The Blackwood Conspiracy

Chapter Sixteen: In The Lion's Den

Forêt Des Quatre Piliers, France: April 1  1:12 PM

Jojo’s eyes opened. He blinked, trying to push away the dirt that was shoved up against his eye. When that failed, he shook his head, freeing the dirt clogged in his eye and nose. Levering himself up with his legs, his hands behind his back in handcuffs of some sort, he looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. He was laying in a small clearing, near the tree he had fallen from. Across from him was his captor, a scruffy looking man that had a cigarette, its tip burning brightly, in his mouth. Jojo wrinkled his nose as the smoke drifted over to him. He coughed. The man showed no sign he had heard. Jojo coughed again. The man continued to ignore him. Jojo continued to look around. The man’s dart gun lay beside him, easily in arm’s reach. Another gun, an automatic, was pushed into his belt.

“Who are you?” Jojo asked. He got no reply. But the man did stand up, taking a dirty looking strip of cloth that was hanging from his belt. He rolled it into a ball and shoved it into Jojo’s mouth. He then took another cloth, unraveled it, and tied it around Jojo’s mouth. Jojo glared at him, unable to say anything.

And so Jojo spent an unhappy hour like this, laying twisted on the forest ground, his hands bound behind him. Jojo had no idea how many cigarettes the man went through, but he estimated at least half a carton. Jojo was sure that he was going to die from second hand smoke if he stayed in the clearing much longer. 

Near the end of hour they could hear explosions from where Jojo assumed Blackwood’s mansion was. Eventually they died away and the forest was quiet once more. Not long after that, the man straightened up, hauling Jojo to his feet as well. Digging the muzzle of the dart gun into the small of his back, he led Jojo through the forest. 

Eventually they reached the end of a large clearing. The remains of a once grand mansion were in front of him. It was four stories of connected buildings. A glass greenhouse had been destroyed, only the metal frame remaining.  The left section of the house, past the greenhouse, had sunk into the ground. Numerous fires burned here and there, and Jojo could see holes in the walls. Nearly all of the windows had been shattered, there were scorch marks on the once perfect grass and a fountain had been demolished, water wildly spraying from the cracked nozzle. Cobblestone walkways were stained with blood where people had been shot down. 

The man led him towards the main building, its giant doors had been reduced to matchsticks by some powerful force. The room past the doors was relatively unscathed. White coated figures hurried to and fro, their faces hidden by gas masks. The man continued to guide Jojo, leading him up a grand staircase and into the right hall. Jojo’s eyes widened at the sight that had greeted him. The hall had been utterly destroyed by gunfire, every available surface pockmarked with holes. The doors that hadn’t been turned to sawdust hung crazily off their hinges. A section of the wall had a hole in it, burn marks around it. An explosion. Blood was everywhere, the result of many people meeting their deaths in this area. Jojo hoped none of them were Brotherhood agents. But as the man pushed him around a corner, he saw a body. It was Archard, his sightless eyes staring at nothing. He had been shot at least five times. Jojo closed his eyes, averting his gaze. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks. He hadn’t really known the man, but it didn’t matter. He was still a friend. 

Every place the man took him seemed to have been the victim of a war zone. A balcony had fallen, another bullet ridden hallway, blood permanently staining the carpet. There was an atrium with various shattered pots and uprooted trees, and another ruined fountain. In all of these places there had also been the telltale signs of explosions, cracked and shattered tiles, scorch marks everywhere. 

They walked down a flight of stairs, coming to a metal door. The man swiped a passkey in an electric lock and pushed the door open. They were in an underground tunnel. There was a single man in the tunnel, apparently waiting for them. He stretched out his right hand, Jojo noticed it was covered in a black glove. Jojo didn’t take it, looking with disgust at the man. He wasn’t even quite sure where the disgust came from, the sight of the man just conjured it up. He had long gray hair, and wore an expensive looking suit. His left hand was grasping a walking cane, the head of the cane visible through his fingers. It was a snake, a hooded cobra.