'By what?'
'The feelings. The light. The things that come into my head. Even Rukenau can't stand it.'
Now Will was curious. If he was understanding Ted's ramblings correctly, there was still a part of this House that delivered on the description that he'd heard Jacob make of it all those years ago. It's glorious, he'd said to Simeon. If we were together, we could go deep, deep inside. We could see the seed of the seed, I swear.
That was where Ted's wife was, presumably. Deep, deep inside, where the weak-hearted couldn't go without paying the price of trespass.
'Let me speak to Rukenau first,' Will said. 'Then we'll go and find her. That's a promise.'
Ted's eyes suddenly flooded with tears, and he came as close to a spontaneous expression of thanks as a sober Englishman ever gets: he grasped Will's hand and shook it. 'I should give you a weapon,' he said. 'I don't have much - just a few sharpened sticks - but they're better than nothing.'
'What do we need weapons for?'
'There's plenty of animals in this place. You'll hear them through the walls.'
'I'll take my chances.'
'Are you sure?'
'Absolutely sure. Thank you.'
'As you like,' Ted said. He went to the little cache of sticks that lay beside his bed. 'I'll bring two, for when you change your mind,' he said. Then he led the way out of his little sanctum. The adjacent room was substantially darker, and it took Will a moment to orient himself.
'Slow down,' he told Ted, who had already negotiated his way across the murky ground to the archway on the far side. In his effort to catch up with the man, he stumbled against something underfoot, and fell forward in the darkness. The rubbish he landed on was barbed; it raked his face and flank, tearing his trousers and piercing his leg. He let out a cry of pain, which turned into a scream of curses as he flailed about. Ted came to his aid, and was in the process of disentangling him when a deep grinding sound brought his efforts to a halt.
'Oh Lord, no,' the man breathed.
Will looked up. Light was now spilling into the room, warmer than the luminescence from the walls, its source a doorway that was opening across the chamber. It was twice the height of a man, and a foot or more thick, its immensity moved by a system of ropes and weights. There was
a fire burning in the room beyond, perhaps several; and forms moving in the air, wreathed in smoke. And from the heart of the smoke, a languid enquiry: 'Do you have something for me, Theodore?'
It was plain by the expression on Ted's face that he wanted to flee. But it was equally plain that he was too cowed or traumatized to do so.
'Come to me,' the speaker said. 'Both of you. And put your sticks down, Theodore.'
Ted shook his head in despair, and tossing down the weapons he was carrying, made his way towards the door with the reluctance of a dog in fear of a beating.
Will got to his feet, and quickly assessed the damage he'd done himself. There was nothing significant; just a few scrapes. Ted was already at the door, his head bowed. Will wasn't so reverent. Head raised, eyes eager, he made his way across the antechamber and by-passing Ted at the threshold made his way into the presence of Gerard Rukenau.
CHAPTER XI
Though in principle Frannie's descent should have become easier the less distance she had to fall, the further from the sunlight she ventured the slimier the rocks became, and the rarer the handholds. More than once she was within a hair's-breadth of falling, and would have done so had she not twisted around to wedge herself across the gully as she slipped. If she survived this, she thought, she'd have plenty of bruises as souvenirs.
There was another problem: it was much darker down here than she'd expected it to be. She had only to look up - which against her better judgment she did - to see why. The clouds had been steadily thickening as she descended, and the sliver of sky still visible to her was iron-grey. There'd be rain soon, she guessed, which would make the ascent even more problematic. Well, it was too late for regrets. She'd made it down without serious injury; maybe she'd find a simpler route by which to ascend, she hoped with Will.
She didn't let go of the gully-wall until she was certain she had her feet on solid ground. Once she did so she looked back up the crevice to locate Will, but the overhang blocked her view. She started towards him, calling to him as she went, reassuring him that she was on her way. There was no reply, and she feared the worst. He'd cracked his skull open, broken his neck; she'd find him lying there, as lifeless as the rock he was sprawled upon. Steeling herself for the sight, she ducked under the overhang, and there, a few yards ahead of her, was the body that had seduced her down into this wretched crack. It wasn't Will. Lord God Almighty, it wasn't Will! It was a human body surely enough, but a very old one. It was virtually a mummy in fact, wrapped up in bandages and cloth. She was relieved, of course; but almost angry at herself for the wasted time and effort making the descent. Steeling herself against the sight, she examined the cadaver a little more closely. Several of its wrappings had rotted away, revealing flesh the colour of tobacco. Its head was particularly upsetting to look at, the skin dried tight over the bones of the skull, the lips pulled back from its pearly teeth. Was this Rukenau, she wondered? Had he perished and been buried, or at least hidden away, here in the gully, either by his acolytes or perhaps by fearful islanders, unwilling to lay his bones in hallowed ground? She studied the body for some clue, walking around it as she did so. And there in the rotted remains of the casket she found the evidence she needed to identify him: a collection of half a dozen paint-brushes, bound together with cord and what looked like sealing wax. She loosed a little moan of satisfaction at solving the puzzle. This wasn't Rukenau: it was the corpse of Thomas Simeon. She remembered only vaguely what the book had said on the subject. The body had been stolen, she recalled, and hadn't somebody, perhaps Dwyer, theorized that it had been taken north and buried on Rukenau's island? So it had. A strange and in its way pitiful end to a strange and pitiful life: to be preserved in whatever they'd used for embalming fluids back then, wrapped up in finery and hidden away like a secret treasure.
Well, that was one question answered. But it begged another. If Will wasn't down here, then where the hell was he? He'd failed to answer her when she'd called to him, so it was still perfectly possible that he was in trouble; the question was where?
The rain had begun to fall; and to judge by the force of water running down the sides of the crevice it was heavy. Attempting to clamber back up at the spot where she'd descended would be folly: she'd have to find another method. It was a long trek down to the sea, so she decided first to make her way up to the head of the gully in search of an easier escape route. If she failed to find one, then she'd try the other end, though the way the waves had been beating against the headland it would be difficult to find a means of egress there without risk of being washed away. All in all, not a very appetizing menu of alternatives, but damn it she'd got herself into this mess and she would get herself out.
So thinking, she started on her way up to the head of the gully. It got a little brighter a few yards on, the walls far enough apart that the rain came directly down upon her. It was cold, but she was sweaty after her exertions, and she put her face up to the downpour to be cooled. As she did so, she heard Steep say:
'Look at the state of you.'
Despite her extreme frailty, Rosa hadn't remained on the rocks where Frannie had left her, but had crawled, with painful sloth, to the rocks at the end of the gully. There she had collapsed, unable to move her limbs another inch. And there Steep had found her. He kept his distance from her, stepping close for a moment only in order to pull her hand away from her face, then stepping back again as though Rosa's weakness was contagious.