The paper mill that had stood outside Wookey Hole since 1610, using the clean waters of the River Axe to make paper from cotton rags, had been turned some years before into a kind of museum of curiosities. Visitors could explore the caves, tour the paper mill, and check out old penny slot machines from piers and a hall of mirrors. I liked it because it wasn't particularly slick and it wasn't debasing history.
There were about a dozen cars in the mill's car park. Another two pulled in as I was buying a ticket. I followed the tree-lined path up to the cave entrance. Parallel to the path to my right I could see the rushing River Axe, its waters swollen with the rains.
At the cave entrance there was a notice fastened to the wall stating that the next tour started in fifteen minutes. There was nobody around. I didn't have time to wait. I recalled from a visit years before that there was only one way through the caves. I clambered over the metal gate and pushed open the heavy, iron door.
There was a short flight of steps cut out of the limestone. The steps were slick with water dripping from the stalactites in the roof above me. It was quite caves have a constant temperature of eleven degrees centigrade. The river in its flow goes through a series of chambers. Some you can walk through, others are totally submerged and can only be explored in diving gear.
I walked through the first chamber, past a lagoon of tranquil green water and a big rock that was supposed to be the witch turned to stone. The chambers were dimly lit for atmosphere. It was very quiet. I heard a rustling noise behind me and turned to see a pipistrelle bat flitting between the high stalactites.
I walked over a metal bridge and then down into a third chamber. It was almost circular, with a low-domed roof. At the far end a short stretch of sand led to another lagoon some ten yards across and twenty yards in length. The old man was sitting on the sand, his knees drawn up to his chin, contemplating the waters.
"John Crow?" I called softly, dimly aware of a noisesomething metallic striking rock-back in the tunnel that led into this chamber.
He stirred and turned his head. He had the look of Robert Graves: the white hair, burning eyes, strong jaw, and nose.
"The water has risen three feet in this chamber in recent weeks," he said. "That is nothing. In 1606 the sea rushed in and flooded the Brue Levels to a depth of thirteen feet. Ricks floated away carrying pigs and hogs on top of them. They went on eating. Rabbits jumped on sheep's backs to save themselves but were drowned with them. In the streets of Glastonbury the water was over six feet deep."
I sat down on the sand beside him.
"Do you know something about Lucy Newton's death?" I said.
"They think they have found the Grail," he said. "Ha! Do you remember what Powys said of the Grail? Only those who have caught the secret which Rabelais more than anyone else reveals to us-the secret of the compunction at the particular and extreme grossness of our excremental functions in connection with our sexual functions-are on the right track to encourage this receding horizon where the beyond-thought loses itself in the beyond-words."
"I don't understand what that means but I'd rather know about you and Lucy Newton. Did you know her? Did you see what happened to her?"
"The meaning is difficult. I think he used the word 'compunction' in the sense of guilt rather than regret." He reached for his stick-it lay on the sand to his left-and, with its help, got to his feet. "I knew Lucy Newton," he said. "Walk with me to the exit."
I glanced at him. He seemed changed, lucid.
We passed along the narrow gantry into a chamber where a massive wall of rock was streaked with green and red mineral stains.
"She told you of her discovery?" I said, my voice refracting in the high, narrow chamber.
He nodded.
"I urged her to get the bones dated. I knew they couldn't be genuine because I've examined the story of their discovery in 1191."
"Do you know anything about her death?"
We had reached the exit door. Crow pushed it open and we emerged into bright winter sunlight. To our right beneath a rocky overhang the Axe tumbled out from its subterranean world into the valley below. A small lock diverted part of its flow into a narrow canal that ran past the mill buildings some two hundred yards away. Crow and I set off down the path beside the canal.
"Do you?" I repeated. "Were you there that day?"
He raised his head and sniffed the air.
"And Arthur met with Mordred on that fatal day of battle, pale Death's wings clamouring overhead. And Arthur smote him with his spear that it broke off and daylight could be seen through the wound in Mordred's body."
I groaned. He was off again.
"Mr. Crow-"
He silenced me with a look he must have borrowed from the Ancient Mariner.
"Such force," he said, his voice vibrating with passion. "The wrath of the father betrayed by his son. The double betrayal-Mordred and his stepmother Guinevere writhing in unholy embrace."
He grinned at me. It was almost a grimace. "Loose talk costs lives," a voice behind us said.
I swung round. Two men in black balaclavas were standing there. One was tall and slim, the other short and barrel chested. They were both in jeans, leather jackets, and gloves. And they both had baseball bats.
"You!" the barrel-chested one said, pointing his bat at Crow. "Shut it or have it shut for you." He pointed the bat at me. "And you-keep your nose out of other folk's business. If you want to keep it."
I was trying to think of some witty response-and failing miserably-when he stepped forward and prodded me hard in the chest with the bat. He caught me off-balance and, arms flailing, I fell backwards into the canal.
As I struggled to my feet in the freezing water I saw John Crow raise his stick at the tall man. The tall man hit him on the side of the head. The blow made a horrible, hollow thunking noise and Crow fell down.
"Bastard!" I yelled, trying to haul myself out of the water. The man who had been doing all the talking stepped forward.
"Regard this as a friendly warning," he growled.
"Friendly?" I gasped just as he belted me round the head with his bat.
It hurt. A lot. Clutching my head I fell to my knees in the water, tipped forward, and went under.
I came up again, coughing and spluttering, and dragged myself to my feet, my waterlogged overcoat weighing me down. I clambered out of the canal and stayed on my knees for a moment while the water spilled off me.
Crow was lying on his side, unconscious. Or worse? I checked, he still had a pulse. His heart was beating strongly, perhaps too quickly. His face was grey. I think he had hit his head hard when he fell. There was a little blood trickling from behind his right ear.
I needed to get help. There was no sign of our attackers but they couldn't have got completely away yet-there didn't seem to be any other way out of the complex other than by going through the mill.
Crow's stick lay on the path beside me. I picked it up and, weighted down by my sodden clothes, squelched along the path after them. Trailing water I hurried through the rooms that showed the paper-making process. I didn't encounter anyone until I reached the gift shop.
"Call an ambulance!" I yelled at the startled assistant. "There's been an accident."
I went through into the cafe. It was empty. The route out of the mill led through the old penny arcade, a couple of rooms full of antique slot machines. I saw a familiar figure at the far end of the first room. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket.
"You!" I yelled, gesturing with Crow's stick.
The Japanese man I'd seen in Tintagel and in Glastonbury looked back at me. His eyes widened in alarm and he turned and ran.
"You might well be bloody alarmed, you bastard," I muttered as I squelched in pursuit. This guy had cropped up three times now. I mean, I can only accept so much from the Thomas Hardy Big Book of Coincidences before even I start getting suspicious.
The penny slot machines arcade led into a strange room illuminated by red light with a wall of mirrors at the f
ar end. I could see the Japanese man reflected in one of the mirrors. As a matter of fact I could see about four of him.
Ah, shit. The hall of mirrors. When I reached the wall I looked through into a hall that seemed to go on to infinity. Faux-medieval pillars in faux marble curved up to form a series of arched ceilings only a foot or so above my head. I put my hands in front of me and searched the mirrors for the way into the hall. When my hands touched nothing I advanced.
I could see several Nick Madrids, about a dozen Japanese, and multiples of several other people, spread along three corridors.
A hall of mirrors is like a labyrinth, I told myself. It didn't help a lot. I knew vaguely that the illusion was created by sets of mirrors set at specific angles and if I could work out the configuration I could get through this and catch my Japanese friend with no problem.
He looked to be about ten yards away to my left. However, he was also ten yards to my right and some fifty yards straight ahead of me.
A large woman in what looked like a shroud, so voluminous was it, caught sight of me-or a mirror image of me-and started. I could understand that. Although every time I took a step I was now only drizzling rather than shedding water like a mini-Niagara, I was definitely bedraggled. There were unfortunate tendrils of bright green canal growth draped over my head and hanging down my coat.
I smiled cheerily at a pretty woman in a duffel coat and her young daughter as we almost collided. The little girl had mischievous eyes. She looked me over.
"Ugh!" she said, impressively succinct.
The Japanese man, alarm still showing on his face, was looking at me-in one mirrored version, that is. In others he was equally alarmed but facing in different directions. He seemed to be farther away than before. But, given the spatial confusion this place was causing me, he could have been standing right next to me for all I knew.
I stuck a hand out still clutching Crow's stick in the other-and made my way into the next bit of the hall. The problem I faced was that, like any labyrinth, there were wrong turnings and dead ends. My drips acted as a sort of crude Ariadne's thread to let me know where I'd already been.
I'd only recently discovered that the word "clue," as used in crime stories, comes from the word "clew," the name given to a ball of thread, like the one Ariadne gave to Theseus so that he could find his way out of the Minotaur's labyrinth. Well, yes, I did think that was quite interesting.
The Japanese guy seemed to be receding from me. Trusting to instinct I rushed through the glass maze as quickly as was safe. It was a hallucinatory experience. Half a dozen times I thought I was going to walk into myself. Twice I did, smacking my nose against a mirror. At one point I looked down what seemed a long corridor bordered by an infinity of Nick Madrids. Frankly, I had to tear myself away. Twice I reached out to grab the Japanese man and he reached out to fend me off. Both times I hit glass.
The third time I sexually assaulted the woman in the shroud-that's what she said anyway-and that was the end of the chase. By then I was totally befuddled. I could see the Japanese guy a couple of yards away and the woman in the shroud may or may not have been beside him.
My hand shot out to check for mirrors and almost immediately came into contact with a large, soft bosom. I thought that, on balance, it was more likely to be hers than his. When she yelled "Rapist!" and decked me with a straight right to my chin I knew that I was right.
I was up pretty quickly, but by the time I'd eluded the woman in the shroud the Japanese guy had disappeared. The woman in the shroud was even worse at figuring out the mirrors than I was, so that although she hollered and pointed at me-and her and anyone else that was around given the nature of the hall-I got out of the building unhindered.
I hurried to the car park in time to see two vehicles disappear round the bend in the road to Wells. One was red, the other green, but I had no idea what make of car they were. I assumed they were the same two that had arrived as I was paying for my ticket.
Plodding back up to the mill, my head throbbing and jaw aching, I reflected that I hadn't been knocked down so often since a misjudged affair with a kick-boxer from Bexhill called Cheryl. What was most memorable about her was that she wouldn't let our relationship end.
"I don't want to see you any more," I'd say.
"Don't be so silly," she'd reply.
I was at Wookey Hole for another hour. It gave my clothes a chance to dry out a bit. The police came with the ambulance. John Crow was rushed off to the hospital. I told the police we'd been attacked by two men and described the Japanese guy as best I could, saying that I thought he was somehow involved. I didn't go into background details. The woman in the shroud took some calming down but eventually I was able to leave.
When I got into the Range Rover I suddenly remembered Bridget. I was supposed to pick her up an hour ago. Aaagh. That was my balls barbecued then. I phoned Wynn House.
She'd taken a taxi back. I told her what had happened. She was curt and, of course, totally unsympathetic.
Next I phoned the hospital. John Crow was going to be okay but he had been sedated and would probably be staying in the hospital for a couple of days. I drove back to Wynn House with the car's heating up high and my clothes gently steaming. Had the Japanese man been the taller of our two attackers?
I got to my room unnoticed, peeled off my sodden clothes, and got into a very hot bath. I was dressing when someone knocked on ny door. I expected it to be Bridget.
"Why are you cowering?" Faye said.
"Cramp," I said, straightening up. I stood aside and she entered and sat down in the chair, crossing her legs. She was wearing a shorter dress than usual and a lot of perfume. I sat on the end of the bed. She beamed and leaned forward.
"I saw him this afternoon!" she declared.
"That's great," I said. "Who?"
"Ralph! My brother. Just a glimpse but I'm sure it was him. In Wells."
"That is great, but if it's been so many years are you sure-"
"I'd know my own brother, for goodness' sake! And I think he saw me. He looked right at me."
"What did you do?"
"I was caught in the bloody one-way system, wasn't I? By the time I'd come back round and parked, there was no sign of him. I looked everywhere."
"Where was this?"
"He was standing in the doorway of the Crown Hotel-in the market square. He wasn't registered at the hotel, though, I checked."
"I expect he'll be in touch with you soon," I said.
She looked at my face.
"What's wrong?"
"It just seems odd that the day after you're worried we might have found your brother's remains you should see him alive."
"You think I'm imagining it was him?" She said fiercely, her face flushing. "It was him, I'm certain of it."
As she stood up I stood too and moved to her. She allowed me to put my arms around her but her body was stiff.
"I'm sure you're right," I said, looking over her shoulder at the castle remains I could see through the window.
I was wondering how long her brother had been around and why he hadn't got in touch with her before. Could he have something to do with Lucy Newton's death? Could he have been the man following Faye in Tintagel?
I had a sudden cold remembrance of Faye's husband lurking in a doorway in the college deep in conversation with someone I couldn't see. Could that someone have been Ralph?
At dinner Rex announced we were all going to Venice in a couple of weeks time.
"We'll get the opening event out of the way tomorrow then I think we all deserve a bit of a break."
"Venice?" I said, surprised. "Why Venice?"
"Carnivale, old stick, carnivale," Rex said. "A few days of dressing up-plebs passing as princes, lords as layaboutswill do us all good. Reggie and I have a bit of business to do over there."
"Is he coming to the opening tomorrow?" I asked. I wanted a private chat with him.
"Absolutely. Do you know Venice, Nick?"
"A little," I
said.
"You moan about the heritage industry but look at Venice. The whole city is a museum. It lives on, thrives on, the past. Tourism has been central to the city's economy since the end of the eighteenth century. The Daniell and Cafe Florian were developed in the nineteenth century specifically for wealthy foreigners. Almost a third of the city's workers are employed in year-round tourism-they revived the carnival in the eighties to get tourists there in February, which used to be a slow time. History with good shopping-what more could anyone want?"
"My take on that is that Venice is eating itself alive," I said. "Its economy is set up so that it needs to attract more and more tourists, even though it's sinking under the weight of them. What's Venice's best-known tourist product? Glass. The pollution the glass-making process creates is one of the things corroding the city's stonework. It's destroying itself, producing tat."
"Good old Nick," Rex smiled. "Can always count on you for the minority point of view."
"Thanks for the invite but maybe I'll stay in this country," I said. "I've got a lot of work to get on with."
"Nick!" Genevra protested.
"Hey, the guy wants to stay here and sulk, let him," Buckhalter said, shrugging.
"I am not sulking."
"He said, sulkily," Bridget muttered.
"Nick, please come with us," Genevra said later as she was undressing. When she was naked she pressed herself to me. "We can have such a time."
Her voice was breathy and I, as usual, was breathless. I didn't answer right away. In fact I didn't answer at all for some considerable time, being otherwise engaged. Then I did agree to go.
I'd been thinking that I needed to be here to try and solve the various crimes, but I wasn't sure what else I could achieve. It depended on what John Crow could tell me and I wouldn't know that for a couple of days. I'd resolved not to tell anyone at the house what had happened-I couldn't be altogether sure that one of them wasn't behind it.
The Once and Future Con (Nick Madrid) Page 15
