Ash felt a new freshness rising in him and wondered if the pill was working so quickly because pumped-up adrenaline was pushing the drug faster round his system. No matter: it helped, whatever it did. He began to make his way along the castle’s passages, trying to remember the route to Lord Edgar’s quarters, and soon found himself face to face with a familiar figure.
71
‘Mr Ash?’ Byrone said in surprise as he turned a corner and almost bumped into the parapsychologist.
‘Mr Byrone! I— uh . . .’ stammered Ash.
‘No need for the “Mr”,’ the manservant said with the easy grace born of many years’ servitude. In one hand he balanced a cloth-covered tray, the cloth entirely hiding its contents.
‘May I help you, Mr Ash? You look lost. If it’s Sir Victor you seek, then I’m afraid he is extremely busy at the moment entertaining some very important arrivals. I imagine he’ll be busy well into the night.’
You can bet on that, Ash thought.
‘As a matter of fact, Byrone,’ said Ash, ‘I’m looking for Lord Edgar’s suite. I have some urgent business with him that can’t wait. Mustn’t wait.’
Byrone blinked at the investigator’s sudden challenging tone – or perhaps at his impertinence. ‘His lordship is resting at the moment, and I have instructions not to disturb him. You are perhaps aware that he is not in the best of health.’
Ash was becoming impatient. ‘I promise you,’ he said evenly, ‘what I have to say is of the utmost importance to the health of both Comraich and everyone in it. I can’t express how vital it is for us all . . . especially today’s “very important arrivals”.’ It did no harm to gild the lily.
Byrone paused and thought. Then he said, ‘I’m afraid you will have to take the matter up with Mr Derriman.’
He made as if to walk away, but Ash deliberately blocked his path. He wasn’t fooled by the butler’s appearance, for Byrone was stockily built and his nose looked as if it had taken a few knocks in its time. For all Ash knew, the manservant could have been a hired minder, there to protect his master as well as serve his needs. He might even be armed.
Whatever, he would take on the man without hesitation if the lives of Delphine and Lewis were at stake. Ash tensed his muscles in preparation.
If Byrone noticed, he gave nothing away, merely eyeing Ash closely as if making up his mind.
‘Vital, you say?’ he asked, unflustered.
‘Absolutely. It’s quite literally a matter of life and death.’
‘Ah, death.’ Byrone smiled wearily, and although Ash expected him simply to turn on his heels and walk away, he continued speaking. ‘Look, sir. I’m on my way to administer his lordship’s medication and I’ll explain the situation to him. Then he can make up his own mind. I do know he is intensely interested in your findings. But I warn you, Mr Ash, if you intend to hoodwink him with parapsychological babble, then the consequences for you will be severe.’
‘Is that a threat, Byrone?’
‘Why yes, sir. What else would it be?’ said the butler amiably.
Ash smiled inwardly. This could turn into quite a tussle, he thought, seeing the smartly clad retainer in a new light. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I promise nothing but truth and honesty. After that, it’s entirely up to Lord Edgar. I’m just doing my job.’
‘Very good, sir. In that case, please wait here.’
Ash sat down in a floral tapestry chair and watched as Byrone disappeared round a corner, holding the tray at shoulder height like a waiter.
And as Ash waited impatiently, he felt something run over his foot. He just caught sight of the brown rat scurrying along the skirting board, before it disappeared into the shadows from which he had so recently emerged.
72
Senior Nurse Krantz was suspicious.
Other duties had taken her away from the medical unit’s reception desk, so she had no way of knowing whether that creepy stunted little man, Cedric Twigg, had returned from the containment area in the sub-basement – the ‘dungeons’, as she privately referred to the place. She’d asked the nurse who’d sat in for her (a rather plain, skinny girl in her twenties who Krantz had taken to her bed only a week or two after her arrival some years ago), but had been met only with a shrug of the girl’s shoulders. The senior nurse was not about to put her own life at risk by going downstairs to see whether Twigg was still around – after all, it was a full moon that night and, though there were those who thought the connection was a myth, some of the nutcases definitely were affected by the lunar cycle. And that – along with so many extraordinary things happening in Comraich lately – was only one reason she would not go down there alone any more. She was well aware of how despised she was by patients and medical staff alike. And somehow she instinctively knew that danger was abroad that night, something in the heavy atmosphere of the castle. Everything felt strange, as if there were static in the air, the oppression that often preceded a thunderstorm. Yet still she was curious. Had Twigg truly obtained permission to enter the restricted section on his own? Had Sir Victor really lent the shabby little man his own key card? It didn’t seem likely to Senior Nurse Krantz.
What to do? If Twigg was still downstairs, what could he be up to? She did not trust the shifty, bald-headed man. Could he be involved in some kind of mischief? She’d never heard of him carrying out any kind of structural assessment before. Besides, she was well aware of what the Inner Court really used him for, and it was another reason to be somewhat timid around him.
Krantz decided she would find the security chief, Kevin Babbage and pass the buck on to him. Her mind made up, she quickly took to the stairs that would lead her up to the castle’s ground floor.
She stomped her way to the lobby, wondering what the tiny black orbs with their graduating charcoal haloes were. She blinked several times as if to clear black floaters in her pupils. There were dark-garbed guards racing here and there, as if none of them knew where they were going, or what was happening. Neither receptionist was behind the long counter. It appeared Placid Pat had also deserted his station.
Krantz marched to the hefty door of the control centre and rapped loudly.
‘Yes?’ The voice came from a tiny speaker on the door frame.
‘It’s Senior Nurse Krantz. I need to see Mr Babbage.’
There was a buzzing sound and the door clicked. Krantz pushed it open and stood on the stepped platform that overlooked the enormous room. Sitting before the banks of TV monitors were three men, frantically stabbing at keyboards in an attempt to make clear the identical snowy, dazzling displays that were each meant to show a different area of the castle. Elsewhere computer screens were filled with lines of scrolling gibberish, fax machines spewed blank paper and even the television news broadcasts had become nothing but shadowy double-images of voiceless newsreaders. Water coolers bubbled and a jet of steam whistled upwards from the coffee machine. Not even the phones were working.
Security Chief Kevin Babbage stood in front of a whiteboard, looking as if he would be tearing his hair out had he not been sporting a buzz-cut.
He noticed the red-haired nurse standing on the platform by the door, a wide-eyed, dismayed expression on her face as she surveyed the chaos.
‘What the hell d’you want, Krantz?’ Babbage bellowed across the room. ‘Can’t you see I’ve got enough problems?’
Nevertheless, he stepped away from the whiteboard and hurried through the desks to reach her. If there was more trouble, it seemed that he didn’t want others to overhear it.
‘What’s wrong?’ he snapped as he swung round the steps’ metal rail and came up to the platform.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Babbage,’ Krantz answered promptly, not at all intimidated by his brusque manner, ‘but I saw that man Twigg on his way down to the sub-basement some time ago, and as far as I know, he hasn’t yet returned.’
Babbage scowled. ‘And you’ve been waiting all this time for him to reappear?’
‘No, no – I’ve been busy. I’ve only ju
st found out.’ Her own response was equally fierce. ‘I thought it strange, though, that he should have his own special key-card. He told me Sir Victor had given it to him so that he could carry out a structural assessment, but I can’t imagine that, can you?’
Babbage ran his hand across his bristling hair as he eyed the chaos below, then capitulated. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll take a look with you. You seen Derriman around?’
‘He’s probably upstairs having cocktails with the bigwigs.’
‘Yeah, that sounds about right. Come on, then, let’s see what we can find. I’m getting nowhere here anyway.’
They left the ops room and Krantz had to trot to keep up with the security chief’s pace.
In their haste, they failed to notice the small orbs now above their heads, floating like miniature black balloons near the hall’s high ceiling, gathering together and swallowing the light around them, eventually becoming one huge seething blurred shadow.
73
Ash’s patience was practically exhausted when he heard footsteps approaching from the direction Byrone had taken earlier.
‘Thank you for waiting, Mr Ash,’ said the manservant as he rounded the corner, now minus tray.
‘Did you know you’ve got rats running round this part of the castle?’ said Ash as he stood.
‘Alas . . .’ (Now there’s a word you didn’t hear often these days, thought Ash) ‘it’s a common problem in old buildings, sir. Ours find their way up from the dungeons below.’
Another man who called the sub-basement what it really was. Ash decided he liked that.
‘They rarely come this far up, though,’ the butler explained. ‘We have some very hungry cats to keep them away.’
‘Really?’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen one cat inside Comraich since I’ve been here.’ Though I saw plenty outside this morning, he thought.
Byrone paused a second. ‘Now you mention it, sir, I haven’t seen the castle cats recently either. Not for a week or so.’
‘Since the wildcats found their way onto the estate?’
‘Hmn, yes, I suppose.’ The manservant took up his stride once more. ‘Anyway, Mr Ash, you’ll be pleased to learn that his lordship has agreed to see you. Kindly follow me.’
Ash followed the butler down a long, wide corridor. Byrone, at first a couple of strides ahead of Ash, slowed so that soon they were walking shoulder to shoulder. ‘I’ve given his lordship his medication, but you might find he will tire very quickly,’ the butler said in a hushed voice. ‘If he does, you’ll have to leave.’
‘I thought he had an important meeting tonight?’
‘That he has, Mr Ash, which is why he must rest before it begins.’
‘And the dinner he’s supposed to attend before that?’
‘I fear he may have to excuse himself. But we’ll see how it goes. All I ask is that you do not tire Lord Edgar more than necessary. May we agree on that?’
Ash had no wish to exhaust a dying man, but he needed to obtain his permission to let Delphine, Lewis and himself leave the compound. He felt sure they wouldn’t make it out without that permission.
‘I’ll try to keep it brief,’ he said, ‘but there are things about Comraich he will have to know.’
Byrone gave him a hard stare.
‘Only for his own good and that of his guests,’ Ash hurriedly added. He had already decided that obtaining permission to leave would be his main aim. If Shawcroft-Draker wanted to hear more, then so be it: he’d get the full story. But the parapsychologist was only too well aware of how much a non-believer would, or could, accept.
They had arrived at Lord Edgar’s door. The manservant tapped lightly, then opened it and stood aside so that Ash could enter.
The investigator was surprised by what he found. Unlike the lavish grandeur of Haelstrom’s suite, Lord Edgar had opted for splendid simplicity, with admirable and exquisite furnishings and decoration, ornamentation sparse but pleasing. It was a large room that overlooked the sea, the high windows’ heavy drapery drawn back to reveal the dramatic clifftop view, the waves below rippling with the reflections of the clear moon that dominated the stars in a black sky.
Outside, he could see the castle battlements, though how an enemy could hope to scale this part of the cliff face with its almost vertical precipice was beyond him.
The large room’s simplicity was perhaps evidence of its occupant’s own clear and uncluttered mind. But as Ash looked around for his host he saw that there was no one other than himself and Byrone present.
Ash was standing near an uncluttered desk with a leather-inlaid top. There were a few documents neatly stacked on one side, a crystal paperweight and a silver letter opener, but what caught Ash’s attention was a sealed white envelope resting against the paperweight. In fine script it simply read: The Inner Court. It was placed so that anyone entering the room would notice it immediately.
Then a dry, low voice sounded through an open door on the far side of the room. ‘Please show our guest through, Byrone.’
The manservant led the way, this time entering before the investigator. ‘Mr David Ash, my lord,’ Byrone announced, stepping to one side to give Ash his first proper view of the grey man he’d seen on his arrival.
Lord Edgar was seated facing the door in a comfortable-looking high-backed armchair, just to the right of a warming log fire. The laird of Comraich was even thinner than Ash had remembered. Instead of the grey suit and tie he’d worn before, the thin man had a thick green and black tartan blanket pulled round his narrow shoulders like a shawl. Below that were grey check trousers, and on his feet, black loafers. Flames from the fire gave the right side of his face a rosy glow, but the flesh on the unlit side was pale and sickly-looking.
Yet, despite his evident frailty, Lord Edgar Shawcroft-Draker appeared in good humour. ‘Forgive me if I don’t rise to the occasion,’ he said with a fleeting smile, ‘but I hope a handshake will suffice.’
He held out a hand that trembled slightly as it reached out from the blanket, for a moment exposing a woollen jumper over a rotund stomach.
Ash stepped forward and took the proffered hand, which felt as dry as old parchment; he was conscious of the effort put into the other man’s grip, and the investigator held his hand firmly but without undue pressure. Lord Edgar let his long skinny fingers drop back under the blanket.
Lord Edgar indicated the twin of his armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace. As he seated himself, Ash noted that, although the fire was in full flame, the heat it threw out was far less than might be expected.
Noticing the parapsychologist’s puzzlement, the old man leaned forward confidentially. ‘I’m afraid draughty old castles keep in precious little heat, even in the summer months. We do our best to keep the guests comfortable and warm, but up here at the building’s summit, as it were, and on the top of a promontory over the Irish Sea, it’s almost impossible to conserve warmth.’ He relaxed back into his armchair.
It’s going to get a lot colder before the night’s out, even for the guests below, thought Ash.
The elderly laird was speaking again and the investigator was relieved the reedy voice was loud enough to hear without a struggle.
‘In high summer, it’s very pleasant to take a stroll along the battlements and to breathe in good, life-giving, unpolluted sea air.’ With his head, he indicated a pair of French doors. ‘I have easy access, you see. The doors lead directly onto the battlements. Usually, in autumn or winter, we draw the curtains closed to help keep out the draughts, but on a night like this, I love to watch the rising moon against the velvet blackness of the universe behind it, with a whole galaxy of twinkling stars. Unfortunately, it’s something you rarely see these days in most of Britain because of light pollution.’
The old man fell silent, but before Ash could speak, he seemed to rally once more.
‘Now, Mr Ash, may we refresh you with a drink? I’m sorry that we don’t have absinthe, but I’m sure Byrone can find you something
– er, if I may say so – something better for your health.’
Christ, does everyone know? thought Ash. He wasn’t really surprised, but why should his liking for absinthe be significant?
Byrone, who had been standing discreetly nearby, came forward. ‘What would you like, Mr Ash? A nice single malt would keep the chill off your bones, if that will suit.’
Scotland? Whisky? What could be better if absinthe was off the card? ‘Single malt, please. I’ll leave the distillery to you.’ He wondered if they knew his absinthe had run dry. Perhaps there would be a fresh supply waiting when he returned to his room.
‘Very good, sir. And your lordship. Shall I prepare your special now?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Shawcroft-Draker said slowly, as if he were thinking on it. He suddenly gave a half-smile. ‘Bring my other preference for the moment, Byrone. I’m rather interested to hear what our parapsychologist friend has to say.’
‘Very well, my lord. I’ll return directly.’ With that, the butler disappeared into the larger room.
‘So tell me, Mr Ash,’ Lord Edgar began when they were alone. ‘Have you discovered anything of special significance in the history of Comraich Castle so far? Do you know of its violent past, of the curse that was laid on it? That certainly must be of interest to you, especially with regard to the aberrant, even surreal incidents that have occurred here recently, no?’
‘You’re referring to when the family of one of the ancient lairds was thrown from the battlements down to the rocks below, I take it? I’ve heard some of it.’
‘With the gorier bits left out, no doubt.’
‘What I was told seemed pretty ghoulish to me. Whether or not that has something to do with the haunting at present, I couldn’t tell you. But without doubt, there’s evil shadowing this place.’
They were suddenly interrupted by the soft whumph, whumph, whumph of a helicopter slowly descending outside, a sharp beam of bright light preceding it to the landing pad. The noise soon abated after the machine touched down.