"But how can you tell which one is him?" Miles asked. "It's not as if we know anything about him, is it?"
"We know enough," Carruthers replied. "If he's in this house then his book will be in a state of flux, updating itself as the new experiences happen." He was speeding through the books, scanning them and slapping them to one side. He grabbed a stack of them and dropped them down to Miles. "Would you mind? I'd rather he wasn't left alone with Miss Simons any longer than absolutely necessary."
"Oh! I hadn't thought of that. You really think he might be dangerous?"
"Penelope's a strong woman and I have no doubt she can look after herself, especially now that he's not armed." He gestured to Miles to start checking the books. "I just think it's best to apply a little caution."
"He certainly looks as if a strong wind would knock him for six."
"Indeed… no, none of these." Carruthers climbed up another shelf and started checking more of the books. "Whatever the truth behind our Mister 'Ashe' we cannot afford to delay our departure for any longer than absolutely necessary. We want to get as far as we can before the next nightfall – it is perilous enough without that to contend with."
"Do you have any idea where we're going?"
"Some, I have explored a good deal of this place in my time here – well, I assume it's a good deal, who knows how big the house really is?" He waved the thought away. "No point thinking like that, won't get us anywhere. I've explored extensively and certainly know a lot of routes we should avoid. If I am right in that this library is a central hub for our prison then one of the crossing places accessed from here should set us on our way. By avoiding all the routes I know lead nowhere we have a solid start."
"You'll forgive me if I say that doesn't sound dreadfully hopeful."
Carruthers shrugged. "It's not very hopeful at all, but we'll never find a way home by any other means. Any luck?"
"Hmm? Oh… the books, no, they all seem normal." Miles smiled. "How quickly we adapt our attitudes – there's nothing remotely normal about any of them."
"Man is the great evolutionary animal," Carruthers said, working his way through the last few volumes, "we can adapt to anything." He slammed the final book shut. "None of them. Can't say I'm surprised but at least we now know one thing about our new addition."
"Really? Seems to me we're utterly in the dark."
"We know for a fact he's a liar, and for now that will have to be enough."
"Just wait until I confront him!"
"Let's see what he's about first, shall we? I'd rather have him with us than behind us. We shall keep him close and, as long as we retain our wits, we shall learn his secrets soon enough."
On their return, Ashe was pacing up and down to shake out a few twitches and kinks in his legs.
"Feeling better?" asked Miles.
"Much," Ashe replied, "and relieved that I had you guys to keep an eye on me. I would have hated to be here on my own."
"We can certainly show you the ropes," Carruthers said, "keep you on the straight and narrow."
"Sounds like I'll need it if everything Penelope says is true."
"It's true," she assured him.
"How can it be possible, do you think?" Ashe asked, looking at Carruthers.
"I am at a loss to say," he replied, "and until we unearth its secrets the best we can do is accept that it
is
and keep on our toes. We should continue further discussion as we travel. As Miss Simons may have explained, the nights here are treacherous and it would certainly be in our favour to get some miles beneath our feet before dark."
"Nighttime, inside a house!" Ashe exclaimed. "It's crazy!"
"I'll remind you of those words come dusk, my friend. Now, I have rucksacks for us all. We should fill them with as much food and water as we can carry and little else. We need to travel quickly and safely, that is best done by travelling lightly."
"That means only one shirt apparently," Penelope said to Ashe.
"Well," he replied, "I have nothing but the clothes I stand in and I guess I'm happy to keep it that way as long as nobody minds the smell."
"If something smells suspect about you, sir, I have yet to notice!" said Carruthers, laughing.
They were ready within ten minutes, Carruthers organizing them as he distributed the essential supplies. They bulked their packs out with a light selection of spare clothing. Carruthers presented a map that he had sketched over his time in the house. It looked more like a family tree, the library at the centre surrounded by linked boxes filled with scribbled descriptions of what the rooms contained.
"'Jungle Hothouse', 'Play Room (beware of snakes)', 'Bathroom (need dinghy)'." Miles scratched his head. "My, but I'm looking forward to exploring further."
"If it's any consolation they're all places we won't be going," explained Carruthers.
"Erm… nope," Miles replied, "no consolation at all."
"Which way do we head first?" asked Penelope.
"We need to aim for the eastern wing of the library," Carruthers said, leading them off between the stacks. "All four corners of the room contain access to other parts of the house and I have tried to be methodical in my exploration thus far. I am convinced that the route to freedom does not lie in any of the other three corners."
"Why?" Ashe asked.
"Because I've been through each and every discernable access point in them and am still not at liberty." Carruthers smiled. "My being here is your proof of their inefficacy."
"Good enough!" Ashe replied with a grin. He tipped his hat back on his head, looking at the books around them. "Never imagined there could be so many books in the world," he said.
"Was Miss Simons good enough to explain what they contain?" Carruthers asked.
"Indeed she was, unbelievable…"
"Were you not tempted to seek out your own volume?"
"I'm not the kind of guy that sneaks a peek at the last chapter of a mystery, I believe life should be a surprise."
"An admirable attitude," Carruthers agreed, "I have no doubt this house will help you maintain it."
After a couple of hours walking with the view not substantially altered, Miles began to grow concerned. "This reminds me of a certain corridor you and I enjoyed for what seemed like a couple of years," he said to Penelope.
"Don't worry," Carruthers assured him, "the library isn't infinite, just incredibly large. We shall reach the end in another few hours."
"A library where you should bring your car if you wish to browse," Miles muttered.
"Car?" asked Carruthers.
"Automobile… horseless carriage, whatever you used to call them."
"Oh… don't tell me those silly things took off."
"They were moderately successful, yes," Miles replied with a grin.
The horizon soon began to alter, the far wall coming into view.
"So how do you find the exit?" Penelope asked once they had reached the end of the room.
"I used to throw books around until one of them vanished. Now that we know the books and their subjects are linked, that seems somewhat unethical. I'd hate to be responsible for someone in the real world having a breakdown because I was hurling his biography around. I thought these would be just as successful." He removed his pack and pulled out a bag of golf balls. "I liberated them from a golf bag in one of the bedrooms, thinking the odd round or two might while away an evening."
"How did that work out?" asked Penelope.
"Terrible, I couldn't aim if my life depended on it. Besides, thrashing a ball around a library really isn't all that entertaining."
Carruthers dipped his hand into the bag and began tossing the balls into the air, like a farmer sowing fat seeds. The balls ricocheted off the walls forcing them to duck.
"It's not a very exact science," Carruthers said apologetically. "I know there's an entrance about six foot up the wall directly facing the stack but I've used that one and have no great desire to expose you all to the terrors of the broom cupboard."
"Tell me you're joking," said Miles
"I cannot recommend getting into a fight with an army of mops, dear boy, they can be quite vicious."
"He's joking," Miles muttered, "I refuse to believe he isn't joking."
"There's one!" Ashe shouted, "the ball just vanished."
"Where?" Carruthers asked. "I wasn't throwing–"
"It was your last ball," he replied, moving towards the wall and dropping to his hands and knees, "it bounced off the bookshelves and rolled towards the wainscoting. It vanished here." He stuck out his hand and it vanished up to the wrist, moving through the wooden panelling as if it were water.
"Excellent!" Carruthers walked over to join him. "This is a completely unknown exit, most promising."
"Did she warn you about the wraiths?" Miles asked Ashe.
"No, can't say she mentioned anything like that," he replied.
"Every passageway between the areas of the house is protected by a barrier of darkness. The wraiths roam that darkness. They're invisible but you soon spot them once they start smashing you to a pulp."
"Nice. I look forward to making their acquaintance. How do you know how to get beyond the barrier to the other side?"
"You don't."
"Maybe I should have stayed back at the camp after all."
"It's not as bad as all that," Carruthers assured him.
"Really?" asked Penelope incredulously.
"Well," Carruthers looked awkward, "not quite that bad anyway. This time we're not swinging in midair trying to find the entrance below us."
"You have a cunning method then?" Penelope asked.
"It's stood me in good stead on my many trips thus far." Carruthers removed the lantern from the side of his pack, lit it and then strapped his pack back in place. "We use a focused beam from the lantern, noting where the length of it is cut short."
"Of course we do," Miles replied, "in fact that's exactly what I was going to suggest. After you then, 'lad of the lamp'."
"Too kind." Carruthers dropped down in front of the wall and, pushing the lantern in front of him, wriggled through the exit.
"We need to follow quickly," Miles said to Ashe as Penelope vanished from sight.
"After you, son, by all means," Ashe replied with a wide smile.
"Wouldn't dream of it," said Miles, "I'll take the rear."
"Whatever you say." Ashe dropped to the floor and crawled through the wall.
"Yeah," Miles muttered, following on, "you keep that up and we'll all get on just fine."
On the other side, Carruthers was on his feet and sweeping the lantern beam through the darkness, Penelope stood at his shoulder.
Ashe got to his feet and looked around. "Not much to see," he commented, straightening his hat from where it had slipped during his crawl.
"You may look back on this as your favourite part of the journey," Miles replied, shuffling his pack so that it sat straight.
"There!" Carruthers shouted pointing to their left. He swayed the lantern beam to prove it, the light truncating measurably as it fell on the area he was pointing at.
"Get on with it then," said Penelope giving him a shove, "I can feel those things coming." They ran through.
Miles nudged Ashe to follow them, but the old man made a show of being in no rush whatsoever. "Just taking in the sights, son," he said with a wink.
"If you don't get a bloody move on they'll be the last sights you see!" Miles pushed him through the exit, striding after and coming to a startled halt on the other side. "You have
got
to be shitting me," he whispered as he took in what lay ahead.
He turned around. Behind him was a wood-panelled wall, an embroidered recliner, a stand-alone ashtray and a small bookcase containing a selection of Dickens and Brontë. Perfectly normal. He turned back again… ahead was a snow-covered mountain, its peak vanishing into white cloud. A few feet from where they stood snow lay on the floorboards, thickening the further you entered the room. "Welcome to bloody Narnia, Miles," he whispered. "Hope you remembered to pack the Turkish Delight."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The stranger led the way, with Elise, Pablo and, finally, Tom following. One of the cherubs nipped at his hair as he vanished beneath the flagstone floor and into the darkness of a winding staircase.
"Close the hatch!" the stranger shouted, "or we'll have the damned things in here with us."
Tom did as he was told, yanking a rusted chain that pulled a slab into place above his head. "Cool," he muttered. "Confined space, plenty of darkness, lovin' it."
The stairs wound tightly against wet brick, a constant, metallic percussion of dripping water beating time for them as they descended. A warm glow of firelight began to pour itself up the staircase as they drew close to their destination: a large chamber of sooty brick lit by flickering sconces.
"Nice, medieval chic," Elise commented.
"It's gloomy as hell," the stranger agreed, "but lacking in anything trying to kill you, for now at least." He was young, American and well-dressed in a pinstripe suit with wide lapels and shoulders you could launch a seaplane from. He stuck his hand out for shaking. "My friends call me Chester."
"A man that saves my life is the best friend in the world, Chester," Tom replied, shaking Chester's hand. "Tom."
"Goes the same for me," said Elise, giving him a peck on the cheek to go with the handshake, "and my name's Elise."
"I am surrounded by America," said Pablo with a smile, "and still no cowboy hat! I am Pablo, thank you for shooting flying babies."