The Keep

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7Josyff did not move. For a moment his mind was flooded with the thoughts that had been occupying him before he went to bed — of doors bolted and unbolted, of the violence that at times had flooded through the city beating against them. Abruptly, he was lying with his arms wrapped tightly about his wife, hoping that her silent trembling would prevent her from feeling his own as noises from the street below reached up and invaded their bedroom. Fearful noises woven into the lights that were flickering through the gap in their once carefully chosen patterned curtains to make a ghastly shifting shadow theatre on the ceiling and walls where there should have been only stillness. Men and women, swearing, screaming, sobbing. Demented anger, clawing fear, desperate, rending pleas, and also brutal laughter that had made him press his hands over his wife’s ears, so chilling was it. And other sounds. Footsteps, skittering and frantic, heavy and purposeful. Things being dragged. Dull, sickening thuds whose source he dared not think about.

Then he was at the Keep again, in his room, in his bed, struggling desperately to drive the awful memories from his mind.

But the noise he had wakened to was still with him, though it was intermittent and faint.

It was vaguely familiar.

Josyff’s hand was shaking as he reached out to find the lamp that stood on the table by his bedside. It was a clumsy search in the still unfamiliar room and he had to lunge desperately to catch the lamp just as he found it. He was thus wide awake as its soft light dispelled the darkness.

Frowning, he bent his head forward and listened. There was a noise. Definitely. High pitched and piercing. It was not the residue of a fading dream that had woken him.

Something inside the clock clunked as it went about its occasional duty, prompting Josyff to get out of bed.

He found that his legs were unsteady as he stood up but he stamped his heels on the hard, thinly-carpeted stone floor to jolt them into submission. As usual, the room was cold.

Picking up the lamp he walked to the door. Nyk might choose to leave the Keep unprotected at night, but as much out of habit as for any other reason, Josyff had used both the bolts on his door. Holding his breath he put his ear by the keyhole.

Whatever was making the sound was not close, he decided, and cautiously he drew the two bolts and opened the door. Lights in the corridor clicked into life as he stepped into it. That was what happened in every part of the Keep he had visited so far, even in those few places that had natural lighting. It was one of many ingenious features he had yet to inquire into. He narrowed his eyes until they adjusted to the sudden brightness then looked up and down the corridor. There was no sign of anything untoward though the noise was now quite clearly audible.

And still it was familiar.

Behind him the clock clunked again, then whirred asthmatically. It was about to chime. Despite his antipathy towards the clock, Josyff was prepared to admit that he found its mellow resonant tone not unpleasant. He stood motionless as a sequence of four phrases rang out. It was the hour.

Three o’clock, he guessed.

He waited for it to strike.

One. The chime echoed softly along the corridor. Strange, Josyff thought, most sounds fell dead in this place.

Two.

Three. There was no terminal whirr and click. Josyff felt a slight frisson of irritation. Four o’clock was too early to be getting up but would almost certainly ensure that he would oversleep.

Four.

Still no click.

Damn!

Then he noticed that the far end of the corridor was darkening.

Five.

Still no click. He glanced at the clock in disbelief though he could see only the side of it from where he was standing.

Six.

The darkness was drawing nearer.

Something must be wrong with the lights.

Seven.

No! Never! Josyff’s rapid glance took in the still dark window and, pointlessly, the clock again. It wasn’t possible. Something must be wrong with the clock as well.

Eight.

The distant lights were going out with each stroke, he realized. And something was moving in the darkness that they left. Josyff opened his mouth to cry out, but his throat was dry and no sound came. Nor could he move to slam the door as he heard the clock strike again and saw the pulsing darkness draw nearer.

Nine.

Louder now — much louder — and hung about with the sound that had first wakened him, the screaming. Though now he thought he began to recognize what it was. Not that this eased the panic that was beginning to possess him, nor even made any sense.

Ten.

All around him now was the sound of the chimes, tangled in the shrill screaming, and the darkness, moving ever nearer. And in it, ill-focused, as though through a dense fog, he could sense as much as see, flapping wings. Wide and powerful, their beat stirred both the darkness and the echoes of the still chiming clock.

Eleven.

Instinctively he covered his head with his arms. Somewhere, a faint voice urged him back to the safety of his room behind him, but he did not understand it.

Twelve.

The last light vanished and darkness surrounded him. It was the darkness that had enfolded and hidden the mountains. But where, on the drawbridge, he had looked out into calm and stillness, here there was frenzy and terror. Frantic wings beat and buffeted him and, despite the darkness and his protecting arms, he could see, unnaturally large, the gaping maws of a vast flock of sea birds rising and falling on an unfelt wind, their cold black eyes seeking him out.

The sight filled his mind, as did the screeching, disordered chorus, deafening now and laden with an ancient malice. A malice focused on him.

Then he was among them, high in the darkness and chilled by a deep and uncaring cold. He was trying to scream, but no sound came, save the choking pounding of his heart. The beating wings stifled him, filling his nose and his mouth. His arms and legs flailed wildly and then he was falling.

The din changed and a solitary voice rose above it.

One bird loomed before him.

And a body-shaking blow on his forehead ended everything.

* * * *

“Surveyor.”

The word formed itself in the trembling darkness. It was meaningless and it echoed and made something hurt.

The darkness shook gently and he felt himself taking form.

The birds were all about him!

With a cry, Josyff flailed his arms wildly and made to sit up. Voices cried out in alarm and his arms were seized. He was pushed back down. Not that much force was required, for dancing lights welled up to fill his skull with pain.

There was a brief silence.

“Surveyor.”

The word made sense now and the sharp accent identified the speaker as Nyk. His voice was urgent and concerned.

Josyff opened his eyes carefully. It was not easy. It was as though they had been sealed against the most searching, dust-laden wind. As the light entered his awareness it was jagged and streaked, but gradually it became coherent and formed itself into Nyk and Badr, looming over him. A third figure, in the form of the watching clock, confirmed that he was in his room. Nyk and Badr looked worried. As Josyff’s vision cleared, so did his thoughts and, almost immediately, more prosaic concerns formed alongside the lingering memory of the birds and the darkness. He should not be seen in this condition! It wasn’t fitting. He must pull himself together. He must...

Nyk’s voice dispelled his scattering thoughts. “You gave us a fright, surveyor.”

Something cool touched Josyff’s brow and he closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement of the relief it brought.

“Lie still,” Nyk said, needlessly. “It looks worse than it is. Though I imagine you’ll have a headache for some time. You must’ve caught your head on something as you fell, but I can’t see what it...”

“Fell?”

Josyff pushed himself upright, setting aside Nyk’s restraining hand.

“We were concerned when you didn’t come down for breakfast,” Nyk said. “You’re normally the first up.”

“What happened?”

Nyk gave a disclaiming shrug. “We found you lying across the doorway.” He glanced back at Badr who nodded but seemed content to let Nyk continue. “Blood all over your face.” He offered a bloodstained cloth. “Frightened me half to death.” He echoed Josyff’s own question. “What happened?”

Josyff shook his head then stopped abruptly and winced. “I’ve no idea.”

“Do you walk in your sleep?” Nyk asked bluntly, prompting a start from Badr.

Josyff remembered just in time not to shake his head again. “No, never,” he replied, with a hint of irritation. The sound of the seabirds and the touch of the pounding darkness they had brought had faded, but the memory of them was still clear in his mind. A dream, obviously, like his fall into the depths of the clock. Unsettling, to say the least — frightening, actually, he realized — but he was sufficiently in control of himself to know that he would need time on his own to decide what was happening. Nothing was to be gained by rehearsing such events in front of Nyk and Badr.

He lied. “I seem to remember getting up in the night for a drink.” He managed a rueful smile. “I should’ve turned the lights on. Probably thought I was at home — mistook the door and walked into something.”

Nyk glanced at Badr uncertainly. Josyff took the initiative. “Anyway, I’m all right now, just a bit sore. What time is it?”

Both Nyk and Badr looked at the clock and told him. Josyff cleared his throat with gruff reproach and cautiously swung his legs off the bed. He took the damp cloth from Nyk and put it to his head as he stood up. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’m sorry I startled you. Has my equipment arrived yet?”

“Er, no,” Nyk stammered, surprised by this unexpected question. “It...”

Josyff held up a hand to interrupt him. “Let me wash and change, we’ll talk over breakfast...” He glanced at the clock. “Late breakfast if Qualto can be prevailed on.”

The two men left with a mixture of relief and reluctance. Josyff went to the wash basin and stared at himself in the mirror. He could see why Nyk and Badr had been so concerned. His hair was wildly awry and a livid gash ran down the middle of his forehead. It was no longer bleeding, but it looked alarming. He damped the cloth and touched it to the injury gently, drawing in a short breath at the sting of the contact. Around the gash and beneath the immediate pain he could feel the duller ache of bruising. Very soon he knew his forehead would be displaying an interesting array of colours. But what could have done it? There was nothing between the bed and the door for him to fall against that would make such a mark, and hitting the floor or even the edge of the door would not have done it. He winced away from the memory of the gaping maw and the stabbing beak.

For an instant, the face in the mirror became desolate. Missing equipment, premature winter, this bizarre, convoluted place, miles from anywhere, and now dreams — dreams that were walking him about in the middle of the night and injuring him. For the second time, the phrase “mountain madness” came to him, but again he rejected it. He could not reject so easily the feeling that something was wrong, however. Straightforward homesickness, perhaps? He usually had a brief spell of that at some point early in a new job but, unpleasant though it was, he knew it for what it was and this wasn’t it. The past fretful year worrying about his job and how he was being perceived by the New Order? He thought he had coped with that, but maybe he hadn’t? Perhaps there were doubts and fears gnawing at him deep and unseen...

And the nature of the New Order itself...

“Later,” said the face in the mirror sternly. This was no time to pursue that idea. It was coming to him slowly that it was perhaps fortuitous that his equipment had not yet arrived. He and Badr had done reasonably well the previous day but their efforts had merely confirmed that they would be unable to continue much further in the same vein. To measure the Keep and transfer its winding twisting corridors, eccentrically shaped rooms and confusing floor levels on to ordered sheets of paper would be difficult using his own modern equipment, and, realistically, was quite beyond the antiquated instruments they had found, useful though they might be for some preliminary work. It could be deemed culpable of him not to take positive steps to find out where his equipment was, he thought uneasily. He would have to arrange with Nyk to return to the village as soon as possible. The journey would give him ample time to ponder everything that had happened. In fact, it might even put an end to whatever it was that was troubling him. The reflection nodded resolutely.

Josyff’s accident resulted in a subtle shift in the relationship between the five men. Though Nyk and Badr had eaten, they sat with him in the small dining room as he ate his breakfast, trying not to look at him too obviously and generally failing to behave as though nothing particularly unusual had happened. Qualto lingered fussily about him instead of bolting out with the plates and scurrying quickly back to his kitchen as he normally did. Even Henk, who normally ate either before them, or elsewhere, made an appearance, sitting at the far end of the long table and resting his long, gloomy face in a cupped hand.

Josyff smiled as he waved Qualto’s offer of more food aside.

“It’s excellent, but no more, thanks,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to compliment you on your cooking since I arrived, but you’re so elusive.”

Qualto shrugged vaguely, uncertain how to take the praise. He offered a weak smile and his mouth moved tentatively, but no sound emerged.

“Did you come here originally as a cook?” Josyff asked.

Nyk answered for his colleague. “Yes. The squire had him sent up. I think he thought me and Henk were trying to poison him.” He grinned. “Couldn’t tell the difference between incompetence and malice.”

Josyff motioned Qualto to sit down. “Did you work for the squire?” he asked.

Hesitantly, Qualto succumbed to Josyff’s urging and levered himself down on to a chair opposite.

“My whole family did,” he replied, somewhat to Josyff’s surprise. He had been half expecting Nyk to continue as spokesman. “Well, for the Estate, anyway.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Josyff asked, voicing one of the many puzzles about this place that were refusing to leave him. Qualto’s face contorted and, for an alarming moment, Josyff thought he was going to burst into tears. It was, however, merely thoughtfulness.

“He was always odd,” Qualto said as his face cleared. His tone was flat, simple and final. He had nothing to add. Josyff sensed Nyk nodding beside him, and there was even a hint of agreement in Henk’s unmoving face. If he wanted to know more about the squire it would have to come from another source, or be pieced together slowly over time, from casual remarks. Not that it mattered much. Whoever the squire had been and whatever the Estate was, the Keep was now under the remit of the New Order. And too, they were of no relevance to his present task.

“Do you get many seabirds around here?” he heard himself asking, as if from a distance. His head was hurting.

“Seabirds, boss?” Nyk echoed.

“Seabirds,” Josyff confirmed, recovering.

“Nah,” Nyk said after a moment’s reflection.

“There are always gulls on the high lake.” It was Henk, still resting his head on his hand, his mouth barely moving. His eyes rotated to one side and downward to indicate the direction of the lake.

“Oh yes,” Nyk agreed. “Up on the lake. A lot of gulls there, but I shouldn’t think any of them have ever seen the sea. It’s a long way away.” He chuckled knowingly. “Are you interested in birds?”

Josyff edged near to the truth. “Not particularly, it was just that I was dreaming about seabirds last night and I wondered what could have brought it on.” Abruptly concerned by this almost involuntary revelation, Josyff sought to distance himself from it immediately. “Still, dreams rarely make any sense, do they?” he said, a little too heartily, adding quickly, “Has there been any more snow during the night?”

Nyk leaned back in his chair expansively. “Nah, boss, and it looks as if it’s going to be a bright, clear day.”

Anxious to continue moving away from his dreams, Josyff frowned. The action hurt his forehead and made him wince.

“Are you all right?” Nyk was leaning forwards, his face concerned.

“Yes,” Josyff reassured him, one hand making a reassuring gesture, the other touching his brow cautiously. “The bruising’s a little tender, that’s all.”

“Doesn’t look too comfortable,” Nyk commiserated.

“It’ll improve all the faster when we can make a proper start on what we came here to do,” Josyff said, managing a briskness he did not feel. “You say the weather’s good?”

Nyk nodded.

“Then I think I’ll have to go down to the village to find out what’s happened to my equipment. The stuff you found for us isn’t good enough unfortunately — particularly not for a place like this. And we’re really being held up now.”

Nyk pulled a surprised then doubting face. “It’s a long way,” he said. “A good day and a half for you and me — certainly in this weather — if it’s possible at all...”

Josyff knew he must take command. “I... we...” he indicated Badr, “need that equipment. We’ve done all we can without it. We’ll have to make it possible.” He became conciliatory. “I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself out, especially if it’s going to be difficult, but Badr and I are strangers here, we can’t go on our own. We need your help.”

Nyk looked at his two companions. Qualto shrugged helplessly but Henk made a discreet drinking motion with his free hand. Nyk’s eyebrows lifted.

“Well, we do need a few supplies,” he said reflectively. “If we can get through we can kill two birds with one stone.”

At the word “birds”, Josyff felt a cold shiver flutter within him.