The Chillicothe Horror Affair: Act I
The Chillicothe Horror Affair
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer/Mark Slate (background)
Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer, Mark Slate, various O/Cs
Genre: slash, h/c, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, Lovecraftian horror tropes
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Length: 23,800
Disclaimer: I'm old, but still not old enough to be any of the creators or owners of the Man from UNCLE intellectual property. I swear, my own twisted musings are not costing those people a dime, and I won't be making a penny myself.
Summary: When UNCLE's April Dancer and Mark Slate apprehend a Thrush scientist in central Ohio who seems completely incoherent and dies suddenly while being questioned, UNCLE's best are called for. Joining bonded Sentinel/Guide pair Mark and April on the site, the four agents soon find that their case is connected to a much older and more terrible mystery. What is the horror that lies deep in the earth of Chillicothe, and how is it able to tear the two Sentinels away from their Guides?
The Anthropology graduate student who joins them, and a couple of local cavers know much that can help, but none of them can imagine the response that comes from all around, in answer to the Guides' plight.
Chapter Index
Prologue: ...his Unspeakable Name...
Act 1:...something must have brainwashed them.
Act 2: ...There's something not right here...
Act 3: ...a little bird told me.
Act 4: Your Guide has found you!
Epilogue: ...a good beginning.
Act I: "...something must have brainwashed them."
"I suppose the old man made you watch the interrogation?" Mark asked once they'd settled everyone into the car. It was a 4-door, at least-a new model Dodge Dart-but it wasn't exactly roomy, with four agents and Napoleon and Illya's luggage.
"Of course he did," Illya said. "Though to give him credit, he apparently sat through it twice himself."
Mark, sitting in the front seat next to his Sentinel, who was driving, shuddered visibly. "And the creepiest thing of all, Napoleon," he said. "He wasn't kidding about the love business. It was all I could feel from him, until the end, where it was clear that he would rather die horribly than be parted from this… master thing."
Now Napoleon shuddered. "Glad it was you and not me," he said. "You think we're going to encounter more people like that? That Thrush scientist can't have been the only one."
"I've been thinking the same," April said. "We worked out a theory that the disturbance the Chillicothe police responded to was an attempt by Thrush to get their scientist out of the clutches of… whatever this is, which only partially succeeded."
"You think they got their scientist, who probably raised the alarm himself," Illya speculated, "but were themselves taken over, leaving their rescuee to wander off."
"Something like that," April replied. "We investigated the site of the reported disturbance-a parking lot by the local golf course-and found some evidence of a struggle, involving several people and a couple of firearms which were abandoned at the site. Both standard Thrush issue sidearms."
"Thrush left behind guns but no bodies?" Napoleon said. "Something must have brainwashed them."
"That's our thinking as well," Mark said.
"So I've found the country club," Illya said, having gotten a map out. "And the 'Mound City National Monument' isn't far. Where precisely was our deranged Thrush scientist picked up?"
"That's what we're going to find out now, in fact," said April. "We've arranged a meeting at a local diner with the two young men who spotted him and brought him in to the police. We'll be there in another hour or so."
Gazing out the window at the passing scenery, Napoleon found nothing to suggest any secret or sinister goings on. Rolling green farmland, brightly painted barns, churches and vegetable stands were what they passed as they drove along the two lane state highway. Schools proudly proclaimed their mascots, lakeside campgrounds declared themselves with signs featuring hooked fish and smiling kids in tents and the gas stations all offered bait for sale. Everything about it seemed innocent and idyllic.
The diner was no different, with a large sign on the roof in the shape of a hamburger and soda, and a section out front for drive-in dining. April parked their rented Dodge in the section for indoor dining and the four agents went in to meet the two good samaritans who'd brought the wayward Thrush lamb into the police.
"Pleased to meet y'all," said the smaller and younger of the two. "I'm Dan Hoover, and this here is Luther Jamison." Both young men stood immediately in the presence of a lady, and shook the four agents' hands with ernest politeness. Luther was taller, of a slightly heavier build than his friend and black. Dan had a lean and wiry build, with an unruly mop of red hair and freckles. They all settled into a booth, Luther and Dan on one side, Illya, Napoleon and Mark on the other and April at the head. She flagged the waitress down and ordered sodas and fries for everyone.
"The police said y'all wanted to know more about that old fellow we picked up the other day," said Dan. "But I don't know what we can tell you that we didn't tell the cops."
"He okay?" Luther asked. "He seemed kinda confused when we found him, but my old grand-poppy, he got that way in the end, so I figured someone'd wanna know where he got to."
"It's kind of you to ask after him, Luther," April said. "But I'm sorry to say that because he was so severely mentally disturbed, he was never able to tell us even his name. We're trying to find out who he was and what happened to him, and we hope that you may be able to provide some small clue about what that might have been."
"That's too bad, ma'am," Dan said. "But we don't know nothing about him. He was lucky nobody hit him on the road when we found him, cause he was weaving on and off it like he was drunk. That's what we thought he was at first."
"He's lucky we stopped to pick him up too," Luther added. "'Cause you ain't supposed to pick up hitchhikers that close to the State Pen, but we figured he didn't look like no prisoner." Napoleon recalled seeing a large state correctional institution on the map, virtually across the road from the Mound City Monument. That certainly put him in the same neighborhood.
"Can you remember what time it was?" Napoleon asked. The two boys exchanged glances, but he caught no intent to mislead between them.
"I guess it was just around ten in the morning," said Luther. "We had the day off and was planning on going caving all day."
"We did, later," Dan confirmed. "But we didn't have so much time then, so we went to Ash Cave, which was closer, instead of Deadman cave, like we planned."
"And this 'Deadman cave' you meant to go to," Illya asked now. "Is it far from where you found the old man?"
"We was nearly there!" said Dan. "I was kinda sore about it, to be honest, 'cause we was planning on making it past the second big room. That's as far as anyone in the caving club has gotten."
Now it was the four agents exchanging looks. "You lads may well have saved yourself a deal of trouble by changing your destination," Mark said.
"Has anyone else in your club, or anyone else that you know of, been in that cave recently?" April now asked. Luther shook his head and Dan shrugged.
"Not so far as we know," he said. "It's a pretty wet cave, so don't no one go in there till late spring. We wanted to be the first this year so's we could make the try before anybody else."
"This cave," Napoleon speculated, voicing the question all four agents had on their minds. "It doesn't run under the prison, does it?"
"I guess it does," said Dan. "The entrance is in a culvert, about a mile to the west of it, but then the main passage heads east, more or less, for a good spell."
"You boys wouldn't happen to have the time this afternoon to show us just where that culvert is?" April asked, with that certain lilt to her voice that nearly guaranteed that the answer would be yes.
It was about a forty minute drive from the diner in downtown Chillicothe to the wide spot off to the side of the winding, two lane state road where the two young men pulled off and parked their pickup truck (with a gun rack, naturally). There was another vehicle already parked there-a dirty white Volkswagen camper with curtained windows.
"Anyone you know?" Napoleon asked the two boys once they'd parked their cars and gotten out. The place they'd come to stop was a wooded area of scrub oak and scotch pine with the road grade a dozen feet above the surrounding forest. Below them, a small stream trickled through a culvert passing under the road.
Dan started to shake his head, but then Luther seemed to recall something. "It's that lady from the college, the one who's studying the Indians what built them mounds."
"Oh yeah!" Dan recalled. "And she asked us about Deadman cave too, now you mention it."
"What did she want to know?" Illya asked, immediately suspecting some further Thrush activity.
"Pretty much the same as you, but she was more interested in the mounds, like if the cave went near there." Dan answered.
Of course, it must, Napoleon figured, if it ran in the direction of the prison. April approached the van, peering in through the windows.
"She's been sleeping here," April said. "And cooking too, but she's not here now. I don't imagine she's far." Even as she spoke Illya sensed someone approaching from the woods below.
"Just off answering a call of nature, if you must know," said the dark haired young woman climbing the steep, weedy slope up to the road. "Can I help you folks?"
Napoleon stepped forward, proffering his ID. "Napoleon Solo, senior agent for the U.N.C.L.E. We're here investigating some possible illegal activity in this area."
"Abigail Blackfish, doctoral candidate in Native American Anthropology, Ohio State University" the woman replied, hands on hips. "What kind of illegal activity, if I may ask?"
From what Napoleon could sense from her, she was just what she said she was. No Thrush connection here, he let Illya know with a small nod.
"That's not something we're able to share at the moment," April stepped up to answer her question. "But I can tell you we're investigating an older man who was picked up near here a couple of days ago. We don't know much about him or what he was doing, but we do know that he was working for a… very dangerous organization, with which UNCLE is, unfortunately, very familiar. May we ask you, what is the object of your study here?"
"You're not under any kind of suspicion, miss," Mark Slate put in, forestalling her reflexive distrust. "But it's possible that something you're studying could help us solve our case."
"I doubt your case has anything to do with the Mound Builders civilization which was centered around here hundreds of years ago," she replied, still defensive. "Does it?"
"Not unless they had anything to do with the cave whose entrance is just underneath us in this culvert?" Napoleon guessed.
"There are quite a few myths and legends about it," Abigail admitted. "And I'm trying to find out if there's any truth to them. That's the core of my doctoral work."
"Do you suppose there might have been anything in those legends to attract Thrush to this site?" April speculated. They all looked at the researcher who sighed and muttered to herself.
"Right. Indian myths of Southern Ohio 101, once again. Hope you don't mind if I fix myself a cup of coffee first," she said, opening the side door of the van to reveal a snug living quarters with a bed, desk and kitchenette with a propane range and fridge. She set a coffeepot on the burner and used a sparker to light the gas.
Dan and Luther took the time to assemble a collection of caving helmets and lamps from the back of their truck and Illya and April sauntered over to have a look. Napoleon loosened his tie, as the weather was warm and humid, then decided to ditch his jacket altogether, tossing it into their car.
"You'll want a jacket of some sort, if we do go in that cave, mate," Mark pointed out. "They stay around 50 degrees fahrenheit all year. Natural climate control."
"Sounds pretty nice, right about now," Napoleon said, opening his collar.
"Probably feels nice in the wintertime too, when it's below freezing outside," April noted. "I suppose that's why people used to live in caves, way back when."
"You'd think," Abigail replied. "And yet the Shawnee, who lived hereabouts, never, ever went into any of them. My great grandma was a Shawanee, and she would never go into any caves. She told my mom, when she was a little girl, that they were full of bad medicine, and the deeper you went the worse it was."
She had her coffee now, Napoleon saw, and he and the others wandered back to stand in front of her van or to or lean on the agents' adjacent rental car, attentive as students at a lecture.
"My grandma died on the Trail of Tears while giving birth to my uncle," she began, "so my mom and her little brother were both raised by their grandma-my great grandma. She had a ton of superstitions like that, but she never told my mom any of the old stories because, she said, it was better to forget all those indian things and be like whites now. She never let my mom wear her hair in braids, for instance." April made a small sad sound at this and the others said nothing, though Mark and Illya both looked slightly shocked. As foreigners, they'd possibly never even heard of the Trail of Tears.
"But when I was a kid I wanted to know about those stories," Abigail continued. "So that's why I became an anthropologist. I especially wanted to know any Shawnee legends about caves in this area, and and it turns out there's quite a few. Most of them start with something about a giant battle between gods in the very distant past, in which the losers were exiled or thrown down into a crack in the earth, where they were trapped or imprisoned. Then there are some which tell about attempted escapes, and various heroes, some with something like super powers-almost like Sentinel abilities- or help from the 'good' gods, who prevent their escape. One of the legends connects the mounds here with a sort of garrison of guardians, whose duty it was to guard this particular avenue of escape. Another claims that the mounds themselves served as the protection, with some magical charm buried at the base."
"If there was," Illya commented, "it was surely destroyed around the time of World War I, when the US Army built a training base on the site. It was part of the briefing we were all supposed to read," he added when everyone looked at him.
"You are correct, sir," Abigail said. "And prior to that a couple of archeologists excavated the site and sent all the artifacts they found to the British museum. The Shawnee have been suing to get them back."
"So…" April speculated, "if these legends are in any way true, the thing preventing the 'evil gods' trapped below from escaping has been missing since before 1917. Could Thrush have worked out the same thing? Because if they did, this is exactly the kind of trouble they're apt to go looking for."
"You're right about that," Mark agreed. "And they may have also investigated the collection at the British Museum. Have you any idea, Miss Blackfish, what sort of objects the British Museum has from this site?"
"No, sir, and I'd like very much to know, but they haven't answered any of the letters I've written requesting an inventory, at least," the researcher answered peevishly.
"UNCLE can fix that quickly enough," Napoleon said, pulling out his communicator. When he uncapped it, however, he found he was unable to send or receive any signal.
"If that's some kinda radio thingy, it won't work within 3 miles of the prison," Luther commented.
"Ah, of course," Napoleon said, recapping the device. "In that case, I promise you, Miss Blackfish, that I'll have UNCLE request a complete inventory of that collection as soon as we're able to make contact again. I imagine we'll have it within 24 hours, and we'll make sure you get a copy as soon as we do."
"Well!" Abigail said with surprise. "You UNCLE folks sure know the way to a graduate researcher's heart. Thanks!"
"If Thrush has had a look at those artifacts, we need to see them too," Illya said. "And if they haven't, we will want to learn what we can from them before they do. May I ask, Miss Blackfish, what were you hoping to find by venturing into Deadman's cave yourself?"
"How'd you know I was planning to go in?" she asked.
"Well, for one thing, you are parked here, near the cave entrance," he replied, "and for another, you have a recently purchased tin of carbide lamp fuel under the front seat of your van. It is unopened, but the scent is very distinct."
Abigail froze where she stood, coffee cup halfway to her lips. "You're a Sentinel," she said, eyes wide with surprise.
"So is she," Illya said with a quirk of a smile, pointing at April.
"Y'all are Sentinel secret agents?" Dan said in astonishment. "Well, shee-it!"
Illya and Napoleon shared a silent glance. Best not to mention the Guides for the moment.
"Naturally, quite a few UNCLE agents are Sentinels," April said. "I find a great deal of satisfaction putting my Sentinel talents to use for UNCLE's missions. Now, about getting into that cave?"
Both Dan and Luther had been adamant that no one go into the cave without proper equipment-a helmet and two sources of light at a minimum-but fortunately enough, as president and vice-president of their high school caving club, they had the keeping of the club's collective gear, currently stored in their pickup truck. They'd laid out helmets and lamps for the two pairs of agents, who supplied their own flashlights as the backup light source. They even had coveralls for Napoleon and April. Mark and Illya were both dressed more casually and didn't mind getting muddy.
Miss Blackfish had her own gear, mostly brand new, and Dan and Luther were quite helpful in showing her how the carbide headlamp worked and how to adjust her helmet. When all this was accomplished the two local boys lead them down the embankment to where a stream crossed under the road through a five foot high concrete culvert. Everyone fired their lanterns up and they waded through the stream into the culvert.
Halfway through there was a gap in the concrete, from which more water splashed into the culvert. It didn't look like it led anywhere to Napoleon, but Dan crouched down and disappeared into it, calling for the others to come along. Abigail and the two Sentinels followed, then Napoleon and Mark, with Luther bringing up the rear. As he ducked down into the narrow, rocky opening, the last light from the culvert was soon behind them, and Napoleon's world became reduced to the circle of illumination cast by his quietly hissing lamp, and those of the others ahead of him in the passage.
For several yards their progress was made by sliding and scrambling down a slope of broken rocks and mud slicks. Then Napoleon saw the lamps ahead of him throwing their light out to the walls of a larger room below. Napoleon was required to climb down an irregular rock face before he could join them, but when he did it was a real relief to stand upright on something like a level surface.
Abigail was scanning the walls and ceilings for signs of habitation, but Napoleon couldn't see anything for himself that might indicate that ancient people had ever been here.
"That must be a relatively modern entrance, I suppose," she said. "I wonder where else this cave comes out that might have been known in the past."
"Mr Nichols, our geology teacher, says that a lot of the caves hereabouts are probably connected," Dan said. "He and his old caving buddies used to go into one cave and try to find a way to come out from another. Nobody ever found another way into this cave, so far as we know, but that don't mean there ain't a way. Y'all ready to go on?"
They were, so he directed them towards a gap between two rocks that Napoleon never would have figured as a way forward, as it proved to be. "You boys seem to know this place pretty well," he heard April say from up ahead, as they crawled on hands and knees through the next stretch of passage.
"Sure, we been in here three or four times," said Luther. "But only up to the room we're coming to next. It's a pretty big room, and we didn't get a chance yet to look at all the possible side passages from there."
Napoleon was pleased to hear that another 'room' would be coming up, but before they reached it, the passage they were in got so low that they all had to crawl on their bellies through muddy water. Then there was a short 'chimney' straight down a dozen feet or so, another few yards walking through an icy cold stream, above which hung some really lovely stalactites, then a narrow bit of passage through which they all had to edge sideways, and a long sloping mud slick, which was fun going down, but was clearly going to be a chore going back up.
The passage made a sharp turn at the base of the mud slick, so that the vast room revealed after the turn came as a complete surprise. April's shout of triumph echoed off the walls in an eerie sort of way. Dan seemed surprised by something too.
"Hey, what the hell is this?" he said, just as Napoleon came out of the passage himself.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Act II
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer/Mark Slate (background)
Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer, Mark Slate, various O/Cs
Genre: slash, h/c, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, Lovecraftian horror tropes
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Length: 23,800
Disclaimer: I'm old, but still not old enough to be any of the creators or owners of the Man from UNCLE intellectual property. I swear, my own twisted musings are not costing those people a dime, and I won't be making a penny myself.
Summary: When UNCLE's April Dancer and Mark Slate apprehend a Thrush scientist in central Ohio who seems completely incoherent and dies suddenly while being questioned, UNCLE's best are called for. Joining bonded Sentinel/Guide pair Mark and April on the site, the four agents soon find that their case is connected to a much older and more terrible mystery. What is the horror that lies deep in the earth of Chillicothe, and how is it able to tear the two Sentinels away from their Guides?
The Anthropology graduate student who joins them, and a couple of local cavers know much that can help, but none of them can imagine the response that comes from all around, in answer to the Guides' plight.
Chapter Index
Prologue: ...his Unspeakable Name...
Act 1:...something must have brainwashed them.
Act 2: ...There's something not right here...
Act 3: ...a little bird told me.
Act 4: Your Guide has found you!
Epilogue: ...a good beginning.
Act I: "...something must have brainwashed them."
"I suppose the old man made you watch the interrogation?" Mark asked once they'd settled everyone into the car. It was a 4-door, at least-a new model Dodge Dart-but it wasn't exactly roomy, with four agents and Napoleon and Illya's luggage.
"Of course he did," Illya said. "Though to give him credit, he apparently sat through it twice himself."
Mark, sitting in the front seat next to his Sentinel, who was driving, shuddered visibly. "And the creepiest thing of all, Napoleon," he said. "He wasn't kidding about the love business. It was all I could feel from him, until the end, where it was clear that he would rather die horribly than be parted from this… master thing."
Now Napoleon shuddered. "Glad it was you and not me," he said. "You think we're going to encounter more people like that? That Thrush scientist can't have been the only one."
"I've been thinking the same," April said. "We worked out a theory that the disturbance the Chillicothe police responded to was an attempt by Thrush to get their scientist out of the clutches of… whatever this is, which only partially succeeded."
"You think they got their scientist, who probably raised the alarm himself," Illya speculated, "but were themselves taken over, leaving their rescuee to wander off."
"Something like that," April replied. "We investigated the site of the reported disturbance-a parking lot by the local golf course-and found some evidence of a struggle, involving several people and a couple of firearms which were abandoned at the site. Both standard Thrush issue sidearms."
"Thrush left behind guns but no bodies?" Napoleon said. "Something must have brainwashed them."
"That's our thinking as well," Mark said.
"So I've found the country club," Illya said, having gotten a map out. "And the 'Mound City National Monument' isn't far. Where precisely was our deranged Thrush scientist picked up?"
"That's what we're going to find out now, in fact," said April. "We've arranged a meeting at a local diner with the two young men who spotted him and brought him in to the police. We'll be there in another hour or so."
Gazing out the window at the passing scenery, Napoleon found nothing to suggest any secret or sinister goings on. Rolling green farmland, brightly painted barns, churches and vegetable stands were what they passed as they drove along the two lane state highway. Schools proudly proclaimed their mascots, lakeside campgrounds declared themselves with signs featuring hooked fish and smiling kids in tents and the gas stations all offered bait for sale. Everything about it seemed innocent and idyllic.
The diner was no different, with a large sign on the roof in the shape of a hamburger and soda, and a section out front for drive-in dining. April parked their rented Dodge in the section for indoor dining and the four agents went in to meet the two good samaritans who'd brought the wayward Thrush lamb into the police.
"Pleased to meet y'all," said the smaller and younger of the two. "I'm Dan Hoover, and this here is Luther Jamison." Both young men stood immediately in the presence of a lady, and shook the four agents' hands with ernest politeness. Luther was taller, of a slightly heavier build than his friend and black. Dan had a lean and wiry build, with an unruly mop of red hair and freckles. They all settled into a booth, Luther and Dan on one side, Illya, Napoleon and Mark on the other and April at the head. She flagged the waitress down and ordered sodas and fries for everyone.
"The police said y'all wanted to know more about that old fellow we picked up the other day," said Dan. "But I don't know what we can tell you that we didn't tell the cops."
"He okay?" Luther asked. "He seemed kinda confused when we found him, but my old grand-poppy, he got that way in the end, so I figured someone'd wanna know where he got to."
"It's kind of you to ask after him, Luther," April said. "But I'm sorry to say that because he was so severely mentally disturbed, he was never able to tell us even his name. We're trying to find out who he was and what happened to him, and we hope that you may be able to provide some small clue about what that might have been."
"That's too bad, ma'am," Dan said. "But we don't know nothing about him. He was lucky nobody hit him on the road when we found him, cause he was weaving on and off it like he was drunk. That's what we thought he was at first."
"He's lucky we stopped to pick him up too," Luther added. "'Cause you ain't supposed to pick up hitchhikers that close to the State Pen, but we figured he didn't look like no prisoner." Napoleon recalled seeing a large state correctional institution on the map, virtually across the road from the Mound City Monument. That certainly put him in the same neighborhood.
"Can you remember what time it was?" Napoleon asked. The two boys exchanged glances, but he caught no intent to mislead between them.
"I guess it was just around ten in the morning," said Luther. "We had the day off and was planning on going caving all day."
"We did, later," Dan confirmed. "But we didn't have so much time then, so we went to Ash Cave, which was closer, instead of Deadman cave, like we planned."
"And this 'Deadman cave' you meant to go to," Illya asked now. "Is it far from where you found the old man?"
"We was nearly there!" said Dan. "I was kinda sore about it, to be honest, 'cause we was planning on making it past the second big room. That's as far as anyone in the caving club has gotten."
Now it was the four agents exchanging looks. "You lads may well have saved yourself a deal of trouble by changing your destination," Mark said.
"Has anyone else in your club, or anyone else that you know of, been in that cave recently?" April now asked. Luther shook his head and Dan shrugged.
"Not so far as we know," he said. "It's a pretty wet cave, so don't no one go in there till late spring. We wanted to be the first this year so's we could make the try before anybody else."
"This cave," Napoleon speculated, voicing the question all four agents had on their minds. "It doesn't run under the prison, does it?"
"I guess it does," said Dan. "The entrance is in a culvert, about a mile to the west of it, but then the main passage heads east, more or less, for a good spell."
"You boys wouldn't happen to have the time this afternoon to show us just where that culvert is?" April asked, with that certain lilt to her voice that nearly guaranteed that the answer would be yes.
It was about a forty minute drive from the diner in downtown Chillicothe to the wide spot off to the side of the winding, two lane state road where the two young men pulled off and parked their pickup truck (with a gun rack, naturally). There was another vehicle already parked there-a dirty white Volkswagen camper with curtained windows.
"Anyone you know?" Napoleon asked the two boys once they'd parked their cars and gotten out. The place they'd come to stop was a wooded area of scrub oak and scotch pine with the road grade a dozen feet above the surrounding forest. Below them, a small stream trickled through a culvert passing under the road.
Dan started to shake his head, but then Luther seemed to recall something. "It's that lady from the college, the one who's studying the Indians what built them mounds."
"Oh yeah!" Dan recalled. "And she asked us about Deadman cave too, now you mention it."
"What did she want to know?" Illya asked, immediately suspecting some further Thrush activity.
"Pretty much the same as you, but she was more interested in the mounds, like if the cave went near there." Dan answered.
Of course, it must, Napoleon figured, if it ran in the direction of the prison. April approached the van, peering in through the windows.
"She's been sleeping here," April said. "And cooking too, but she's not here now. I don't imagine she's far." Even as she spoke Illya sensed someone approaching from the woods below.
"Just off answering a call of nature, if you must know," said the dark haired young woman climbing the steep, weedy slope up to the road. "Can I help you folks?"
Napoleon stepped forward, proffering his ID. "Napoleon Solo, senior agent for the U.N.C.L.E. We're here investigating some possible illegal activity in this area."
"Abigail Blackfish, doctoral candidate in Native American Anthropology, Ohio State University" the woman replied, hands on hips. "What kind of illegal activity, if I may ask?"
From what Napoleon could sense from her, she was just what she said she was. No Thrush connection here, he let Illya know with a small nod.
"That's not something we're able to share at the moment," April stepped up to answer her question. "But I can tell you we're investigating an older man who was picked up near here a couple of days ago. We don't know much about him or what he was doing, but we do know that he was working for a… very dangerous organization, with which UNCLE is, unfortunately, very familiar. May we ask you, what is the object of your study here?"
"You're not under any kind of suspicion, miss," Mark Slate put in, forestalling her reflexive distrust. "But it's possible that something you're studying could help us solve our case."
"I doubt your case has anything to do with the Mound Builders civilization which was centered around here hundreds of years ago," she replied, still defensive. "Does it?"
"Not unless they had anything to do with the cave whose entrance is just underneath us in this culvert?" Napoleon guessed.
"There are quite a few myths and legends about it," Abigail admitted. "And I'm trying to find out if there's any truth to them. That's the core of my doctoral work."
"Do you suppose there might have been anything in those legends to attract Thrush to this site?" April speculated. They all looked at the researcher who sighed and muttered to herself.
"Right. Indian myths of Southern Ohio 101, once again. Hope you don't mind if I fix myself a cup of coffee first," she said, opening the side door of the van to reveal a snug living quarters with a bed, desk and kitchenette with a propane range and fridge. She set a coffeepot on the burner and used a sparker to light the gas.
Dan and Luther took the time to assemble a collection of caving helmets and lamps from the back of their truck and Illya and April sauntered over to have a look. Napoleon loosened his tie, as the weather was warm and humid, then decided to ditch his jacket altogether, tossing it into their car.
"You'll want a jacket of some sort, if we do go in that cave, mate," Mark pointed out. "They stay around 50 degrees fahrenheit all year. Natural climate control."
"Sounds pretty nice, right about now," Napoleon said, opening his collar.
"Probably feels nice in the wintertime too, when it's below freezing outside," April noted. "I suppose that's why people used to live in caves, way back when."
"You'd think," Abigail replied. "And yet the Shawnee, who lived hereabouts, never, ever went into any of them. My great grandma was a Shawanee, and she would never go into any caves. She told my mom, when she was a little girl, that they were full of bad medicine, and the deeper you went the worse it was."
She had her coffee now, Napoleon saw, and he and the others wandered back to stand in front of her van or to or lean on the agents' adjacent rental car, attentive as students at a lecture.
"My grandma died on the Trail of Tears while giving birth to my uncle," she began, "so my mom and her little brother were both raised by their grandma-my great grandma. She had a ton of superstitions like that, but she never told my mom any of the old stories because, she said, it was better to forget all those indian things and be like whites now. She never let my mom wear her hair in braids, for instance." April made a small sad sound at this and the others said nothing, though Mark and Illya both looked slightly shocked. As foreigners, they'd possibly never even heard of the Trail of Tears.
"But when I was a kid I wanted to know about those stories," Abigail continued. "So that's why I became an anthropologist. I especially wanted to know any Shawnee legends about caves in this area, and and it turns out there's quite a few. Most of them start with something about a giant battle between gods in the very distant past, in which the losers were exiled or thrown down into a crack in the earth, where they were trapped or imprisoned. Then there are some which tell about attempted escapes, and various heroes, some with something like super powers-almost like Sentinel abilities- or help from the 'good' gods, who prevent their escape. One of the legends connects the mounds here with a sort of garrison of guardians, whose duty it was to guard this particular avenue of escape. Another claims that the mounds themselves served as the protection, with some magical charm buried at the base."
"If there was," Illya commented, "it was surely destroyed around the time of World War I, when the US Army built a training base on the site. It was part of the briefing we were all supposed to read," he added when everyone looked at him.
"You are correct, sir," Abigail said. "And prior to that a couple of archeologists excavated the site and sent all the artifacts they found to the British museum. The Shawnee have been suing to get them back."
"So…" April speculated, "if these legends are in any way true, the thing preventing the 'evil gods' trapped below from escaping has been missing since before 1917. Could Thrush have worked out the same thing? Because if they did, this is exactly the kind of trouble they're apt to go looking for."
"You're right about that," Mark agreed. "And they may have also investigated the collection at the British Museum. Have you any idea, Miss Blackfish, what sort of objects the British Museum has from this site?"
"No, sir, and I'd like very much to know, but they haven't answered any of the letters I've written requesting an inventory, at least," the researcher answered peevishly.
"UNCLE can fix that quickly enough," Napoleon said, pulling out his communicator. When he uncapped it, however, he found he was unable to send or receive any signal.
"If that's some kinda radio thingy, it won't work within 3 miles of the prison," Luther commented.
"Ah, of course," Napoleon said, recapping the device. "In that case, I promise you, Miss Blackfish, that I'll have UNCLE request a complete inventory of that collection as soon as we're able to make contact again. I imagine we'll have it within 24 hours, and we'll make sure you get a copy as soon as we do."
"Well!" Abigail said with surprise. "You UNCLE folks sure know the way to a graduate researcher's heart. Thanks!"
"If Thrush has had a look at those artifacts, we need to see them too," Illya said. "And if they haven't, we will want to learn what we can from them before they do. May I ask, Miss Blackfish, what were you hoping to find by venturing into Deadman's cave yourself?"
"How'd you know I was planning to go in?" she asked.
"Well, for one thing, you are parked here, near the cave entrance," he replied, "and for another, you have a recently purchased tin of carbide lamp fuel under the front seat of your van. It is unopened, but the scent is very distinct."
Abigail froze where she stood, coffee cup halfway to her lips. "You're a Sentinel," she said, eyes wide with surprise.
"So is she," Illya said with a quirk of a smile, pointing at April.
"Y'all are Sentinel secret agents?" Dan said in astonishment. "Well, shee-it!"
Illya and Napoleon shared a silent glance. Best not to mention the Guides for the moment.
"Naturally, quite a few UNCLE agents are Sentinels," April said. "I find a great deal of satisfaction putting my Sentinel talents to use for UNCLE's missions. Now, about getting into that cave?"
Both Dan and Luther had been adamant that no one go into the cave without proper equipment-a helmet and two sources of light at a minimum-but fortunately enough, as president and vice-president of their high school caving club, they had the keeping of the club's collective gear, currently stored in their pickup truck. They'd laid out helmets and lamps for the two pairs of agents, who supplied their own flashlights as the backup light source. They even had coveralls for Napoleon and April. Mark and Illya were both dressed more casually and didn't mind getting muddy.
Miss Blackfish had her own gear, mostly brand new, and Dan and Luther were quite helpful in showing her how the carbide headlamp worked and how to adjust her helmet. When all this was accomplished the two local boys lead them down the embankment to where a stream crossed under the road through a five foot high concrete culvert. Everyone fired their lanterns up and they waded through the stream into the culvert.
Halfway through there was a gap in the concrete, from which more water splashed into the culvert. It didn't look like it led anywhere to Napoleon, but Dan crouched down and disappeared into it, calling for the others to come along. Abigail and the two Sentinels followed, then Napoleon and Mark, with Luther bringing up the rear. As he ducked down into the narrow, rocky opening, the last light from the culvert was soon behind them, and Napoleon's world became reduced to the circle of illumination cast by his quietly hissing lamp, and those of the others ahead of him in the passage.
For several yards their progress was made by sliding and scrambling down a slope of broken rocks and mud slicks. Then Napoleon saw the lamps ahead of him throwing their light out to the walls of a larger room below. Napoleon was required to climb down an irregular rock face before he could join them, but when he did it was a real relief to stand upright on something like a level surface.
Abigail was scanning the walls and ceilings for signs of habitation, but Napoleon couldn't see anything for himself that might indicate that ancient people had ever been here.
"That must be a relatively modern entrance, I suppose," she said. "I wonder where else this cave comes out that might have been known in the past."
"Mr Nichols, our geology teacher, says that a lot of the caves hereabouts are probably connected," Dan said. "He and his old caving buddies used to go into one cave and try to find a way to come out from another. Nobody ever found another way into this cave, so far as we know, but that don't mean there ain't a way. Y'all ready to go on?"
They were, so he directed them towards a gap between two rocks that Napoleon never would have figured as a way forward, as it proved to be. "You boys seem to know this place pretty well," he heard April say from up ahead, as they crawled on hands and knees through the next stretch of passage.
"Sure, we been in here three or four times," said Luther. "But only up to the room we're coming to next. It's a pretty big room, and we didn't get a chance yet to look at all the possible side passages from there."
Napoleon was pleased to hear that another 'room' would be coming up, but before they reached it, the passage they were in got so low that they all had to crawl on their bellies through muddy water. Then there was a short 'chimney' straight down a dozen feet or so, another few yards walking through an icy cold stream, above which hung some really lovely stalactites, then a narrow bit of passage through which they all had to edge sideways, and a long sloping mud slick, which was fun going down, but was clearly going to be a chore going back up.
The passage made a sharp turn at the base of the mud slick, so that the vast room revealed after the turn came as a complete surprise. April's shout of triumph echoed off the walls in an eerie sort of way. Dan seemed surprised by something too.
"Hey, what the hell is this?" he said, just as Napoleon came out of the passage himself.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Act II