Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [10]
Cautiously, he opened the heavy door, its groans echoing round the high vaulted ceiling of the vestry. Step by step he descended to the cavern. At the bottom he paused, stared into the improbable blackness and hissed, 'You there, boy?'
A tremulous whisper came back at once 'Is that you, Uncle?'
'And who the blazes would it be, you great fool?' said the man in slightly more normal tones, switching on his flashlight and turning it to find his nephew's face, hovering like a death's-head ghost in the gloom of the cavern. 'Why didn't you light the candles, then?' he went on, crossing to the boy.
'I was scared. I thought you'd never come.'
'Nothing to be scared of,' said Wilkins, suppressing the memory of his fearful scuttle across the churchyard. 'Better get on with it, hadn't we?'
Taking out a box of matches, he lit two tapers, handed one of them to the boy, and crossed to the nearest wall where a seven-branched candlestick stood ready in a niche. As he lit the first of the seven black candles, the boy let out a low shuddering moan of fear.
'What is it now?'
'Over there,' the boy breathed. 'Someone... some... something...'
Wilkins turned on his torch once more and approached the vague white shape the boy had indicated. 'Why, it's only old Bok!' he laughed in relief. 'Bok's our friend, ain't you, my beauty', and he affectionately patted on the head the hideous gargoyle-like figure which squatted balefully on its stone pedestal against the far wall.
'I thought... I thought I saw it move.' The boy's voice was still a-quiver.
'Yes, well, that'll be enough of your fancy, now, won't it young Stan? We've come here to do a job. That right?'
Reluctantly, the boy started to light the hundreds of candles which were all round the cave, moving with the slowness of an imperfectly learned ritual. His uncle, more adept with his taper, hurried from alcove to alcove, impatiently urging each wick to take light.
As the flames took hold, the Cavern came alive in all its strange beauty. Flickering shadows animated the carvings on the rock walls, some dating back to Roman times, some more recent, but all depicting the secret ceremonies of the old witch religion, literally thrust into the darkness of the underground by the light of Christianity.
Near the gargoyle figure, a large slab of marble let into the floor was carved and painted with an ancient Cabbalistic Seal of Magic, while in the very centre of the floor stood a large rock, rough hewn into the shape of an altar. On its smooth upper surface were several dark stains, long whispered to be the stains of blood...
The candles were all alight and Tom Wilkins stood by the steps and surveyed the result. 'Why it's... it's beautiful,' he murmured.
'I don't like it, Uncle,' whispered Stan. 'Let's get out of here.'
'I'll be wishing I hadn't suggested you to join us,' his uncle snapped. 'All right, get along home. But don't be late for the ceremony tonight.'
Stan gratefully slipped away. Wilkins took one last look. His eye lighted on the marks on the Stone of Sacrifice. A shiver ran down his spine, but whether it was a shiver of excitement, of anticipation, or a shiver of fear, he could not tell.
'I need a drink,' he said to himself and went, leaving the Cavern once more silent and still, contemplating its own evil beauty.
'I told you, love, I can't—I'm on duty... any other night... well, I know that... just because, that's all. Sergeant Feather had a sudden attack of... Mavis?'
Sergeant Benton carefully replaced the telephone on its cradle. He looked up glumly at Captain Yates who was sitting in the corner of the UNIT Duty Office with his feet on the desk, doing The Times crossword. 'Rung off,' said Sergeant Benton.
'Girl trouble?' asked Mike.
'Tonight's the knockout for the Southern Area Championship. Mavis and me, we'd entered together.'
Mike Yates looked up from his paper. 'What championships are those?'
'Ballroom dancing,