“Well I cannae hear it noo, so never bother.”
“Whit aboot that light? Whit if somebody is up there?”
“It didnae sound like it came fae above. Maist likely the plumbing. The pipes in these big auld places can make some weird sounds.”
Billy doesnae look sure, but he gets on wi’ his job aw the same.
We go back tae the big hallway, but stop and look at each other at the foot of the stairs. We baith know what the other’s thinkin’: there’s mair gear tae be had up there, but neither ay us is in a hurry to go lookin’ for it. That said, there’s still room in the bags, and I’m about to suggest we grasp the thistle when we hear the rumblin’ sound again. Could be the pipes, I’m thinkin’, but I know what Billy meant when he said lots ay folk singin’.
“We’re no’ finished doon here,” I says, postponin’ the issue a wee bit, and we go through another door aff the hall. It’s a small room, compared to the others anyway, and the curtains are shut, so I reckon it’s safe to stick the light on. The light seems dazzling at first, but that’s just because we’d become accustomed tae the dark. It’s actually quite low, cannae be mair than forty watt. The room’s an office, like, a study. There’s a big desk in the middle, a fireplace on wan wall and bookshelves aw the way tae the ceiling, apart fae where the windae is.
Billy pulls a book aff the shelf, big ancient-lookin’ leather-bound effort.
“Have a swatch at this,” he says, pointin’ tae the open page. “Diddies! Look.”
He’s right. There’s a picture ay a wummin in the scud lyin’ doon oan a table; no’ a photie, like, a drawin’, an’ aw this queer writin’ underneath, in letters I don’t recognize. Queer, queer stuff, I remember. Occult. Black magic.
Billy turns the page.
“Euuh!”
There’s a picture ay the same wummin, but there’s a boay in a long robe plungin’ her wi’ a blade.
“Put it doon,” I says, and take the book aff him.
But it’s no’ just books that’s on the shelves. There’s aw sorts o’ spooky-lookin’ gear. Wee statues, carved oot ay wood. Wee women wi’ big diddies, wee men wi’ big boabbies. Normally we’d be pishin’ oorsels at these, but there’s somethin’ giein’ us the chills aboot this whole shebang. There’s masks as well, some of wood, primitive efforts, but some others in porcelain or alabaster: perfect likenesses of faces, but solemn, grim even. I realize they’re death masks, but don’t say anythin’ tae Billy.
“These must be thon arty thingmies the sergeant warned us aboot,” Billy says.
“Artefacts. Aye. I’m happy tae gie them a bodyswerve. Let’s check the desk and that’ll dae us.”
“Sure.”
We try the drawers on one side. They’re locked, and we’ve no’ brought anythin’ tae jemmy them open.
“Forget it,” I say, hardly able tae take my eyes aff thae death masks, but Billy gies the rest ay the drawers a pull just for the sake ay it. The bottom yin rolls open, a big, deep, heavy thing.
“Aw, man,” Billy says.
The drawer contains a glass case, and inside ay it is a skull, restin’ on a bed ay velvet.
“Dae ye think it’s real?” Billy asks.
“Oh Christ aye,” I says. I’ve never seen a real skull, except in photies, so I wouldnae know, but I’d put money on it aw the same. I feel weird: it’s giein’ me the chills but I’m drawn tae it at the same time. I want tae touch it. I put my hands in and pull at the glass cover, which lifts aff nae bother.
“We cannae take it, Rab,” Billy says. “Mind whit the Sergeant tell’t us.”
“I just want tae haud it,” I tell him. I reach in and take haud ay it carefully with both hands, but it doesnae lift away. It’s like it’s connected tae somethin’ underneath, but I can tell there’s some give in it, so I try giein’ it a wee twist. It turns aboot ninety degrees courtesy of a flick o’ the wrist, at which point the pair ay us nearly hit the ceilin’, ’cause there’s a grindin’ noise at oor backs and we turn roon tae see that the back ay the fireplace has rolled away.
“It’s a secret passage,” Billy says. “I read aboot these. Big auld hooses hud them fae back in the times when they might get invaded.”
I look into the passage, expecting darkness, but see a flickerin’ light, dancin’ aboot like it must be comin’ fae a fire. Me and Billy looks at each other. We baith know we’re shitin’ oorsels, but we baith know there’s no way we’re no’ checkin’ oot whatever’s doon this passage.
We leave the candles because there’s just aboot enough light, and we don’t want tae gie oorsels away too soon if it turns oot there’s somebody doon there. I go first. I duck doon tae get under the mantelpiece, but the passage is big enough for us tae staun upright once I’m on the other side. It only goes three or four yards and then there’s a staircase, a tight spiral number. I haud on tae the walls as I go doon, so’s my footsteps are light and quiet. I stop haufway doon and put a hand oot tae stop Billy an’ aw, because we can hear a voice. It’s a man talkin’, except it’s almost like he’s singin’, like a priest giein’ it that high-and-mighty patter. Then we hear that sound again, and Billy was right: it is loads ay people aw at once, chantin’ a reply tae whatever the man’s said.
Queer, queer stuff, I’m thinkin’. Occult. Black magic.
Still, I find masel creepin’ doon the rest ay the stairs. I move slow as death as I get to the bottom, and crouch in close tae the wall tae stay oot ay sight. Naebody sees us, ’cause they’re aw facin’ forwards away fae us in this long underground hall, kinda like a chapel but wi’ nae windaes. It’s lit wi’ burnin’ torches alang baith walls, a stone table — I suppose you’d cry it an altar — at the far end, wi’ wan o’ yon pentagrams painted on the wall behind it. There’s aboot two dozen folk, aw wearin’ these big black hooded robes, except for two ay them at the altar: the bloke that’s giein’ it the priest patter, who’s in red, and a lassie, no’ much aulder than us, in white, wi’ a gag roon her mooth. She looks dazed, totally oot ay it. Billy crouches doon next tae us. We don’t look at each other ’cause we cannae take oor eyes aff what’s happenin’ at the front.
The boy in the red robe, who must be the magician that owns the joint, gies a nod, and two of the congregation come forward and lift the lassie. It’s only when they dae this that I can see her hands are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together at her ankles. They place her doon on the altar and then drape a big white sheet over her, coverin’ her fae heid tae toe. Then the boy in red starts chantin’ again, and pulls this huge dagger oot fae his robe. He hauds it above his heid, and everythin’ goes totally still, totally quiet. Ye can hear the cracklin’ ay the flames aw roon the hall. Then the congregation come oot wi’ that rumblin’ chant again, and he plunges the dagger doon intae the sheet.
There’s mair silence, and I feel like time’s staunin’ still for a moment; like when it starts again this’ll no’ be true. Then I see the red startin’ tae seep across the white sheet, and a second later it’s drippin’ aff the altar ontae the flair.
“Aw Jesus,” I says. I hears masel sayin’ it afore I know whit I’m daein’, an’ by that time it’s too late.
Me and Billy turns and scrambles back up the stair as fast as, but when we get tae the top, it’s just blackness we can see. The fireplace has closed over again. We see the orange flickerin’ ay torches and hear footsteps comin’ up the stairs, the two ay us slumped doon against a wall, haudin’ on tae each other. Two men approach, then stop a few feet away, which is when wan ay them pulls his hood back.
“Evening boys. We’ve been expecting you,” he says. The fuckin’ Sergeant.
“I assume you took steps to make sure nobody knew where you were going tonight,” he goes on. I remember the train, the guard, the bikes, the return ticket in my trooser pocket. The Sergeant smiles. “Knew you wouldn’t let us down. What’s bred in the bone, will not out of the flesh.”