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Authors: Tom Holland
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stones - to spill out their victims' living blood.'
Colonel Sexton frowned. 'As the blood of victims is being spilled out now?'
Captain Foxe shrugged. 'We know that Wolverton was a sorcerer, and worshipper of evil spirits.'
'But the girl - the tiny baby - she was left in the Cathedral itself.'
'In the Lady Chapel, I believe?' Mr Aubrey turned to Captain Foxe for confirmation; received it; then continued. 'The Lady Chapel was the first part of the Cathedral to be built,' he explained. 'Why was it started there? We know - from the old records - how churches were often built on ancient pagan sites. It is a theory I offer - with humble submission to better judgements - that the Cathedral itself was built on just such a site.'
The Colonel considered this point. 'So what are you suggesting?' he asked. 'That there is significance not only in the dates of the murders, but in the locations as well?'
Captain Foxe nodded. 'Does that not seem possible? In the architecture of our world, is there not a pattern of evil, as there is a pattern of good? Might not this pattern - by a follower of the Accursed One -be discerned and traced, and then marked out, as it was in ancient times, with innocent blood?'
'You are certain, then, there will be another killing?'
I am certain of that, whether there is a pattern or not.'
And if the pattern does exist - what shape does it take?'
Captain Foxe gestured towards Mr Aubrey. 'You understand now, sir, the need for an antiquarian's presence at our conference. For Mr Aubrey, it seems to me, is best placed of all the men in England to divine when - and where - the next killing will take place.'
'Then, sir - you have a heavy charge.' Colonel Sexton stared at Mr Aubrey; he rose and laid a hand upon his shoulder. 'May God's light guide you in your studies. May He bring you to a truth that may serve us all.'
'And may He render your studies unnecessary,' added Captain Foxe. 'May He permit us to capture and confound the man we seek.' 'Amen.' Colonel Sexton bowed his head. 'Amen, indeed.'
'Let none admire That riches grow in Hell;
that soil may best Deserve the precious bane.'
John Milton, Paradise lost
E
mily Vaughan sat crouched behind the wall, peering through a gap in the masonry. She could make out two covered wagons, stationed in front of Wolverton Hall. A horseman was next to them. His skin seemed to gleam; the pallor of his face set off the curling thick blackness of his beard. Emily shivered. Something in his presence chilled her. She was not sure what; but she had felt it at once when she had first seen him, riding down the village road. As she shrank closer against the wall, she began to wish that she had never followed the man.
A couple of figures came shambling out from the main doorway of the Hall. They were as pale as the man with the beard, but otherwise quite unlike him. Indeed, so malformed they appeared, so dead-eyed and numb-faced, that they scarcely seemed to be human at all. The bearded man glanced at them. He did not speak or even nod; but at once, it was as though he had issued orders to the men. They shuffled across to one of the wagons. As they lifted the awning, Emily caught a glimpse of wooden boxes stacked in neat rows. The two strange figures eased one of them out. The box was about six feet long, made from rough, unpainted planks. It seemed heavy, but the two creatures bore it as though it were no weight at all. They carried it up the steps and into the Hall.
The horseman watched them, absolutely motionless; then he felt in his pockets and pulled out what appeared to be a couple of heavy purses. He tossed one of them up and down in his palm; even from where she was hiding, Emily could hear the clinking of coins. The drivers of the two carts must ha ve heard the sound as well. Emil y watched them as they clambered down from their seats, and came hurrying across to where the horseman sat. He laughed. He tossed one of the purses into the mud, then a second; then,
Colonel Sexton frowned. 'As the blood of victims is being spilled out now?'
Captain Foxe shrugged. 'We know that Wolverton was a sorcerer, and worshipper of evil spirits.'
'But the girl - the tiny baby - she was left in the Cathedral itself.'
'In the Lady Chapel, I believe?' Mr Aubrey turned to Captain Foxe for confirmation; received it; then continued. 'The Lady Chapel was the first part of the Cathedral to be built,' he explained. 'Why was it started there? We know - from the old records - how churches were often built on ancient pagan sites. It is a theory I offer - with humble submission to better judgements - that the Cathedral itself was built on just such a site.'
The Colonel considered this point. 'So what are you suggesting?' he asked. 'That there is significance not only in the dates of the murders, but in the locations as well?'
Captain Foxe nodded. 'Does that not seem possible? In the architecture of our world, is there not a pattern of evil, as there is a pattern of good? Might not this pattern - by a follower of the Accursed One -be discerned and traced, and then marked out, as it was in ancient times, with innocent blood?'
'You are certain, then, there will be another killing?'
I am certain of that, whether there is a pattern or not.'
And if the pattern does exist - what shape does it take?'
Captain Foxe gestured towards Mr Aubrey. 'You understand now, sir, the need for an antiquarian's presence at our conference. For Mr Aubrey, it seems to me, is best placed of all the men in England to divine when - and where - the next killing will take place.'
'Then, sir - you have a heavy charge.' Colonel Sexton stared at Mr Aubrey; he rose and laid a hand upon his shoulder. 'May God's light guide you in your studies. May He bring you to a truth that may serve us all.'
'And may He render your studies unnecessary,' added Captain Foxe. 'May He permit us to capture and confound the man we seek.' 'Amen.' Colonel Sexton bowed his head. 'Amen, indeed.'
'Let none admire That riches grow in Hell;
that soil may best Deserve the precious bane.'
John Milton, Paradise lost
E
mily Vaughan sat crouched behind the wall, peering through a gap in the masonry. She could make out two covered wagons, stationed in front of Wolverton Hall. A horseman was next to them. His skin seemed to gleam; the pallor of his face set off the curling thick blackness of his beard. Emily shivered. Something in his presence chilled her. She was not sure what; but she had felt it at once when she had first seen him, riding down the village road. As she shrank closer against the wall, she began to wish that she had never followed the man.
A couple of figures came shambling out from the main doorway of the Hall. They were as pale as the man with the beard, but otherwise quite unlike him. Indeed, so malformed they appeared, so dead-eyed and numb-faced, that they scarcely seemed to be human at all. The bearded man glanced at them. He did not speak or even nod; but at once, it was as though he had issued orders to the men. They shuffled across to one of the wagons. As they lifted the awning, Emily caught a glimpse of wooden boxes stacked in neat rows. The two strange figures eased one of them out. The box was about six feet long, made from rough, unpainted planks. It seemed heavy, but the two creatures bore it as though it were no weight at all. They carried it up the steps and into the Hall.
The horseman watched them, absolutely motionless; then he felt in his pockets and pulled out what appeared to be a couple of heavy purses. He tossed one of them up and down in his palm; even from where she was hiding, Emily could hear the clinking of coins. The drivers of the two carts must ha ve heard the sound as well. Emil y watched them as they clambered down from their seats, and came hurrying across to where the horseman sat. He laughed. He tossed one of the purses into the mud, then a second; then,
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