Black Cathedral (department 18)

by L. H. Maynard

  He let his thoughts drift back in time to the day of their arrival when the launch brought them across from the mainland. He’d looked around the small boat at the excited and apprehensive faces of his work colleagues and wondered how he was going to cope living with them all for an extended period of time. Nine to five was one thing, but this was something entirely different.

  The launch was piloted by a hulking brute of a man called Scart; ex-SAS, or so he said. He’d introduced himself gruffly and told them he was taking them across because he was being paid for the job and not because he wanted to make friends with them.

  ‘Right,’ he said, handing out seasickness pills with a barely concealed smile. ‘The crossing’s going to be choppy. Who’s the senior member of staff here?’

  Michael Bennett raised his hand.

  ‘Okay. You’re Group Leader. It’s your responsibility to look after the others.’ He turned to the rest of the group. ‘You all clear about that? Any problems, don’t come whining to me. Tell…’ He glanced back at Bennett. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Bennett. Michael Bennett.’

  ‘Right. You tell Bennett here first. He’ll then have to decide whether to bring your problems to me.’

  ‘I really must obje…’ Bennett began, but Scart silenced him with a scowl.

  ‘As I said, the crossing’s going to be choppy. Some of you will throw up. Inevitable. Just make sure the wind’s behind you, otherwise you’ll get a face full of vomit.’

  Casey Faraday’s face turned a pale shade of green in anticipation.

  Casey worked with Sheila in Farrant’s department, pushing paper for the most part; a small step above the secretaries who occupied the floor below. Andrew Johnson worked alongside them, but spent most of his time trying to cement his reputation as the office Romeo, spilling lurid tales of bedroom conquests and easy lays. Michael Bennett was Farrant’s supervisor and had his own office at the end of the corridor. Eddie Farrant hated him with a passion, resenting his senior position, knowing he could do Bennett’s job without breaking a sweat, but knowing also that the directors had no intention of letting him try. At least not while Michael Bennett remained with the company. Michael Bennett looked around the small boat at the excited faces of his colleagues and wondered how he was going to cope with leading them over the week. They were such a diverse group, united only by their employment at Waincraft. Why they had all volunteered for the grueling management Outward Bound course he had no idea. He could guess a few reasons.

  Johnson would be hoping he could improve his rather sad reputation as the company ladies’ man, and probably had a few moves planned on the three women members of the group. Two of them were married, not that Andrew would find that a barrier, but Bennett thought he knew Casey Faraday and Sheila Thomas well enough to know they wouldn’t fall for Johnson’s oily charm. The new girl, Jo Madley, was different; something about her defiant profile and firm manner told Bennett that maybe Johnson would have met his match if he tried it on her.

  It was Jo Madley with whom Johnson was least familiar. She was about his age, blonde and lithe and he fancied her quite badly, but there was something about her self-confident style and brusque manner that told him she was out of his class, but he hadn’t quite ruled himself out of the running. Andrew Johnson, however, was crass enough to make a pass at her on the launch and lived to regret it. Her rebuff was short and acidic and he’d withered in front of their eyes.

  Jo Madley had been the first of the group to disappear.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The boat couldn’t get as close to shore as Scart intended; the forlorn wooden jetty had crumbled further into the gray sea since his previous visit and he couldn’t maneuver near enough for his passengers to get onto it. They would have to get their feet wet if they intended to get onto Kulsay. Though why anyone would want to stay a single night on the damned island was beyond him. There were enough stories, enough missing people and animals, to ward off all but the most foolhardy. As a mainlander he had had no patience with the crofters at the other end of the island and their ancient beliefs. Not that he hadn’t been as worried as the next man when they all disappeared.

  Let them all be blown off into the ocean during the next storm, let the island and its traditions rot and sink into the cold dark water. Now that they were all gone, he regretted thinking ill of his fellow men and women, but he hadn’t changed his mind about the island. He cursed the day he had ever set eyes upon it.

  Michael Bennett realized almost straightaway that things wouldn’t go smoothly. Jo and Sheila screamed as the boat bucked on a large swell. It was at that point that Scart told them they would have to jump for it. What that meant in practical terms was leaping about three feet from the boat onto a few clearly rotting planks of wood that were already roughly a foot underwater.

  To Bennett’s surprise Eddie wasted no time in jumping from the boat. With equally surprising agility he moved from there onto the jetty itself.

  ‘Come on, Andrew,’ Eddie shouted. ‘Get your fit young ass up here and help me with the others.’

  Andrew, cocky as ever, looked at him with almost oriental scrutiny and then wordlessly leaped onto the submerged planks. He seemed to know straightaway what Eddie intended; a two-man line from the boat to the relative safety of the jetty.

  Bennett began to shepherd the others from the boat. The women were light enough to jump cleanly and for Eddie to catch them and maneuver them up to Andrew safely. Whether they would have been so willing if it was Andrew doing the initial grabbing from the boat Bennett doubted.

  When they were all on the jetty with their bags, Bennett turned to thank the skipper. He had already turned the boat and was heading back to the mainland without a backwards glance.

  At that moment it began to rain, and Bennett’s misgivings began again in earnest.

  Kulsay Island in the eighteenth century wasn’t a great deal different from the one visited so disastrously in the twenty-first. There were more trees, and the only buildings a roughly hewn church and the original Manse. Both were inextricably linked.

  The obscure group who built and populated the Manse led a sheltered if not entirely blameless life of devotion and prayer. That their prayers were not offered to any conventional God was a secret they managed to protect until word of their practices spread across the inlet of the inhospitable sea to the mainland. The consequences of that discovery reverberated through the centuries, the sacred lines carrying surging power, swirling like veins beneath the earth’s skin, creating a beating rhythm of pulsing strength, feeding and breathing with a mystery as ancient as the curse that enveloped them.

  Bound by the blood promise that wrapped itself around them, they slowly emitted hollow echoes that traveled ceaselessly — waiting, patiently waiting for the century that would provide sufficient sustenance for release.

  With feet already wet from the landing, and with the persistent rain obscuring the gray light that clung to the last few minutes of the day, the six company employees trudged away from the water’s edge and up towards the Manse.

  Casey Faraday was still holding onto Andrew’s arm and Bennett hoped he hadn’t been wrong about her. Andrew had offered to help Sheila with her bag but she politely declined while Jo Madley gave no indication she needed or would welcome any offer of assistance. As they neared the large, indistinct shape of the house, the watery light seeping from the grimy windows didn’t exactly cheer them.

  ‘Looks welcoming,’ Andrew said in his ironic way.

  Casey gripped his arm tighter, and his mind began to run ahead of itself while his arm pressed against her breast and relished the soft warmth it found there. ‘Anywhere out of this rain is home at the moment.’

  ‘If the phone is connected you can ring home, Casey,’ Sheila said sweetly. ‘Let your husband know you’re missing him.’

  Before Casey could reply, Bennett said, ‘There is no phone. That’s part of the deal. It’s a survival week. Live rough and develop as a team.’
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br />   ‘In that case some of us have become good team players already,’ Sheila said.

  Any response was postponed by a sudden shout of thunder and the slight rain altered direction and intensity; screaming at them in jets of pure fury. They ran for the house, luggage slowing them.

  Behind them none of them noticed the ground undulate, rippling as if forces beneath it were struggling to get free.

  Andrew Johnson was first through the door. He threw down his holdall and searched with one hand for the light switch. As the others bustled inside the lights flickered and illuminated in pale shadowed fringes a hallway that would once have been considered grand. Worn black and white tiles shuffled off into corners where dust piled in inelegant mounds. Once-ornate covings were coated with accumulated grime that lent them the appearance of mould, and judging from the underlying smell of the house mould was prevalent throughout.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ Jo Madley murmured, voicing the thoughts of them all.

  ‘It’s a survival course,’ Bennett said. ‘And the house seems to be part of the survival.’

  ‘Stayed in worse on the road,’ Eddie said cheerfully. ‘ We just need to get warmed up.’

  Their footsteps echoed on the marble tiles as they began to open doors and check inside. None of the rooms were inviting; most of the furniture was covered in yellowed dustsheets, the windows covered on the outside by wooden shutters and on the inside by thick velvet curtains, drawn tightly shut. At least the electricity seemed to be connected and the lights in all the rooms working.

  They weren’t conscious of moving through the rooms as a group, but that’s what they did. It was as if none of them wanted to be alone, even though they would have argued they were merely team building if one of them had mentioned it.

  Because they kept together, none of them noticed the curtains rippling as though breathing, and the fresh finger marks on the old dustsheets.

  They decided to share rooms. Once Eddie’s coarse jokes were all used up the three women took one large bedroom to the front of the house; there was a huge four-poster bed there and a smaller divan type; and the men selected a room at the back with four single beds in it.

  ‘No good if we strike lucky,’ Andrew complained and while Eddie ignored the comment, Bennett knew it was made only half in jest.

  Unpacking didn’t take long as they had been instructed to travel light and wear warm, practical clothing. Jo went through to the en suite bathroom and as soon as the other two women heard the sound of running water they jumped on the bed and began talking.

  ‘What the hell were you doing hanging onto Eager Andy like that?’ Sheila wanted to know.

  ‘And what were you doing making snide remarks about it?’

  ‘You know what he’s like. You can’t fancy him surely?’

  Casey looked at her friend as if she needed to explain the reality of things very slowly. ‘We’re here for what? Seven days? And six nights! Eddie is cute but uptight and bound to take all of this ultraseriously, Bennett is so full of his team leader role he can’t see past his own nose, so that leaves Andy as the only one to have a laugh with. Besides, he’s so keen to preserve his womanizer image he’ll do anything in return for a harmless flirt. I’m about as good on a survival course as I would be running the marathon, so I — we — might just need a friend to get us out of the more strenuous ordeals they have planned. Andy will cover for us.’

  Casey spread herself on the slightly damp quilt. Sheila absorbed what she had said and laid beside her. ‘How does that husband of yours ever stand a chance married to a schemer like you?’

  ‘He doesn’t, but I don’t take advantage…too often.’

  Eddie was unpacked and had his things stowed away in two drawers of an ancient wardrobe before Andrew had even opened his case.

  ‘What’s on the agenda, Mike?’ he asked Bennett.

  Bennett hated being called anything other than Michael, which is why so many of his colleagues used the diminutive as often as they could.

  Eddie knew that more than anyone. ‘Yeah, Mike, w h a t have you got planned for us?’

  Bennett carefully folded his clothes and wash things into a voluminous drawer in the chest next to his bed before he turned to them. ‘Look, guys, I’m just one of you. Okay? They made me team leader but you know and I know that means shit. We’re stuck with each other for the next seven days. I have no idea what happens tomorrow — I’m supposed to get instructions somehow.“You’ll be contacted” is all they told me. For to night lay off me and let’s just relax. Okay?’

  Andrew held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

  ‘Okay,’ Eddie said.

  Downstairs they were surprised to find about nine people assembled and waiting for them. A gray-haired man with a close-cropped beard stepped forward and introduced himself. ‘I’m Lomax, the head of the house hold for the week, and this is Mary our house keeper, and the rest of the staff, including the kitchen staff and cook.’ He smiled but it was a dour smile that reminded Bennett of the deep waters of a loch he had once seen near Oban. ‘I dare say you could all do with some food after your pleasant crossing.’

  ‘I could do with a drink,’ Eddie said and most of the others laughed. Team building included finding weak jokes funny.

  Mary ushered the majority of the staff away, to the kitchens, Casey imagined, while one of the younger men walked in a different direction.

  ‘Young Ben will serve you at the bar. You’ll find the whisky excellent of course, but the bar is stocked with all manner of fancy drinks that you might be more used to than I am.’ Lomax gestured that they should all follow Ben.

  Bennett hovered behind as the others all walked through.

  ‘Is there anything I can help you with, sir?’ Lomax asked, his accent soft and deep.

  Bennett swept his hand in the air to indicate the house. ‘The house is large, and obviously has been wonderful in the past.’

  ‘Your point, sir?’

  ‘Judging by the dust and the neglect I doubt the Manse houses nearly ten staff on a permanent basis.’

  Lomax inclined his head. ‘Waincraft employed us for the week. We have a small launch moored along the jetty.’ Bennett noticed there was no ‘sir’ this time. ‘I understand they want a team bonding week but seven days is a long time without some home comforts.’

  They wouldn’t have their allotted seven days. The walls of the Manse began to move during the night; the ground around the perimeter rising and falling as if it was a duvet being shaken into place.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was like waiting outside the headmaster’s study at school.

  Robert Carter had mixed memories of school. He had enjoyed the social side of it, though he had kept in touch with none of the other boys. He had quite liked the education, finding learning, in most subjects, satisfying and stimulating. The discipline was a different matter. He had hated being told what to do, and as a result he quickly collected a reputation for challenging teachers, for disrupting classes with his questions. The corridor outside the headmaster’s room was soon familiar to him, and six of the best from the bamboo cane became a regular punishment.

  Now, sitting on a chrome and leather chair that was excruciatingly uncomfortable despite looking chic and modern, waiting for Crozier to usher him in, the memories flooded back. The door opened and Crozier popped his head out for a moment, beckoning Carter in. A sudden flashback of being fifteen and walking nervously into the headmaster’s study washed over him and he was unsettled as Crozier closed the door behind him.

  ‘Robert,’ Crozier said with apparent warmth. ‘And how are you?’

  For a Georgian building in the center of London’s Whitehall area the office was loudly modern. There was the ambience of a newly opened and longing to be fashionable restaurant about it. Though discreetly set on the desk were all the apparatus of a high-powered executive. Which in many ways was exactly what Crozier was.

  Carter was aware that his superior was looking at him and
realized he was waiting for a reply. ‘Any news on Sian?’

  Crozier glanced out of the window for the barest of moments and Carter knew what the answer would be. ‘Have you seen the report from the cleanup team?’

  Carter shook his head. If Sian hadn’t been found that probably meant she was still alive. The chances were her body would have shown up on the various scans of the area the Department would have organized as standard procedure if she had been killed and dumped.

  There was disapproval on Crozier’s face that the report hadn’t been read and inwardly digested but Carter knew that was unreasonable given he had slept for sixteen hours once he got home. ‘Your car was thoroughly investigated, of course.’ Crozier looked up like a cat might glance at a mouse. ‘It was clean. No blood traces, no traces of…what were they you mentioned, beetles? The house was taken apart inch by inch, you know the drill.’

  Carter knew from the deliberate hesitation that the news would not be good for him. Crozier was enjoying this. He was toying with Carter as a prelude to something worse to come. Not that it concerned him. His only worry at that moment was Sian.

  A brief flicker of annoyance that his prey had not yet bitten rippled across Crozier’s lips but it soon passed as he slipped back the professional mask. ‘Apparently the house was untouched.’

  He had no alternative but to react to that. ‘What about the wallpaper? The kitchen?’ The beetles in the dining room were still vivid in his mind. The crockery smashed in the kitchen, the smells and the noise when he went back into the house after making sure Sian…after thinking he had made sure she was safe.

  Crozier flicked a non ex is tent piece of dust from his desktop. ‘Sorry, Robert, can’t help you there. The house was as clean as the day the Flemings moved out. Cleaner in fact, as the team found no psychic traces of any kind.’ This was said with a note of disbelief as if he wanted to believe Carter’s version of events but just couldn’t.