by Simon Clark
‘I think you’ll find it’s a little more sophisticated than that.’ It was a typical Josanne riposte to her boyfriend, yet Fisher had to agree that Fabian wasn’t that far off target. The ferry was little more than a floating platform with a guardrail round the edge and something that resembled a small tool shed in one corner that served as a wheelhouse. It carried four cars and a couple of small trucks. It probably could have accommodated another car, then that would have been a full load. At 10.30, twenty minutes after it should have left, the engines rumbled. The lights of the jetty slid away. Through the windshield ahead he could make out the river. It resembled a mass of black jelly in the darkness. The rains had swollen it, so the engines of the ferry had to labour to make headway against the current.
Fabian laughed softly. ‘I hope everyone can swim.’
‘Shut up, Fabian.’ Josanne was uneasy.
Fabian enjoyed her fear. ‘Are you sure we’re crossing a river in Yorkshire? Or are we really crossing the River Styx into the underworld?’
Fisher turned to the blond man reclining there in that lordly way of his. ‘Fabian. What on earth are you talking about?’
‘You know? The River Styx? The point of no return for the souls of the dead.’ He patted the dog. ‘Look, we have our very own Cerberus. Our hell dog. Of course, he’s only got one head when it should be the three of legend.’
‘Christ, Fabian.’
Josanne shot me a grin. ‘You’ve got my permission to chuck him in the river if he keeps this up.’
‘Clearly Greek myth is lost on the pair of you.’
‘Well, Fabian, if we encounter Hades he can have you with my compliments.’
‘Hades? God of the underworld. Josanne? I’m impressed.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m very much considering the possibility of allowing you to share my bed tonight.’
How those two got into a relationship together, God alone knows, Fisher thought. Her parents worked in an industrial bakery. Fabian’s father owned an import company. His mother was long gone, although Fabian mentioned that she kept a stable of race horses. Fabian used these facts to overawe people he met. In reality however, he had precious little money of his own: hence the ambition to make it big in music. And make the BIG money that went with it.
‘Ah,’ Fabian cooed. ‘Just when I thought we’d drift the seven seas for eternity like a ghost ship.’
The lights of the jetty on the far side resembled Christmas illuminations against the line of dark trees. If anything, the northern bank of the river appeared more remote from civilization than the one they’d just left.
Fisher pulled out a slip of yellow paper on which directions had been written. ‘It’s not far now.’
‘Hallelujah.’ Fabian yawned.
‘It says here to follow the road for eight miles until you cross an iron bridge.’
‘That will be the one over the Rubicon.’
Fisher ignored him. ‘Once you’ve crossed the—’
‘Rubicon.’
‘—bridge. The drive that leads to the house is on your right about a mile after that.’
Within five minutes the ferry had docked. The ferrymen were eager to finish their shift and quickly waved the cars forward onto the jetty that led to a narrow road. All the other traffic peeled away on to a lane that took it to a line of cottages that stood overlooking the river. This left Josanne’s car in sole possession of the road.
As Josanne pulled away she glanced back. ‘Fabian, how’s Jak?’
‘Oh? My new furry friend is fine. Sleeping by the looks of him.’
Fisher turned back to see the curled form beneath the towel. Only the tip of the black button nose showed. ‘He must have been exhausted.’
‘Him and me both,’ Fabian said with feeling.
Josanne accelerated along the road that led across a dead flat plain that seemed to consist of agricultural land dotted with copses of trees. She said, ‘Jak must have been abandoned. He’ll be suffering from the cold.’
‘Then he needs what I need,’ Fabian announced. ‘Hot food and a nice, warm bed for the night.’
Fisher glanced back at Fabian lounging in the seat. ‘You do know there won’t be maidservants waiting to serve you? We’ll be the only people there.’
‘I’m sure Josanne can rustle something up for us.’
‘The only thing I’ll be rustling up is a nice selection of words that describe you.’
‘Only joking, dear heart.’
The directions on the paper were accurate. After eight miles the car rumbled over the iron bridge. A mile after that twin stone pillars flanked the entrance to the driveway. A sign nailed to a tree shone as the car turned into the driveway.
‘That’s pretty unequivocal,’ Fabian said, then began to read aloud: ‘Acquired by Ashmoore Associates for residential redevelopment. The Tower. Historic listed mansion with thirteenth-century origins and former aircraft bomber base for … ah, I’ve missed the rest because you’ve driven straight past it.’
‘See anything?’ Josanne asked, as she eased the car beneath the overhang of trees.
‘Nothing yet.’ Fisher angled the paper toward the light thrown from the dashboard. ‘As far as I can tell we drive for another mile before we reach the house. But there’s a warning.’
Fabian leaned forward. ‘Warning? My, my, sounds ominous.’
‘It says keep to the driveway because there’s marshland at either side of it.’
‘What, no mysterious figure in black with a hook for a hand, and a taste for human entrails?’
‘Ignore him, Fisher.’ Josanne peered through the windshield. The car’s lights revealed a barrier of green bushes. Beyond that were shape shifting shadows that could have been yet more bushes being tugged by the breeze. If anything, they could have reached the end of the world where solid land yielded to darkly empty tracts of infinity. Just when an unease began to creep through Fisher that the track would plunge away into boundless nothingness, a dozen lights suddenly blazed out into the night.
‘Oh, wow. I hadn’t expected anything this big.’ Josanne stopped the car in front of the house. ‘It’s huge.’
‘Not bad.’ Fabian was impressed.
Fisher asked, ‘So who just switched on the lights?’
Lights burned in the massive windows, while lamps set at ground level amongst the shrubs shone up against the façade that had been turned black by the elements. Rising from the middle of the building, like a prehistoric obelisk, was the tall structure that gave the house its name. The tower stood five storeys compared to the three storeyed wings of the house that extended to the left and right. They were still staring at the house when the massive front door swung inward to reveal a figure.
‘Ah,’ Fabian said. ‘Now we know who switched on the lights.’ He nodded at a man who raced across the gravel toward the car. ‘Marko beat us to it.’
Fisher liked Marko. He was the band’s drummer. Long ago, Marko had convinced himself he was a reincarnation of Keith Moon. He bounded up to the car to pummel the roof with both fists.
‘Marko,’ Josanne said, by way of greeting.
‘Hey, what kept you guys? I’ve been here hours. Did you like what I did with the lights. Hey Fabbo … Fabian? Did you see what I did with the lights? I went round switching them all on, then switched off at the mains, so when you came up the drive.’ He made a sizzling sound. ‘Zap! All on together! Quite an effect, eh?’
Fisher climbed out of the car while Marko rushed round to grab suitcases from the boot. Excitement switched his tongue into overdrive. ‘It’s an amazing place,’ he enthused. ‘God knows how they kept the place clean. It needs an army of Hoovers. I’m glad you’re here now, I don’t know if I’d be happy living in a place like that myself. It’s spooky once the winds are blowing. All the doors start opening and shutting by themselves. Here, Fisher, let me grab the other bass. Did you bring the Rickenbacker? Excellent, excellent. Hey, I didn’t know you had a dog, Fabbo.’
‘I didn’t, and still don’t. A
nd my name’s not Fabbo. We found this stray on the road. Fisher insisted we bring him along so he can crap all over the house.’
‘I love dogs. We had eight when I lived at my grandmother’s.’
‘At least we’ve found our dog nurse.’
‘What’s his name?’
Fabian sniffed. ‘Marko, Jak. Jak, Marko. There, introductions done. Where do I find a hot bath?’
‘Take your pick. There must be fifty.’
Fabian decamped from the car. ‘Does anyone know what this place was used as?’
‘An old people’s home. Posh one at that. You should see the furniture.’ Marko stroked the dog’s head as he talked, ‘There’s the auctioneer’s catalogues in the entrance hall. It gives you a history of the place. During World War Two it was a bomber base. B17s flew out of here to bomb Germany. There’s supposed to be the remains of a runway but I haven’t found it yet.’
Fisher picked up the dog. It was content to lay there in his arms. Or was it dying? Were these the final tranquil hours as it faded from the world?
‘Come on,’ Marko said. ‘I’ll find some food for Jak.’
‘What about us?’ Fabian asked, pained. ‘Don’t humans get hungry, too?’
But Marko hurried through the doors to be swallowed into the belly of the house.
CHAPTER 3
Marko bustled across the entrance hall. In his hands he gripped Fisher’s black cases that housed his two bass guitars. He put the guitars down so he could cup both hands to his ears in an extravagant mime gesture of listening. ‘Hear that?’
Fisher entered carrying the dog wrapped in the towel. It lay placidly in his arms, as drowsy as a newborn baby. ‘Clock chimes,’ he said.
‘It’ll strike eleven,’ Marko told them, as he picked up the guitar cases again.
Josanne shook her head in bemusement. ‘So? It’s eleven o’clock at night. It’s supposed to strike eleven.’
‘Ah, its timing’s perfect.’
‘So?’ Fabian adopted his world-weary posture.
‘It strikes the hours,’ Marko announced, with a beaming grin, ‘but I haven’t been able to find the clock.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time for clock hunting, Marko.’ Fabian’s eyes roved around the hallway. ‘What I need to find is a bath.’
‘This way.’
As the three followed Marko, Fisher absorbed details of the huge entrance hall. From its black and white tiles that formed a chequerboard floor a staircase rose with an elegant sweep to the upper floors. Above it rose a void that the walls of the tower enclosed. Hanging from the ceiling, maybe seventy feet above them, was a long cable that suspended a chandelier above the floor. The mass of cut-glass teardrop pendants and geometric crystal pieces appeared to be lit by close on a hundred light bulbs that cast a brilliant white light.
Fisher caught up with the others as they walked along the blue carpeted corridor. Above them, globe-shaped lampshades hung from the ceiling at intervals of a dozen paces. They managed to give the corridor, that couldn’t have been longer than fifty yards, the appearance of stretching miles into the distance. Ahead of him walked Marko with the guitar cases, then Josanne lugging two suitcases, then Fabian carelessly carrying his coat over one shoulder with his finger hooked in the peg loop. In the other hand he carried an antique brown leather briefcase in which he kept the music manuscripts of his songs. Fabian appeared every inch the English lord returning to his ancestral home rather than a man of twenty-three who had just started a one-month stint of house-sitting. Of course, he’d got them the job through family connections. Fabian’s father played golf with the developer who’d bought the place. There were plans to convert the old mansion into elegant apartments. Fabian had been hired to guard the place against vandals. Fisher had to admit that Fabian had an eye for an opportunity. He sold the band the idea of using the month at The Tower as a place to rehearse before they recorded their demo at the beginning of May.
‘Just imagine,’ Fabian had told them all a week ago as they sat crammed into the back room of his apartment, the same room they’d used for muted rehearsals since Christmas. ‘Just imagine, a month in a manor house in the country. We can set up the equipment and play as loud as we like for as long as we like.’
Idea sold. After a winter of fog and rain in the city a month in rural Yorkshire was as good as a month in paradise. Of course, the rain had stayed with them all the way up here. And any pleasant evocations of a sunlit stroll down a country lane to an old tavern where barmaids served foaming pints of ale were dispelled by a cursory examination of the map, which revealed that the nearest building to The Tower was a farmhouse three miles away. Even so … They could learn those songs of Fabian’s that he promised would make them rich.
The corridor boasted panelling of dark antique oak to shoulder height, above that the walls were painted white. Set at intervals of ten paces were doors. Some were open to reveal entrances to bedrooms.
‘They even left the televisions?’ Fisher said, as he paused to check a room.
‘Everything’s been left here.’ Marko kept walking. ‘It was an old people’s home; there’s even clothes in some of the closets. Once The Tower had been sold, the previous owners didn’t hang around.’
Fabian wrinkled his nose. ‘But there are clean sheets, right? We’re not going to uncover any gooey surprises when we slip under the quilt?’
‘According to the guy who handed over the keys this morning, all the rooms on this floor have been cleaned, bed linen changed, bathrooms scrubbed – the works. All ready for us coming.’
‘Thank the Lord for that.’ Josanne spoke with feeling.
‘And hot water?’ Fabian asked.
‘Don’t worry, Fabbo. It’s all sorted. This floor is on a separate heating system. All these rooms have hot water. Take your pick.’
‘When do we get to eat?’
‘We use this kitchen.’ Marko pushed against a door marked ‘Staff’. ‘There’s a freezer full of microwave meals.’
Fisher smiled. ‘At least you won’t starve.’
‘Microwave meals? My taste buds are going to suffer.’
‘You’ll survive, Fabian.’ Josanne set the suitcases down with a relieved sigh.
Marko held the door open. ‘I brought a tubful of steaks with me. A drummer’s got to have his protein, you know.’
Fabian cheered up. ‘Well done, that man. Josanne, didn’t we bring that case of red wine along. The Bombero?’ He looked at her expectantly.
‘You know we did.’ Then her expression became pained. ‘You mean, you want me to bring it from the car?’
‘I need to go through these songs before tomorrow.’
Marko shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, Fabbo. Once I get the steaks on I’ll fetch the wine. You go wash behind your ears, or whatever you wanted to freshen up.’
‘Magnificent. Remind me to keep you on the payroll, old boy.’
That’s a typical Fabian joke, Fisher told himself. A joke that isn’t a joke. It’s a reminder of Fabian’s status. His band, his songs. He’s in charge. What did I tell you about murderous thoughts?
Marko put down one of the guitar cases so he could tug his forelock. ‘Thank you, Mister Fabbo, sir.’ Then to Fisher, ‘There’s plenty of blankets, Fisher. We’ll make Jak up a bed by the radiator where it’s warm. When I’ve done that I’ll chop up a couple of beef fillets for him.’
Fabian tutted. ‘Watch it Jak, old boy, those two will end up killing you with kindness.’ He opened a door and marched through it with a shout of, ‘And stop calling me Fabbo.’
Josanne paused in the doorway. She appeared awkward. Fisher knew she would have preferred to play her part in looking after the dog, but … Loyalty to Fabian stops her joining the regular guys. Marko must have been cloning Fisher’s thoughts because he asked, ‘Fancy a beer, Josanne?’
‘No, thanks, I’ll …’ She nodded toward the door that Fabian had swept his elegant self through. ‘You know. He might want to talk to me about the s
ongs.’
Or to run his bath … ouch … that’s uncharitable of you, Fisher.
‘OK, give me time to fetch the wine and get the steaks on – and see to Jak here, of course.’
‘Thanks, Marko.’
‘Just shout if you need anything.’
Marko shot Fisher a meaningful look, then said, ‘Take Jak through. Let’s see if we can get him firing on all cylinders.’
The staff kitchen looked out over the grounds. Not that Fisher could see much apart from bare branches illuminated by light shining out through the window. Compared with the luxurious furnishings of the bedrooms this spoke of utilitarian necessities. A large chest freezer in the corner, a refrigerator. A pair of microwave ovens on a shelf. A stainless steel sink beside an electric stove.
Marko nodded, ‘Through the door is the staff recreation area. There’s chairs and stuff. Oh, and a dartboard. I’ll pull one of the mattresses in then I can sleep close to the dog.’ He looked at Fisher with a sudden anxiety in his eyes. ‘That is, if you don’t think I’m muscling in?’
‘No, not at all. You know more about them than I do.’
‘My grandmother used to collect strays. Mostly what abandoned dogs really need is to form a bond with the person caring for them. If they know someone loves them that’s worth more than injections and pills.’ He paused. ‘Only I didn’t say all this in front of Fabian.’
‘I know what he’s like. I’d do the same.’
Fisher had known Marko from the old days, when Cuspidor played as a four-piece band that toured the local clubs and bars at weekends. Fisher and he were good friends right from the start, despite Marko’s temptation to loon around like he was the reincarnation of Keith Moon. Of course, back then they played for free beer and little more than loose change. That was before they were ‘discovered’ by Fabian. One night he bought them drinks, then spun seductive words about how talented they were, that he had the contacts to get them noticed by record companies. All they had to do was let him play keyboards and write the songs. Ever hear the story about the Trojan Horse? How invaders get inside the fortified city by hiding in a wooden horse? Once they’re on the inside they attack.
