Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [29]
She went closer and saw that they must be the entrance to a lift which would take her up through the house unhindered. Quickly opening the doors, she entered the red velvet interior. Closing the doors, she slid the folding metal gate shut, turned the brass lever on the wall and looked up expectantly. With a clunk, the mechanism engaged and the lift went down through the floor.
Mrs Pritchard had been observing Ace for some time from behind a tall, potted palm. She emerged from her hiding place and crossed to the lift doors. She stood listening to the machinery clanking as the lift descended through the solid bedrock deep beneath the house.
Her master was a fool if he imagined she did not know what went on in her house. If the creature had escaped, then sending it the Doctor’s brat was one way of forestalling it. Besides, it had not been fed yet tonight, so that might solve one more problem.
She heard the distant clang of the lift as it stopped. She waited, however, with her finger poised over the panel of buttons on the wall.
Ace was already frightened by the long and unexpected descent. Her ears had kept popping as the lift went deeper and deeper until she began to think it would never stop.
She tried the lever on the lift wall, but it refused to move.
Warily sliding back the lift gate, she opened the doors and peered out into the gloomy tunnel. She could hear water dripping, but the air was fresher than she expected and there was a glow coming from the far end. She had only dared to take a few paces along the tunnel before she froze stock still. She was certain she had heard something scuttling up ahead.
The lift gate immediately clattered shut behind her and the doors slammed tightly closed. Ace clawed at the handle, but it had been secured from the inside.
In the hall above, Mrs Pritchard pressed a second button. She smiled grimly as she heard the lift commence its upward journey; she knew it would be empty when it reached the top.
7
Ace’s Adventures Underground
There was nowhere to go except down the tunnel. Ace could make out shapes and patterns on the curved walls as she edged nearer to the hazy glow. The pictures were reminiscent of prehistoric cave paintings: there were matchstick hunters, a bison, mammoths and a bear. At the centre was a white splash that could have been fire or the sun — it was some sort of light anyway, because all the figures around it had the side of them closest to the splash painted in white as if they were reflecting the glow.
Ace hadn’t developed her faculties as an art critic much beyond saying ‘Wow!’ when she saw something she really liked, but she could see that the hunting pictures were more refined than the average palaeolithic mural. The paint was fresh too. Nimrod had come a long way from finger painting and scratching walls with old bones and burnt sticks.
Ace moved along to the tunnel mouth. It was like stepping through a veil as she entered the chamber. There was a cry like a startled bird as the slight haze closed behind her. The stuffed birds and antique furniture were no surprise to her, but the vaulted ceiling whose lines descended through the carved, buttressed walls and the flickering screens and glittering clusters of crystals made her think of Aladdin’s cave. It was either immensely advanced or incredibly archaic. The place was timeless, as if it had always been there; perhaps it had even carved itself.
At the heart of the chamber pulsed a glowing membrane, radiating its energies from the wall where it was set.
Wow!’ said Ace, but she knew that this was where all the trouble came from. She could see the shadow stirring on the surface of the membrane. The pulse was starting to boom into her head and scare the hell out of her.
There was a dark shape on the floor near to the membrane. Nimrod still lay senseless where he had fallen, beside a silver-topped gentleman’s cane. Ace could see a dull bruise through the coarse hair on his neck. As she bent over him, she felt that she was being watched.