The Caretakers (2011)

by Adrian Chamberlin

  On us all, he thought sadly. He raised the knife and began his task.

  Her screams sliced through him like the blade that cut through her fingers.

  He was about to slice off the fourth finger when the door at the top of the stone staircase was forced open. The rusty hinges shrieked, scraping on the stone. Searles looked up and saw the imposing figure of Franklin framed in the doorway.

  The other Fellows took a step back into the shadows as the head porter quickly made his way down the stairs. Only Franklin would be allowed to interrupt the offering at such a crucial stage, because he would only do so if absolutely necessary.

  “My apologies, Master. Hughes is here. He has the remainder of the Divine Judgement!”

  Shocked gasps from the Fellows fluttered the candle flames. Searles almost fell backwards. He got to his feet shakily.

  “You’re certain of this, Franklin?”

  “Positive. He’s in his van, by the Lodge. The rock is embedded in the bulkhead, and it’s carved in the likeness of Charles Harvey. There can be no mistake.”

  Searles took all this in, nodding thoughtfully.

  “Well, Mr Franklin. We’d better bring him here, hadn’t we?” He made a forceful effort to hide his relief at this sudden interruption, the excuse to withhold the torture. He threw away the mask and pulled the robe over his head, tossing it unceremoniously in a corner by the stone staircase.

  “That’s not necessary, Master,” Franklin began. “I can deal with him -‘

  “Not without me, Franklin!” Searles snapped. He fixed the head porter with a withering glare that made Franklin take an involuntary step backwards and then turned it on the Fellows.

  “Leave the girl for the moment. Do not touch her until I return.”

  The anger from the Fellowship was silent but palpable. They didn’t trust him, but they couldn’t disobey. His was the first cut that had to be struck. Andraste demanded it.

  Searles indicated the steps. Franklin reluctantly turned, with a glower, and took the lead.

  The Master of All Souls wondered now if there was another force that had answered his unspoken prayer. Franklin had overestimated Boyd’s abilities, that much was certain. But none of them had assumed that Hughes would make his way here so quickly. He obviously knew his girlfriend was singing to Andraste, so lying low to evade arrest was not going to be a viable option for him.

  But who told him? How did he find out?

  “The Divine Judgement? Why would he bring it here, Master?” Franklin fell into step alongside him as they made their way across the lawns of Old Court. The sky had darkened considerably. The sun was nothing more than a tarnished silver disc skulking behind the heavy steel-grey clouds.

  “It’s obvious, Franklin. Hughes probably thinks he can bargain with it. An exchange: the stone for his girl.” Or perhaps, join the carving with the stone in the Great Hall. And then it’s all over. But that was a false hope, he thought. No way could Hughes know about that.

  But it was only when he and Franklin came across Hughes’ van, hemmed in by the archway, and saw the thing that grinned at them from the bulkhead did he realise how badly the Fellowship of All Souls had underestimated the ex-prisoner. Franklin halted in mid-step, a sharp exhalation of breath misting in the morning air.

  The head porter shook his head from side to side. “No. It can’t be…”

  Searles stepped past him, walking slowly towards the Transit. David Searles’ mouth dropped when he saw the carving on the van’s bulkhead. A carving with an open, gaping mouth and eyes that switched from a tortured, agonised expression to a direct glare of hatred, as if it had become suddenly aware of the two men approaching it - and aware of what they represented.

  Hughes had turned in his seat and was facing it. And smiling.

  “And what else do you have for us?” Searles asked in a whisper. A whisper that was somehow heard by the face in the leaves, even though there was a six foot gap between the Master and the crumpled bonnet of the van. The ivy and holly leaves rustled in its mouth and the lines around the eyes tightened, turning the open, burning glare into a narrow eyed, thoughtful appraisal.

  It knows, Searles thought. It hears, it senses…it knows. And David Searles knew without any doubt that this was not only the second piece of the meteorite - the Divine Judgement that came so close to destroying the college over two centuries ago - it was the physical representation of the thing that had haunted Jason’s days and nights. The face of what he called The Elder.

  The psychiatrist Longhurst had said The Elder was only in Jason’s mind. Searles knew now he was wrong. The Elder was in Jason’s mind, yes…but in his heart also.

  Spirit. He carried The Elder in his soul. And Hughes had brought the physical representation. If they should meet…

  Franklin raised his two-way. Thumbing the talk button, he spoke quickly in crisp, clear tones.

  “Tom. It’s Franklin. You and Neil, check the clearing in the woods. I think Jason’s here already.” He paused. “Yes, go armed. It won’t be just Jason in there.”

  Searles stroked his chin. “Well, Franklin, looks like we’re having quite a few spectres at our Feast. First things first. Let’s make our guest welcome.”

  They turned as one to the Transit, its driver and its mysterious cargo. From the corner of his eye Searles noted the wolfish grin of anticipation that broke out on Franklin’s face.

  * * * * *

  Rob Benson’s hands shook. This was the second time he had pointed a loaded weapon at another human being and it wasn’t something he’d ever get used to.

  But for fuck’s sake - at least the Plod had had the courtesy to look scared when he was pointing the shotgun at them! This fucker was just grinning at him, wiping a piece of cloth that smelled of black cherries up and down some steel probe.

  Jason Franklin. He recognised the face from the newspaper pictures last year. You didn’t forget eyes like that. The eyes of the truly insane.

  It was a look of both calm and fury. Peace and rage merged into one. Both emotions living uneasily together: each trying to displace the other and be the dominant force that determined the actions of Jason Franklin. And it looked like the rage had won. There was no peaceable way in which the cook-chill vehicle could have been taken from its drivers.

  This was why he kept the gun raised. They would not have willingly handed it over to a mental patient who was hell bent on escaping and returning to his old college to burn the place down.

  “Okay, Franklin. How did you get here?”

  Jason paused in his cleaning. He leant out of the window and made admiring noises at the Mondeo.

  “Same way you did. Disguised as a washer woman.”

  “Funny fucker. C’mon, spill the beans.” Rob’s hands shook, but Jason seemed unconcerned at the automatic pistol aimed less than six feet from his face.

  “It was tinned tomatoes, actually. But never mind that.” Jason’s eyes hardened. “I know why you’re here.”

  Rob took a step backwards as Jason Franklin opened the door of the van.

  “Relax…Roberto, isn’t it? Rob, sorry. My mistake.” He smiled and held out his hand. “You know me. My name’s Jason.”

  Rob backed away even further, raising the Glock higher. It wasn’t his imagination. And it sure as fuck wasn’t tinned tomato juice under Jason’s fingernails. That was blood.

  He stared at Jason Franklin’s getaway vehicle. Black smoke from the exhaust billowed around the rusted bodywork, snaking around the skeletal oak trees like rags torn from a rotting burial shroud.

  “A permanent loan from the Phoenix Unit. A farewell gift, you might say.” Jason stared at his fingernails then shrugged.

  “Come on, Rob. This is no time to be squeamish. You’ve spilt the blood of a man today, haven’t you?” He glanced at the Mondeo. “That’s a police car, and that gun you’re holding is a third generation Glock 17. Not standard issue for the Cambridgeshire Constabulary, but I think Boyd had special status.”

&nbs
p; Rob swallowed. News got out quick, then.

  Franklin shook his head. “No, not news. But I can’t be bothered to explain how my…gift works. Not now. We’ve got other things to worry about.”

  Rob shook his head. The sun had hidden itself behind heavy black clouds and the woods were getting dark. Almost as though night was falling.

  Yeah, the temperature was definitely dropping. What the fuck’s going on?

  “Tell me something, Franklin,” Rob said. “How come the gates were open? I thought they’d have put extra security on or something.”

  Franklin folded his arms. He looked over Rob’s shoulder. “My guess is that they were expecting us…or me, certainly. I don’t think they want any more police involvement, not today of all days. They’ll deal with us personally. Or at least, they’ll try.”

  The smile that broke out on Jason’s face was something that would stay with Rob Benson for a very long time.

  Something was stirring in the woods. He heard the noise of a frozen twig snap far to his left. He spun round and squinted, trying to make out something other than the swaying and creaking of the ancient oaks. He remained still, listening intently.

  “Look. Here they come now.” Jason pointed with a disinterested finger at the figures moving in the woods, running towards them.

  * * * * *

  The grin on Franklin’s face vanished when the black barrel of the SPAS 12 swung in his direction. Andy saw the head porter freeze when he worked the pump, feeding a shell. It was all he could do to prevent his finger tightening around the trigger, to blow that psychotic bastard’s head off.

  “Stay where you are!” he barked. “Franklin, Searles. You know why I’m here. I want Jen.”

  The Master and the head porter glanced at each other.

  “Jen who?”

  “Don’t even go there, Franklin. I know you have her.”

  “Then you know why we have her,” Searles said reasonably. “And why we can’t let her go. Did Boyd tell you that before you killed him?”

  Andy hesitated. The smell of discharge was still powerful, so it was no great leap of logic to assume that the shotgun had been used earlier.

  “Boyd told me a lot of things,” Andy smiled grimly. “Confession’s good for the soul. Bring Jen to me.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that Mr Hughes,” Searles said tiredly. “Andraste has chosen her to sing. She must be given, for the love of humanity.”

  Andy’s jaw tightened. He jabbed the barrel into Searles’ stomach. Searles winced.

  “Let me explain something to you, Searles. I’ve been implicated in the killing of my former tutor and his family. I’ve seen first-hand the work this murdering bastard is capable of, work he does for you and your fucking college. You really expect me to believe that anything connected to him is for the love of humanity?”

  Franklin remained silent, his eyes burning into Andy with hatred.

  “I’ve got nothing to lose by blowing both your heads off here and now. I know what you do, and I know where you do it.” His words were a hiss. He tapped the trigger guard of the SPAS 12. “This is an eight round model. One shell opened Boyd up to the world. After you two I’ll still have five shells left. Do we understand each other?”

  “We do indeed, Mr Hughes.” Searles smiled sadly. “Believe me, I would welcome death. You have no idea how onerous our duty is, no comprehension of the way it tears our souls apart.”

  “My heart bleeds,” Andy growled. But he detected a weariness and sadness in the Master’s voice. The prematurely lined face and the dull eyes spoke of someone who wrestled nightly with his conscience, agonised over a duty he was compelled to perform. For the love of humanity, he’d said, and he could almost believe him.

  But that didn’t explain Franklin, who took a sharp intake of breath at the Master’s words.

  “You really need convincing, Andrew?” Searles asked. “Let us show you what the black rock can do.”

  “Master?” Franklin looked incredulous. “You can’t do this!”

  “I believe we have no choice, Franklin.” Searles raised his head and stared sadly at Andy. “You and Mr Lotson know it as the Divine Judgement. It is no such thing. To us, it is the Covenant between us and Andraste. It is through this that she reveals herself to us. Her wishes…her demands. Come and see for yourself.”

  “Later,” Andy snapped, swinging the barrel to bear on Franklin’s groin. “Franklin, if I see you reach for that walkie-talkie again I’ll blow your balls through your arsehole, clear?” He turned back to the Master. A strange look passed between them, and Andy thought about what he’d said earlier, about death being a welcome. Franklin looked distinctly uneasy now, almost worried. And that could only be a good thing.

  “You have my word that Jennifer will not be touched.”

  Andy stepped back and pointed to the doorway of the Great Hall. The Master of All Souls and the head porter turned, trudging slowly through the snow on the lawns towards the Hall.

  Okay, Searles. Let’s see what you’re playing at.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  On entering the Great Hall of All Souls Andy Hughes froze. For one moment he forgot everything. The Master and the head porter, standing five feet away in front of him with raised hands: the heavy weight of the combat shotgun in his hands. The dire situation he was in. Even the danger facing Jen.

  For one brief but seemingly endless moment he was immersed in the majesty of the Great Hall of All Souls and nothing else.

  No pictures he’d seen could do justice to the sheer size of the Great Hall. The pitched roof added height to the already cavernous interior. Chandeliers and fiery cresset torches added rich, fluid light to the opulent furnishings and wall tapestries, dispelling any sense of oppressive darkness or gloom that could so easily have overcome visitors to the medieval dining hall. For a brief moment the twenty first century did not exist.

  The thing atop the triangular portico on the wooden screen brought him back to reality, reminded him why he was here. A gilded carving of a boar’s head: its ruby eyes as red as the pupils in the Green Man, blazed down on him. They seemed to move around the room, but surely that was only the dancing, flickering light from the candles and the cressets. Surely.

  “Impressed, aren’t you?” Franklin’s voice travelled across the room, the sardonic voice echoing from all points.

  Andy’s footsteps echoed on the cold white marble of the centre tiles, approaching High Table. The golden boar’s head glared down at him with its baleful eyes.

  Andy stared at the black rock embedded in the centre of the table beneath it. The candle light gave it a strange luminescence, the buttery yellow flames illuminating the thin traces of red and green minerals on the polished fusion crust. Andy rested the shotgun on it and heard Searles gasp. He listened for a hollow sound but couldn’t hear anything. Whoever had mounted the rock in the table had done a good job. The broken side, the fracture, was well hidden. He turned back to the Master and grinned.

  “The Covenant with Andraste, eh? You stupid, stupid bastards.”

  The Master sighed. “That rock has shown us the way. Each of us, all senior members of the college, past and present, have been given a glimpse of Andraste’s terrible power through contact with it. Each of us has been shown the proof of her existence - and has reluctantly shouldered the burden placed upon us.”

  “What about Freeland? He threw off the burden. He took the view Jason Franklin did, not the Fellowship. He believed that this Andraste deceived you all, that each killing strengthens her rather than appeases her. Did you consider that?”

  There it was again, that look in the Master’s eyes he’d seen outside. Not just pain and anguish, but doubt. Doubt he had fought to keep hidden from the rest of the Fellowship. Andy decided to turn up the heat.

  “So why do you think Freeland killed himself, Searles? He’d given Phil the proof that you were wrong, had been wrong, for thousands of years. He couldn’t live with himself anymore, couldn’t face the
guilt.”

  “Not quite, Hughes.” Franklin kept his distance from Andy and the High Table, but his words carried well. “Freeland killed himself because he was convinced Andraste was going to break through. Terrified of what he believed to be inevitable. That is proof indeed of the terrible prospect of Andraste returning - that men would rather kill themselves than face the prospect of being on the same planet as her.”

  “Jesus. The fairy stories I’ve heard in the last twenty four hours…” Andy shook his head. He tapped the black rock with the shotgun.

  “But nothing matches this one. God’s Divine Judgement - a message from the Almighty. As long as it stays here in the Hall, evil will never return. Kept the superstitious townsfolk reassured, I guess.”

  Franklin was walking slowly towards him. Andy shot him a withering glare, and the head porter paused in mid-step.

  “But not all of it is here, is it? The meteor broke in two, the second part merging with the Green Man carving in the chapel before flying to Impington. Charles Harvey’s suicide - or rather, his self sacrifice - was prevented. And that’s why Andraste remained. So what if the pieces were joined?” Andy hefted the SPAS 12 over his shoulder. He turned and faced Franklin.

  “What do you reckon, Searles? Worth a try, surely? Got to be better than what you fuckers are doing in the cellar of the chapel every year.”

  The response to that was silence. He’d been expecting that. But what was surprising was the contrast between the two men’s expressions. Searles looked relieved at Andy’s suggestion, almost relaxed. Franklin, on the other hand…

  The head porter’s hatred of Andy was palpable, an almost physical force that burned as brightly as the torches on the walls and the candles on the tables. The pent up rage was reaching breaking point.

  Why? Why do you hate me so much? I’m no threat to you. Unless…

  A smile broke out on his face. Now he saw what fuelled Franklin’s hatred of him. It was well hidden, but it was there, revealed when he’d mentioned joining the two pieces together.