Read Online Los Nefilim Book 4 by T. Frohock - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T. Frohock
Ads: Link
mouth with oversized canines opened around the words âTENGO HAMBRE.â I AM HUNGRY. Someone else had scratched profanities into the paint with a rock or knife.
With his hand on the latch, Diago listened for any movement on the other side. He detected nothing. Time to take a chance.
The metal door groaned in protest as he forced it open. He hunched over and stepped across the threshold, quickly turning first left, then right. He was alone.
Feeble light revealed that he was in a sewer. The entire tunnel was no more than two metres wide. A trough ran between two narrow walkways. Judging from the amount of debrisâÂnewspapers, random pieces of clothing, stuffed animals, and abandoned toysâÂthis sewer hadnât been flushed in decades. A heavy coating of sludge had accumulated in the gutter, probably the combination of a recent rain and seepage from a storm drain farther away.
The brickwork indicated this section had been around since the Romans had occupied the city. Like all of the old Nefilim, Diago knew the tunnels and tombs beneath Barcelona. They had used them to hide from the Church during the Middle Ages, and well into the eighteenth century. Even so, there were portions of the city where Los Nefilim dared not go, and this, like other sections, was one such place.
Diago quickly took stock of his surroundings. A square sign hung from one rusting bolt on the opposite wall. The street name had been scratched out, and someone (or something) , had written: âTHE WAY TO PEACE.â
If you find peace through death, he thought as he looked to his right. There, the tunnel disappeared into blackness so thick it could be felt. He couldnât navigate in such darkness. Although his night vision was far superior to that of mortals, he still needed a small measure of light to see.
He shifted his attention to his left, where the passageway continued for several metres before it branched into two separate tunnels. A narrow concrete footbridge linked the walkways across the troughs. The passage on the left disappeared into complete darkness. Within the right-Âhand tunnel, a few scattered ceiling lights blinked and flickered.
The slow steady throb of industrial machinery mimicked the pounding of drums. The sounds were disorienting, seemingly pouring from all directions at once, and Diago didnât discount that possibility. The sewer was most likely a labyrinth of side passages that amplified and distorted the acoustics.
Hypnotized by the beat, he stared down the tunnel and remembered. They pounded the drums to cover the cries of the children as they burned . Those horrors had come during Solomonâs last days, when his mind had succumbed to the terrors of the night, and I lived in banishment from the palace and all that I knew.
Diago shuddered and forced the memory away. The past was done, and lingering over ancient incarnations was the route to insanity. Besides, it was the future that needed saving.
Keeping Rafaelâs face in his mind, Diago sheathed his knife in his belt and got busy. Within moments, he had scavenged through the muck to find a few sticks of wood, an armful of clothing, and a Âcouple of shoes.
Back upstairs, he motioned for Miquel and Rafael to move as far away from the stairwell as they could. Diago deposited the items heâd collected against the far wall. Miquel wasted no time sorting through the refuse for the parts he needed. He used the wood to assemble a makeshift body for their golem. While Miquel worked, Diago made another trip down into the sewer and found an abandoned coat. He filled it with sludge that he hoped was mud, and several newspapers and handbills. When he passed the door on the way back upstairs, he pushed it shut behind him. Hopefully, it would be enough to block their conversations from anything that might be listening below.
By the time Diago reached them the second time, Miquel had already lashed together the sticks, using one of the
With his hand on the latch, Diago listened for any movement on the other side. He detected nothing. Time to take a chance.
The metal door groaned in protest as he forced it open. He hunched over and stepped across the threshold, quickly turning first left, then right. He was alone.
Feeble light revealed that he was in a sewer. The entire tunnel was no more than two metres wide. A trough ran between two narrow walkways. Judging from the amount of debrisâÂnewspapers, random pieces of clothing, stuffed animals, and abandoned toysâÂthis sewer hadnât been flushed in decades. A heavy coating of sludge had accumulated in the gutter, probably the combination of a recent rain and seepage from a storm drain farther away.
The brickwork indicated this section had been around since the Romans had occupied the city. Like all of the old Nefilim, Diago knew the tunnels and tombs beneath Barcelona. They had used them to hide from the Church during the Middle Ages, and well into the eighteenth century. Even so, there were portions of the city where Los Nefilim dared not go, and this, like other sections, was one such place.
Diago quickly took stock of his surroundings. A square sign hung from one rusting bolt on the opposite wall. The street name had been scratched out, and someone (or something) , had written: âTHE WAY TO PEACE.â
If you find peace through death, he thought as he looked to his right. There, the tunnel disappeared into blackness so thick it could be felt. He couldnât navigate in such darkness. Although his night vision was far superior to that of mortals, he still needed a small measure of light to see.
He shifted his attention to his left, where the passageway continued for several metres before it branched into two separate tunnels. A narrow concrete footbridge linked the walkways across the troughs. The passage on the left disappeared into complete darkness. Within the right-Âhand tunnel, a few scattered ceiling lights blinked and flickered.
The slow steady throb of industrial machinery mimicked the pounding of drums. The sounds were disorienting, seemingly pouring from all directions at once, and Diago didnât discount that possibility. The sewer was most likely a labyrinth of side passages that amplified and distorted the acoustics.
Hypnotized by the beat, he stared down the tunnel and remembered. They pounded the drums to cover the cries of the children as they burned . Those horrors had come during Solomonâs last days, when his mind had succumbed to the terrors of the night, and I lived in banishment from the palace and all that I knew.
Diago shuddered and forced the memory away. The past was done, and lingering over ancient incarnations was the route to insanity. Besides, it was the future that needed saving.
Keeping Rafaelâs face in his mind, Diago sheathed his knife in his belt and got busy. Within moments, he had scavenged through the muck to find a few sticks of wood, an armful of clothing, and a Âcouple of shoes.
Back upstairs, he motioned for Miquel and Rafael to move as far away from the stairwell as they could. Diago deposited the items heâd collected against the far wall. Miquel wasted no time sorting through the refuse for the parts he needed. He used the wood to assemble a makeshift body for their golem. While Miquel worked, Diago made another trip down into the sewer and found an abandoned coat. He filled it with sludge that he hoped was mud, and several newspapers and handbills. When he passed the door on the way back upstairs, he pushed it shut behind him. Hopefully, it would be enough to block their conversations from anything that might be listening below.
By the time Diago reached them the second time, Miquel had already lashed together the sticks, using one of the
Similar Books
