The Illuminati Sanctum (The Relic Hunters 6) David Leadbeater (new reading .txt) 📖

Adelaide froze inches from Bodie, the dagger pressed so hard against the material that covered his chest, its tip was already coated with blood. “I will be the one,” she whispered savagely. “The one that will take your life.”

Bodie whispered back just as savagely, “Fuck you.”

Adelaide pulled away, her Grand Master’s authority and wishes uppermost in her brain. Bodie watched her stalk back to her seat and grab rolls of meat from a silver tray.

Bacchus watched him. “Nobody knows you are here. You live or die, or suffer forever, at my whim. I do hope you understand that.”

Bodie pulled at his bonds, taking care to avoid the wire around his neck.

Bacchus waved at the Hoods, who continued where they’d left off. Bodie fought the pain, then tried to corral it in a distant part of his brain. The last method worked to an extent, but couldn’t prevent the damage that was being done to his body. The stained-glass windows around the great room were entirely opaque, but didn’t stop the rising sun revealing that early morning had become mid-morning, and then noon.

Bodie tried to hold his head up, trying to ease the wire around his throat. Turning to both sides he saw Cassidy staring at a Hood, Yasmine groaning and wincing as another struck her, Jemma struggling to stay upright, and Lucie sagging in her bonds. Bodie shouted at Bacchus to stop, to give her a break, but Bacchus only laughed.

Adelaide’s eyes were wide and gleeful as she watched Lucie’s punishment, as she watched all their punishments. This was her vengeance, and she was damn well enjoying it. Discord and Cronos were sitting back, nibbling grapes and enjoying the spectacle, but more interested in what Bacchus was saying to them.

Bodie caught a snatch of the conversation.

“The prophecy is the right way forward.”

“But it is nigh on an impossibility,” Discord said.

“Not impossible. The Master will show us the way forward. The prophecy has lain dormant for many years, yes, but it still exists.”

“Just like the Ishtari?” Cronos asked.

Bacchus smiled at that question. Bodie’s attention was taken by the fresh Hood that stepped up to him, fists raised. The punches came, focused on his thighs to start. Bodie choked as his throat pushed hard against the wire. A storm of black spots assaulted the spaces behind his eyes. He heard the Hood laughing. He heard Adelaide laughing. He fought only to stay alive one more second, one more minute.

The Hood paused. Bodie gasped and choked and tried to tune in once more to Bacchus’s conversation.

“Will it even be valid anymore?” Discord wondered. “I mean it’s... archaic.”

The way he said “archaic,” made Bodie think he meant something older than anything around the time of Christ, and probably predating the pyramids. Known history? Older? Even in his condition, he felt a prickle of excitement.

“Hey!” he shouted.

Discord looked over. Bacchus was enjoying a particularly sweet plum and didn’t hear. Bodie glared at the Hood about to knock his teeth out.

“Tell them,” he said, spitting blood, “that the dead man wants a chat.”

The Hood blinked but got the drift. He looked at Bacchus as if debating whether to bother his master. At that moment Bacchus himself glanced up at the prisoners and noticed the exchange.

“What is going on?”

“Please,” Bodie gasped, acting like he was nearing the end of his strength. “We need a break. Just a short break. What... prophecy?”

He was gambling on the Grand Master’s passion for his subject.

Bacchus held up a hand, staying the Hoods. “It has been an entertaining morning,” he said. “To make the afternoon just as amusing, let’s take that break. Bring them water. Bring them bread. Their last day is still young.”

Bodie couldn’t hide his relief as the Hoods stepped away from his team. Jemma was talking to Lucie, trying to keep her conscious. Their faces were coated in blood, thick droplets falling from their chins. Bodie swallowed a welling mix of fury and guilt.

“Prophecy,” he said. “You Illuminati do love your historical revelations.”

Bacchus regarded him, clearly debating how much to reveal. “Human nature,” he said. “We want to believe that those in the past knew what they were doing. That they had a plan. These hopes and needs have increased tenfold lately, as it becomes clearer that our current leaders haven’t the slightest idea of what tomorrow may bring, let alone next year. They are weak. They need guidance. And they need strong, exacting leadership.”

“Don’t you already have your fingers in those pies?” Bodie asked.

“Some,” Bacchus admitted. “Think on the strong regimes of the world. Think on the strong leaders. Behind them is the guiding hand of the Illuminati.”

“Then why do you need prophecies?” Cassidy asked. “Aren’t they all a bit dated now?”

Bodie rolled his shoulders and neck against his bonds, trying to get some relief. The pain was kicking up a gear. “And what is the Ishtari?”

“You were listening well.” Bacchus looked impressed. “Despite your beating. I will have to tell the Hoods to try harder after lunch. The prophecy, as well as our newfound reliance on it and the Ishtari, all originates from you.”

Bodie frowned, despite everything. “What? From me?”

“From you so-called relic hunters. From the terrible acts you perpetrated against us at Olympia. From the possessions you stole, the riches you confiscated, the chaos you wrought. As I said, you set us back years. We need to rebuild, and rebuilding requires new wealth. New participation and resources.”

“Ergo, the prophecy,” Bodie said.

Bacchus narrowed his eyes, perhaps wondering if Bodie was resorting to sarcasm.

The Hoods reappeared and held bottles of water up to their captives’ lips, allowing them to drink. A moment later, wafers of bread were fed to them, followed by more water. Bodie enjoyed the new infusion of energy, but not the increased perception of pain it delivered.