The Five Tors

by Benjamin Ford

  He had not meant to be so blunt, and as the doors closed on Ralph’s distraught face, Rob chastised himself for his lack of tact. He knew how Ralph felt about him; he should have broken the news more gently, but he was so furious at the lies he had been told that his newly acquired aura of calm had vanished.

  When the lift deposited him at the penthouse, Rob hammered impatiently upon the door to the apartment, until Jonathan answered it wearing a worried look.

  ‘Rob, whatever is the matter?’

  Rob pushed rudely past him. ‘All right, Jonathan, just what the hell is going on?’

  Jonathan closed the door gently. ‘What do you mean, Rob? Something has clearly upset you; you never call me Jonathan.’

  Rob whirled on him, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘I’m not upset! I’m angry. Why did you and Gerry lie to me. I know he’s not married to Lilly, so what else have you been lying about?’

  ‘Lilly doesn’t really talk about her private life, but she has occasionally mentioned a husband, so I really thought Gerry was married to her!’

  ‘And you didn’t think to ask her about him?’

  ‘Gerry warned me not to speak to anyone about what he told me.’

  ‘Are you not going to tell me then?’

  Jonathan sighed. ‘I suppose I should really, but you’d better sit down for this, Rob, and you’re going to have to trust that what I’m about to tell you is the truth.’

  Rob sank into one of the sofas. ‘Is Gerry still here?’

  Jonathan sat opposite and shook his head. ‘No, he left when Lilly’s shift ended.’

  ‘Tell me what’s going on, Jonathan!’

  Jonathan took a deep breath. ‘Somewhere in this country there is a group of fanatics who are plotting to kill you. Apparently, Lilly learned of this information, and Gerry decided you should be told.’

  ‘It’s all rather convenient, don’t you think; Lilly learning of a threat to my life, coming here to work, and then Gerry turning up claiming to be her husband?’

  ‘I agree, Rob, especially if Lilly and Gerry really aren’t married.’

  Rob arched an eyebrow. ‘And do you think it should be taken seriously, this threat to me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think it would be imprudent to just dismiss it out of hand though.’

  ‘Why do you think Gerry pretended to be married to Lilly?’

  ‘I have no idea, but there’s something else you should know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gerry mentioned that one of the people whom Lilly heard talking about your death was a woman called Virginia. He wanted to spirit you away from here until the threat had passed. But then you went and mentioned Virginia Saunders.’

  ‘Oh! So that’s why you were trying to dissuade me from meeting with her? It might not even be the same Virginia.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘You mentioned she telephoned you. I assume you didn’t give her your number? Where did she get it, Rob, answer me that.’

  Rob shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Okay, I guess I’m on pretty shaky ground, believing it’s a different woman.’

  ‘Did she perhaps give some indication of where she wanted to meet?’

  ‘I didn’t give her the opportunity to say much. Mind you, hers was the second odd call I had today.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning another one. What was that one all about?’

  ‘It was really odd; this voice, which seemed oddly familiar, warned me to stay away from some place called the Devil’s Tor.’

  Jonathan leapt out of the sofa. ‘What did you say?’

  Rob gauged his agent’s reaction carefully. ‘I guess you’ve heard of the Devil’s Tor then!’

  Jonathan began pacing the room in an agitated manner that began to alarm Rob. ‘Yes, I have. That’s the place Lilly heard mentioned as the place of your death.’ He stopped and faced Rob. ‘You must avoid that place at all costs.’

  ‘You really think this supposed threat is serious, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, don’t you? Didn’t you say this phone call warned you to stay away from the Devill’s Tor? Didn’t you say Virginia Saunders called you on the same day? Where did she get your number, Rob? And what about Lilly, apparently overhearing a woman called Virginia talking to some guy named Stan about your death… in a place called the Devill’s Tor? A mighty big coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

  Rob chuckled mirthlessly. ‘You should know I don’t believe in coincidences, Jonno! You should also know I’m not easily scared by threats. This Devil’s Tor sounds a bit Cornish to me, or maybe down Devon way.’

  ‘Please, Rob, tell me you’re not going to go looking for this place?’

  ‘Why not? I want to get to the bottom of this alleged threat to my life, and I won’t do that by hiding away!’

  Willful, pig-headed and obstinately stubborn did not even come close to describing Rob at times, and this mystery was something he could not let go of. If what Jonathan had said was true, then Virginia had been having conversations with someone who was probably Lilly’s real husband.

  Conversations in which they were plotting Rob’s death.

  Rob did not know who to believe, but finding the Devil’s Tor was the first step in getting to the root of the mystery.

  ‘What if you find this place,’ muttered Jonathan quietly. ‘And what if the threat should prove to be real? What then?’

  Rob shrugged. ‘We’ll deal with that when we come to it.’

  ‘We? Oh no, I’m not coming with you on this foolhardy venture. I can’t stop you from trying to find the place of your murder, but you’ll do it alone. You’ve been warned!’

  ‘Yes, Jonno, I have been warned… twice! And that’s precisely why I have to go!’

  Two

  Dorstville

  Rob sat on the end of his bed late that night, still with too many unanswered questions buzzing around his head. He knew he would be unable to sleep, so did not even try. It was clear to him that Jonathan was keeping something from him, and he was certain that Gerry was mixed up in it as well – probably Lilly, too.

  It was certainly too much of a coincidence that both Jonathan and a stranger on the end of the telephone should warn him to stay away from a place he had never even heard of, and if anything was certain to make Rob do something or go somewhere it was being told not to.

  Jonathan was unlikely to explain his motives for lying: if he had intended to, Rob reasoned, he would have done so after Gerry’s departure.

  Lilly was even less likely to freely divulge, to someone she openly loathed, the conversation she had overheard between two people who might be her real husband and Virginia Saunders.

  Gerry, though, Rob felt was another proposition altogether.

  He was a blood relative, and Rob was sure his brother would want to see him safe. If he had still been at Jonathan’s apartment when he returned, Rob felt certain Gerry would have revealed everything.

  But Gerry had gone, along with Lilly when she finished her shift – although, with all the other lies flying around, a small doubt crept into Rob’s mind about the truth of Jonathan’s words.

  When a mystery grabbed his attention, Rob found it impossible to let go. This was such a mystery that he knew his curiosity had to be satiated.

  Devil’s Tor.

  Even as he sat in the darkened silence of his bedroom, the two words just would not leave him in peace.

  Those two words seemed to be the catalyst for the renewal of his creative thoughts as the gears in his mind whirred into motion, churning out new idea after new idea.

  His best ideas had always come to him at night as he was trying to sleep, and he had learned from past experience that if he did not write those ideas down immediately, then they would be lost forever to his greedy subconscious.

  He instinctively grabbed the pen and pad of paper that always sat on the bedside table for just such an occasion and snapped on the small lamp, feverishly jotting down the words as they flowed from his creative consciousness. The t
houghts and ideas suddenly flowed so fast that his hand could not keep up, and he wished he had invested in a Dictaphone.

  The Devil’s Tor, he decided, was a great title for a novel, and when he finished scribbling his notes, he wrote it at the top of the first page in block capitals, encircling it and jotting next to it: what is a tor?

  Rob yawned, noting with some disbelief that it was gone one o’clock., and he sank into a restless oblivion, fully dressed and with the light still on.

  Even the persistent ringing of the telephone at that ungodly hour failed to rouse him. Rob was exhausted, and to all intents and purposes, he was dead to the world that probably would not have cared if his life really had slipped away.

  * * *

  There were storm clouds on the horizon. Still a long way off, they were nevertheless drawing nearer, and even in his bemused yet euphoric state, Rob knew they were a portent of trouble ahead for him.

  He stared out of the kitchen window, wondering what exactly lay in store for him should he actually go through with his plan to locate the Devil’s Tor. The more he thought about it, the more insane the idea seemed. Maybe Jonathan was right; maybe he should leave well alone.

  But how could he?

  It was a pity, Rob mused, that he could not see into the future to behold what destiny had in store for him, but then again it was probably just as well he could not, as he would undoubtedly not like what he saw. Rob strongly believed in destiny, and something told him that Devil’s Tor – with whatever awaited him there – was his.

  There had been many stormy moments in his life over the years, but the storm brewing outside looked to be the storm to end all storms.

  A brilliant flash of lightening zigzagged across the mulberry coloured sky, accompanied by a near instantaneous rumble of thunder, and the heavens opened with such an unexpected suddenness that the violence of the crashing rain took Rob by surprise.

  It was a year since he had witnessed a downpour of such devilish force, and that had not been in this country. He had been visiting Singapore during monsoon season, and back then, in that sultry heated atmosphere, the rain had ceased as suddenly as it had started, leaving everything glistening with vibrancy. In the Asian heat, water evaporated rapidly; plants, buildings and the very ground itself actually steamed visibly as they dried.

  Rob felt that today’s torrential downpour would not stop so suddenly, and the outdoors temperature would certainly not dry the ground with equal speed even if it did.

  Monsoon-like showers were once rare in England, but in recent years during the autumn and winter they had been increasing in regularity, and in Rob’s opinion also in force. He knew instinctively that the sewer systems would have trouble coping with the sudden deluge of water, causing widespread flooding, but it seemed little could be done about it.

  The fact that there had been precious little rain for the past six months did not help matters. The parched earth would be baked solid, cracked and dusty, desperate for moisture – just not this much this quick.

  It’s an omen, Rob thought silently as he watched the puddles forming rapidly on the paving outside his kitchen window. A portent of doom.

  He chuckled to himself as he imagined men wearing raincoats, carrying their sandwich boards as they proclaimed the end of the world is nigh, whilst almost drowning in the rain, ignored by everyone else as they scurried along to get out of the downpour.

  His mirth ended suddenly as he saw a flash of black hurtling down the courtyard garden in the direction of the house, and suddenly Satan burst through the cat flap, mewing irritably, shaking his fur in annoyance.

  ‘Don’t you hiss at me, you overfed lump of fur!’ snapped Rob with a frown. It was unusual for the laid-back cat to hiss at anything, and he had certainly never hissed at Rob before.

  Satan glared up at Rob as if to accuse his owner that the rain was all his fault, and then with a noise that sounded to Rob suspiciously like a hiss, padded from the kitchen, dripping water all over the floor. Rob knew the cat would sit in the spot on the sofa where he himself usually sat, licking himself to get dry. It was an annoying trait that the feline had shown no sign of growing out of, and so Rob had long ago given up chastising him – in much the same way that he had also stopped nagging the cat to not lick his bottom whilst sitting on his lap.

  Something other than the rain had clearly agitated Satan, and so Rob followed him into the living room, where indeed he found the cat sat on the sofa, licking himself dry. He looked up at his owner as he entered the room, but made no noise. Rob found it disconcerting the way Satan just stared at him almost sadly, as though it was to be the last time that they would see one another.

  Rob sat on a dry part of the sofa and stroked his beloved pet. ‘Are you all right?’ he mumbled. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout after you. It’s just… well, you don’t hiss at me usually.’ He sighed despondently. ‘Oh, I do wish you could understand me, and reply in some sort of language I could understand too.’

  Satan sat up, nuzzling against Rob’s stomach, and then suddenly reared up on his hind legs, startling Rob into toppling backwards with alarm, relieved and slightly amused when the cat proceeded to lick his cheek affectionately.

  Then, with a haughty sniff, Satan jumped onto the floor and padded from the room, leaving Rob alone with his thoughts, barely disturbed by the overhead thunder and rain lashing down outside.

  Rob hated the rain when it came down with such force. A few years back, at the turn of the Millennium, it had rained for nigh on six months almost without a break, which had resulted in widespread and substantial flooding. Many doomsayers proclaimed then that it was the beginning of the end, that God was replaying the Biblical Great Flood to eradicate the evil heathens that plagued his Earth.

  Rob did not hold with such things. He was an open-minded agnostic who required solid proof that God existed before he would believe such things were a possibility, and even then, he felt his doubts would remain.

  Man alone could be his own salvation, or else he would destroy the planet. It would not be in the hands of God to repair the damage inflicted upon the world. Already, Man was trying to restore planet Earth to health, but for every step forward, he seemed to take two steps back.

  The recent increase in torrential rain, coupled with the rising number of hurricanes that battered the Caribbean were attributed to the melting of the polar icecaps; Man was paying the price for global warming, caused by deforestation on a massive scale in the Amazon Rainforest and the increasing burning of fossil fuels around the globe. Man did not need the help of the Devil to destroy life; he was doing a grand job on his own.

  Rob saw no way that God or the Devil could possibly exist. He had long ago decided both were creations of the Church, designed to keep order amongst the masses over several millennia. Such grandiose plans of the Church had failed pitifully as far as Rob was concerned.

  The shrill ringing of the telephone drew him out of his angry reverie. Reaching out, he picked up the receiver from the wall. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘See the warning?’ growled a threatening voice from the other end.

  Rob recognised it as the same voice from yesterday’s call. ‘Who is this?’ he demanded.

  ‘Pray that you do not find out. Take heed of the warning, Rob Tyler.’

  Rob’s patience ebbed lower still. ‘What warning? What are you talking about?’

  ‘The weather is a warning of worse to come if you do not stay away.’

  ‘Stay away from where? The Devil’s Tor?’

  ‘Yes. Stay away, and you may yet survive. Trust no one, not even your friends. They will all seek to betray you in the end.’

  ‘Look, just who the hell are you? I don’t understand why you want me to stay away from this place.’

  The voice on the end of the line became suddenly angry. ‘It is not necessary for you to understand. Just stay away from the Devill’s Tor, for the sake of the world.’

  There was a click, then just the dialling tone,
and Rob replaced the receiver, turning once more to look out of the kitchen window at the bruised sky. The rain had stopped.

  He suddenly leaned on the counter top, peering upwards with a gasp of shock as he watched the clouds rapidly dissipate, leaving only clear blue sky in their wake, revealing the bright winter sun that had been hidden, now beating down upon the sodden ground. Even as he watched, Rob could see the water evaporating, could see the patio slabs sizzling under the fury of the heat, completely at odds with both the season and the locale.

  He moved to the back door, but as he opened it, the sizzling ceased; when he stepped out into the chill morning air, the ground was dry: there was no trace of any sudden downpour, as there was no trace of any abnormal heat wave.

  Frowning, he glanced all around the courtyard, before shrugging and returning to the warmth of the kitchen. Closing the door, he could not help wondering whether he had imagined the meteorological phenomena.

  He put it to the back of his mind, marginally convinced he was descending into madness, and made his way to the living room, scanning the bookshelves that lined one entire wall for an atlas of Great Britain. He then settled down on one of the sofas, opening the book at the index where he scanned for place names that looked like The Devil’s Tor.

  Finding nothing that remotely resembled any variation of the spelling, he flicked backwards to the map pages covering Dorset, Cornwall, Devon and Somerset, searching in vain for any hill, valley or forest that could be construed as some variant of The Devil’s Tor, but after an hour he thrust the book aside with a curse.

  Rubbing his eyes, he thought long and hard. Glastonbury Tor struck a chord with him, being the only other Tor he had heard of that lodged in his mind. He scanned the book.

  Well, I must be in the right sort of area, anyway, he thought to himself.

  But it was such a large area.

  There’s only one thing for it, he decided. I’ll have to use Jonathan’s computer and look it up on the internet.

  Sometimes it did not pay to be so lagging behind the times in terms of technology, but Rob had no interest in computers, and still preferred to type his books out on his battered old typewriter, on which he had written all of his bestsellers. He liked doing any research the hard way, too, by utilizing his extensive library of reference books, and if he could not find what he was looking for then he visited the British Library.