Unmapped Darkness

“Laurent… I…” The old man appeared very frail. Very…mortal. “I don’t want to know…too much… if you catch my meaning. Call it cowardice if you like; I name it self-preservation. We are kindred spirits, you and I. Were I a lifetime younger, I would eagerly join you. To whatever end, and over whatever horizon the Starless Citadel lay hidden behind. But not now. Already I fear the sleepless nights your visit will cause me, and old men like myself sleep little enough as it is.” Having unburdened himself of both affection and ambition, he sighed deeply, and it rattled from his lungs like his stained glassware. “What do you need, dear boy?” There was so much I wanted to tell him. A secret is worth nothing if it is never told. A wisdom which lies buried forever might as well have never existed. My soul and my spirit lives for the disinterring of ancient mysteries and forgotten lore, in order than all might entwine their souls with the common legacy of man: His Story. To not divulge the tales of the subterranean crypts and the eons of history etched within… It set a fire in my soul that gave birth to this journal – that which you, dear reader, hold now in your hands. I explore, so that others may find. As told in the Book of Proverbs: It is the glory of God to conceal; to search it out is the honour of Kings. “I require passage north, to the mountains.” “And you’ve sought out an old man for this help?” “An old man with resources, and connections.” “Indeed.” Crollius looked at me, his mouth half open like a parched man begging for another drop of water. Yet he who drinks too fast should drown himself in that which gives us life. He knew this, and asked for no more, instead falling back on the familiar support of his own obstinacy. “What would elicit such uncharacteristic generosity on my behalf?” “Your fondness for me,” I said with a smile. “I am like a son to you.” “Bah!” “A grandson, then.” I considered. “A great-grandson? Oswald, I make for the Hidden Pass.” This revelation brought the old alchemist up short. It had been years now since he had given up trying to gleam that location from me. Now here I stood, offering it freely, requiring only aid in crossing unfriendly territory. Oswald Crollius would assist me, as I knew he would. No man in the land of Hind is better equipped to smuggle someone towards the foothills of the Himalayan ranges, whence the raw material of Crollius’ experiments derives. He explained that he was nearly due for another expedition anyway, and these days his manservant Ashwin travels in his stead, for age has weakened his resolve to travel such distances. “Oh, to be young again, Laurent. Damn you and your cursed ambition. You light a fire where there is too little tinder left to burn.” With a weakened gesture of his wrist, he beckoned his manservant towards us. “Crossing the subcontinent is not what it once was. You don’t need my help to find north and setting one foot in front of the other, but unless you’ve suffered a change of character, I don’t expect that you wish to spend months crossing India on foot.” “Not if there is a more expedient way,” I agreed. “I thought so.” I followed Crollius over to a map of the subcontinent, his manservant silently on my heels. “The Great Peninsula Railway has carved the land into manageable pieces for a civilised timeline. From Bombay, rail lines to either Delhi or Calcutta connect through Allahabad.” Gesturing to the old capital of the Moghul Empire in the west, and the new British Bengalese port in the east, the two destinations spanned the width of the Indian Himalayas. Crollius was inviting me to specify. “I’ll be making for the Siliguri Corridor.” “You’re making two journeys then, Laurent. One through the British Raj, and one through the Indian highlands. The skills required to guide you through each journey are not housed within a single individual. Ashwin here can get you as far as Patna. If anybody can smuggle your obsequious face through India, it is he, but I can make no guarantees that you won’t end up in English irons.” Between Crollius’ den and the mountain watershed lie no less than one thousand miles by the lines on a map, and half that again in a navigable route. Every inch of land between here and there was controlled by the British Empire, who had placed a bounty upon my head that would raise any mercenary to knighthood and make a lord of any knight. It was this danger which disturbed Crollius most of all, and I had no doubt that for all of his paternalistic affection, Ashwin would carry with him explicit instructions to abandon me to my fate, should that fate come knocking in the guise of the British Raj. “Being able to speak a dozen languages isn’t going to help you talk your way out of an arrest warrant.” He tossed a faded brown cap my way. “At least cover up that shocking red hair. And shave your beard.” “I’m not shaving my beard.” “Dye it, then, for heaven’s sake. I can’t imagine why you persist in tempting fate every time you walk out into the open. It’s almost as if you relish in your reputation, and stoke the flames of your nom de guerre.” I conceded in putting on the awful cap, but left the full bristles of my beard untouched. “Having a reputation such as mine can be advantageous. How else will I nurture the legend that is The Red Raider?”