Matthew was struggling to push the door to. Jane was groping her way down the steps by torchlight. ‘Hay thought we were the best people for the job.’
‘Jesus,’ said Imogen. ‘What the hell were the others like?’
Eventually, Matthew got the door closed and now they were all in the dark.
A grunt and a muffled curse informed Jane she’d trodden on her team leader and a moment later, a squeak and a very unmuffled curse informed Matthew he’d trodden on their prisoner.
‘Anyone else got a torch?’ enquired Jane.
‘Not sure if mine will still be working,’ said Luke, but it was. He flashed it around.
A sinister-looking narrow stone passage stretched ahead of them.
‘And the day just keeps getting better,’ snarled Imogen.
Luke nudged her. ‘Shush.’
Jane felt Imogen draw breath to expostulate – if not actually kill him – and then, above them, voices sounded on the other side of the door. The muttering seemed to go on for a very long time. Luke held up his hand and they all stood motionless, waiting for the moment the door was thrown open, exposing them in this narrow space.
It never happened. No one tried the door, but for how much longer would their luck last?
‘Quick,’ whispered Luke. ‘This way.’
The passage was cold but dry. Cobwebs hung everywhere, through which they could see another wooden door at the end.
‘Don’t think anyone’s been down here for ages,’ whispered Jane.
‘Then why was that door unlocked?’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Luke. ‘I think it was old and our combined weight was just too much for it. Lucky for us, although we shouldn’t hang around here.’
They shuffled down the corridor in single file. Luke first, then Imogen, then Jane. Matthew brought up the rear.
They halted at the end. Luke put his ear to the door and listened. ‘Can’t hear anything.’ He lifted the latch and pushed. Nothing happened. ‘Damn.’
‘Try pulling,’ advised Imogen.
‘Don’t be so bloody . . .’
Awkwardly, she reached past him and pulled. The door opened easily.
‘Moron,’ said Imogen, pushing past him.
Jane could tell by the change of air they were in a large space. A cool breeze blew something light and feathery across her face but she didn’t scream because Time Police officers don’t scream, as had been drilled into them during their training. They were a cause of screaming in others.
Matthew shone his torch around. They were in a vaulted room. Jane was never afterwards able to describe it because, abruptly, she’d lost all interest in where they might be. Her only thought now was to escape this nightmare with all speed. She swallowed hard. Even Imogen was silent.
Dark recesses were set at intervals around the walls and each recess was shelved and each shelf was stacked with skulls. Scores and scores of neatly arranged skulls. Sightless eye sockets stared down at the four of them. Some were brown, some yellow, and a very few were gleaming white.
They’ve been put here recently, thought Jane, fighting down panic. But not the way we came. Which means there’s another way out.
Imogen’s breathing was fast and shallow. ‘For God’s sake, Parrish, where have you brought me now?’
‘It’s just some kind of ossuary,’ said Jane, trying to convince herself. ‘A place for storing bones. Look, there’s long bones over there and . . . more bones over there . . . and . . .’
Luke was baffled. ‘Why would anyone want to . . . ?’
Imogen clutched at him. ‘Oh my God – that skull – that one on the end. It moved. It’s alive.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Luke, reassuringly. ‘It’s just the rats.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a rat inside the skull making it move. Look – you can see the tail hanging out of the eye socket. It’s just having a bit of a play. You know – like a hamster in one of those ball things.’
Three pairs of eyes regarded him.
‘What?’ he said, hurt. ‘Just trying to point out – only a normal rat in a normal skull. Nothing spooky at all.’
‘This way,’ said Matthew, who had been exploring. He flashed his torch on a side wall. ‘There’s a door over there.’
Luke led the way. ‘Hope this one’s unlocked as well or we could have a problem.’
Imogen stared at him. ‘Don’t you have those fire things? What do they call them? Blasters?’
Very patiently, Luke said, ‘Not on us, no.’
‘Why the fire truck not?’
‘Imogen, your language has really deteriorated since we parted.’
‘Really? That’s a surprise because everything else perked up no end once you were out of my life.’
Jane was flashing her torch around. Something winked in the light. ‘What’s that?’
They inched their way closer.
‘Ornaments?’ said Matthew.
‘Offerings,’ said Jane. And indeed, when they looked along the shelves, they could see rosaries, tiny boxes, small ornaments – gifts left for the dead.
Why do we do this? thought Jane. Every culture does it – leaves gifts for the dead. Is it to ease them into the next world? To salve our consciences? To leave them a keepsake or a reminder? They hardly need it, so why do we do it?
Her musings were cut short as she was jostled by Imogen, presumably eager to leave this place of the dead. And, Jane reflected – who could blame her?
This door wasn’t locked, either.
‘It’s a crypt,’ said Jane, looking up. ‘I think we’re in a church. The steps are over there.’
They made their way up the stone stairs emerging very cautiously through a tiny wooden door into the nave and daylight.
‘It’s empty,’ said Luke.
‘It’s abandoned,’ said Jane, and it was. Dim light was making a bad job of streaming through dirty windows. The cavernous space before them was empty. No altar, no font, just a large, stone space. The floor was covered in a mixture of dust, bird droppings and broken twigs. Something flapped in the rafters overhead. Jane tried very hard not to think of every vampire story she had ever read.
‘Yes,’ said Bolshy Jane mockingly. ‘Because vampires always hang out in churches in broad daylight. Famed for it.’
‘There have been animals in here,’ said Luke, stirring a small bone with his foot. ‘There must be a way in.’