They danced together most of the evening, hardly giving a thought to anyone else. The band had their amplifiers turned up to full volume and the sound was deafening. Occasionally they mouthed words to each other but then gave up, laughing. Once or twice the thought of the worms entered Aubrey’s mind; some extensive coverage would be necessary, interviews with the victims in their hospital beds, dig up the material he’d prepared when Matt Parker had his set-to in the sewers… But all that was really a problem for Monday morning. He grinned at Cynthia and pretended to mop his brow.
‘Hot?’ she bawled against the steady thump-thump-thump of the music.
It was cooler out on the terrace. They perched on the stone balustrade with their drinks. The ruins of the old priory appeared almost ghostly in the moonlight. Cynthia said she planned to explore them in the morning, she’d been told there was a section of wall dating back to the Anglo-Saxon period with a cross and runic lettering carved into one of the stones.
‘Probably a Holy Place long before Christianity,’ she commented. ‘That may have been why they built the first church here.’
The heavy sound of the music pumped out through the open windows. Over in a corner of the room some horseplay was going on — they couldn’t see what — and there was loud laughter. Aubrey made some remark about it being the last wild party before civilization crumbled, and started talking about the worms. Seriously.
‘They’re in every river all over the country. Every stream. And they’re spreading. Soon we’ll not be able to go near a drain, or even step over a gutter in the street, without being in danger. Even your own bathroom at home, or your kitchen. That cameraman, Matt Parker — I did him an injustice. He was right.’ Another crazy burst of laughter from indoors. ‘Let them celebrate while there’s still time.’
He was surprising himself. Up till that moment he’d thought only in terms of programmes. His job was to report. Put the facts before people. But now — perhaps it was the moonlight, or he’d had too much to drink — he saw it all differently.
‘Surely we can get rid of them somehow,’ she objected. They were sitting close together on the balustrade. Her voice was low.
‘I’m not so certain.’
‘We exterminate other — well, rodents.’
‘It’s a much bigger problem. People will have to change their habits, take a lot more care, no swimming, no strolling around. And the Government will need extra powers which it may not want to give up afterwards.’
‘What kind of powers?’
‘They’ve already evacuated one town. By tomorrow morning maybe there’ll be another.’
She didn’t answer. It was getting chilly but neither of them made a move to go inside again. They sat there, toying with their empty glasses, staring at the moonlit ruins through the trees. Suddenly she stood up.
‘Let’s offer them a sacrifice!’ Her face was mischievous; she held out her hand to him. ‘This is a Holy Place, isn’t it, where our ancestors came when they were in trouble? And it’s full moon tonight.’ She deepened her voice mysteriously, teasing him. ‘Maybe there’s something down there in need of a prayer or two.’
He laughed and allowed her to pull him up. ‘D’you really believe that?’
She shook her head. ‘I believe in neutrons, electrons, and radio-carbon dating,’ she informed him; then wrinkled her eyes at him. ‘But it’s worth a try. Come on! I wanted to see the place anyway.’
Her car was parked on the drive just below the terrace and she stopped to get the torch out of the glove compartment. In her eagerness she half-ran down the sloping lawn towards the gaunt, broken walls of the priory. As they got closer he caught a glimpse of water.
‘The old fish pond,’ she explained when he pointed it out. ‘They went in for fish farming, those old monks.’
Enough remained of the main walls of the church to make them drop their voices. Part of the pointed gothic arch of the main window was still in place, sharply outlined against the sky. They stood quietly for a moment, staring up at it, then drew closer together, his arm slipped around her shoulders, and they kissed. At length she broke away from him and looked at his face almost seriously.
‘Now you’ve pledged yourself to me,’ she said, mockingly. ‘This is consecrated ground, and with that kiss—’
‘I thee cherish,’ he interrupted her lightly. ‘Let’s find the writing on the wall.’
She shivered. ‘What a way to put it!’
They walked over the grass down the main body of the church towards what must once have been the high altar. Now only a couple of fallen slabs marked the place. He sensed her mood changing; she was becoming more tense. In the corner was an arched doorway hidden in shadow. She played the torchlight over it. Worn stone steps led down into the darkness, broken and uneven.
‘It’s a section of the crypt which was excavated only ten or fifteen years ago,’ she whispered. ‘And that’s where they found the stone with the carvings. I’ll go down first. I hope you don’t mind spiders.’
There were more steps that he’d imagined and they began to curve, with one or two sharp corners. She moved very slowly ahead of him, aiming the torchlight so they could both see where they were putting their feet. Steadying himself against the side wall his hand became tangled in a cobweb which clung to his fingers; trying to get rid of it, he dislodged a pebble which bounced down the steps, echoing hollowly, till suddenly it stopped. His ears strained against the sudden silence. Was that a scratching he heard? Or merely his imagination?
Her hand groped over his body, feeling for his. ‘You all right?’ she breathed.
‘Yes. And you?’
The sound of their voices seemed to spread and dissolve in the emptiness.
They continued down the crumbling steps, one by one, till they ended in front of a low arch. She went through, then exclaimed in surprise; he followed, grazing his hand painfully against the stonework. The air smelled damp. Something scurried away in a far corner, he couldn’t see what.
It was a long, narrow chamber with a floor and walls made of great stone slabs. A broad shaft of moonlight flooded in from above, illuminating a ledge cut into the end wall; above it, also carved in the stone, was a cross set in a circle. The runic signs were beneath it, faint and time-worn.
For a long time she stood silently before it, holding his hand tightly. ‘Don’t you feel this is a Holy Place?’ she said at last. ‘Perhaps at first, thousands of years ago, it was just a grove, a fissure in the rocks. Early human beings came here, experienced that sense of awe and mystery… I thought we might make love down here, but it’s too sacred. Isn’t it?’
As she turned to look up at him, her face earnest in the moonlight, he stooped to kiss her but she twisted away. Then a gasp; she backed against him. Lying in a patch of moonlight on the stone floor, its head raised, watching them intently, was a large worm. Its deep green skin seemed to glow in the dim light. He reckoned it was about a yard long, its body elegantly curved and coiled.
‘That’s what you were talking about,’ she whispered, her voice trembling only slightly. She picked up the torch from the ledge. ‘D’you think there are more?’
She swept the torch beam around the long, narrow room, into the darker corners not reached by the moonlight, and they counted six worms all staring in their direction.