“But why?”
“If we knew that we’d be one step ahead of the game, wouldn’t we? Instead of fumbling around in the shadows like we are now.”
Chambers handed a handkerchief to Karen so she could bind her hand. “We’ve found four. Do you think there are any others in here?”
“What do you think? If we had not found this one, I would have assumed three was the end of it. But now . . . four isn’t a number of significance in any religion.”
“What is the next number of significance?”
Dr. Cruttenden turned to Karen. “The same number of people who entered All Hallows Church, and the same as the members of Thomas Moreby’s little group.”
Chambers could hardly believe it. “You mean you think there are another three of these models somewhere in this crypt?”
“I’m almost sure of it. Just as I am becoming increasingly convinced that our actions are helping to shape their interiors. And once their design is complete as intended, perhaps that is when some mechanism will be unlocked that will allow the next stage in the process to take place.”
“What process?”
“Moreby returning, the Anarch taking power, the world changing. Perhaps all or none of those things.” The lecturer gave Chambers a weak smile. “I really have no idea. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“I do, but your guesses are going to be a lot closer to the truth than anything either of us can come up with.”
“Don’t be so sure. I have a feeling the longer this goes on, the less the rules of the normal world are going to apply.”
The next church model was made of a hard black stone that was duller than marble and infinitely more delicate.
“I think it’s coal,” said Dr. Cruttenden as Chambers once again shone the flashlight beam inside it to reveal a now-familiar scene.
“At least the tableau hasn’t changed,” said Karen.
“I suspect it won’t now until something happens to us. And before you chastise me for my pessimism, young lady, might I add that the mere fact we escaped from the undercroft has probably delayed things? Shall we move on?”
Chambers wanted to say something to Karen, who was left biting her lip, but Dr. Cruttenden was already pushing ahead without the aid of the flashlight and he had to hurry to keep up.
The sixth model was made of something white, something smooth.
“Is that porcelain?” Karen asked.
“Actually, I suspect a more accurate description would be glazed clay.” Dr. Cruttenden circumvented the model, which was exactly the same size and shape as the others, but was a pale mustard color, either because of the clay from which it had been made or the effects of having been down there for so long. The detail was not as good as the coal, steel, or marble churches, but it was still possible to see that the tableau within was the same. “One more to go,” she said as they moved away from it.
“Even if there is,” said Chambers as he followed the breeze, “there’s no saying we’ll bump into it.”
“No, but somehow I think that we will.”
“You’re saying we’re being guided down here?” Karen was keeping close to Chambers, as if her proximity to the flashlight might somehow help to prolong the battery life.
“We’re following a trail, aren’t we? Even if it’s one of air rather than of breadcrumbs. And before you say we shouldn’t, I don’t think we have much of a choice, especially as those batteries seem to be almost dead.”
It was true. The beam the flashlight was giving out was now so weak Chambers wondered if perhaps there was some other source of light that was allowing them to see. The breeze was stronger now as well, and it was turning the skin on his face to ice. Onward they went, past more of the same pillars, more of the same sarcophagi, wanting it to end but knowing when it did that there could be something worse waiting for them.
The final model was made of glass.
It was inarguably beautiful, even in the dim light of the crypt. Delicate-looking, and yet when Chambers accidentally brushed against it nothing broke off. He didn’t need to shine the flashlight into one of the windows of this one—he could simply point the beam through the wall. Doing so caused the entire model to light up.
“Beautiful,” Karen breathed.
“Exquisite,” Dr. Cruttenden agreed. “The work of a true craftsman.”
The interior of the building revealed the hazy outline of something imbedded within it, plus a familiar tableau. Except for one very important difference.
“The people have gone.” Karen’s eyes were searching the model. “They’ve all gone. I can’t see them anywhere.”
“It’s catching up,” Dr. Cruttenden agreed. “I suspect if we went back and looked at the others they would now show the same situation.”
“So where are they?”
“We know where they are,” said Chambers, gently. “We are down in the crypt, and the others are in the undercroft.”
“They won’t stay there, though,” said Dr. Cruttenden. “They need us, and they’ll try any way they can to get us.”
“In that case I suggest we keep moving,” said Chambers.
“Where?” Karen sounded as if she was about to cry. “Around and around this crypt? Bumping into these bloody models again and again as they show us how much closer those things are getting to us?”
Dr. Cruttenden laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and pointed to the right. “I think he meant through that door over there.”
Chambers blinked. He hadn’t meant that at all, in fact he had only come out with it because he didn’t know what else to say. But Dr. Cruttenden was correct. Just ahead of them was an ornate door of thick oak, with clasps and hinges of heavy iron scrollwork. It wasn’t set into any wall they could see. Rather it seemed to lead the way to a lower level, a place that lay beneath even the crypt of All Hallows Church.
And it was open.
TWENTY-FOUR
“MY WATCH HAS STOPPED.”
Chambers shook his wrist a few times and then held the device to his ear. He looked confused. “It’s still ticking,” he said.
“Perhaps we have traveled far enough for time to have lost its meaning,” Dr. Cruttenden suggested. “It is, after all, an abstract concept, one the world of man has attempted to rationalize and quantify. I have the strongest feeling we are no longer in that world.”
Meanwhile, Karen was peering into the doorway. “Should we go down there?”
The steps leading down had been fashioned from the same worn black stone as the walls.
“I don’t think we’ve got much choice.” The steps were broad enough for two of them to walk abreast, Chambers noted. “Besides, the batteries in this flashlight are going to run out soon. At least there seems to be a source of light down there.”
And there was—a kind of pale greenish glow given off by the phosphorescent moss that clung to the roof of the staircase, spreading to the tops of the walls and no doubt kept alive by the dripping moisture that echoed with a regular pat . . . pat . . . pat throughout the chamber.
“We have to go down.” Dr. Cruttenden’s face was grim. “This is the next stage.”
“Stage of what?”
“I have no idea,” the lecturer confessed to Karen. “I can only assume it’s going to be unpleasant, whatever it is. But we have no choice.”
“Can’t we stay here?”
“As Professor Chambers said, in a moment we are going to be plunged into darkness in this crypt. Then instead of blundering around by lamplight we will spend the rest of our days blundering around in darkness.”
Karen could barely say the words. “The rest of our days?”
“You don’t think we’re going to be allowed to stay up here for long, do you? And I don’t know about you, but if we do have to face our pursuers, I’d rather do it in the light.”
As if to encourage them, the flashlight chose that moment to go out, plunging them into darkness save for the green glow emanating from the staircase.
“Nothing,” said Chambers after giving it a good shake. “Looks like our minds have been made up for us.”
“Like they have been all along,” murmured Dr. Cruttenden as she stepped through the doorway.
Chambers felt someone take hold of his left hand and he almost jumped. Then he realized it was Karen.
Who else could it be? he thought, before refusing to let his mind dwell on the possibilities. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they followed Dr. Cruttenden down the steps.
The very steep steps.
Chambers hoped their rapid descent would soon level out as each step jarred his knees. He put out his right palm to steady himself and was rewarded with the curious sensation of touching wet stone that was also somehow warm.
Getting closer to the center of the Earth, he thought with a trace of amusement, before wondering just how far underground they were now. Shouldn’t they be coming across water pipes, or sewers? Didn’t one of the London Underground lines extend out this far? Why hadn’t they encountered any of that, and even if all those structures had been cunningly constructed to avoid such things, surely they should be able to hear the rumble of trains, the rush of water? How late was it? Too late for traffic to be rumbling along the main road outside? He tried looking at his watch and then he remembered what Dr. Cruttenden had said.
“Are you all right?” Karen had picked up on his concern.
“Just wondering why the wall’s warm,” he replied.
“Quite possibly an effect of nature,” came the voice from ahead of them. “The water table in this area has always been very high, which probably explains the constant dripping. One also has to assume that such soil, which would have a very high clay content, would probably be a great insulator of heat.”
That didn’t exactly explain things, though. “But the heat has to come from somewhere in the first place,” Chambers said, trying hard not to slip on steps which were becoming increasingly muddy.
“No, it doesn’t,” came the reply. “I wonder if we shall find out.”
The farther down they went, the wetter it became, and as the moisture increased, so did the temperature. Soon Chambers was pausing to roll up his sleeves and hoping his shoes were sufficiently waterproof to prevent his feet from getting a soaking.
“How much farther?” Karen was wiping sweat from her forehead.
“Who knows?” he replied. “For all we know it could go right down to . . .” He stopped.
“Go on,” she said.
“Go on what?”
“You were going to say ‘Hell,’ weren’t you?”
He was. “Not necessarily.”
“Well, you should have. I never could have believed it would be so bloody warm down here.”
“And bright as well,” said Dr. Cruttenden. “I’m sure you’ve both observed how the light seems to be getting better the deeper we go.”
Chambers had assumed that was simply their eyes adjusting. “There is a lot more of that green algae stuff here. It must be ideal growing conditions for it.”
“And handy that it’s luminous,” Dr. Cruttenden continued. “Of course, as you and I know, heat and light don’t come from nowhere. There has to be an energy source that the algae can absorb in order to give off this kind of luminescence.”
“I can’t believe you’re both still trying to be scientific about this.” Karen almost stumbled as she spoke. “After what we’ve seen, everything that happened in the church, everything we had to run away from. This is all part of the same world and there’s no reason why it should make any more sense than a giant flea god appearing on a wall, or people we know turning into . . . things.”
“That’s very true,” said Dr. Cruttenden. “And it probably explains why the ground is leveling out ahead.”
It was true. Chambers could hardly believe it, but their descent was coming to an end. The stone steps ended so abruptly that he almost fell, his legs trembling as he found himself standing on level ground for the first time in what felt like hours.
The corridor was widening as well. Now the three of them could walk side by side, as the ceiling began to lift away from them. Soon there was space for them to walk together without bumping shoulders. Not long after that, it was as if they were walking down a main road.
“I can’t believe this is under the church,” said Karen, her voice echoing around the rapidly expanding chamber they now found themselves in.
“We may no longer be under the church,” Dr. Cruttenden replied, although she refused to be drawn further.
As they kept on walking, the ceiling rose to the point where they could no longer see it. The greenish light, however, remained.
After approximately another ten minutes of unending stone corridor, Karen grumbled. “It’s like we’re back in the crypt.”
“Not at all.” Dr. Cruttenden had an answer every time, thought Chambers, which was more than he had. “The crypt was dark, whereas here we have light. The crypt was of a different design, and it had those peculiar models. But most of all,” she took a breath, “we never encountered anyone coming toward us when we were in there.”
Chambers squinted and looked ahead. She was right. Coming slowly toward them, its right shoulder rubbing along the wall to their left, was a figure dressed in white. His first thought was that it was a ghost, and while he knew that was ridiculous, after everything that had already happened he was prepared for anything.
As the figure came nearer it became apparent that it was a young woman. Her long black hair clung in damp tresses to her cheeks, and it looked as if she had been crying. Chambers breathed a sigh of relief as she began to look more like a lost and lonely soul and less like something that was intending them harm.
“What should we do?” Karen hissed.
“We could start with ‘hello.’” After all, Chambers reckoned, wasn’t it possible that some other perfectly normal human being had managed to get lost down here and was now backtracking? Perhaps she would be able to tell them what was up ahead.
The girl beat them to it. She didn’t seem to recognize that there was anyone else in the passageway with her until she was a few yards away. Then her eyes brightened, and she spoke to them.
No one could understand what it was she said. When they shrugged in reply she repeated the words. The girl took two steps forward and held out her hands. The sleeves of the gown she was wearing fell away to reveal arms of milk white skin, right the way down to her wrists and hands. Her fingers, however, were gray. The same gray as the stone that the walls had been fashioned from. She took another step forward and Chambers noticed that she was barefoot, the skin beyond her ankles the same abnormal color as her fingers. Karen was extending her own hand in greeting, but Chambers pushed it away.
“I don’t think we should touch her.” He pointed to the girl’s hands.
“But she might be in pain.”
Dr. Cruttenden ignored Karen’s words and stepped forward to take a closer look. The new arrival seemed happy to let her. The lecturer frowned as she felt the girl’s fingers and toes.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this girl’s hands and feet are made of . . . stone,” Dr. Cruttenden said.
“Stone?” Karen’s voice echoed the lecturer’s disbelief.
Dr. Cruttenden took out a pencil and tapped the girl’s left index finger just to prove her point to Chambers. “Stone. It looks remarkably similar to the walls, doesn’t it?”
And the floor, Chambers was going to add. Instead he pointed ahead of them and asked the girl slowly and directly, “What lies that way?”
The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, but said nothing.
Karen shook her head. “Well at least that proves she doesn’t understand you either.”
Chambers tried again, just in case, only to be rewarded with the same slightly confused and, he had to admit, slightly appealing look. The girl spoke again. The words were different this time, but no less guttural.
“I suppose it’s possible that if her fing
ers and toes have calcified for some reason, then the same thing might have happened to her vocal cords,” he said, wishing the flashlight was still working so he could shine it into her mouth. “There are conditions that can do that to you.”
“None of which would explain why a young girl would be wandering around down here in a shift and with nothing on her feet,” said Karen. “You know what she reminds me of? A corpse. Someone who’s been buried in a shroud but has somehow dug her way out of her grave and is now trying to find her way back to the real world.”
The girl flinched at Karen’s words, as if they held some truth to them.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Chambers, although now he was beginning to wonder if the girl had a pulse. The strands of grayness creeping across her palms and encircling her wrists made him think twice about taking it, however. “I wonder who she is?” He reached out to feel the carotid artery in her neck, but at this presumed act of aggression the girl flinched and backed against the wall.
“I’m sorry.” Chambers began to apologize profusely, but it was no good. The girl’s bright gray eyes were filling with tears that glittered in the green light.
“Now see what you’ve done.” Karen’s tones were admonishing. “You’ve made her cry.”
“I don’t think he has, you know.” Dr. Cruttenden was pointing downward. “I rather think it’s more to do with that.”
They both followed her gaze to where the girl’s right hand had come to rest against the wall.
And saw that her fingers had become fused with the stone.
The girl was trying to pull away now, but it was no good. In fact, if anything, it was making things worse. Chambers watched, horrified, as her fingers sank into the stone as if it was the softest mud, fusing with the dark gray rock at the knuckle. When the girl put her left hand against the stone to try and push herself away, the same thing happened.
“Can’t we help her?”
Chambers responded to Karen’s plea by putting his arms around the girl’s waist and pulling, but it was useless. They watched, helpless, as both her hands sunk in up to the wrists, and then up to the elbows. Finally, and with a calcified shriek that Chambers knew he would never forget, the girl was sucked into the wall.
The Lovecraft Squad Page 23