by T. H. Hunter
“Come on, Barry,” I said roughly.
He knew better than to protest at a moment of social discord such as this, so he leapt from the sofa and trotted over to the door. I stepped outside and closed the door behind Barry, with a little more force than was necessary perhaps.
Downstairs, I was still fuming when I opened the lounge door that led to the outside. It was as stormy as ever in the darkness behind. You could hear the wind howling through the open porch of the shed next to the hotel. Even the powerful beam of the lighthouse beyond had some trouble cutting through the rain that was pouring down so heavily. For once, I thought with a wry smile, the weather mirrored my mood perfectly.
How could Val be so confoundedly stubborn and selfish, be unwilling to attend even a single meeting when I had attended all of them? It was perfectly true, of course, that I had chosen to do so, but it was still a bit rich from her to complain if it was clearly the best option available to us. Also, she had been much in favour of the holiday. Now, however, it seemed that she was unwilling to carry any of the burden.
I must have been so deeply buried in my thoughts that I bumped straight into Mr. Bolton’s large pouch.
“Terribly sorry,” I murmured.
“Quite alright,” Mr. Bolton said, beaming. “You’re coming to the meeting? The servant has started a nice fire for us.”
“Erm, no, sorry,” I said hastily. “I’m not feeling too well. Headache. Just need some fresh air and an early rest, I think.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding in an almost paternal manner. “Very taxing, this whole thing. Still, you’ve got to do what’s most profitable, eh? See you in the morning, then.”
Whatever was the matter with him? Perhaps it was my dark mood that made it appear that everyone else was in a good one. But as I observed him more closely, there was no denying that something had changed. He had received the phone call about the cause of Anita Brown’s death with a thoughtfulness that I wouldn’t have expected of him. Now, however, he was not only back on his old form but almost boisterous, as if his birthday had come early this year.
I made way for him to pass. He nodded appreciatively, muttering something that sounded a lot like ‘excellent’ under his breath, though the howling wind made it impossible to be certain.
I drew the hood of my coat over my head to shield myself from the rain. Barry and I made our way through the muddy grass towards the lighthouse. With a sudden jolt, I saw that a light was burning in the basement. It made the same peculiar pulsing motions I had noticed before from my room in the hotel. The hexanomitron had to be there, though I could only hope that Mr. Brown wouldn’t be.
Chapter 8
We were just passing the shed when Barry stopped me in my tracks by clawing at my leg.
“Ouch,” I exclaimed. “What…”
“Careful,” he whispered. “There’s someone walking around there, at the foot of the lighthouse.”
I squinted my eyes.
“I can’t see anyone,” I said, lowering my voice.
“I’m a cat, remember?” he said, quickly sliding behind the shed for cover.
“You don’t let a day go by without reminding us,” I said, grinning and following him. “Who is it? Can you see?”
“No, but it’s a tall, slim figure,” he said slowly. “Coming in our direction now.”
There was nowhere to hide. In any case, I could always claim to be out for a walk, though admittedly the defence was rather weak in this weather. Nervously, we waited. It wouldn’t do for Williams – or worse, Mr. Brown – to catch us. Through the rain, I could see that Barry had been right. The figure was heading in our direction. And as he came closer, I had a good idea of who it was.
“Hello Patrick,” I called.
“Oh, hello,” he said, pretending to be surprised. “Fancy seeing you out here. Awful weather, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. “But Barry here needed some fresh air.”
“Who? Oh, the cat. I see. Yes, bit stuffy in there, isn’t it?” he said conversationally.
“So why are you out here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.
“Me?” he said. “Oh, I just can’t stand them fighting over nothing in there. Mrs. Highgarden and Dr. Linton, I mean. Almost like watching your parents quarrelling, isn’t it?”
He laughed in a rather forced manner.
“Linton’s rather on the edge, I’m afraid, though I think he does have a point with the finances. Good lord, even I know it can’t go on like this. And that’s coming from a man whose strong point is spending! Well, better get back in, I suppose. Are you coming?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “I’m feeling a little under the weather. Quite literally, I suppose. I think I’ll turn in early after… erm… Barry’s had some exercise.”
Patrick Urquhart looked at Barry.
“Yes,” he said, laughing. “He is getting a little podgy, isn’t he? Always liked cats. Ah, well, I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast then. Have a good night’s rest.”
“Yes, goodnight, Patrick,” I said.
“Night-o,” he said jovially.
He was just about to walk in the direction of the hotel when something occurred to me.
“Say, Patrick,” I called out to him. “Did you go to the lighthouse?”
“What?” he asked, spinning around.
“Did you go to the lighthouse?”
“No, I – I just wandered around a little, that’s all. Didn’t really care where I was going. As long as it wasn’t over the cliff, that is.”
He chortled.
“I see,” I said. “Well, good night.”
He waved his hand at me and disappeared into the hotel. Barry, whose fur was already dripping from the rain by now, was quivering with fury and indignation. I was surprised he wasn’t steaming the water off through pure willpower.
“Podgy?” he said. “How dare that lazy, good-for-nothing wastrel… it’s winter fur, that’s all!”
“I wonder what he was doing out here?” I said slowly.
“Nothing useful, obviously,” said Barry. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he were involved in this whole affair, somehow. Yes, he seems quite the type to me when I think about it. Hides his villainy behind a pair of whitened teeth and an aristocratic front.”
“You’re turning into quite the revolutionary in your old age, Barry. I thought you were all for the aristocracy? Being a member of it yourself.”
“There always are a few bad eggs in any institution, however venerable,” he said grumpily. “No respect for their peers.”
“He doesn’t know you are his peer, Barry. Luckily, he still thinks you’re an ordinary cat.”
“Good for me,” he said grimly. “I might claw him one of these days, quite accidentally, of course.”
“Come on,” I said, chortling. “Let’s go to the lighthouse.”
We left the shelter of the shed and stepped into the open again. The icy wind cut into my face and cheekbones, so I pulled the collar of my coat a little higher. Although there was nobody to be seen, I had the distinct feeling that we were being watched or followed. I suppose being stuck on an island made you paranoid.
Finally, we reached the door to the lighthouse. Like the door to the hotel, it was built to withstand the harsh climate. By hand, we wouldn’t have been able to penetrate it, I was sure.
“OK,” I whispered, bending my knees so I could more easily talk to Barry. “What’s the spell for opening locked doors?”
“It’s simple,” he said.
He briefly outlined the incantation and the appropriate wand movements. As usual, he was greatly exaggerating the ease of the spell, though I was sure I could do it.
“Vertere,” I whispered, pointing my wand at the lock and waving it in quick, successive circular motions.
There was a soft but clearly audible click. The lock had been opened. With one last look in the direction of the hotel, Barry and I slipped through the door, gently closing it behind us.
; We found ourselves in front of a large concrete spiral staircase that presumably led all the way up to the top of the lighthouse, where the beam was sent out as a signal to passing ships. To the right of the staircase was another door, made of solid metal.
“This must be it,” I said softly to Barry. “No other door is here. This must lead to the basement.”
He nodded his feline head in agreement, though he looked worried at the same time. I tiptoed over to the door and tried it.
“Locked,” I said.
Once more, I cast the unlocking spell. This time around, it was much easier, though the door swung open, hitting the wall behind it with a deafening clanging sound which echoed horribly throughout the lighthouse.
Barry cursed under his breath. If Mr. Brown or anyone else was here, they would most certainly have been alerted by the noise.
Carefully, I stepped through the doorway, with Barry at my heels. The room beyond snaked its way along the outer wall in a half moon, which made it appear like a corridor more than anything else. More crates, boxes, and all kinds of tools littered the floor.
At last, we reached the end of the long room, which was marked by two man-sized crates.
“That’s it,” said Barry, whose voice sounded oddly flat. “We’ve reached a dead end.”
“No, we haven’t, Barry,” I said impatiently. “There must be a way forward somewhere…”
I approached the crates. Closer up, I noticed that they had been placed at such an angle that it was possible to pass between them. Though you couldn’t see it from afar, the opening was quite wide. I stepped past the first crate and looked around the corner. Behind the second crate, a wheelchair stood next to a wooden trap door. Something felt very ominous about the sight.
“It’s Mr. Brown’s wheelchair,” I said, examining it. “Do you think he can walk after all? That it’s all a ploy?”
“I don’t know,” said Barry weakly, who had followed on my heels.
“It’s a trap door, look,” I said, inspecting it. “We’ve got to get down there. Find out what’s going on.”
But Barry wouldn’t move.
“I don’t like the underground,” he said stiffly.
“We have no choice, Barry. The hexanomitron must be down there somewhere,” I said impatiently, stuffing my wand back in my handbag. “Come on.”
“Mrs. Faversham locked me in the cellar once by mistake,” he said, self-pity etched across his furry face. “You’d… we’d better go back…”
“Oh, nonsense, Barry,” I said, pulling up the latch of the trap door, which creaked horribly – however gently I tried to open it.
I had expected it to be pitch black below, but an artificial light was coming from somewhere, barely illuminating the metal rungs of a ladder below me. With no time to waste, I took Barry in one hand and scooped him up.
“No time for discussions, Barry,” I said. “I need you down there.”
He nodded but seemed beyond words for the moment. Slowly, I let my feet down until I had a solid grip on the rungs, holding onto the ledge as long as possible for support. Luckily, I reached the bottom sooner than expected. The room was tiny and filled with more boxes. It smelt of damp neglect in here. The ceiling was so low that I had to bend over slightly. Beyond the doorway of the room I was in, I could see several other rooms that looked very similar, though I suspected from the humming sounds that an electrical generator was down here, as well.
“Scout out ahead, will you?” I whispered to Barry, drawing my wand.
Without a note of protest this time, Barry crept forward. I gripped my wand tighter, pointing it in front of me. I was shaking slightly, so I used my left hand for support. I edged past the next room, following Barry as quickly as I could without making a noise. But with the increasingly loud sounds of the generator, there was little chance of being heard.
If someone saw Barry or me, however, I could still pretend that he had run away, I thought to myself. But judging from what I had witnessed as far as Mr. Brown was concerned, I doubted whether he’d believe such a feeble excuse for a second.
Suddenly, Barry came to a halt in front of me.
“What’s matter?” I whispered.
“Over there,” Barry said, barely opening his mouth. “In the chair.”
I peeked around the corner. And there, sitting in a second wheelchair I hadn’t ever seen him use before, Mr. Brown was facing away from us, his head slumped forward. He didn’t appear to be moving at all. A terrible thought crossed my mind. I bent down to Barry, so that we wouldn’t have to shout over the noise from the generators.
“Do you think he’s…?” I began.
“We’d better find out,” said Barry grimly. “Careful, now. He might be faking it. Or regain consciousness.”
Wand still drawn, I approached the man in the wheelchair. Behind him, several large generators were working relentlessly. It was hard to tell from the angle I was coming from whether he was alive or not. Had he simply fallen asleep? Judging from the racket from the generators, it was hardly likely – even for someone who was used to them.
I was only a few feet away now. I was perspiring from the heat in the room and my thick jacket that was made for the much colder temperatures outside. Yet fear had made my fingers as cold as ice, while my knuckles were white from clutching my wand so tightly.
I edged closer until I was on the same level as the wheelchair. Mr. Brown’s eyes were closed. He looked intimidating even in his present state. I could see that, ever so slowly, his massive chest was heaving up and down. He was breathing and alive.
I nodded towards Barry to keep going. There was no way of knowing when Mr. Brown would wake up again, of course. And I didn’t want to be caught in the midst of his secret den. The hexanomitron had to be very close.
Barry and I moved past Mr. Brown and into the next room. It looked as if a bomb had exploded in the middle of a junk yard. Every conceivable tool from a hammer to a crowbar littered the floor before us. Spare parts and discarded scrap metals had been piled up at the back. Someone had clearly tried to repair something, though whether with success or not we couldn’t know.
In the middle of the room, a large stone ring was set into the ground. On top was a massive lock made of steel, its hinges covering the edge of the stone ring like a spider would its web.
“This is it,” Barry said softly, approaching the ring. “This must be where the hexanomitron is kept. Inside. We’ve got to blast off this lock first, however.”
I had performed the unlocking charm several times before, and so I lifted my wand confidently, pointing it at the lock in front of us.
“Vertere,” I said softly.
But nothing happened. A faint jet of light came out of my wand but didn’t seem to connect properly for some reason.
“It’s not working,” I said. “Do you think it’s the hexanomitron blocking my spell?”
“I don’t think so,” said Barry, circling the stone ring. “Try again.”
I cast the spell again, but once more nothing happened. Barry now jumped onto the ring, examining the lock more closely. Then, he silently beckoned me to come closer.
“Tap it here,” he said.
“What?”
“Just tap the lock with your wand.”
I did as he asked. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking of, and I couldn’t see what his intentions were. A few sparks bounced off of the steel in front of us. Silence fell once more after that as Barry investigated every inch of the lock. All that could be heard was the monotonous pulse from the generators in the room beyond.
“As I thought,” Barry said finally, a note of triumph in his voice. “This lock has been sealed.”
“Sealed?” I asked.
“Yes. Notice how your spells bounce off without making contact.”
“You don’t mean magically sealed, do you?” I whispered, a cold shiver running down my spine.
He looked at me solemnly and then nodded his head.
“But then,” I
said, “that means that…”
“… that we have a witch or warlock on the island,” he finished my sentence. “Indeed.”
I looked at the lock without really taking it in. My head was spinning from the news.
“D’you think it’s Mr. Brown…?” I began.
“Perhaps,” Barry said. “But whoever it is, they don’t want us to access the hexanomitron. They’ve gone to great lengths to prevent that.”
“Can we break the seal?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Barry, sounding as if I had doubted the extent of his magical knowledge, “provided you follow my exact instructions to the letter.”
Before he could elaborate on his exact instructions any further, however, the floor and walls began to shake and quiver, as though the earth itself were shifting underneath our feet. It was followed by a rumbling that lingered even after the tremors had stopped.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“I – I don’t know,” said Barry. “The hexanomitron must be destabilising.”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Barry, lips tightened. “But if we don’t move fast, the hexanomitron might be destroyed. Or worse, this whole building is going to collapse on top of us.”
“Great,” I said nervously. “How do I break the seal?”
Barry quickly outlined the series of spells, though without his usual superior manner for a change. It seemed that a crisis also had an upside, I thought with a wry smile. At least, if we got out in one piece without being buried alive under the lighthouse, that is.
First, the invisible seal had to be weakened by a channelling spell. Furrowing my brow in concentration, I spoke the magic words over and over again until they seemed to blur and become meaningless as if they were some sort of mantra. The constant rumblings made sticking to the task at hand extremely nerve-wracking. At last, after what felt like a lifetime but surely couldn’t have been longer than a minute, the lock was glowing in bright red. The rumblings, for some strange reason, had also stopped by now.
“I think that will do,” Barry said. “We should be able to break it now.”
