Ash (72 page)

The first item he took out was a large waterproof Maglite, heavier and more powerful than the one he’d just offered to Delphine. Next he drew out a handful of light sticks, the kind he’d used in the tunnel beneath the castle. He had to dig deep to find the last object, though he hoped he would never have to use it in anger: a combat knife, the foot-long blade partly serrated on its top edge.

Satisfied, he transferred the items to his shoulder bag. As he surveyed what was left of his ghost-hunting equipment he wryly reflected there was no need for it now; ghosts were undoubtedly present in Comraich. They had found their ‘window area’, their ‘magnetic’ human presence here in the castle – the old woman in the cell opposite the lift three levels underground, the offspring of Adolf Hitler and Unity Mitford. The investigator was sure that she was the conduit that had drawn these sub-beings into the castle, though of course all the wickedness that had taken place there had only served to enhance the attraction of Comraich, as had the fact that it was built on a ley-line junction. And on top of that, there was the centuries-old curse – the Mullachd. It must have played its part too. So far as the spirit world was concerned, it was a perfect storm.

Ash pulled the strap of the bag over his head and across his chest and clipped the combat knife’s leather sheath to his belt. The door opened and Delphine and Louis entered, both still ducking from the thickening smoke in the corridor.

Ash grunted his approval when he saw the two of them were wearing soggy wet scarves that revealed only their frightened eyes.

‘Which way do we go?’ Delphine asked in earnest.

For one fleeting second, an idea passed through the investigator’s mind, but he dismissed it almost as quickly as it came to him. ‘There might have been a chance to jump from a window, especially if I lowered you down as far as I could by hanging out, but I don’t think Louis would make it.’

‘I don’t think
I
’d make it,’ Delphine scolded him with a brief smile. ‘Have you seen how high up we are?’

‘Just a thought.’

He went to the open door and peered out both ways. The fire was really taking hold at the far end. Flames were beginning to roll along the ceiling, an almost mesmerizing sight in its awesome beauty: the colours, the curls, like a fiery torrent of water. Within the turbulent smoke that came off the flames were many black orbs. As they raced through the smoke, they bobbed and weaved, pulsating, preparing to form a fuller shape, an apparition, a stage-four manifestation. Ash sensed some had made that transition already.

Although the orbs were unclear and like wispy streaks as they tore along the corridor, Ash could just make out monotone, malformed Scottish warriors, indistinct claymores raised in insubstantial fists, a hint of colourless kilts over incomplete legs. He snapped out of it when he felt the psychologist by his side.

‘Oh dear God,’ he heard her say in a breathless whisper. ‘Those black orbs: they’re like the ones that invaded the office a few days ago.’

He realized with relief she could not see all that he saw.

‘We’ll go back the way we came,’ he said over the rumbling sound. ‘The spiral staircase should get us to the ground level at least.’

‘It will,’ she said, handing him the sodden muffler. He quickly pulled it over his face, then turned to them both. ‘Stick close behind me. We’ll have to move faster than before.’ He glanced up at the corridor’s ceiling as if to make the point.

The rolling fire was almost over their heads.

Andrew Derriman clawed his way through the mass of struggling bodies at the bottom of the grand stairway, aware that he had to bring some order to the panicking mass of staff and guests. Why were the emergency ceiling sprinklers not in operation? The main alarm had hardly sounded; had that been sabotaged too?

The beleaguered general manager finally pushed his way through the fallen bodies. The path to the castle’s main entrance was blocked by fire and the hall was rapidly filling with people. Before long there would be a deadly crush. He saw Veronica and Gerrard, still at their station though looking somewhat bemused behind the long wooden reception counter.

‘Veronica!’ he called cupping one hand around his mouth. ‘Open the counter flap and the office door, then take them through to the side exit. Try to keep them calm! Make them form a line, two by two.’ Although scared, he had not stuttered once.

All around Derriman people were picking their way between prone bodies. He directed them towards the counter, the varnish of which was beginning to bubble. He held up an arm to block the heat and saw that the flames were only a short distance from the end of the counter.

‘Hurry, please hurry! There’s a way out through the offices back there – Veronica and Gerrard will show you. But please don’t panic, there’s plenty of time!’

The last assurance was a lie, but it didn’t matter anyway: guests were already scrambling over the hot reception counter, barging their way through. Derriman had stopped to help those who had tumbled down the stairs, but he was soon knocked sideways by those still on their feet. He fell awkwardly, skidding across the marble flooring. As he lay there, supporting himself on one elbow, he surveyed the mayhem before him.

Derriman understood their alarm, but the Comraich clientele, by most standards a fairly refined bunch, had turned into a scrabbling, screaming mob that cared nothing for their fellows. A man fell screaming from a landing above and Derriman closed his eyes so that he would not see him hit the unyielding marble floor. But he could not ignore the wet sound as the body landed, nor the sharp crunch of broken bones.

The sheer racket from the panicking guests made Derriman want to block out the noise by putting his hands over his ears, but then a thought reared up in his mind:
Lord Edgar! Was he safe?

Despite his lordship’s dire medical condition, the proud old man had always treated Derriman with respect, no matter how much the castle manager nervously stuttered and stammered in his presence.

The VIP delegates had been enjoying pre-supper cocktails in Comraich’s highest, most sumptuous drawing room when the first explosion had occurred. He and Sir Victor had hastened to the explosion’s source and had found a small inferno raging in the chapel.

Sir Victor had sent Derriman back to the seriously startled Inner Court guests to reassure them and to take them down to the ground floor for safety’s sake, while he, Haelstrom went off to tell his lordship of the fire. So Lord Edgar should have had both Haelstrom and Byrone to take care of him.

But then had come other explosions, seemingly from all over the castle, and the VIPs had insisted they leave Comraich immediately, not just because of the danger, but because they did not want to be around when the emergency services or, worse still, the media arrived. If the fire truly took hold, then the blazing castle would be seen for miles around, and although it prided itself on its self-sufficiency, Comraich’s own fire-fighters were hardly equipped to deal with a conflagration such as this.

Derriman and the VIPs had soon become caught up in the chaos, confusion and panic on the lower floors. It seemed every guest and staff member was headed for the main staircase, where their evacuation had soon become a shambles. He could only hope and pray Haelstrom had reached Lord Edgar in time to bring his lordship down by the tower stairway.

The image of that spiral staircase brought another reminder: The Boy would be alone in his rooms at the top of that tower.
My God, has anyone thought of him?
Leaping to his feet, the tall stooped man ran the palm of his hand across his forehead, and the sticking plaster that was still there. Should he leave The Boy to die in the fire?

Derriman had never considered himself a particularly good man, but he certainly couldn’t let the poor young man die alone in his room. Of course, he might already be dead, but what if Derriman could have saved him but failed to do so? The image made him shudder. He would never forgive himself. It might be stupid and it might be a pointless thing to do, but there was only one
right
thing to do. He’d done his best to get the Inner Court members out, and now it was time to come to the aid of someone unable to help himself, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

Derriman turned away from the mayhem, from the ugly, self-serving crowd, and started to run down the long marble hall towards the tower stairway.

Delphine let out a small scream as a rat brushed by her foot. Ash turned at the sound, taking care not to blind the others with his powerful torch.

‘Rats,’ he said calmly, ‘deserting the sinking ship. They won’t harm you – unless you block their way.’

There were more of the creatures running and slithering over the steps nearer to the centre stonework.

‘It’ll probably be worse the further down we go. But don’t be afraid – they’re as scared as we are and only want to get out of the burning building without the likes of us getting in the way.’

The smoke was curling up the spiral staircase, becoming thicker the nearer they got to the ground floor.

‘Just try not to slip,’ he warned Delphine and the monk-like figure of Louis. Ash noted with alarm that the black orbs travelling within the smoke were multiplying. Some of them were shimmering, trying to manifest themselves into more human form. He realized now it was the spirits who had ruined his surveillance equipment, not any malicious humans. He’d half suspected that Nurse Krantz had been the culprit. A woman scorned, and all that.

Ash came to a halt once again: he really didn’t like these twisting shapes inside the flowing, curling smoke. He hoped neither Louis nor Delphine could see them yet.

‘Are you all right, Louis?’ he asked patiently.

The hooded head nodded just once and the wet scarf over his mouth muted his reply. ‘I’m okay, but is it much further?’

‘Almost at the ground floor, I think. A couple more turns.’ He almost added ‘your highness’, but stopped himself in time.

They continued their downward journey, with vermin accompanying them all the way. They came to a stop when they finally reached the ground-floor landing, while the rodents continued their journey down into the castle’s deeper regions. Smoke swirled down the long, marble-floored corridor, billowing up to blacken the high, moulded ceiling, while below was all hazy smog. Through the wide entrances to the rooms along the hallway they could see the glow from fires within. Tapestries, timbers, drapery, furniture and the carpet on the broad staircase – all were ablaze. At the far end of the corridor they could make out human figures rushing through the unsettling murk of smoke, while flames shot out from other open doorways.

The investigator grabbed Delphine’s arm and she winced at his urgent strength. ‘Are there any other exits on this floor?’ he shouted above the din. ‘Small access doors, windows, anything we can escape by?’

She shook her head emphatically, one arm pulling the hooded figure of Louis close to her. ‘All the windows are barred. There are side exits, but they’re always kept locked and I don’t have keys!’

Christ, Health and Safety would love this place
, thought Ash. ‘Let’s see what lies further down. Those people must be heading somewhere.’

Taking Delphine by the elbow, he let her hold on to Louis, who was shaking, his shoulders hunched. Ash hurried them along, conscious of the fact that within minutes the whole of the entrance lobby would be completely consumed by fire.

Delphine fell and the investigator knelt on the floor to help her up while Louis pulled beneath her shoulder to assist. With a feeling of deep dread, Ash felt the marble under his knee and realized the floor was warm. He laid a flat hand against it and it felt warmer still. God only knew what was happening in the medical unit below.

On their feet once more, all three moved forward as before, dodging flames that spat from doorways on either side as if there were dragons within. Ash kept to the centre so they were out of reach. It seemed foolhardy to be racing towards the conflagration at the far end of the hall instead of away from it, but it seemed to be their only option. He expected another explosion at any moment, but mercifully none came.

Briefly, he wondered who might be responsible for the bombing. Not an official body like the intelligence services or the military, surely? Too many innocent people had died. No, it had to be someone with both insider knowledge and a grudge against the Inner Court. But then, how could someone like that gain entry into a place so heavily and proficiently protected by enough well-armed guards to fight off a small army? Maybe this was the final act of some ongoing vendetta: the discovery and destruction of this prestigious inner sanctum.

He was certain he was overlooking something obvious, but for the time being he was more concerned with how they could escape from the castle than with who was trying to destroy it.

They had passed the larger lift and were nearing the older, destroyed one. Just before it was the wide entrance to the armoury. Ash came to a skidding halt, holding back his companions as he did so.

Nearly tumbling to an untidy heap, but supported by the investigator’s waning strength, they looked questioningly up into Ash’s deep blue eyes, which was all they could see of his face because of the mask he wore. By the look of those eyes, they could see he was perplexed, thinking of something beyond the mayhem before them.

‘Stay behind me,’ he told them, pulling down the now-dry muffler from his mouth to be heard clearly.

‘David, where are you—?’

But he’d left them and cautiously approached the wide entrance ahead.

Ash had felt it just in time – a vibration that he remembered from before when he’d peeked into the armoury while waiting for the lift. It grew stronger the closer he came to the room. If the display area had felt dangerous before, his instinct was telling him it was even more so now.

He stood to one side of the armoury entrance, using the stone wall as a shield, then gingerly edged his head round to look into the room.

The fine arrangement of weaponry was quivering on the fixtures, the clacking and thrumming rising and growing louder at his presence. A ten-inch Dragoon pistol fell to the floor with a heavy
clump
. A circular array of short-bladed sabres fairly rattled in their mounts. A long pike with a vicious-looking metal point toppled and bounced against the hard floor. It was as though an immensely powerful magnetic field were ripping them from the walls. From the corner of his eye, he saw an object hurtling towards him and he pulled back just in time as a thick-bladed knife broke free of its mount and whisked past his head to clang against the opposite wall, chipping out a piece of stone before bouncing back to the floor.