Doctor Who_ Atom Bomb Blues - Andrew Cartmel [85]
He ushered Butcher into a carpeted lounge full of antique furniture, turning on lights as he went. As he did so an enormously fat woman came up behind him. ‘Who is it, dear?’
‘It’s a Major Butcher. He seems to be here on an important security matter.
Major, this is my wife, Elina.’
Butcher nodded at the woman. He noticed that her face was flushed, too.
He wondered just what exactly they’d been up to in the basement when he’d rung the doorbell. ‘So this place is a chapel?’ he said.
‘Used to be,’ said the man quickly. ‘It hasn’t been used for that purpose for some time now.’
‘Why not?’ said Butcher.
‘Because the owners, the people who run the chapel, have left the country.’
‘Where have they gone?’ Butcher spoke to the man but he looked at the big woman hovering in the doorway. She smiled at him.
‘To Mexico. For the duration, they said.’
The duration?’
‘Of the war.’ The man smiled. ‘They’re not exactly what you’d call patriotic.’
‘And their names?’
‘The Storrows. Major, can I ask what all this is about exactly?’
‘A man has been seen in this area. He may be connected with enemy activities. We want to find him and question him.’
‘A fifth columnist?’ said the man excitedly. ‘A Jap-a-Nazi traitor?’ He looked at his wife. ‘We’d certainly like to help you find him, wouldn’t we, honey?’
‘We certainly would, pumpkin,’ said the enormous woman. The little man turned back to Butcher, his eyes guileless behind the lenses of his spectacles.
‘But I’m afraid there’s nothing we can tell you. We haven’t seen anybody around here. I was out in the garden earlier, looking after the place, and there’s certainly nobody out there.’
148
‘And I’ve been indoors all day, baking,’ said the woman. ‘So I know there’s nobody in the house. . . except us chickens.’ She smiled at her own small joke.
‘That sounds pretty comprehensive,’ said Butcher. ‘And the car in the driveway?’
‘That’s ours,’ said the man. ‘Haven’t been out in it in days.’
‘OK, well that’s about everything,’ said Butcher, rising to his feet. ‘Looks like this is a dead end. Thanks for your help.’
‘A pleasure, a pleasure,’ said the little man, guiding him towards the door of the room. The fat woman stood aside to let them pass and began turning off the lights behind them. ‘I’m only sorry that we couldn’t be more help.’ He ushered Butcher down the hallway to the front door.
‘That’s all right,’ said Butcher. ‘I’ll just keep working away along the street.’
He stepped out of the house into the warm night.
‘Good luck, Major,’ called the little man from the doorway, waving.
‘Thanks,’ said Butcher, returning the wave. The porch light went out behind him.
He walked down the driveway to the iron gate, opened it and, without stepping through it, closed it loudly again. Then he stepped off the driveway onto the lawn and made his way back, through the garden, towards the dark house.
149
Chapter Twelve
The Well of Transition
Butcher crossed the garden, invisible in the night, his feet silent on the grass.
As he approached the house he realised that the place wasn’t entirely in darkness. There was a narrow shimmer of light coming from near ground level.
As he got nearer still, the shimmer gradually resolved itself into a series of rectangular basement windows glowing with light. Butcher got down on his hands and knees and crawled towards one of the windows. The glass was pebbled and opaque, like the glass you got in bathroom windows, revealing nothing. It was firmly sealed. He tried the next one, and it was the same thing.
He remembered the axe he’d seen around the corner with the pile of lumber and considered going to fetch it. But the third window was open a crack. As he bent close he could hear voices coming from within the basement.
‘Just no need for it, man!’
‘It’s a momentous business, travelling between worlds. Don’t you think it requires a momentous gesture to initiate