Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [36]
The Drudge moved to the mirror. It carefully pulled away the shawl that had been draped over the glass. Fixing Innocet with its implacable stare, it lifted up the garment and ripped it slowly and deliberately in half.
Innocet ignored the warning and got on with her needlework.
The chest of drawers gave a click. One of the drawers had unlocked itself. It slid open and disgorged the pack of cards in a small fountain.
'Treacherous,' muttered Innocet.
The Cousins watched in silence as the Drudge gathered the scattered cards off the floor. It pulled open a drawer in its own wooden bodice and dropped the pack inside. Giving them a varnished glare of triumph, it stalked out of the room.
The door closed itself.
Innocet picked at the stitch she had just made.. 'Those were my best cards,' she said. 'My last Drat pack.'
'They were checking on us.' Owis was eyeing the naked mirror. 'Suppose it tells Satthralope?'
Innocet nodded. 'That's why they brought the rations early. But if Satthralope is awake, then she'll already know.'
Since the Housekeeper had not left her chair for seventy-one years, and had not been out of her room since the west annexe was infested by gullet-grubs one hundred and twelve years ago, the likelihood of being watched seemed negligible. But Innocet stil kept the glass covered. Just in case.
She climbed up on the dressing table, and arranged the two halves of shawl over the mirror as best she could.
'They must realize something's happening,' she said.
Owis peered into the pot of gruel. 'At least they haven't withdrawn rations.'
'Not yet.' Innocet pointed a thimbled finger at him. 'You are going to find out what's happened to Arkhew.'
'What?' blustered Owis. 'Out there? After candledark? But you said... What about supper?'
'The glory of receiving is in the anticipation,' said Innocet.
'Suppose it's something unexpected? Can't anticipate that.'
'Don't argue. You're six hundred and seventy-five and it's time you took some responsibility.'
'But... ' He stared longingly at the gruel pot.
50
She took up her needle again. 'Especial y since this is all your fault.'
The kitchen was an empty cavern near the top of the House. Chris had come down the dark attic stairs, drawn by the light from two pale lamps which hung by a rank of stone ovens. It had once been the giant's kitchen from his dream, but the days when it had cooked on a grand scale were clearly long gone. Web clung across the stacks of pans and skillets. A row of rusty spikes and gambrels dangled over a long neglected grate, where Chris reckoned that animals had either once been slaughtered or roasted whole.
Even so, he could smell something cooking. At the far end of the kitchen, there was evidence that the place was still in use. Clusters of dried fungi hung on strings from the ceiling branch-beams. To his disgust, Chris noticed that one cluster was made up of little brown-furred rodents strung together by their tails.
On a stove, a pot large enough to be a cauldron sat over a low flame. A sort of greasy grey stew steamed and glopped in the pot as if it was alive. It smelt rank, but it proved that the House was stil occupied.
On a work surface, a bowl was piled with a different sort of mushroom, all pale and chalky. They stank too.
As Chris walked across the centre of the kitchen, a row of ladles hanging from a beam began to jangle like an alarm. He ducked into the nearest doorway and nearly fell down some more giant steps.
The ladles shut up as soon as he was clear. He edged further down the stairs. The white tree trunks were everywhere, lining the passages and reaching into arches between which the solid walls ran. Occasional y, there were glimmering lamps which filled the paths of the House with a ghostly glow.
As he neared the foot of the stairs, Chris heard a distant whistle. Two notes, whee-whoo, like that. He slowed his pace and edged forward.
Whee-whoo.
He was