They ran through the subterranean passages with the sounds of the Tashkarans’ shouts of fury echoing after them.
‘Outrun them!’ cried Raffael. ‘We must! They’ll be after us within minutes! Through here!’
‘How do you know that’s—’
‘We marked the tunnels as we came,’ said Raffael, grabbing Ginevra’s hand and pulling her along with him. ‘Along here and as fast as you can!’
Ginevra flung breathless scraps of information at Elinor as they ran: something about finding Elinor’s handbag in the flat, and something else about Raffael working for the Vatican and employing the two boys, Georgie and Baz, as decoys to find the warehouse.
‘And it worked splendidly, didn’t it work splendidly, Georgie?’
The thin, faintly weasel-featured Georgie was understood to say that it had worked too bloody well.
Raffael was moving ahead, scanning each intersection of the tunnels as they came to it. Leading us out of the darkness, thought Elinor, and as if he had caught this, he looked back at her. He seemed somehow less disreputable than she remembered, but he still looked untidy and haggard. He said, ‘It’s all right, Elinor – you’re safe. We’ll get out.’
‘Well, of course we’ll get out—’ Ginevra retorted.
‘Are they following us?’ said Elinor abruptly. ‘I can’t hear anything, but—’
‘No, that’s because we’re making so much noise ourselves.’
‘Do hush, you abominable child,’ said Raffael, and Ginevra subsided at once. ‘Listen.’ He held up a hand for silence, and they listened. Nothing. No sound save the echoes of their hurrying footsteps and the faint dripping of water from somewhere. But Timur’s people had known these tunnels, and at any minute the dank sewers might fill up with the cat-headed creatures— Elinor shut off the thought abruptly. Safe. This is safety. We’ve been rescued.
She said, ‘Surely they’d come straight after us? It might be a trap. We might get to the end of these tunnels and find them waiting for us.’ Panic rose in her voice and she quelled it at once.
‘I think they’d have to remove the evidence,’ said Raffael. ‘They’d assume we’d go straight to the police and they’d be more concerned about their own skins. Also,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘they’ve still got Grendel, and that’s probably their main concern.’ He glanced at Ginevra, and Elinor saw something flicker in his eyes. ‘But I don’t think we dare go back to Chance House,’ he said. ‘That’s the first place they’ll look.’
Elinor shivered but managed to say, ‘Then where?’
Raffael grinned suddenly, and in the dim light, the years fell away. For a moment he looked like a gleeful child who has outwitted his elders. He said, ‘Unless Baz and I muffed it earlier on, we’ll come out into an abandoned sewer in the docks.’
‘At any minute,’ affirmed Baz, pointing to a faint chalk mark on the brick wall.
‘Lovely,’ said Georgie in a sepulchral voice.
Raffael laughed. ‘It’s all right, Georgie, from there we’re going into asylum. Into sanctuary.’ And then, as they stared at him, ‘The Roman Catholic Church has ever looked after its own,’ he said.
And Georgie said, in a voice of extreme horror, ‘Oh Jesus Christ, he’s taking us to a frigging church!’
The Underground had stopped running, but once clear of St Stephen’s Wharf there were several cruising taxis and they hailed one and fell thankfully into it. Elinor felt a layer of the horror peel away, and a thin carapace of safety begin to form. With every mile, I’m farther away from it. With every minute, I’m a little bit safer.
At her side Ginevra said, ‘Where are we really going, Raffael?’
‘Bloomsbury. The house of friends.’
‘In a minute you’ll pat everyone’s hands and say, “Trust me,” in a patronising tone.’
‘No, I won’t. But you can,’ said Raffael. ‘I mean you can trust me.’ He sat back, looking through the taxi windows at the night streets. From the forward seat Georgie remarked that it was to be hoped they had enough money between them to pay for the journey, and was told to hush by Baz.
But when the taxi pulled up in front of the tall Bloomsbury house Raffael pressed four ten-pound notes into the driver’s hand and said brusquely, ‘You have not seen any of us tonight.’
‘Not on the run nor anything, are you?’ demanded the taxi driver, scanning Raffael’s face suspiciously.
‘No, we are on the side of the angels, but we are not permitted to say any more,’ said Raffael, to which the man shrugged, pocketed the notes, and said equably that what the eye never saw the heart never grieved after.
‘Secret Service,’ said Georgie approvingly, as they stood on the steps of the house and rang the bell. ‘Or a hint of Government Intelligence, always supposing the Government ever has any – intelligence, I mean. Very classy, as well. I said you were a class act, Raffael, didn’t I say that, Baz?’
‘Several times.’
‘I don’t expect,’ said Ginevra, eyeing the shuttered windows and drawn curtains doubtfully, ‘that there’ll be anyone up, will there? It’s after midnight.’
Raffael said, deadpan, ‘For those who wish to enter, the door is always open,’ and from the bottom step Georgie was heard to observe that if this was a church it was a very stylish one.
It was at that moment that the door swung open to let them in.
Fires burned in the quiet comfortable first-floor room, and lights were lit and the curtains were closed against the night.
Elinor had stopped shivering and she had stopped feeling light-headed at last. She thought it would be several hours, or even several years, before she would be able to blot out the memory of the gaslit warehouse or the Burning Altar, but she was managing to keep a kind of ballast by concentrating on the immediate present and shutting everything else out.
She and Ginevra had been shown to a large bedroom on the top floor. It had the air of a guest room kept in permanent readiness: it was comfortable but rather anonymous, and there were brushes and combs on a dressing table and a small bathroom adjoining.
‘You’ll find the water hot and fresh towels laid out,’ explained the young man who had let them in and who seemed to recognise Raffael and to see nothing in the least improbable about their midnight arrival. ‘His Eminence will expect you in his book room in – shall we say an hour? Coffee and sandwiches are being prepared for you.’
Elinor said, ‘Thank you very much. Forgive me, you are?’
‘Brother Robert,’ said the young man. ‘I’m attached to His Eminence’s staff while he is in England.’ He glanced round the room again. ‘If there’s anything you want I’m just down the stairs. Give me a call.’ He smiled at them both with incurious acceptance and went quietly out.
The hot water gushing into the deep-sided bath and the thick thirsty towels were the most marvellous thing Elinor had ever experienced. It would have been even better if she had been able to put on fresh clothes, but at least Ginevra had had a shoulder bag which had not been lost when she was knocked out, and Elinor borrowed a dab of make-up.
‘I’ve never met an Eminence,’ said Ginevra, seated before the dressing-table mirror, brushing her hair free of smog and cobwebs. ‘I hope he doesn’t think I’m a hooker.’
‘I should think he might. What on earth are you doing dressed like that?’
‘It was part of the plan.’
‘Well, don’t make any bad jokes about bishops and actresses.’
Ginevra looked at her in the mirror. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t think I do, not yet,’ said Elinor carefully. ‘What about you?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it either. I might later. But for the moment I think I’d like to have just ordinary things.’ Ginevra thought she should have known that Elinor would understand without needing to be told. After a moment she said, ‘I expect we’d better go down now, had we? This is a very lush place for a cardinal. What do I call him by the way?’
‘“Your Eminence” I think. If in doubt, say “sir”.’
‘I’ve never called anyone sir,’ objected Ginevra, the socialist.
‘Then start now.’
In the event, it was extremely easy and not in the least formal. Raffael was already in the book room, and as they entered he drew them forward and simply said, ‘Eminence, this is Miss Craven – Elinor – and this is her niece, Ginevra.’ And to the two girls, ‘This is Cardinal Fleury.’
‘Ladies.’ There was a gentle handshake and a very ungentle scrutiny from cool intelligent eyes. As George and Baz came in, Georgie bright-eyed and curious, Baz wary, Raffael turned to them.
‘And these, Eminence, are the two young men who so bravely helped us. Georgie and Baz.’
‘We are extremely grateful to you both,’ said Cardinal Fleury, and Georgie was so entranced at being presented with such style and ceremony to a prince of the Church that he forgot about being vaguely atheistic, and returned the handshake warmly, saying it was an honour to be here and they’d been happy to help out. Baz shook hands and said how do you do.
To Elinor the warm room and the fire burning up in the hearth and the leather spines of the books strengthened the feeling of safety. Now I’m really all right. Now those people really can’t reach me. It was inconceivable that violence and terror and ancient blood rituals could find their way in here. This was a place where everything was orderly and civilised; where people studied and held quiet, scholarly discussions, and contemplated theological mysteries: the meaning of the Gospels, and how many angels can sit on a pinhead. It’s a place where very good people live, thought Elinor. I wonder if I’m feeling the goodness because I’ve just come from a place reeking of such extreme evil?
The hot strong coffee and the chicken and ham sandwiches set out on large platters tasted better than the finest haute cuisine banquet. Elinor drank two large cups of coffee and ate some sandwiches and began to feel better. She tried to remember how long she had been in the warehouse and when she had last eaten, and failed. Cardinal Fleury brought a square-necked decanter and poured generous measures of brandy into heavy, cut-glass goblets which he handed round.
‘You will find it warming, Miss Craven. And if you should require medical attention after your ordeal—’
‘No, truly not,’ said Elinor, rather alarmedly visualising the efficient papal machinery summoning a battery of doctors there and then. ‘I wasn’t attacked in any way, you understand. I just need to – get back inside my skin.’
‘Ah. And – Ginevra?’
‘The same,’ said Ginevra. ‘Thank you, though.’
‘There will certainly be a degree of reaction for you both,’ said Fleury. ‘We will give you whatever help you need. The modern custom is to analyse unpleasant events and ordeals for several weeks with trained counsellors, of course.’ He paused, and Elinor waited. ‘But,’ said the cardinal, ‘it is my belief that such a course can sometimes simply serve to prolong distress.’
From his own chair, Raffael said, ‘Tragedies and pain can sometimes be better coped with by overlaying them with small, quite ordinary things. Have some more small and ordinary food and with it a large and extraordinary brandy.’
Fleury, who had finished dispensing coffee and brandy had by now seated himself in a deep armchair, and was tranquilly sipping his own coffee which he took black and unsugared. Ascetic, thought Elinor, and then saw the brandy standing at His Eminence’s hand.
It was a little like a semi-formal meeting of some committee or work group, and when Raffael said, ‘And now we should decide what to do next,’ this feeling increased. They had all been rather silent, letting the terror and the horror of the last few hours slough away. Ginevra was hunched over her coffee cup, her hands curling around it as if to draw warmth from it, and the two boys were silent and tired-looking. Georgie had slid down in his armchair until his head was nearly level with the arms. It was to be hoped he would not so far forget himself as to put his feet up on the inlaid walnut table which held the sandwiches and the coffee pot.
But at Raffael’s words they all seemed to sit up and to look more alert. Elinor, who still felt raw and vulnerable so that every nerve ending was ultra-sensitive, thought a sense of gratitude went through them. Someone’s going to tell us what happens next, they were thinking. She glanced at Ginevra. Ginevra was leaning forward, her hair tumbling about her face. Her eyes were fixed on Raffael and her cheeks were faintly flushed. Oh dear, thought Elinor. That’s a complication I didn’t bargain for. But perhaps I’m wrong; perhaps it’s only nervous reaction or something – hers or mine. I wouldn’t know the difference at the moment. She tried to concentrate on what Raffael was saying. His voice was rather attractive. He was not English, of course; she could hear it plainly. Had she known he was not English?
She sat up a bit straighter, fighting off the warm drowsiness, turning over and over the knowledge that she was safe and that the cat-headed creatures could not get to her here, and trying not to think about what might have happened to Grendel. The thought: I wish Lewis were here, formed without warning and so strongly that for a moment it drove out everything else. It suddenly seemed unbearably wrong and fiercely disloyal to be here with this extraordinary assortment of people, forging the bonds that did form between people sharing danger, and not to have Lewis there.
It was of Lewis that Raffael was speaking. Something about the Tashkarans having taken him: something about rival groups and uprisings deep inside the remote part of Tibet. Elinor, by now struggling against the overwhelming need simply to curl up in a dark warm place and let sleep close down, heard something about stone tablets of incalculable age.
The last thing she heard before she gave way to the beckoning folds of sleep, was Raffael saying, ‘And therefore the only thing we can do is go to Tashkara and find Lewis Chance.’
‘If he is there.’
‘Yes.’
‘And,’ said Fleury, ‘destroy the Tashkara Decalogue.’
‘The original mission,’ said Raffael, and Elinor was jerked out of the smothering tiredness for a moment. She looked up to see him regarding the Cardinal very levelly.
After a moment Fleury said, ‘I am glad you have not forgotten it, Raffael.’
‘Oh no,’ said Raffael softly. ‘I have not forgotten.’