All that was left was darkness made visible.
Cass looked into the gnawing void, and her heart shrank within her breast. She heard a howl-a disembodied shattering shriek of triumph-as the darkness swooped to consume the Earth and all living things. Death, extinction, the annihilation of the entire biosphere and everything in it followed with stunning swiftness. Cass felt an inexhaustible, fathomless cold as the last light of life disappeared into the merciless abyss.
She woke up shivering beneath her blankets and aching with a sadness akin to grief. Her heart, still racing, drummed in her ears. She glanced around the room, terrified, her breath coming in gasps. Never had she been so frightened.
Dragging together the tattered shreds of her courage, Cass rose, threw on her clothes, and dashed across the convent courtyard to the nuns’ chapel. She let herself in and hurried down the aisle to the front of the sanctuary; she lit a candle at the little stand and then sat in the front pew, candle clasped tight in her hands, praying-for peace, protection, she knew not what-until it grew light enough outside to see. Then, leaving the church, she crept out of the convent gate. The empty street soon echoed to the sound of her running feet as she raced back to the Zetetic Society door.
Standing on the step, Cass pressed the doorbell, waited ten seconds, and pressed it again. The sky was showing a rosy hue as the sun lit up the heavens; the streets of the city were quiet yet. From somewhere a rooster crowed. She was on the point of pressing the bell again when she heard muffled footsteps in the vestibule beyond; there was a click, and the door opened to reveal Mrs. Peelstick in a lavender dressing gown. “You must be very keen to get home.”
“I’m not going home,” Cass blurted. “I’m staying.”
The old woman observed her for a moment. “Something has happened to change your mind, hasn’t it, dear?”
As Cass drew breath to answer, Mrs. Peelstick raised her hand. “No, don’t tell me. We’ll have some tea and toast first. And then when Brendan gets here we can all sit down together and talk about it.” She ushered Cass inside, then closed and locked the door behind her. “It will save repeating. Is that all right? Do come along to the kitchen.”
She padded off in her slippers, and Cass, exuding relief from every pore, hurried after her.
CHAPTER 29
Douglas awoke to the sound of the bells of Matins. Sore from his night in the cramped confines of the confessional cubical, he stretched and then peeked out from behind the drape. Seeing that no worshippers had yet entered the church, he quickly roused Snipe, and both crept away. Though the sky was light with the coming sunrise, the streets of Oxford were still steeped in shadow. At the crossroads the bailiff was dozing at his post; Douglas gave him a wide berth all the same. Once past the guards’ station, the two furtive figures proceeded along Cornmarket Street to the market square- empty save for a bench in front of a butcher’s stall that was occupied by a sleeping man wrapped in a cloak with his hat over his face. On the upper floor of a large house in one of the narrow side streets leading from the square, Roger Bacon, friar and professor, had his private chambers. Douglas had marked the place on previous visits and, assuming that was where the ecclesiastical authorities were holding the professor, Douglas reckoned he might be able to reach him.
The entrance to the lodging house was not locked, so Douglas and Snipe slipped into the tiny vestibule and made their way up the wooden staircase that creaked with every step. A single door at the end of the hall gave access to the only room at the top of the house. Surprisingly, there was no lock on the door; neither was it chained. It, like the door to the master’s tower study, was barred by simple board planks nailed crossways to the doorposts. The door itself could be opened to allow food and drink and other necessaries to be passed through. A determined captive could easily have escaped, but the renowned “Doctor Mirabilis” was a captive of conscience; no doubt honour held him more securely than iron.
Douglas put his hand to one of the boards and pulled; the resistance offered gave him to know that they would require tools if they were to gain entry-not an insurmountable problem, but likely to be more noisy than he would prefer. Waking up people at the crack of dawn would not advance the cause.
“Come, Snipe,” he whispered, turning away. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”
Outside they found a dry place to hunker down until a more convivial hour. Later, when the town began to stir, they crawled from hiding and joined the early-rising folk. Douglas bought two savoury pies from a baker and two jars of beer from a brew mistress with a cask in a barrow; they ate their pies and drank their ale, and watched the square slowly trundle to life.
As they sat eating, there arose a tremendous squawking and honking. From the street to the east there appeared three figures-a man and two young girls-herding a flock of long-necked geese. The man held a slender staff, and the girls each wielded a bendy willow switch, expertly keeping the flock together. They moved into the square and began setting up a flimsy pen made of wicker hurdles pulled from a stack against a wall. While they were about this chore, another poulterer likewise set up his pen a little distance away.
The next arrivals were a farmer and his wife who carried a long pole between them on which a dozen or more live chickens were hung by the feet. The two placed the pole on a simple wooden frame that appeared to be set up for this purpose. The farmwife then produced a basket of eggs and settled herself on a stool to wait for customers. Other farmers appeared-some with chickens, others with ducks or pigeons-and several folk bearing great billowing sacks of feathers.
“The poultry market,” Douglas mused, finishing the last of his beer. “Come, Snipe-let’s go before I start sneezing.”
Douglas rose and returned the wooden jars, then went back to the lodging house where Master Bacon was incarcerated. As before, no one was around, so Douglas simply knocked on the door; it was opened a few moments later, and the long, unshaven face of the great scientist peered blearily out.
Douglas was taken aback at the change in the master’s appearance: stoop-shouldered in a filthy robe, his flesh slack and pasty, the eyes usually so keen with the bright light of an unquenchable intellect were now dull and watery; indeed, the scholar’s whole demeanour seemed bowed with a grinding fatigue of care.
“Yes?” he said, his voice a creaking rasp. “Was there something?”
“Master Bacon,” began Douglas, somewhat uncertainly.
“Do I know you?”
“Indeed, sir. It is Brother Douglas-from the abbey at Tyndyrn.” There was no immediate response, so he added, “We have spoken in the past about your work with a particular manuscript in which we share an interest.”
This last produced a result, as a glimmer of recognition lit the face briefly, then flickered out once more. “Ah, yes. I remember you,” the master replied vaguely. “God be good to you, brother. I hope this day finds you well.”
“And you, brother.” Douglas hesitated, then asked, “Are you permitted to receive visitors?”
A faint smile touched the scholar’s lips. “Strictly speaking, no. But”-he peered beyond his guest into the narrow corridor and landing-“ as you see, visitors are not exactly clamouring for my attention. It will do no harm to allow an exception.”
“I would not like to make trouble for you, master. Or make your present difficulties worse.”
“The worst, I fear, has already happened.” The most intelligent man in Oxford shook his head lightly. “A brief visit cannot further aggravate my present difficulties, I assure you. And a visitor is cheer itself to me just now. Pray, speak-and let me feast on the sound of a voice not my own.”