The Keep

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12“Alive?”

Qualto looked at Henk uncomfortably as he softly echoed him. He did not know how to answer. He, Nyk and Henk did not talk very much and such conversations as they had were usually confined to everyday matters. They had worked together long enough to know most of one another’s histories, tales and foibles, to form clear conclusions about each other, and to have these same conclusions both mellow and harden with time. They got on together quite well and their silences were, for the most part, companionable. But now Henk was breaching an unspoken pact. For in their shared silence, as well as their having little new to say, save when one of them returned from a trip home, there lay a deeper silence. The silence that the Keep had bred in generations of caretakers and helpers long before Nyk, Henk and Qualto. The Keep was a strange place: certain things about it were not spoken of.

Henk was avoiding Qualto’s gaze, looking around the room with its familiar, well-worn furniture and decor which, like the stairs to the Beacon, and an equally well-worn list of non-urgent matters, was going to be “seen to” in the near but seemingly never arriving future. Qualto was embarrassed by what he took to be his companion’s embarrassment. But he was concerned also. He resorted to the obvious.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said. “The Keep’s the Keep — a building like any other — stone, timber...”

He stopped as he found himself the focus of Henk’s unexpectedly challenging gaze.

“Well, all right,” he conceded reluctantly. “It can be creepy, at times — unsettling — I’ll grant you that. But it’s old... and big... and empty, and...” His voice tailed off.

“Empty it isn’t,” Henk said flatly into the ensuing silence. “It’s full of things.”

Qualto held out a hand to stop him. “Enough, Henk,” he said sharply. “I don’t know if you’re developing a sense of humour in your old age, but if you are, I don’t like it. What’s the matter with...?”

A knock on the door made him start violently. It opened tentatively and Badr’s head appeared. “Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Qualto replied, grateful for the intrusion. “Come in.” He pointed to a chair by the fire. Badr entered and sat down rather self-consciously.

“Do you need anything?” Qualto asked.

“No,” Badr replied hastily. “I don’t mean to impose. I was just...” He shrugged. “Tired of my own company.”

Qualto smiled. “Not much more you can do without your equipment?”

“Not really. I’ve worked out a plan for what I think we should do next, but it’s clearer than ever that the instruments Nyk found just aren’t good enough. They’re very old. I was impressed by the way surveyor Josyff used the one that was still working, but it was... too slow, too inaccurate. And this place is so very... convoluted... bewildering.”

Qualto glanced at Henk who was casually prodding the fire with a long poker.

“I’ve just been outside — it’s snowing again,” Badr went on.

“Yes, we lit the Beacon,” Qualto said. “It’ll help them if they’ve turned back.”

Badr’s eyes widened in realization. “I could see a light catching part of the wall and the snow, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from.”

“It’s a little bit awkward to get to. You’ll come across it soon enough when you start finding your way about properly. It’s normally only lit at the solstices but, under the circumstances, we thought it might be needed.”

“Yes,” Badr agreed. His brow furrowed. “I hope they’re safe. I’m not used to mountains myself. Just how dangerous is it, walking in this kind of weather?”

“Very.” It was Henk. “And there’s nothing we can do here except wait.” He added emphasis to his words by making a series of vigorous jabs at the unresponsive fire.

Badr opened his mouth to speak but nothing came.

“Henk can be a great comfort,” Qualto intruded, glowering at the tall figure ineffectively assaulting the fire. “What he meant to say was: it can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. Fortunately, Nyk does know what he’s doing. Don’t worry, he won’t be taking any unnecessary risks.”

Badr ran his hand nervously through his short-cropped hair. It was a gesture that spoke of bubbling anxieties barely contained. Qualto had a momentary impression of the man’s loneliness, far from the flat lands of the south and trapped in this difficult building and this alien landscape.

“You really mustn’t worry,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “Nyk does know what he’s doing. And your surveyor’s sensible enough to listen, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Badr said forcing his hands to be still by resting them heavily on the arms of the chair.

“The mountains and this place must be very unsettling for you,” Qualto offered, before Badr could say anything further.

“They are,” Badr admitted, apparently with some relief. “Not that I’m not used to being in unfamiliar places. But I think not being able to do anything doesn’t help.”

“Well, Henk’s right there. I’m afraid we can’t go chasing off through the snow to see if they’re all right. For one thing, we can’t leave the Keep empty. And for another, we might well miss them; then we’d all be in trouble. We’ll just have to wait — they’re not due back for a couple of days anyway — and they might have to wait at the village if this snow’s widespread. There’s nothing to be gained by fretting — at least they’re not out there battling against a blizzard. It’s difficult, I know, but try to... take it easy.”

Badr nodded, though seemingly it was a reluctant acquiescence. “I understand,” he said. “But it’s not in my nature to take things easy. I like to be working — planning, solving problems, thinking.”

“And there are plenty of problems here?” Qualto asked.

“More than you know,” Henk muttered, unheard by Badr as he replied, “Yes, I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s fascinating — very interesting — at a casual glance it seems to be much bigger inside than out. Just an illusion, of course — some clever trickery by the builders. Do you know when it was built?”

“No,” Qualto replied, adding, in anticipation of the next question, “Nor why. No one seems to know anything about it. The Estate owns it — or owned it, anyway — and we keep it in good order as best we can. Been like that for generations — unchanging. Except we haven’t had a Squire since the last one left — that’s different.”

Badr glanced around, as though sensing the building all about them. Then he shrugged and smiled ironically. “You tend it and we’re here to measure it — all just doing our jobs without knowing why.”

“Maybe this New Order’s got plans for it,” Qualto suggested.

“I’m sure they have,” Badr replied flatly. “They’ve usually got plenty of plans.” He gave the word, plans, a cynical twist, but stiffened immediately as though to call the reaction back. He pressed on hastily. “But I don’t know what they are, and I can’t imagine. This is such an odd place and so far from anywhere.”

“It’s the Keep that’s got the plans,” Henk said, giving up on the fire and stretching his long frame across the couch again.

“I’m sorry,” Badr said, as though he had not heard.

“Henk’s a bit out of sorts,” Qualto intervened hastily and with some forced joviality. “He doesn’t like having his routine messed about.”

Badr looked nervous, as though expecting to be caught in the middle of a private quarrel, but Henk’s voice was level and dull as he spoke.

“It’s nothing to do with routines. It’s to do with this place waking up. It’s been going on for weeks now.”

“Henk!” Qualto hissed urgently with a placating look towards Badr. “Our guest will think he’s locked up here with lunatics.”

Badr’s eyes flicked from Henk to Qualto several times as if in confirmation of Qualto’s concern, then he seemed to reach a decision.

“That’s an odd thing to say, Henk,” he said simply, though he glanced at Qualto almost as if for permission to continue. “You don’t mean it’s haunted, do you?”

Henk slowly turned and stared at him. “Do I look like a child?” he said starkly.

Badr flinched momentarily but held Henk’s gaze.

“Not at all,” he said, his tone part defiant, part conciliatory. “I’ve known people who do, that’s all. It’s not something I believe in personally, but I’ve been in plenty of buildings that have an atmosphere about them.”

“Damp,” Henk sniffed dismissively, turning back to the fire.

Badr’s round face cracked into an unexpected smile and he chuckled, his deep set eyes sparkling. “Yes, it usually is. Or the plumbing.”

Qualto looked relieved.

“But what did you mean,” Badr persisted gently. “The Keep has plans?”

“You don’t know the New Order’s, I don’t know the Keep’s,” Henk replied tersely. “But I’ll be glad to be away from here at the end of this tour. And I don’t think I’ll be coming back.”

Briefly, Qualto’s expression became anxious, then irritable. “What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t just walk away from your bond, end of tour or not.”

Henk hunched his shoulders sulkily by way of reply.

Uncomfortable at this exchange, Badr stayed silent.

Qualto tapped the arm of his chair fretfully. “You might at least tell us what’s bothering you,” he said sharply after a long pause. “We’re all stuck here, tour or no, ghosts or no, and you behaving like a cross between a doomsday soothsayer and a long streak of cold water’s going to take some putting up with.”

Badr looked down and casually covered his mouth to hide his involuntary smile at Qualto’s outburst.

There was another silence.

“Well...?” Qualto insisted.

Henk turned and fixed him with a long, gloomy stare.

“Come with me,” he said, standing up.

Qualto gave Badr a conspiratorial nod of invitation and held out an arm towards the door for Henk’s guidance.

Badr soon lost his bearings as he trooped along behind Qualto and Henk. His surveyor’s habit of noting junctions, turnings and small landmarks while wandering about a strange place served him for a while longer, then that too had to be abandoned.

They were moving generally downwards, he knew, but beyond that he had to settle for not losing sight of his guides.

None of them spoke and the air was filled with their slightly misting breath and the sound of their marching feet. The cold had started at the Great Hall. Its high lighting had winked into life as they entered, making it seem as if the protruding carvings were turning to examine the cause of the disturbance. After that, the cold had stayed with the trio as they moved along corridor after corridor, and staircase after staircase.

“Is it much further?” Qualto panted eventually. “You might have told us to bring our coats.”

“It’s always cold here. We’ll go back past the kitchens. You can rustle us up something warm,” Henk replied dourly.

“How nice for me,” Qualto retorted softly, to no one in particular. The exchange gave Badr momentary relief as he too had been silently pondering the reproach that Qualto had given voice to. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Oddly enough, he had not been struck by any atmosphere about the Keep when he had arrived. Possibly it was because the place was so unusual — his curiosity and wonder might have over-ridden any subtler responses. But he could sense something now. Not that it was particularly mysterious. It was just the way the lighting worked. That had disconcerted him from the beginning. Once he had become used to it, it did not disturb him that lights would click on as he entered a room, although the slight pause could be annoying and often left him groping for a sometimes non-existent switch. Nor did it disturb him too much that the same happened when he walked into a corridor. But what did disturb him was the illuminating of a length of corridor as he walked along it, for the lights behind him would be extinguished after he had passed, giving him the impression that he was being pursued by a silent darkness. Like something from a nightmare. It did not help him that very little of the Keep received light from the outside and when the lights went out, the darkness was total. Now, as he followed Henk and Qualto down seemingly interminable corridors, all new to him, the sensation became almost oppressive and he had to make a conscious effort to fight off a feeling of claustrophobia.

His hand kept opening and closing about the torch which he had been in the habit of carrying since shortly after his arrival.

Then Henk had stopped. They were at a junction. He was looking around, as if uncertain where he was. Badr did not find the action reassuring. Qualto was doing an impromptu jig, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands.

Henk reached a decision. As he stepped forward, the corridor ahead of him lit up. It was quite short. At the end of it was a door.

He motioned the others forward.