buckle came free
with a small clink making Michael freeze to listen for signs of him being detected. When he was
satisfied it was safe to proceed, he tiptoed forward. Although he could not make out what was
being said, the very presence of voices steered him in the right direction. He found a large
stone boulder and peered over it to get a better look.
Ignoring the coldness of the rock beneath his hands, Michael took a mental picture of the
chamber just a few metres away from his location. He guessed it was about 15 square metres
with the ceiling about two metres above his head. Torches were periodically hung around the
walls allowing the shiny rock that lined the walls and floor reflect the light back into the chamber
increasing the brightness considerably. Michael was unsure whether that was deliberate or not,
but he had to agree it was an efficient use of resources. He could not imagine how long it had
taken someone to chisel the chamber out of solid rock and wondered if the head even knew
about the underground corridors and chamber.
He could just make out a stone table standing on a small dais to the side of the chamber.
Michael wondered if the dais was designed to create a focal point in the room, a hypothesis that
was easily confirmed as hooded figures stood facing the table. All except one who stood on the
dais and looked out onto the others.
He focused on the hooded figures standing just a few metres from his location. Each of
them wore a black robe; so long it trailed on the floor. Those that stood facing the one, who,
Michael presumed, was the leader, had their hands clasped in front of them and bowed their
heads slightly. He could hear a low level mutter, but could not understand it; he hoped that was
not a sign of his advancing age. The leader held his hands and his face up towards the roof, as
if he were saying a prayer. However, Michael could not make out his face as it was completely
engulfed in shadow.
After a few minutes, the „prayer" had ended and the leader lowered his hands and placed
one into his robe. From behind him, two hooded figures appeared guiding a small boy. The
boy wore a red robe with a yellow trim which extended just shy of the granite floor. Michael
recognised the boy, but he could not put a name to his face. He watched as he was lowered to
his knees and forced to bow his head, perhaps out of respect? Michael mused. The leader
placed his free hand on the boy"s head and chanted once again and as he did so, he caressed
the boys scalp gently. Seconds later, he took his hidden hand out of his robe and to Michael"s
astonishment, wielded a dagger, but before Michael could do anything, the dagger was thrust
into the kneeling boy"s neck.
“What the hell are you doing?” Michael shouted in his loudest voice, usually preserved for
the naughtiest children. He clambered through the flustering followers and headed straight for
the kneeling boy who began to sway whilst clutching his neck. His lips were moving and
Michael could just hear watery glugs that reminded him of bubbles bursting at the surface of
water. Seeing blood ooze out between the boy"s fingers and forming a puddle at his knees,
Michael hoped it was not as bad as it looked a fear that was exasperated when the boy toppled
to his side, lifeless.
“Ye dare interrupt the sacred ritual o" first blood?” shouted one of the followers stepping in to
block Michael. Michael pushed him away and barged passed.
“I"ll damn-well interrupt anything that brings harm to a child,” he reached down to the fallen
boy and checked the wound before turning to the leader, now leaning over Michael. “Now give
me that damn dagger and remove your hood so I can see who you really are, you coward.”
Michael instinctively applied pressure to the wound with his hand, hoping it would be enough,
whilst maintaining focus on the one standing just in front of him holding the dagger. He heard
scuffles and yells from behind, “That applies to you all, remove your hoods now, the head will
hear of this.” But it was too late, as most of the figures had disappeared, leaving only three
behind him and the leader.
“Ye dinna ken what ye are doing, old man,” a youthful voice called, though Michael could not
identify which hooded figure had said it. For a moment, Michael"s attention turned to the boy he
was holding and erupted in terror as he realised the body was flaccid and he was not breathing.
He glared at the leader, annoyed his face was still obscured from vision.
Knowing shouting was not getting him anywhere, Michael decided to take a softer approach
and calmed his voice, “Look what you have done here; do you even understand what the
ramifications are for killing someone? Don"t you realise what consequences come with such an
act?”
“You think you can come down here and stop this, you wait until the Master hears of this,”
said another, whose accent was clearly different than the others.
So there is a master controlling these boys, logical.
“It is you who is sticking your nose in where it has no business being.”
“Stay where you are, all of you! Remove your hoods now, or I will drag the four of you to the
Head"s office and you alone will get the rap for this…this disgusting display of barbaric
cowardice.” Michael looked down at the boy lying on the floor. He needed to get him to the
nurse if there was any hope of saving him, but, if he moved these boys would escape
retribution.
“Get a grip old man, ye are outnumbered four to one, ye have no chance against us and we
are the ones holding the weapon.” Michael looked at the dagger being pointed at him, “so
unless ye want me to run ye in mysel", I would just forget what ye saw here.”
“Forget? You have stabbed a boy,” he pointed towards the boy lying motionless on the floor,
“he needs to get to the nurse, NOW!” His anger intensified exponentially. He felt rage surge
through his veins and his head began throbbing with immense pressure as if it were about to
erupt.
The leader stepped down from the platform and moved the dagger closer to Michael"s neck.
A flash of light fell through the hood and Michael saw the holder snigger as though enjoying the
situation. “Ye are in no" position to demand anything, but I, however, am in the position to grant
nothing.” Michael felt the sharp point of the dagger put pressure on his skin and he swallowed.
“Ye trespass in the Master"s sacred temple and spout out demands, who the hell do ye think ye
are…God"s angel?” Shear contempt oozed from every spat out word. Michael realised his
tormentor was however, just a boy and perhaps one he had taught. “Now, ye are gonna return
to where ye came from and forget all about what ye have seen here.” Michael felt the dagger
apply a little more pressure, “or I will see to it, ye never talk again.” Michael felt the rank breath
of the teenage boy standing before and wanted to vomit, but fought it back. “Do ye understand,
Old Man?”
“Jack Roberts? Is that you?” queried Michael. The figure said nothing, “Come on guys, do
you seriously think you are going to get away with this?” Michael was mentally preparing
himself to thrust the dagger out of Jack"s hand but kept his eyes on the shadow that filled his
assailant"s hood. “Killing someone changes you, it will start playing on your mind and before
you realise it, you are stuck in a…” Michael however, did not finish his sentence. He felt his
body lifted up and then forcibly smashed into the cold, hard rock floor. Blood began to ooze out
of his skull and form a puddle to the side of his head. He tried to fight the dizziness but could
only watch helplessly as a fifth figure allowed the four hooded murderers to escape, before
retreating himself.
