A miasma of air more foul than dragon’s breath flowed up from below. The musty tomblike odor carried memories of pain and terror and was heavy with an oily smell. But to Baltazar it was as sweet as perfume. He stopped to light a wooden torch in a wall sconce and used its flames to ignite wall torches that lined a short passageway. At the end of the corridor was a perfectly round room about a hundred feet in diameter.

Plaques set into the walls marked the ancestral resting place of scores of Baltazars who’d been buried in the castle before the family was forced to flee to Cyprus. Figures of Ba’al in the god’s various incarnations ringed the room.

In the center of the chamber was a bronze statue that resembled the stone one in the basement of his mansion in the United States. Like the other, it was a sitting figure whose arms were outstretched with the palms up. It was at least four times as large, sitting on a pedestal around six feet tall. Narrow stairways ran up both sides of the pedestal. The face on the smaller statue was almost benign compared to the visage of the larger one. It was more hideous than the ugliest gargoyle.

Baltazar climbed the stairs. He stood on a small platform behind the statue. The ancient priests took their post here, speaking into a voice tube that they had used to instill even more fear in their hapless victims.

He removed the family book from its bag and placed it on a ledge specially made to hold it. Reading the rituals from the book, he wrapped his fingers around a lever that protruded from between the shoulder blades of the seated figure. He pulled the lever down. There was a grating noise as a system of weights and pulleys came into play and doors slid open to reveal a circular pit in the floor directly in front of the statue.

He lifted the lever. The statue’s arms dropped down at the elbows and snapped up almost as quickly.

He descended the stairs and checked the pit with his light. It had been refilled with oil after the last time it had been used, when the family fortunes were on the wane and it had been necessary to make an offering to Ba’al.

A young Eastern European woman with no family had been lured to Cyprus with the promise of a well-paying job.

All was ready.

He went back for Carina. The bandaged figure on the stretcher stirred. Good, Baltazar thought. He wanted Carina to see the fate that awaited her. He undid the straps that held her on the stretcher and slung her over his shoulder fireman-style.

Baltazar heard a moan from Carina’s lips. She was coming to.

He smiled. Soon she would be in the loving arms of Ba’al.

NUMA 7 - The Navigator

Chapter 53