There was a sound behind him like the crack of a twig. Turning round, Ray felt a sudden burning sensation in his neck. Startled, he grabbed at his throat. Blood gushed between his fingers and for perhaps a second he simply stared at the red liquid. Then his head was yanked back. The branches of the trees whirled through the air in front of him and he began to choke. Blood ran across his face and into his nose and eyes, blinding him. He lost his balance and seemed to float in the air for a brief moment, a moment filled with a blend of panic and confusion before he landed heavily on the ground, his head smashing painfully against a rock. He tried to turn, to scramble to his feet, but a hand was pushing down on his face. Then came another stab from what felt like a molten hot dagger. It sent more tremors through him, screaming around inside his head.
Somehow, Ray managed to lift a hand and wipe it across his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a figure leaning over him but its face was a featureless mask. He began to shake uncontrollably. The shadowy figure straightened up and peered down at him. Then everything went black.
Gail watched the coach pull away and checked her watch. It was 6.21. She was twenty minutes early Her legs felt stiff and it was good to fill her lungs with fresh air. Too excited to wait at the bus stop for Ray to arrive, she decided to head for the lane leading to Mesopotamia Walk. Ray was bound to be early and she would meet him on the path — it would be romantic. Maybe they would have a real Hollywood moment of kissing under the trees, she thought, and smiled to herself as she heaved the rucksack onto her back. She turned from Marston Road left into the lane, a short walk that would take her to the first of two small bridges across narrow tributaries of the river: Passing the old mill on her right, she would soon be on the broad path alongside the river, where she was bound to see Ray heading towards her.
It started to rain and Gail quickened her pace. Grossing the second bridge, she ran for the cover of the trees and then made a dash for the mill. The huge wooden wheel, a relic of the Industrial Revolution and now part of an English Heritage site, stood still, and water swept through the unmoving blades. The rain was falling in great torrents now, spattering on the path and the trees, competing with the sound of the water racing by through the lock and the narrow waterway that ran beside the mill. Pulling her rucksack up a little to relieve the ache in her shoulders, Gail turned a sharp bend on the path and kept her head down against the driving rain.
Something made her look up. Ten yards ahead was a surreal tableau. What looked like a sack smeared in red lay on the ground, and standing over the object was a man in a glistening wet one-piece plastic suit. A perspex visor obscured his face and a hood covered his head. She could see in the man's hand a tapered metal object that glinted in the feeble light.
For perhaps two seconds Gail stood frozen to the spot. Then, in a sudden rush of understanding, she realised that the sack on the floor was Raymond — his body, lifeless, soaked in blood. The man in the plastic suit had spotted her.
Gail Honeywell yanked the rucksack from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Turning on her heel, she was driven by a primal fear, horror welling up in her throat. She ran as fast as she could back towards the path beside the mill. It was almost enough to save her. But the Acolyte's reactions were faster. In the time that it had taken Gail to realise what was happening and to shrug off the heavy rucksack, the Acolyte had almost covered the ten yards between them.
Gail made it to the bridge. Drawing in huge breaths, she ran faster than she had ever run before in her life. Adrenalin pumped through her veins. She leaped onto the bridge, grabbing for the rail to steady herself. But the wooden slats of the structure were soaked with rainwater. Halfway across, her right foot landed on a patch of mud and she slid along the planks. She almost managed to retain her balance, but just as she thought she would make it to the grass on the far side her legs gave way. She crashed down onto her back and felt a shudder of pain rip through her as she collided with the railings.
The Acolyte was on her in seconds. He grabbed her wrists as she kicked and struggled. Gail managed to bite his arm, but her teeth met only resistant plastic. He pinned her to the floor with his knee. She tried to scream, but she couldn't gather her breath. A raw animal grunt came from the pit of her stomach. Rifling through his oversuit pocket, the
Acolyte pulled out a roll of thick tape. With practised fingers, he wound the tape roughly around the girl's wrists and slapped a strip across her mouth. With his knee still pushing down hard on her chest, he wrapped more tape around her ankles.
Standing up, the Acolyte looked down at Gail Honeywell, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. At this close range she could just see it through the visor. Then he looked at his watch. It was 6.31. He had to wait forty-three minutes before he could begin the procedure, which meant that the girl could be allowed to live a little longer. He felt a thrill of excitement shoot up his spine. 'Time enough to have some fun,' he said under his breath.
Chapter 37
Oxford: 30 March, 9.15 p.m.
Laura and Philip could see thin shards of a dark purple sky behind the terraced houses of Botley as they drove along Oxpens Road. Both were lost in their own thoughts. Philip contemplated the task ahead of them with a growing sense of dread, while Laura couldn't dismiss the knowledge that somewhere not far from where they were now, another girl was lying dead, her gall bladder removed.
Turning off the main road, Philip pulled into a free parking space close to Littlegate to the southwest of the city centre. This was about twenty yards from the less conspicuous of the two entrances to the Trill Mill Stream, at the edge of a small patch of lawn close to a modern office building. From there the stream ran east underground for almost a mile, following a path some thirty feet under Oxford until it emerged in the grounds of Christ Church College close to a walled path called Deadman's Walk.
Stepping out of the car, Philip pulled a large canvas bag from the boot and handed it to Laura. He then took out a rucksack which he shouldered before shutting the boot. It was quiet, not a soul in sight as they made their way along the street and through a gate onto the lawned area. A row of bushes screened the entrance to the stream from the road.
Parts of the Trill Mill Stream had once been an open sewer and consequently a health hazard. But during the middle of the nineteenth century the sections above ground had been covered over and built upon. It had been something of an attraction for intrepid explorers until the 1960s when Oxford City Council had closed it off to the public and blocked both ends with heavy metal grilles.
There was a small gate in the grille that was used to gain access for inspections and maintenance work. A heavy-duty chain and padlock were draped around the bars. The tunnel was about ten feet wide and perhaps five high. The walls were slimy and wet. The water was no more than eighteen inches deep, and as it trickled from the opening it flowed into a large metal pipe that ran into the ground at a slight angle before disappearing under the grass.
Laura threw down the canvas bag and Philip eased his rucksack onto the grass.
Laura made a face.
'I can't say I relish the idea of going in there myself,' Philip said. 'But we don't have any choice.' Then he pulled open the top flap of the rucksack.
Laura squatted down beside him.
'Two torches, plus spare battery packs. Matches. Our mobiles plus spare batteries — although I'm not sure that we'll get any signal once we're through the Guardians' entrance. A length of rope, a Swiss Army knife, water, biscuits, two spare sweaters.'
'And two pairs of waders and the all-important bolt-cutters,' Laura said, unzipping the canvas bag.
Philip picked up the bolt-cutters and strode over to the grille. Laura looked around, suddenly anxious. Within a few seconds, the chain had been sliced in two. Philip swung open the gate, then returned to where Laura was pulling on her waders. He yanked on his own pair and tucked their boots inside the rucksack.
Between the grille and the tunnel opening stood a small caged area which allowed th
em to stand upright for what would be the last time until they found the entrance to the Guardians' tunnel. Even then they could not be sure what they might find behind the concealed opening. Laura positioned the ends of the broken chain to make it look untouched and they concealed the canvas bag just inside the shadow of the entrance, placing a couple of bricks and a length of metal pipe over it.
'Ready?' Philip asked.
'I guess.' Laura could feel her heart beginning to pound.
Philip switched on the torch and took a few tentative steps into the tunnel. Bent almost double, his head was just a few inches below the curved roof. Laura looked out at the haze of city lights and took a deep breath. 'Au revoir,' she said quietly and followed Philip into the darkness.
After the first sharp bend, the only light came from their torches. Laura had never experienced claustrophobia before, but now she was beginning to feel the dank walls closing in on her. According to Charlie's map, access to the Guardians' tunnel should be on the left, sixty-three paces from the entrance to the Trill Mill Stream. But paces were a rather inaccurate way of measuring, so they would have to keep their eyes peeled.
After a few minutes, their backs were aching and the smell was almost overpowering. The walls were covered in mould and slime. The tunnel widened suddenly, but its ceiling was still bearing down oppressively.
'Can't be far now,' Laura announced.
Philip stopped for a moment and leaned back against the slimy wall, lowering himself a little to relieve the strain on his back. He was breathing heavily. 'Yeah, you're right. I made it fifty-five, but my strides are longer than yours. I suggest we shuffle along with our backs against this wall. We'll have to move forward slowly and scan the far wall with our torches.'
Arching their backs against the wall offered some relief, but not for long: its surface was jagged, and sharp edges dug into them. They took it as slowly as they could, searching the far wall. But after ten paces their torches had failed to reveal any abnormality in the ancient wall.
'This is no good,' Philip muttered. 'Damn. We must have missed it.'
'I feel like Quasimodo,' Laura replied. 'OK. I'll lead the way'
Shuffling slowly back towards the open air, Laura saw something. 'What's that?' she said, her voice echoing along the tunnel. In the torch's beam they could see a red smudge the size of an apple, placed about a foot above the water. Training both their torches on it, they searched around the mark for any other anomalies. Something glistened inside the red circle. Philip waded nearer. Close to the centre of the circle was a fleck of silver.
'What is it?' Laura asked.
'Not sure. A tiny fleck of metal. Hang on.'
Philip struggled to fish out the Swiss Army knife from his back pocket and banged his head on the roof. 'Ow. . Fuck!' he exclaimed. 'That hurt.'
Ignoring the pain, he crouched down and began to dig the blade into the powdery stone of the wall inside the red circle. It came away with surprising ease, exposing a silver-coloured disc about two inches in diameter. On the disc they could see five female figures holding aloft a bowl containing the sun. It was an exact copy of the image on the coins found at each murder scene.
Laura ran her fingers over the glistening surface. 'No doubts about that, then,' she said, with a grin. Philip was about to respond when suddenly the metal disc gave way beneath Laura's fingers and a low rumbling came from the wall. They both took a step backwards. As they watched, a black line appeared. It ran down to the disc, ran around it, and carried on to a point about six inches above the water. Slowly, it widened as the stone slid away into a recess. A few moments later the rumbling stopped and they were peering at a pitch-black rectangle the width of Philip's shoulders. They shone their torches into the opening, and in patches the blackness gave way to reveal stone walls receding into a featureless void beyond.
Laura stepped into the opening, shining her torch around and above her head. The ceiling arched several feet above her. Philip followed, and they both straightened up.
Laura sighed with relief. 'God, that was even harder than I thought it would be.'
'Ought to be grateful you're not six-two …' Philip stopped mid-sentence as the rumbling sound began again. They whirled round to see the stone begin to slide back into place. Philip reacted with surprising speed. Picking up a large rock, he thrust it into the opening. But the door kept on and the rock crumbled.
Laura felt a tremor of panic.
'I think it's OK,' Philip said as reassuringly as he could. He played his torch beam along the walls, which were surprisingly dry. 'The air is fresher here than it was in the stream. And at least we have some headroom. Come on.'
He edged forward slowly, scanning the floor and the walls as he went and brushing aside the cobwebs. The darkness was terrifying and it was taking all his concentration to hold down the unnamed things that his imagination was trying to dredge up to the surface. To stay focused, Philip studied the walls and the limited universe illuminated by the light from his torch. Laura was immediately behind him and she had gripped his hand. He could hear her breathing.
The walls were smooth and much drier than in the Trill Mill Stream tunnel. The smell now was more musty and earthy; the odour of rotting garbage and mould had been left behind. Philip picked his way very carefully. Anything could lie ahead of them a hole in the floor, a mantrap, any number of dangers. The biggest mistake would be to get overconfident. They had to take their time and watch where they stepped, he thought to himself.
The tunnel seemed to go on and on, unchanging. It was about ten feet wide, the walls curved and quite featureless. The floor was compacted soil, dry and flat. Then, suddenly, the tunnel opened out so that the beams from their torches produced only dispersed puddles of faint light on the walls to left and right. Taking a few more paces forward, they realised that they had entered a circular expanse.
'What's that?' Laura shone her torch at a point on the nearest wall at about head height. It revealed a small metal bracket extending from the wall and atop it was an old cream-coloured candle half burned down. Philip ran the beam of his torch along the wall to left and right and they caught sight of several more candles placed at intervals of about ten feet.
'You think they'll still work?' Laura asked.
'Only one way to find out,' Philip replied. 'Matches are in the left-hand back pocket of the rucksack.'
Laura struck one and stood on tiptoe to light the nearest candle. It spluttered and sparked for a few seconds before catching to produce a steady yellow flame. A few moments later they had twenty or more candles alight.
It was only then that they could fully appreciate the size of the chamber. But more importantly, the light from the candles revealed decorations on the floor, on the walls and on the ceiling. The inside of the room was covered with elaborate images. Across the ceiling ran a picture of a huge white stag, its antlers at least ten feet long. Around it other animals leaped and danced. A wolf skulked close to the bottom of the domed ceiling while a flock of birds — giant golden eagles — emerged from the rim of the ceiling to hover over the stag. And around the perimeter ran a fresco depicting a menagerie of creatures all painted in rich colours: ambers, crimsons, ochre and the richest, most royal blue.
Around the walls ran streams of alchemical symbols of different sizes, painted in silver and gold. Some were as tall as a man, running from the floor halfway to the ceiling, others were crowded tight and small. On the circular floor, some forty feet across, was one single image — of five robed maidens holding aloft a bowl containing the sun.
Philip lowered his rucksack to the ground and walked slowly around the room, touching the symbols before squatting down to study the image on the floor. Laura sat on the floor in the centre of the chamber and stared up at the ceiling.
'It's absolutely incredible,' she said after a few moments.
'It's like something out of Indiana Jones ,' muttered Philip wryly.
'And to think probably only a handful of people have ever seen this.'
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'And less than a hundred feet above our heads buses are running along St Aldates.'
'What do you think it's for?' Laura mused.
Philip shrugged. 'I guess it is — was — a meeting place for the Guardians. What do you think?'
But she had just noticed something. 'Look,' she said, 'there's a door.'
It had been easy to miss because there was little more than an outline in the stonework.
Philip pulled out the Newton photocopy. 'This must be the entrance to the labyrinth itself,' he said.
Laura turned to look at the manuscript.
'Here is the passageway that led from the wine cellar of Hertford College.' Philip ran a finger from the foot of the page up to a doorway that joined a complex tangle of interlinking lines; 'We've come in a different way because the old tunnel was sealed off. The Guardians must have built this room after 1690.1 reckon that behind this door we'll be at this point here… and beyond that must be the labyrinth.'
'But first we have to open it.' Laura bent down to examine the symbols in front of her. Philip loosened the catches of his rucksack and pulled out their boots. He sat down and pulled off his waders. Laura removed hers but was concentrating on the markings around the door. Philip then handed her a pair of boots. She slipped them on and laced them up without even looking at what she was doing.
'It's the Guardian statement ALUMNUS AMAS SEMPER UNICUM TUA DEUS: "Adept, love always thy God,'" she said, pointing to a single sentence among the collection of symbols and illustrations.
'And what's this?' Philip said, pointing to a small aperture that curved upwards into the doorway like a tiny chimney. He lowered himself almost to the floor and looked inside. 'It's full of cobwebs but there's a row of what look like coloured pulleys.'
'Let me see.' Laura crouched down and brushed the cobwebs aside with her torch. She counted ten brightly coloured tags.
'They must be linked with the colours in Charlie's code — the colour changes that the alchemists followed,' Philip said.
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