Kingsholt

by Susan Holliday

  There was something in his voice, something so compelling, that she almost lost herself again. She managed to ease herself away from him. ‘I’m staying here.’

  She pushed at Nimbus but he had the anchor cross in his hands. He twisted it, pulling it tightly round the front of her neck. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, and then the chain snapped and she fell crying to the floor. He stood over her, staring down.

  ‘Looking for you all night,’ he said, as if he could read her thoughts. With the palms of his hands towards her he made round movements in the air. He swayed his arms from side to side as if he was orchestrating her feelings, drawing her back and back to the other world where she once belonged. His voice was deep, hoarse. ‘We haven’t long. You’ll follow me now, Chloe. We’ll go up the hill together. From now on you’ll only listen to me.’

  His voice had become slow and hypnotic. He began to count from ten down and each number fell like a bell on her ears. Chloe tried to replace the hypnotic numbers with the sound of church bells. She pictured a great bell going up and down, up and down, and when the numbers grew more insistent she made the church bells ring louder.

  Nimbus tied her arm to his with a thin leather belt and forced her out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen. He unlatched a window and pulled her through. In the open air, Chloe’s strength was reinforced by the flowers that held her in a ring of colour and perfume. In a flash she saw her mother, her father, Sam, the old house, her old school friends, Aidan, Leela, all of them holding hands to protect her. She felt a sense of sharp regret as Nimbus trampled over the garden, pulling her roughly over the crushed plants.

  ‘I don’t need to be tied to you, Nimbus,’ she said in a soft, wheedling voice. ‘My arm’s hurting and we’ll go more quickly side by side.’

  ‘Time,’ said Nimbus grimly. ‘You’ll soon forget the meaning of time.’

  ‘We’ll run up the hill together,’ said Chloe, putting on a dazed voice. Nimbus seemed to believe her and he started to undo the leather belt, pulling at her arm as if she had no feeling. He loosened the knot and she thought: I must wait for the right moment. As if on a whim, he folded the belt and held it in his hand.

  They entered the wood and followed the trail to the Nimbus Tree. Reaching it, Nimbus stopped and Chloe sank to the ground as if to recover her strength. He put his fingers on the gnarled trunk and followed the letters he had carved:

  ROSIE NEVER FORGOTTEN

  Nimbus looked hard at Chloe. “There’s not a mark on this tree that don’t remind me of my Rosie. And you remind me of her too. You’ll die – as George Penfold died, to pay the price of my Rosie’s death. When they find you dead as this tree that was struck by lightning in the great storm, they’ll never again question my strength and power. That is,’ he looked at her cunningly, ‘unless you tell me more about the map and lead me to the treasure. Like that I’ll get out of here a rich man and go away with Tammy who’s all that’s left me.’

  He’s mad, thought Chloe fearfully, why didn’t I see this before? Her fear gave her strength and she climbed slowly to her feet, nodding vaguely at Nimbus as if she was in a trance. She walked towards him, doing her best to seem weak and ill but when she was close enough, she let fly, kicking his bad leg as hard as she could. Nimbus lost his balance and fell, and Chloe kicked him again. And then she ran away, heart in her mouth, sprinting from bush to bush, stumbling in the undergrowth, hiding behind trees.

  She caught a glimpse of him standing at the edge of the pit but she didn’t slow down. Trying to keep to the plantation of firs where the ground was soft and silent, she pushed on. When at last she reached the tree that Aidan had cleared, she was unaccountably strengthened. She stopped, breathing raggedly, listening for footsteps, but another sound filled her head. The singing of the psalms rose up from the ancient chapel that had once stood here. Standing there, Chloe thought she heard the muffled beat of galloping, but it was no longer Dark Time, it was the King himself. She experienced all this in a second and then ran on. She heard shouts from the wood and saw the buzzard fly up and away. By now she was prepared to break cover. She raced out of the shelter of the trees and across to the first gate that led to Kingsholt. Down in the valley, she could see the path that wandered towards Leela’s cottage. She longed to run back there but she dared not. Instead she climbed the gate and ran up the drive away from Kingsholt. It took her some time to reach the next gate, the one that gave onto the road. Blackburr Fort was almost opposite on the other side and one or two people were climbing the ditches and grassy walls.

  Chloe made for the phone box. Her hands were shaking as she dialled 999.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Just as Aidan was packing his haversack, Leela came in. Sam offered to make her coffee.

  ‘Yes please,’ Leela said. ‘And I can tell you that all’s fine. Chloe has slept and eaten very well. She’s almost her old self.’

  ‘It would be cool to see her like that,’ said Sam. ‘I can’t remember the last time.’

  Aidan smiled. ‘We have very good news too, Leela. Unbelievable news.’ He watched her sit down and place her hands round her mug. ‘We’ve found the original map! It was Sam who made it happen – he discovered a puppet box in the attic and inside there was a piece of very old paper, with some strange clues that Emily Penfold had written down. Sam was a real slave driver and made us work them out! We’ve been up digging all night, or nearly all night.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, Leela, it’s true. Now drink up, and we’ll all go out together.’ Aidan turned to Sam. ‘We’ll call in on Chloe briefly before we go up to the wood.’

  ‘She’d very much like that,’ said Leela. ‘I think she’s beginning to miss you all.’

  Judy led the way, exploring all the smells in the thickly growing weeds that lined the track. They rounded a bend and took the short grassy path down to the cottage.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Leela stopped and pointed. ‘What’s happened to the flowers?’

  ‘Some wild —’ began Sam.

  ‘Maybe a fox?’ said Tyler.

  Leela shook her head in disbelief. ‘Marigolds, poppies, heart-sease charlock – all trampled into the ground. It’s a sacrilege.’

  She ran across the garden and put the key in the lock.

  ‘Chloe, Chloe!’

  There was no reply. The kitchen and bedroom windows were open and the house was silent.

  ‘The bastard,’ shouted Sam. He ran out of the door, up the field and into Bones Wood. Not far ahead he thought he saw a downy white shadow crossing the trees. The vision gave him a moment of comfort but it soon vanished and when the birds flew up, wing to wing, his anger and panic returned. What was that madman doing to Chloe? He reached the Nimbus Tree and touched the dead bark, feeling the word ROSIE beneath his fingers. At last he began to calm down and for a brief moment he even understood the obsession that drove Nimbus to mark a tree with the name of the daughter he loved. Sam drew strength from his understanding. He could fight an enemy he knew.

  By the time Aidan and Tyler caught up with him, his harsh breathing had subsided and he felt, behind his sense of emptiness, something else, strengthening him, knitting him back together, something he did not understand. He looked up at Aidan.

  ‘I didn’t mean —’

  Aidan smiled. ‘Those feelings will help you, they’ll drive you on.’ He swung the haversack onto the ground. ‘A change of plan. We’ll have to divide up to find Chloe. Leela is staying in the cottage to guard it. One of us will have to explore the valley—’

  ‘I’ll go underground,’ said Sam without hesitating.

  ‘Me and Judy’ll go with you,’ said Tyler loyally.

  Aidan gave Sam the haversack. ‘I know you both hate the dark,’ he said appreciatively.

  Together they studied the map and when Sam began to shiver Aidan listed the types of stone that made up the valley, as if it would calm him down. ‘First there’s chalk, then flint, then limestone – hard and yellowish. T
hen nodular chalk, with little shell fragments, a cockly bed— ‘He looked up at Sam. ‘It’s important to be strong, especially as I can’t go down with you.’

  ‘Message received.’ Sam packed away the map and Aidan put his hands on Sam’s thin shoulders. ‘It’s an important mission,’ he said slowly.

  When they reached the pit they silently parted company.

  ‘Two’s better than one,’ said Tyler comfortingly.

  Sam put his hand up to his nose. ‘You’re dead right. Especially as this pit stinks worse than ever.’

  ‘Tie something round your face,’ said Tyler.

  Sam wished he had thought of that before leaving Kingsholt, but he was wearing nothing that would do and had to bear the stench of decay as he slid down the pit behind Tyler. He watched as Tyler struggled with the door, straining at it. But the iron door refused to budge. ‘You have a go,” said Tyler stepping back. ‘I can’t open it.’

  Sam slid down to the ledge of stones where he had stood before with Chloe, and pulled on it with all his might. As he let go he almost toppled over into the pit below. Tyler tried again but the iron door was still wedged tight.

  ‘It’s Nimbus, he’s closed it up.’

  Sam didn’t dare to think what he might find on the other side. ‘Let’s try it together.’ They both heaved at the solid iron. door. Recklessly, Sam threw every ounce of strength into it and suddenly, his feet slipped. Instinctively he clutched at a tree root, halting his plunge downward towards the bones and the stench of evil. Above him Tyler lay stretched out, head down, reaching for him.

  ‘I’ve got strong arms,’ he whispered, ‘you can trust me.’

  Slowly, inch by inch, he dragged Sam up and up, until they were side by side on the precarious ledge. ‘We’re never going to open that door,’ Sam said bitterly. Together they climbed out of the pit. Sam took the map out of the haversack and studied it. ‘Here’s the other anchor cross,’ he said, showing Tyler. ‘It’s where your cottage stands. There might be another entrance.’

  ‘The cellar,’ said Tyler. ‘Mum always said there were rumours.’

  ‘We have to try everything,’ Sam urged. ‘Come on, Tyler, back to yours. There might be another way!’

  As they ran through the wood, sunlight dropped down on them like a white bird.

  Sam and Tyler tore at the wallpaper that covered the door leading down to the cellar. Leela helped them and soon they were standing in a pile of ragged strips.

  They heaved against the cellar door but it wouldn’t budge. Sam looked at Leela. ‘Is there anywhere you might have put the key?’

  ‘I told you, I threw it away. I didn’t want Tyler to get lost. It was very difficult to keep an eye on him when he was smaller.’

  ‘Is there anything we can use?’ Sam emptied out his jeans’ pocket. ‘All useless.’ He handed Leela the quill, the old ink bottle, the piece of chalk and the scraper.’

  ‘Keep them,’ said Leela. ‘You may need them, you never know. And put on the anchor cross. It’s my belief you should wear it. And take these.’ She took a pair of white cotton gloves out of her pocket.

  ‘You must be joking,’ said Sam, but he took them and stuffed them into the haversack. She’s more persuasive than my mum, he thought, as he also allowed Leela to pull the cross over his head and stuff the rubbish back into his pocket.

  ‘You must have something to open the door,’ he said in desperation.

  After a frantic search, Tyler found an old iron hook and wedged it into the large keyhole. It seemed forever before the lock eased back and he and Sam pitched themselves at the door.

  At last it groaned open. They flashed their torches down a narrow stone stairway that led to the cellar. It was empty and dank, with the smell of rust and mildew. Sam and Tyler went down the steps into another world.

  ‘Good luck!’ Leela’s voice echoed from above.

  Sam felt in his jacket pocket and gave Tyler the piece of chalk. ‘If you make arrow marks en route, we’ll be able to find our way back.’

  Tyler sniffed, peering uneasily into the dark hole at the far end of the cellar. ‘I don’t like it. There’s nothing to hold on to.’ He gave Sam a worried look.

  ‘That’s why we need the arrow marks.’

  At that moment Judy came bounding down the steps.

  ‘I’m not going without her,’ said Tyler.

  ‘Then put her on a lead.’

  Tyler shook his head. ‘She’s never been on a lead.’

  Sam nodded and they set out with Judy. Quite quickly, the cellar gave way to a man-made tunnel, propped up by ancient timbers. Sam flashed his torch at the walls and highlighted scratched graffiti on the overhead beams. Despite the damp and dark they walked fairly quickly.

  ‘We’re going up,’ said Tyler edgily. He stopped to make an arrow mark on the wall. Judy turned and waited. Tyler’s breath was coming in short, uneven, spasms. ‘I don’t like it down here, I feel closed in. I don’t know the way.’

  Sam ignored the panic in Tyler’s voice. He had no wish to travel on his own.

  A little further on, a corridor branched off to the right. ‘Which way do we go?’ he asked, hoping, as much as anything, to distract Tyler.

  Tyler pointed to the right hand turn. ‘I think that leads back to Kingsholt. Straight ahead’s the wood. I’m not sure Sam, I just think that’s how it is.’

  Another intelligence, a different sort. Sam was remembering what Leela had told him. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said.

  The sides of the tunnel became rough, pitted with stones and shells and brown stains. They must be going through a different layer of rock, thought Sam – moving up through a million years. They rounded a corner and there it was, the passage where Chloe had been tied up. ‘There’s the door in the pit,’ he said. ‘At least Nimbus won’t expect us to be down here.’

  They squatted against the wall and as Sam took the map out of the haversack, he noticed Tyler’s hand was shaking.

  ‘Hey, keep the torch steady,’ he said, adding after a few moments, ‘There! That’s where they built the chapel in the stone mines. On the other side of a great wall.’ He carefully put away the map.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said to Tyler as they set off again.

  A little further on the corridor widened abruptly, giving way to a huge, hewn room, an underground hall. As Sam flashed his torch round the six passages that led off from it. Judy disappeared down one of them.

  Panic stricken, Tyler watched her go. ‘I can’t go on without Judy. I’ve got to get out, Sam!’ His shaking torch rippled light on the walls. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

  Sam looked into his eyes and saw the panic. ‘Can you get back on your own, Tyler?’

  ‘I’ve got the arrow marks,’ said Tyler, ‘but I can’t leave you and Judy.’

  ‘Don’t worry about us. She’ll smell her way back to me and I’ll be all right with her.’ Sam did not know where his courage came from.

  ‘I’ll try and track you from above,’ Tyler said breathily. ‘There’s another entrance, isn’t there, near the lost chapel, by Blackburr Fort. I found it ages ago. It’s by a tree, I think. I’ll go up there.’

  He turned back gasping for air, even though the temperature was cold and even.

  ‘Look out for the arrow marks,’ Sam shouted after him. Then he realised Tyler had the chalk and he wouldn’t be able to mark his own way back.

  The temptation to run after him was great but somehow he resisted. ‘I’ll photograph the way in my head,’ he decided as he looked at the map, studied it carefully then put it back into the haversack. He had found courage from somewhere but he still needed to hold on to something, so he clutched the scraper in his pocket.

  A drifting fell on him, a falling through time. When the dog raced up to him and licked his face it seemed to him that it was not Judy but the saluki dog from Kingsholt. She was alive and sleek, her eyes glistening with warmth, her feathery tail waving.

  ‘The ancient hu
nter dog,’ whispered a voice inside his head. ‘She runs across hot sands and holds the gazelle in her soft mouth.’

  Sam watched the dog move towards the first tunnel on his left. She looked back at him, eyes shining, then disappeared into the dark. Sam followed. He was no longer afraid. He recalled the workmen who had hacked into the walls from Roman times and he thought he recognised them in the shadow behind the torchlight, chipping and shaping the stone so it fell in oblongs. He saw the half blind horses pulling the heavy trucks full to the brim and the graves of men and boys buried under the fall of stones. He lowered the beam of the torch down onto the damp ground where the dog’s light paw marks showed him the way. Suddenly a noise grew out of the darkness, thin, malignant, ricocheting off the rough surfaces, The dog was at his side again, sleek, long-legged, eyes gleaming like glass. She trotted a little in front of him and somehow Sam found the courage to follow as he listened to the groans, high pitched screeches, sobs that fell like black water.

  Slowly he felt himself change; he was no longer good old Simon Penfold from Cheriton Street, Balham. He was clothed in someone else’s mind, someone older, wiser but who was also at the edge of desperation.

  He looked down at himself. Over his leather jacket he seemed to see an insubstantial white robe. He realized the noises he was hearing were the cries of the massacre.

  He had no need to look at the map or follow the dog. Hadn’t he helped the lay brothers build the chapel and the great arch over the three tunnels?

  He whistled for his saluki and together they made their way down the right hand passage.

  The path was steep and the roof low. It would not be difficult to block it off from the Viking marauders. He stopped. A tunnel joined the one on which he was travelling, a natural path the river had forged. The Brothers called it Devil’s reach, for its darkness bore the stench of a timeless Hell. He heard the pounding of hooves, rhythmic, ringing, coming up the centuries towards him. Out of that darkness he imagined the wild eyes of the black horse, its foaming mouth, its ears sharp and upward, its black skin sleek and sweaty.