Aldred was apparently not the least bit bothered. He buttoned up his trousers, took Bobby off to a quiet corner and told him not to move, while he went and got the key from its hiding place—a speech delivered with such gravity that there seemed to be no guarantee of him returning alive.
So Bobby turned and stared out over the gravestones as Aldred’s footsteps receded, then crouched down and read some of the inscriptions on the headstones in the dwindling light. Judging by the dates, Devon’s dead had done most of their dying a long, long time ago and Bobby could see how somebody might think it was a good idea to send a boy all the way down here to get him away from all the dying going on back home. The week before he left a boy from his class had been found under the rubble, curled up in his grandad’s arms. The month before, sixty people died in a shoe factory when the roof fell in on them.
But it was old Mr. Wenlock and his underground neighbors who increasingly occupied Bobby’s thoughts, and the longer he waited the more conscious he became of the old Devonians packed beneath his feet. The wind had begun to whistle in the trees and some creature was making the sort of hooting which can make a boy on his own in a graveyard nervous, and when Bobby felt a hand fall upon his shoulder he nearly jumped right out of his boots.
Even after he saw that it was Aldred and not Mr. Wenlock complaining about all the rinsings he’d been getting, it was quite a while before Bobby’s heart stopped rattling inhis rib cage and a while longer for him to properly shake off the idea of Wenlock being up and about.
The key to the church was old and heavy—as Bobby discovered when Aldred let him hold it for a second or two—and a little larger than Bobby thought strictly necessary considering the size of the door. For instead of entering the church via the slab of oak in the porch, Aldred led him around to what he referred to as the “back door”—which was, he insisted, a
special
door, to be used only by people such as the reverend and the organist and himself. The moment they were inside and the door was closed behind him, Bobby felt a deeper darkness envelop him and a silence descend which his ears had trouble fathoming. The only things he could pick out with any certainty were the smell of polished wood, rotting flowers and no end of cold, uncompromising stone.
He couldn’t see a thing, but Aldred assured him that he had made this journey a hundred times, took Bobby’s hand, put it on his shoulder and led him through the dark. They crept around the organ (which took so long to navigate, it must have been about as big as a bus) and between the choristers’ pews until they were clear of all the railings and tables and other clutter and heading down the aisle.
Their steps rang out on the flagstones. Bobby sensed a great vault of religious air above him and when he clipped his hip on the end of a pew, pictured the bruise blossoming under the skin. But he blundered on with his hand on Aldred’s shoulder, until the darkness began to ease from black to blue and he could make out the arches of the windows and a stack of collection plates glinting up ahead.
The next door was even smaller than the last one. Itground against the floor as Aldred pushed it open and a damp, earthy smell came seeping out. Aldred took Bobby’s hand and guided it to a rope which was lashed to the wall just inside the doorway. But as he slipped by and headed off into the dark Bobby suddenly doubted that he had the courage to go after him.
“How long will it take?” he said.
Aldred came back down a step or two.
“All you’ve got to do,” he said, “is keep hold of the rope and keep on walking, and you’ll be there in no time at all.”
So Aldred set off up the tower’s tight spiral and Bobby went after him, feeling as if he were entombed in stone. The only light came in through the narrow slits in the wall to his left and as he wound himself
So Bobby turned and stared out over the gravestones as Aldred’s footsteps receded, then crouched down and read some of the inscriptions on the headstones in the dwindling light. Judging by the dates, Devon’s dead had done most of their dying a long, long time ago and Bobby could see how somebody might think it was a good idea to send a boy all the way down here to get him away from all the dying going on back home. The week before he left a boy from his class had been found under the rubble, curled up in his grandad’s arms. The month before, sixty people died in a shoe factory when the roof fell in on them.
But it was old Mr. Wenlock and his underground neighbors who increasingly occupied Bobby’s thoughts, and the longer he waited the more conscious he became of the old Devonians packed beneath his feet. The wind had begun to whistle in the trees and some creature was making the sort of hooting which can make a boy on his own in a graveyard nervous, and when Bobby felt a hand fall upon his shoulder he nearly jumped right out of his boots.
Even after he saw that it was Aldred and not Mr. Wenlock complaining about all the rinsings he’d been getting, it was quite a while before Bobby’s heart stopped rattling inhis rib cage and a while longer for him to properly shake off the idea of Wenlock being up and about.
The key to the church was old and heavy—as Bobby discovered when Aldred let him hold it for a second or two—and a little larger than Bobby thought strictly necessary considering the size of the door. For instead of entering the church via the slab of oak in the porch, Aldred led him around to what he referred to as the “back door”—which was, he insisted, a
special
door, to be used only by people such as the reverend and the organist and himself. The moment they were inside and the door was closed behind him, Bobby felt a deeper darkness envelop him and a silence descend which his ears had trouble fathoming. The only things he could pick out with any certainty were the smell of polished wood, rotting flowers and no end of cold, uncompromising stone.
He couldn’t see a thing, but Aldred assured him that he had made this journey a hundred times, took Bobby’s hand, put it on his shoulder and led him through the dark. They crept around the organ (which took so long to navigate, it must have been about as big as a bus) and between the choristers’ pews until they were clear of all the railings and tables and other clutter and heading down the aisle.
Their steps rang out on the flagstones. Bobby sensed a great vault of religious air above him and when he clipped his hip on the end of a pew, pictured the bruise blossoming under the skin. But he blundered on with his hand on Aldred’s shoulder, until the darkness began to ease from black to blue and he could make out the arches of the windows and a stack of collection plates glinting up ahead.
The next door was even smaller than the last one. Itground against the floor as Aldred pushed it open and a damp, earthy smell came seeping out. Aldred took Bobby’s hand and guided it to a rope which was lashed to the wall just inside the doorway. But as he slipped by and headed off into the dark Bobby suddenly doubted that he had the courage to go after him.
“How long will it take?” he said.
Aldred came back down a step or two.
“All you’ve got to do,” he said, “is keep hold of the rope and keep on walking, and you’ll be there in no time at all.”
So Aldred set off up the tower’s tight spiral and Bobby went after him, feeling as if he were entombed in stone. The only light came in through the narrow slits in the wall to his left and as he wound himself
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