Auchinmurn Isle
The Middle Ages
‘I feel bad about leaving Carik in the cave,’ said Matt, sitting behind Solon on the broad, gleaming back of the white peryton as it circled silently above the Abbey in the darkness.
‘You saw how her wound pains her and slows her down,’ said Solon. The peryton banked towards the monastery, its white wings as silent as clouds. ‘She needs to rest. If we are to find The Book of Beasts before your father does, we need to be quick. It’s better for her to sleep.’
‘I still think we should rescue Jeannie and Brother Renard first,’ said Matt stubbornly.
‘We need The Book of Beasts to bargain with,’ Solon pointed out. ‘We will look first in the Abbot’s tower, where I last saw the manuscript.’
Thanks to Carik’s hunting skills they had feasted on a fat rabbit earlier, and Matt always felt more amenable on a full stomach. ‘Fine,’ he grumbled. ‘I just hope you’re right.’
As the peryton glided over the tops of the trees, Matt saw the monastery’s portcullis was secured. One of its animated hellhound guardians was prostrate near the gatehouse. Every few seconds, the hellhound’s fiery breath flamed into the darkness.
Suddenly the massive hound leaped to its feet and into the centre of the courtyard. It stopped and raised its burning snout into the air as if trailing the scent of sheep or cattle.
‘Let’s try to avoid that thing,’ said Matt, shivering.
Before Solon could nudge the peryton towards a hidden patch behind a buttress for the Great Hall, the beast gently glided to the exact spot and alighted, folding its wings away. Matt and Solon slipped silently from its back. Pressing his hand to the peryton’s neck in thanks, Matt felt warmth and comfort, but something else: a feeling of disquiet. Not quite danger, but dread.
The darkness was oppressive and the noises from the forest and the sea already had Matt’s nerves on edge. He thought he’d grown to tolerate the stink of the Middle Ages, but he was wrong. He pulled the front of his hoodie up over his mouth and tried not to gag.
The entire area was thick with mud, manure and human waste from the outhouses that had taken the brunt of the wave when it collapsed. The water had washed anything not tacked down through the shattered part of the outer wall and into the central courtyard. Hundreds of splintered pieces of wood from barrels, crockery, scythes and other field tools, stools and benches littered the courtyard. A bloated goat’s carcass floated against Matt’s foot. Solon didn’t seem to notice any of it.
‘We need to hurry,’ said Matt, seeing how a stone hellhound carved into the top of the wall across the courtyard had started to twitch. Was it watching for them? ‘My dad will sense I’m here.’
Tucked close to the wall, the boys ran towards the Abbot’s tower.
The monastery had been built as a fortress as much as a place of peace and learning. A high wall surrounded the main buildings with a walkway running all the way round its perimeter. Two towers flanked its corners, facing the sea and the smaller island where the newest tower stood finished, its scaffolding empty of the frenzied activity they had witnessed earlier. Like all the main buildings, the chapel built at the centre of the east wall and opposite the Great Hall was shuttered and closed up.
At the corner of the west and south wall, Solon stopped without any notice. Matt ran into his back, opening the cut above his eye on Solon’s shoulder. He cursed. ‘Why did you stop?’
Solon pointed to a long dark shape rising and falling along the wall ahead of them. Mopping the fresh blood from his forehead, Matt slipped the penlight from his pocket, cupping his hand around the beam. He lifted the light towards the dark bulk blocking their progress.
Lined up in a row, like the dead after a battle, were the monks of the monastery, their cloaks covering their faces. Taking the penlight from Matt, Solon ran along the line checking under the hoods of his sleeping comrades for Brother Renard. There was no sign of the old monk.
Solon lifted a dagger and sheath from a sleeping monk’s belt and handed it to Matt to use. They were almost at the opposite corner and close to the Abbot’s tower when Solon lifted his hand.
Matt stopped. ‘What now?’
‘Listen!’
Matt heard a weighty wooden whirring, like the cogs in a big mechanical clock. ‘What is that?’
‘It’s coming from the catacombs,’ whispered Solon.
Matt spotted an iron grate set at the bottom of the wall. Leaning closer, the noise sounded louder and more regular, and Matt distinguished a whirring noise accompanying the mechanical sounds. The whirring reminded Matt of the gears releasing in a wind-up toy. Then he heard voices. Angry ones. Getting closer.
He made a decision.
‘You go to the Abbot’s tower,’ he whispered, nudging Solon forward. ‘I’m going to find Jeannie and Brother Renard.’
Solon looked shocked. ‘But we agreed we’d stay together!’
The foreboding Matt had felt emanating from the peryton was pressing heavily on his own chest now. It had something to do with the strange noises coming from the catacombs.
‘You agreed,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t want to argue with you.’
Solon grabbed Matt’s arm as he bent to lift the grate down to the tombs. ‘Don’t be foolish. It is a treacherous labyrinth down there. Smugglers’ tunnels stretch for miles under the bay, cutting into the maze beneath the monastery. You will never find your way alone.’
The hellhound in relief in the wall above the boys stretched its neck and coughed fire into the night. Matt pulled Solon further into the shadows.
Solon was right, he knew. As much as he wanted to find Jeannie, it wouldn’t help anyone if he ended up lost below ground. The hellhounds were getting agitated. Soon his dad would know they were wandering in the courtyard.
‘What do you need me to do?’ he asked reluctantly.
‘We need to find the book first. I know what to look for, and where. While I search, you can find out if my master is locked in his room.’ Solon pointed to a shuttered window at the far end of the monastery. ‘That is his cell. Tell him I will return for him later.’
‘Wait,’ said Matt.
Sorry, Mum, he thought. He still didn’t know for sure if his mum or Em were alive. He choked back his sadness. Tearing a piece of lining from his jacket, he began to draw on the tattered fabric. There was a blinding flash of white light as the animation sprang into life.
‘Call me on this if you need me,’ Matt said, blinking to clear the dancing particles of light from his eyes and handing one of two animated walkie-talkies to Solon. ‘Just hold down this button here. When you finish speaking, say “over” so I know that I can reply.’
‘Truly you have marvellous things in your time,’ Solon said, studying his walkie-talkie in fascination before clipping it on to his belt beside his bronze dagger.