The Infernal Aether (First Draft)

Chapter 21 - More Things That Go Bump in the Night

I sat at the dining room table and played with my wine glass, cursing Kate for ruining my short-lived relaxed state of mind. Richard finally surfaced just in time for dinner, looking suspiciously on edge and distracted.

This time all three of us tried to elicit information from our host while we worked our way through a frankly excellent meal. Once again Richard proved himself to be a master of evasion, managing to say plenty but nothing at the same time. By the time he inevitably made his excuses and left, long before the end of the meal, we all shared Maxwell's frustration.

"There is no point in us imposing ourselves here any longer," said Maxwell. "We are clearly not welcome. We will leave in the morning." He turned to Kate, who was stood in attendance with the other waiting staff. "Please inform the driver that we will be leaving after breakfast. I will also need some help with my packing."

Kate curtseyed. "Of course, Mister Potts." She glanced at me as she left the room.

I glared at the door as she closed it. "Why do I get the feeling that she is trying to make a point?" I asked.

"In what way?" asked Maxwell.

"She treats me like some common street trader, while you get the 'Lord and Master' treatment."

"I do pay her wages," said Maxwell. "The last time I checked, her duties did not extend to my family, however needy they may be. Now if you will excuse me I will go and start arranging my things. I do not want to be detained here any longer than necessary."

I reached for the decanter. "And I shall make the most of the fine wine here. Richard clearly does not appreciate it as much as me, and it would be a shame to waste it. Besides, the more I drink the greater the likelihood of me sleeping through whatever racket awaits us tonight."

#

I managed a few hours of drunken sleep before I was forced back into wakefulness by the same banging and clanging which had disturbed me the night before.

I tossed and turned, willing myself back to sleep but to no avail; the noise being far too insistent. Finally I gave in and leapt out of bed, irritation overriding any hesitation I may have felt at braving the cold night air. I lit a candle and pulled on a pair of trousers before creeping out of my room in search of the source of that d----d racket, or failing that some more alcohol.

The house was even more imposing in the darkness, the shadows giving the impression of extra depth and width so that the corridors seemed to stretch on without end. More than once I fancied that I was being followed or observed, only to realise that it was just the flickering of my candle giving the illusion of movement to paintings and furniture. I had no need for stealth; the incessant banging hid any noise I made.

The noise grew louder as I approached the bowels of the house, past the sitting and dining rooms. I ventured into -- for me -- uncharted territory, the parts of the house which we had been denied access to by officious, ever-present servants.

My ears led me to a half-opened door. I stood outside for a moment, marshalling my nerves, before peering into the room.

On the other side was a study which was as large as my entire house. A grand mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room, while the walls were lined with row after row of leather-bound books. The floor was covered with a dark, oriental-style rug which was matched by very expensive-looking curtains. Satisfied that the room was devoid of life I stepped inside, marvelling at its sheer scale. What masterpieces I could write, I said to myself, given access to this room. Not for the first time I felt a rising envy at the resources available to our friend.

The noise which had woken me seemed to be coming from somewhere to the rear of the room. I stepped towards an immense bookcase, the sides of which seemed to be glowing slightly. As I drew nearer it became apparent that the bookcase was in fact hinged on one edge, a secret doorway to another room. Its existence would have been well hidden in daylight, but in the darkness the light from the room beyond gave it away.

I heard a noise behind me and spun round to see Richard swinging a poker at my head. My world exploded in a flash of red before I sank into welcome oblivion.

#

I swam back into consciousness through a fog of pain with the taste of blood in my mouth. I tried to put my hands up to my throbbing head but found that they were bound tight to my body. I wriggled a bit but there was no give at all; I appeared to be tied to a table of some description.

I turned my head to look around. I seemed to be in some form of cellar, with dark stone arches looping overhead. The tick-tock of a hundred clocks echoed round me and for a moment I fancied that I were trapped inside an immense Grandfather Clock.

I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. "Richard?" I said.

He looked up in shock and then darted over to my side, checking on my bonds. As my eyes became accustomed to the dim light I was aware of forms standing around us, a silent audience to my suffering.

"Richard, what's going on?" I asked. When he still didn't reply I continued. "Please at least let my hand free. My head feels like it is splitting open."

"I am so sorry," he said. "I am so, so sorry."

"Do not worry," I said, trying to keep my voice as calm and soothing as possible. "Just untie me and we will say no more about it. That was quite a strike; if you had been able to swing a cricket bat like that back at school we could have had quite a team."

"I am sorry," he repeated, ignoring me. "He made me do it. He told me to do it."

"He?" I asked. "Who is 'he'?"

Richard moved round to just by my head, where there was another table and picked up something which glinted in the candlelight. "I am so sorry," he said.

"Just get on with it," said a familiar voice. I turned my head to the right and saw a figure moving through the rows of immobile watchers. Terrible red eyes loomed out of the darkness, followed by a leering grin that seemed too big for its face.

"Andras," I said, my heart pounding hard.

"Bit of a pathetic specimen," said a voice to my left. I turned my head to see Andras standing there as well, but this creature's face was turned down in a pathetic, sorrowful smile, the complete opposite to its fellow's leering grin. I looked from one to the other, the living embodiment of the comedy and tragedy masks used often in the theatre. I closed my eyes tightly; the knock to my head must have been harder than I thought.

"Agreed," said the first, grinning Andras. "But so are they all. We have to work with the materials to hand."

"If you say so," muttered the other, retreating with a sob.

Andras giggled. "So maudlin, my brother." It turned to Richard. "Do it."

Richard came back into my field of vision. "I am sorry," he said.

"Please stop saying that," I said through clenched teeth. I noticed what was in his hands. "Is that a saw?"

He did not answer, instead placing the blade against the skin of my arm, the cold hard touch making me wince. "Richard," I said. "You don't have to do this. Whatever this creature has told you, you have a choice."

Richard pulled the saw back, ready to cut. I opened my mouth to scream.