The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [39]
In the event, she didn’t have to read it all, for as she neared the end of volume one Louisa could contain herself no longer.
‘Do you not see?’ she said eagerly. ‘It is all true! How Mrs Radcliffe knows it all, I cannot divine, unless she found some ancient text. I have writ to her, but she has not replied
– though to be sure she must be an old woman by now. But mark this! In the third volume – for there are but three –
when the foul monk is walled up, an iron-bound chest full 137
of gold coin is placed there with him. And – oh, Sarah! – it must be there to this very day!’
The second of her secrets, which she produced with an air of suppressed excitement, was a sheet of paper. Only it wasn’t. With another buzz of déja vu, Sarah recognized it as the same piece of vellum the Doctor was carrying in his pocket, except that this was nearly twice the size.
‘It was concealed in an old volume in the library,’ said Louisa. ‘I am of opinion that it must be of importance in the tale of the Mad Monk. To be sure, such a parchment is mentioned in the book. But I know no Latin apart from mensa and there’s not a table to be seen.’
Sarah took it and read it as best she could. It included the fragment which she had already seen, but had as well a lot of gibberish words which seemed to be part of a magic spell; and also listed the ingredients for a recipe of some sort, most of which she didn’t recognize – until, with a thrill rather like the one she’d known when she saw with her own eyes the signature of the minister in the corruption scandal she’d uncovered the year before, she saw the word for quicksilver.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid it’s not. It’s just a bit of an old cookery book.’
138
Now, why was she telling such a fib? The disappointment in Louisa’s face nearly made her tell the truth. But what was the truth?
It’s just conceivable that Jeremy might have got away with it. Certainly nobody came to the cupboard to get a broom or anything. But unfortunately, like most cupboards, it had no handle on the inside. He had effectively locked himself in.
He didn’t realize at first what he had done. But by the time the shouting died down, and the thump of feet had stopped, he had got over his panic; and though it was clear from the slightly queasy roll of the deck that they had left the harbour, he took a deep breath and decided to get on with the task he had set himself. Swallowing down his increasing nausea, and trying to feel sort of James Bondish (they didn’t treat him like a wally, did they?), he pushed at the door; and again; and again; and gave way to sheer funk.
‘Help!’
He hammered on the door. He knew quite well that the air was already giving out. He could tell by the way he was panting.
‘I’m locked in the cupboard! Help!’
There was that film with them trapped in a submarine; and their legs sort of went all limp and they sank to the floor 139
struggling for oxygen; and then died. He could feel his knees giving way already!
‘H-e-e-elp!’
The burly seaman who hauled him out didn’t speak –
though Jeremy was babbling his thanks. The thought flashed through his mind that if he’d been a cat he’d be down to about six lives by now (he must have lost at least a couple on Parakon).
He was frog-marched down the main corridor of the deckhouse, all his protestations being quite ignored, into the enormous saloon at the end, and thrown to the floor in an untidy heap at the feet of the giant Max Vilmio, who seemed from such a low viewpoint to be at least eight feet tall.
A female voice said, ‘He was at the casde. He was following us around when the old jerk was giving with the guided tour bit.’ He hadn’t noticed her standing in the background.
‘Get up,’