Doctor Who_ History 101 - Mags L. Halliday [76]
After a few moments, someone noticed her and came over. She spent the next twenty minutes looking for someone who might have seen Blair. Eventually, one of the girls pointed upstairs. ‘Try the attic. Don’t go on the roof though.’
The stairs were less clean in the upper storeys, broken furniture or glass had just been kicked to the side. At the top of the stairs a passageway clearly ran the length of the building, with a wooden shutter covering the exit on to the roof to her left. Through the shattered windows, Anji could see the red and black flag of the CNT flying next to the red and gold of the Catalan Generalidad. A couple of figures paced about, one smoking a cigarette. The roof at the front must have an excellent view across the street and into Plaça de Catalunya. To the right were several old doorways.
The first one had no door, and bullet marks in the frame. Glancing inside, she saw piles of wood. A grate held powdery ashes and half-burnt sticks, a blackened kettle stood on the slate hearth. The room must be used by the sentries to keep warm in at night. The next room had a door at least. Inside were several old mattresses, with blankets bundled on them. An ammo can sat open in the middle of the floor and a metal bucket with a lid in the furthest corner. A rest room then. The third room was empty. Several floorboards had been ripped up, Anji suspected to be burned. Leaving her with the closed door to the last room. The locked one. Anji muttered to herself about Bluebeard and glanced about. The two men out on the roof hadn’t noticed her. She tried the door handle and was not surprised to feel resistance. Pushing as quietly as she could, she realised the top of the door gave slightly: there didn’t appear to be bolts on the other side. Or, if there were, the person was out and the bolts free.
So, she had nothing but some vague sightings and a locked door. Not a lot to show for the lunchtime’s work. Just before turning back, she stood on tiptoe and ran her fingers along the doorframe. Oh yes, the place so obvious that any fool would try it. Nothing. Then she looked under the bits of wood propped up in the passageway and ran her hands along the wall. One bit of plaster was loose, the edges of the break smoothed and curving. She checked the guards were still watching the square and tugged. A block of plaster came free, revealing the wooden framework of the wall. And, sat on a horizontal crossbar, a key to fit the door’s lock.
‘The secret equivalent of the plant pot,’ she said triumphantly, shoving the plaster plug back into place. She tried the key and felt the tumblers reluctantly turn over inside the lock. Taking a calming breath, she stepped into the room.
It was impossible.
Two rooms lay beyond the door. One room was empty, filled with birdshit and the smell of mould. Overlaid were hundreds of images, tiny frames frozen and hanging in midair. Nothing supported them, they just drifted and twisted in the faint breeze from the opened door. As she stepped in completely and turned on her heel, Anji saw the semi-transparent images dance backwards, as if they were reacting to her presence, to the draught of her passing. Yet the room was empty, abandoned even by the militia. She could feel the floorboards soft beneath her, bending slightly under her weight. She tried to look closely at one of the frames, but it got more blurred the more she tried to focus only on it. She’d heard Fitz’s versions of Guernica and thought it implausible but now Anji started to doubt her reaction. Wherever she looked there was both an empty room and one crowded with impossibilities. The two seemed to be flickering so fast that she saw both at