‘Yeah, you’re just a stick,’ said Israel. ‘What about Henry?’ He was holding Henry’s sleeve, as the giant boy always got nervous underground. Miles was holding his hand.
‘It might be this one,’ said Caspar, holding up an old, chocolate-coloured key. His voice had little confidence, but he pushed it into the keyhole. Asilah helped him twist it and, suddenly, the mechanism clicked. The gate swung back and they were through. They turned to the right and came upon a steep circular staircase. There was a noise of rushing water.
‘We are close!’ said Professor Worthington, studying the map.
They descended, chattering with excitement. Soon, their footsteps had taken on a new echo; their voices were suddenly louder as the acoustics changed. Turning on the last step, they came under a low beam and looked up. Pumproom, said the sign.
It was as if they had stepped into a musical instrument.
It was as if they’d walked into some infinitely complex body-part of tubes and pipes. There were pipes everywhere – thin and thick, straight and swooping. They soared overhead and then you saw them under your feet. They were lost in impossible knots and then everything was untangled, running straight and parallel. The air was thick with water vapour, and the children’s torches cut through it like searchlights, striking the brass to be reflected back and forth. It was a spaghetti so intricate that the eye was lost and confused. Some tubes were thin as straws; some were great columns, thick as trees. Valves, nipples, and tees; spiders, spigots, tanks, and stopcocks – everything was polished and you could hear constant water, frothing inside.
The children moved forward into it, as if into the jungle. The noise was fabulous – all around them, drippings, high and low, and the echoes of those drippings. There were groans and throbbings. There’d be a sudden whoosh and whirl – but the overwhelming sound, deep and constant, was of roaring water, hurtling unseen, ferocious as rapids or waterfalls.
The children touched, stroked, and gaped.
Gradually, as if drawn by a magnet, they came to the central chamber and gaped again.
‘Oh my word,’ said Professor Worthington. She brushed away tears with the back of her hand and started to laugh. ‘I so hoped they’d have one of these . . . I didn’t dare believe they would . . . Caspar, this is priceless. What did I say about tears, Miles?’
‘They clean the eyeball, Miss.’
‘Yes. But they are also a hormonal reaction. My goodness . . .’
Again, every torch was focused on it and some dared a gentle touch. ‘We are so lucky,’ she whispered.
It was a giant column, made of glass. There was a brass frame, but the overwhelming impression was of a long, crystal shaft sinking into the ground and rising way up out of sight. Within the cylinder were four smaller glass pipes, full of bubbling water. It looked like an ultramodern lift shaft, or a glass syringe. There was a glass door in the nearest panel, so you could step into it. There was also a set of dials beside the door, inscribed with fine calibrations.
‘It’s an elevator,’ said Millie, with wonder in her voice. ‘Isn’t it? It’s a lift.’
‘It’s a . . . it’s a kind of lift,’ said the professor. ‘I’ve seen one other. They are extraordinarily rare – this is engineering at its most miraculous. I think there are four, in the whole world.’
‘But why do you need a lift . . . in a lake?’
‘Why do you need a lift? Why would anyone need to ride a lift car, to get to the bottom of a lake?’
‘Fishing?’ said Ruskin. ‘Swimming?’
A number of children laughed, but professor Worthington silenced them. ‘He’s right,’ she said. ‘He’s absolutely right. There was – how can I explain it? – a certain vanity when these things were constructed. Don’t forget that every architect likes to push himself and try new things. Let me try the control . . .’ She touched the knob, gently. ‘These little dials, children, control about three million metric tonnes of water. And look at them: they’re the size of a teacup.’
She turned the top dial, gently. The bubbles in the four pipes slowed down in their journey. She turned it another degree and they stopped altogether. From over their heads there came a vibration and the sound of a tide slowly, laboriously turning.
‘This is weird,’ said Sam. ‘The ground’s shaking.’
A water-lift was descending. They all recognised the principle at once: it was a lift-car, dropping in a glass shaft. But as it came into view and hovered in front of their gaze, they could see it was different. It was two-thirds full of murky green water and there were three platforms, like diving boards.
‘It’s a ride!’ said Anjoli. ‘We could get in, through that door! We could go for a ride!’
‘Absolutely,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘It takes a while to get used to – but yes, one could empty the water, so the space is dry. Climb aboard and . . . up you go. It’s about displacement. If you were to step into this chamber, you would have controlled access to the lake. It’s the most beautiful thing – it’s both a pumping mechanism and a kind of decompression chamber. You can get into the lift and find yourself at any level of the lake that you choose. Then: touch the controls and you can step out into a boat. You can go swimming, if that’s what you prefer. Or you can stay inside, safe and dry, and observe the fish. I would imagine the lake has underwater electric lights. In the days of your ancestors, Caspar, they probably came down here for pre-dinner cocktails, to watch the mysteries of the deep.’
‘Let’s do it!’ said Israel. ‘We can swim home!’
‘It’s so beautifully maintained,’ murmured the professor. ‘Someone must come down here . . . there must be a team. Where’s Tomaz? He should know . . .’
Nobody answered.
She raised her voice. ‘Where’s Tom?’
‘He might be with Father O’Hanrahan, Miss,’ said Sanchez. ‘His interview was this afternoon.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Um . . . he told me, Miss. Is everything alright?’
‘No. Who said he could cut my class? Was he there for the stitching? I thought I saw him.’
The children were silent. At last, Asilah said, ‘I don’t think he wanted to go, Miss. But Father O’Hanrahan was pretty fierce about it. He came and got him, just as we were lining up.’
Professor Worthington was staring into the glass, tight-lipped. She was clearly trying to conceal her anger, but wasn’t succeeding. She turned away from the group. ‘Get your notebooks out,’ she said. Her voice was thin and clipped. ‘I want you to sketch this mechanism – we need to discuss hydraulics . . . Israel, what are you doing?’
‘Swimming,’ he said, hopefully. ‘I thought—’
‘Put your clothes back on. And you, Anjoli! Honestly . . .’
Suddenly, there was a shout. It was Eric, and he had his hands at his mouth, and was staring at the glass with mesmerised eyes. ‘Victor . . .’ he whispered. ‘I just saw Victor!’
The children moved quickly round to where he was standing and peered into the chamber. The water was murky and there was weed floating in it – some kind of log as well.
Sam crouched down and peered upwards. ‘He’s right,’ he said. His eyes were wide. ‘It’s the crocodile. He’s in the lift!’
Professor Worthington went back to the dial and lowered the car so the waterline was under the children’s noses. The crocodile lifted its nose two centimetres and the dark crenellations of its back came into view. It turned itself around and scrabbled up onto the muddy platform.
Chapter Thirty-three
‘I’m lost for words,’ said Professor Worthington.
The children pressed their noses to the glass and the little ones knocked violently. The crocodile lifted an eyelid and closed it again. His zip of teeth appeared to be smiling smugly. He turned and started nosing into the mess of mud and grass that had accumulated.
‘There’s eggs, Miss,’ said Sanjay.
‘What?’
Sanjay had his hands cupped around
his eyes and was down on one knee. He was peering into the crocodile’s lair and he started to count. ‘Two, three . . . I think there’s about seven, Miss.’
‘He’s got a nest!’ said Ruskin. ‘He’s got a nest!’
Professor Worthington brought the lift lower still and the children pressed right round it, straining for the best view. Sure enough, half buried in the silt they could see ivory-coloured spheres. Victor moved his body up and over them and closed his eyes dismissively.
‘I have to say I am . . . bowled over,’ said the professor. ‘They say that all animals have an instinct, but this is remarkable. The temperature of that water is probably higher than any other part of the lake. What a survivor – what a parent! I am filled with admiration.’
‘But where’s the mother?’ said Millie. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think we’re going to have to tell Flavio that Victor’s a girl. I had my suspicions, you know! I thought she was acting strangely.’
‘How does she get in and out though, Miss?’ said Kenji. ‘Is she trapped now?’
‘We’ll put her back up to the top before we go. It’s only at the top you can get out, so – yes, she’s trapped at the moment.’
‘You could drown in there,’ said Miles, quietly.
Everyone looked at him. He’d been noticeably keeping back and saying nothing. Henry stood next to him, in shirtsleeves. He had given Miles his giant blazer again and the boy was wrapped in it, perched on a pipe. He looked uneasy, staring at the murky water.
‘Why do you say that?’ said Professor Worthington.
‘I don’t know,’ said Miles. ‘I’ve seen this before.’
‘Liar,’ said Millie.
Somebody pushed her, hard, and she nearly tripped.
‘. . . I don’t know when,’ said Miles. ‘Can we go back up, please?’
‘In a moment, of course. I’m interested in what you say, Miles – there’s one other, to my knowledge,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘It’s sometimes open to the public.’ There was a squirt of radio static. ‘What was that?’ she snapped. ‘Was that you, Oli?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Why have you brought a radio down here?’
‘It’s Millie’s submarine, Miss.’
‘Have you been carrying that for the last half-hour? You amaze me, you boys. Turn the wretched thing off and listen. What was I saying? Yes. The other model – it’s in a castle, in Kent. Maybe you’ve seen that one, Miles? Have you ever been to Kent?’
‘I don’t know.’
Miles looked troubled. ‘The controls are on the outside,’ he said. ‘They should be on the inside.’
Professor Worthington looked at him more carefully. Apart from Henry, the children had moved away from him and his eyes looked slightly glazed. She wondered for a moment if he’d heard the story.
‘I think you must have seen the other one, Miles. It’s a famous story – they call it the housemaid’s revenge. Eight people were drowned – is that what you’re thinking of?’
‘No.’ He seemed distracted. ‘I want to go back. I want to go up.’
‘Tell us, Miss,’ said Anjoli.
‘No, it’s far too grim for children. It will give you nightmares.’
There was a chorus of disappointment. ‘Tell us! Tell us!’ The cry was repeated and she felt hands tugging her coat.
‘Alright,’ she said. ‘But if you can’t sleep tonight, don’t blame me. It’s all to do with gravity-fed water systems. Miles is absolutely right. He’s spotted the flaw in the design – the fatal flaw. These dials can lift and lower the car, as you saw. But they can also fill it full of water and empty it. It doubles as a pump, you see – to drain the lake – and it’s a crucial part of the machinery. I could fill that car with water and anyone in that car would be helpless. How long can you hold your breath, children?’
‘Five minutes,’ said someone.
‘Three minutes!’
‘I did seven last term – that’s my record.’
Some of the younger orphans immediately filled their lungs and stared at their watches. Oli’s radio crackled again and Professor Worthington did her best to ignore it.
‘Well, I can tell you that the average for a human being is between twenty-five and forty seconds. Less if you’re panicking, and a lot less if you know they’re the last seconds of your life.’
She saw that she had the children’s attention again. ‘Now the system in Kent was almost certainly built by the same team – it controls a large, ornamental moat round a castle. One of the reasons very few of these pumps were made is because of the problem Miles has identified. When one steps into that chamber, one is entirely dependent on those controlling the dials outside. I’m sure you can understand the logic: when this thing was made, the people who used it would have had total faith in their servants. Those servants were loyal and did what they were told. However, it is open to abuse – as the family in Kent found out, to their cost.’
She paused.
‘What happened?’ said Kenji.
‘Well. It appears that the family had trained up a young girl called Ethel Mosse. Ethel was, apparently, an expert in handling the equipment, though it’s not hard to master – the principles are very simple. She was very skilful and she certainly seemed trustworthy. The family who trained her got used to showing the pump to their guests and demonstrating the wonders of the journey to the moat’s bottom. Unfortunately, on one occasion, Ethel decided to take revenge.’
‘For what?’ said Millie.
‘Nobody quite knows. Some say she’d had her wages stopped. Others say she’d been, er . . . molested by the father of the family. There were all sorts of rumours – there always are. The events that followed, though, are quite straightforward: for whatever reason, the girl responded to her ill-treatment in spectacular style. It was a Saturday evening and the family had decided to demonstrate their toy to some visiting big-wigs. They were a fabulously wealthy family – the castle was just their country home. The lift-car was full. Eight people – four adults, three children, and a baby. It was the summer and they were in their bathing costumes, Anjoli. Just as you would so like to be. They were going to plunge to the bottom of the moat, then finish with a swim. The butler was going to meet them in a rowing-boat, with a picnic. Young Ethel was at the controls.’
She paused. The children were silent and enthralled. Those that had held their breath had let it escape, quietly.
‘She ushered them into the car,’ the professor went on. ‘She sealed the door, as was customary. Then she dropped them to the bottom. She let them see the . . . fish, I suppose. There was an intercom system, but whether it was used nobody knows. She brought them back to the starting point and it would appear that she turned the bottom dial, which controls the pumping mechanism. Do you want me to go on?’
The silence convinced her she had no choice.
‘Ethel pumped a thousand gallons of water over them. There were no witnesses, of course – I mean no survivors. But when the police pieced things together and interviewed her – she admitted it. She stood there and watched them drown.’
Professor Worthington closed her eyes. ‘Can you imagine it? Trying to keep your nose above the waterline, as the water rises and rises? Ethel stood and watched them. And then . . . and this is the detail that has always haunted me. She raised the car and sluiced the dead bodies into the moat. The butler found them as he rowed up with the champagne and strawberries.’
Professor Worthington paused. ‘The girl was found guilty, of course; she was hanged. It’s the reason why these contraptions went out of fashion. What’s the matter, Miles – you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I can hear one,’ he said. ‘I think he’s talking to me.’
Miles was standing, looking at Oli’s radio. The boy had turned it off, but for some reason it was crackling again and there was a sound like grunting. Oli put his ear to it.
‘I’m sorry, Miss,’ he said. ‘It is switched off, defin
itely.’
‘Then what’s that noise?’ said Professor Worthington. The grunting had turned into deep breathing.
‘It picks up strange things. I think—’
‘Shhh!’
A low voice came through, loud and clear. There was hatred in every word and some of the younger orphans pressed together for comfort. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this to one of you for weeks!’ said the voice. ‘This is going to do me good . . .’
In Father O’Hanrahan’s confessional, Tomaz was fighting for his life.
He had managed to grab the bolt, but his hands had been snatched away and he’d been thrown across the table. Squirming like a fish he’d managed to get free, but there was simply nowhere to go, and when the belt hit him across the back, he was stunned by the pain. O’Hanrahan grabbed him by the neck and the fight was over. As he did so, the window shattered.
It simply blew inwards and shards of glass were whirling in a blizzard, dancing between the walls. Father O’Hanrahan felt them on his hands and face, and had no choice but to cover his eyes. Then, before he or Tomaz could move, the door was rattling in its frame. The handle was turning back and forth, and all Tomaz could think of was Captain Routon. He slipped to the ground in a ball, hoping with all his strength – and he heard the wood splitting as if an axe was hacking it to pieces. The bolt burst and the door crashed open with such force that one hinge was torn loose. The tape recorder was lifted to the ceiling and plunged onto the floor where it exploded in fragments.
‘Help!’ cried Father O’Hanrahan.
‘What’s happening?’ shouted Cuthbertson, down the wire.
The priest was standing still now, too shocked to move. The cupboard was a destroyed wreck around him and the violence had lasted no more than five seconds. The candles were out.
That was the moment the wind started.
It came through the window and it came through the door. It rose quickly to a hurricane and spun into a whirlwind. The old man’s paper was lifted and torn to confetti. Tomaz crawled away from it and found a tiny space where it was calm; the old man, however, was caught in its frenzy – he was spread-eagled against the wall, his robes flattened and his face buffeted by freezing air. For the wind was Siberian, and the old man felt his eyes smarting and his teeth aching in his gums. He knew then what it was, and though he was frightened, it stirred an instinct in him. His right hand fought the vortex and he got it to his chest. He needed his crucifix! This was a haunting more powerful than any he’d experienced. For a mad second he’d assumed it was children’s games. Then, like Tomaz, he’d wondered if Routon or Flavio was behind it. Pressed to the wall, feeling the agonising chill, he knew something far more powerful was in the room, and he was fighting for survival.
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