The Chalice

'And the energy goes kind of… whoosh. Whereas we seed a gentle, subtle… mingling.'

He made sinuous, snaking movements with his hands. Verity felt herself begin to tremble.

Ms Castell said, 'Maybe first we put over it a tent. To subdue the light, ya?'

Verity grasped the stump of a dead tree to steady herself.

'Dr Grainger, are you a Christian?'

'What?' The question seemed to throw him.

'I'm sorry, it's just that the type of clothing you habitually wear makes you seem rather like a priest, so I…'

'Well.' He gave it some thought, pursing his little round lips. 'I guess I think of myself as a scientist first. My life's a search for understanding. I don't like to be too much in awe. And also there's the tenebral conflict. 'Out of the darkness and into the light. I can't buy that. Christianity makes too many naive assumptions, I guess. That answer your question?'

'Yes. I'm sorry.' Verity turned back to the old house crouching in the shadows of the grey morning, 'I don't think I can let you do this.'

Dr Grainger froze, the spade in mid-air. 'Whaaat?'

'I cannot let you expose the Meadwell.'

'Verity?' He peered at her as though he thought she might have been replaced by someone else and he hadn't noticed.

'I'm very sorry, Dr Grainger.' She rose up in her tiny shoes. 'The Colonel would not wish it.'

'The Colonel?' Dr Grainger was hall-grinning in amazement. 'We are talking here about Pixhill? The late Pixhill?'

'I sink,' said Ms Castell in her somehow unconvincing mid-European murmur, 'zat Colonel Pixhill felt himself to be in a defensive position as regards the world in general. He wanted to close himself in, to seal up all points or access. The well permits water from the hill, maybe from under the Tor, to enter his domain, and so

…' She shrugged.

All around lay rubble and uprooted dead bushes, their whitened branches like bones. Verity was beset by the disturbing sensation of Dr Grainger and Ms Castell hacking into Colonel Pixhill's grave. How dare this woman speculate about the Colonel's state of mind?

'Please leave.'

Dr Grainger kicked away a slab of concrete dislodged by his spade.

'I don't think so,' he said. 'This is important to me now.'

Juanita's head twisted on the pillow. Her hair felt damp on her neck. She could hardly focus on the thin red line slicing Jim's painting in half on the wall opposite the bed.

'I'm going to call a doctor,' Powys said He sounded scared. That made it worse She was frightened for Diane and he was scared for her.

'No. Have you got that? You know what a doctor would say. And I'm not. I'm not going back. Just been overdoing it, I need a rest. And the worry…'

A glass of still spring water stood on the bedside table, a red and white striped straw in it. She tried to sit up and take a sip. She fell back.

Powys held the glass for her 'I'm not leaving you like this.'

'You've got to.' She tried to smile 'Besides, you know how badly you want to know about the missing Pixhill stuff

'It'll wait.'

'It won't wait. None of this will wait.'

'OK, if you won't see a doctor, what about Banks?'

'I'd rather die, if you don't mind.'

'Christ, Juanita… '

'He's an old woman. He'll fuss around. OK, OK, call him. He's in the index.'

She closed her eyes. Patches of grey and black coalescing.

Last transition… disillusion and decay… draught of death.

'Hey… will you look at this?' Dr Grainger squatted down. 'It's iron and there's some kind of a symbol here, if I can just…'

'Get out,' Verity said icily.

'… get this slab of concrete out the way… Come check this out, Eloise. You know how the lid of the Chalice Well has these interlinked circles symbolising the conjoining worlds? See, what we're looking at here…'

Verity flew at him.

The way Stella, the little cat, had flown at her from the cupboard on the night of the Abbot's Dinner. Unfortunately, she didn't have the claws for it; her housework blunted nails raked ineffectually- at his tight black shirt. She felt a wrench from her hip and stumbled.

'Verity, for Chrissakes, what the fuck is the matter with you? The spade fell back into the beaten-down bushes behind Dr Grainger. Verity was aware of Eloise Castell drifting mildly away, watching the struggle with that same supercilious, unconcerned smile on her thin face.

'Please go!' Verity was on her knees in the dirt. 'Please leave at once.'

'Verity c'mon, listen to me.' Grainger put his hands on her shoulders, holding her away from him, holding her down. 'Hear me out.'

'I don't want to know. I'm grateful for all your help. With the darkness. Please send me a bill.'

Her hip was aching abominably now but he wouldn't let her rise.

'Verity, listen up My studies are entering a new phase extending naturally into the psychic ecology of caves and tunnels, and ancient wells are an aspect of the subterranean tenebral network I had neglected to consider. Until Eloise here made some connections for me. Now, if you think that the, ah, ambulant shade of Colonel Pixhill is gonna be offended, then we'll respect that. We'll replace the covering. Later. After we check it out.'

He was very strong. Verity couldn't move.

Ms Castell was kicking at the crumbled concrete with her cowboy boots. 'Pel, ve are vasting time. Maybe I fetch Oliver.'

'Verity,' Dr Grainger persisted with his well-honed soothing intensity, 'nobody appreciates more than I do the kinda stress you've been under. What the-?'

'Psychic ecology, eh?' The bushes parted. A man stood there. Subterranean psychic network. Wow.'

The man wandered down from the bushes, a black and white dog at his heels.

'Sorry, I was just passing, couldn't help overhearing. Any chance you could decode this impenetrable jargon for me.

Dr Grainger's grip on Verity's shoulders eased. She scrambled up.

'You see… I may be wrong here, but it sounded like… you know… complete bollocks.'

He stepped down to the Meadwell plinth He was quite a young man, although his hair was grey. The dog did not follow him. It stopped at the edge of the bushes and growled. It had only three legs. The young man smiled.

'Bugger me, it's Pel Grainger, isn't it? Sorry, Doctor Grainger. That would be, I think, an honorary postal doctorate from somewhere like the University of Nerdsville, Indiana, right?'

'Who the fuck are you?' Dr Grainger picked up the spade.

'I'm the, um, earth-mysteries correspondent of The Avalonian. I'll be reviewing your book.' The young man shook his head. 'Serious bullshit, Pel, but you don't need me to tell you that.'

'You better watch your mouth…'

'Or you'll attack me with the spade?'

'Pel,' said Ms Castell. 'We go.'

Dr Grainger started forward.

'Pel,' snapped Ms Castell.

Dr Grainger snarled and hurled the spade to the ground.

Grainger and his partner walked back to the garden and down the path to the gate. Neither of them looked back.

Powys pushed some slabs of concrete back over the well cover with his shoe, waiting until they were off the premises before stepping down into a clump of dead thistles, stark as brown pylons.

He was glad to be away from Pixhill's well. As for Arnold – he wouldn't go near it.

'Thank you.' The little woman, Verity Endicott, smiled hesitantly. 'Thank you for your help.'

'It was a pleasure,' Powys said honestly.

'Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps?'

'I would love a cup of tea. I, um, I was coming to see you. I knocked on the front door, but everybody seemed to be up here, so

… He grinned apologetically, 'I slipped over into the field, came round the back way.'

He followed her back towards the house. 'You seem to be acquainted with Dr Grainger's work,' Miss Endicott said.

'A little.'