The World House (21 page)

  The cherub opened its mouth to exhale a piercing note like a damp finger rubbed along the rim of a glass. Letting go of the rafters it swooped towards Elise, knocking the candle from her hand and plunging both of them into darkness.

 

"I need to put you down, honey." Alan lowered Sophie from his shoulder, keeping hold of her hand. "But we have to keep running, OK?"

  The darkness was impenetrable with no distinction between the ground and their surroundings. With the exception of the light streaming through the hole behind them, the jungle was invisible from this side of the glass. Alan hoped that the natives were too scared to follow them. Stefania had certainly viewed whatever lay this side of the barrier as a no-man's land not to be entered. Stretching out an arm he was relieved to feel the cold sensation of glass to his left, so the barrier
was
still there. Perhaps somewhere along its surface there would be a door. Only one way to find out…

 

"We've lost them," Whitstable wailed as the rest of the tribe caught up with him. He couldn't stop moving; his seared skin was beginning to blister. He stared into the darkness beyond the broken glass and howled in a mixture of pain and frustration.

  "
You've
lost them," Stefania said, coming alongside him. "It was your job to keep him under control, remember?"

  "That's hardly fair!" Whitstable shouted, "I didn't see you helping much."

  Stefania slapped him across the face making him squeal in pain. "Stand up to your responsibilities," she said, "or we'll finish the job of roasting you ourselves."

  "But you can't expect me to go in there…"

  "It's entirely up to you – either you fetch the girl or take her place."

  Whitstable yelled in frustration, staring into the darkness beyond the glass. "Damned if I do…" he muttered, and stepped through the hole.

 

Miles was startled awake as Carruthers and Penelope climbed inside his tent. "Don't tell me it's morning already," he groaned.

  "I'm afraid not, old chap," said Carruthers, "more a case of safety in numbers – we seem to be suffering from an infestation."

  "Of what?"

  "Bookworms," answered Penelope, "and before you laugh, they're the size of small dogs so they may have a taste for more than antique paper."

  "Oh, lovely," Miles replied, sitting up on his bedroll. "Well, at least with this really thick bedsheet in the way they can't get at us, eh?"

  "Yes, Miles," Carruthers replied drily, "I'm quite aware of our limited fortifications. Let us hope that we're of no interest to them, shall we? Certainly they have never invaded this section of the library before. I would say that any creature whose diet consists primarily of vegetable matter is unlikely to start feasting on humans."

  "If you're that confident then what are you both doing in my tent?"

  "My considered zoological opinion is one thing – and it has been sought by the greatest establishments in the Empire – but I would prefer not to stake my life on it."

  "Surely, even if they're as big as you say we could easily defend ourselves against them? One stout kick and it's a long old crawl back for a rematch, isn't it?"

  "Come here," said Carruthers, closing all the shutters bar one on his lantern so as to focus the beam.

  Miles shuffled over next to Carruthers at the mouth of the tent.

  "Look," Carruthers said, pulling back the sheet and pointing the light out into the library. The shelves and floor were covered, hundreds of the worms writhing over one another. Now they were silent the sound of the worms' grazing was audible, like the crackling of a badly tuned radio.

  "Oh," said Miles, "perhaps we should stay here then."

  "Yes," said Penelope, smiling, "perhaps we should."

  "It won't be long until first light," said Carruthers, "and one would hope they'll retreat before then."

  "Would that be your zoological opinion we're staking our lives on?" Miles asked.

  "Yes, though I'd rather you didn't dwell on the fact."

 

"Elise!" Tom ran towards her, bashing into one of the pews and stumbling to the floor.

  "I'm all right," she called, "it's scuttled off. The little fucker bit me though!"

  Tom crawled towards her voice, holding out the candle. "Let me see," he said, as he found her.

  "I don't think it's bad." She held her hand up to the light, Tom angling the candle so he could examine the small wound in the ball of her thumb.

  "Let's hope angels don't carry rabies," he said, "we're a hell of a way from getting you a shot."

  "We are having big problem," said Pablo, still standing by the altar.

  "Tell that to someone who isn't bleeding!" Elise replied.

  "No, listen."

  Above them there came the sound of beating wings, first one, then another, then another, swooping above them in the shadows of the roof.

  "Cool," said Tom, "I was hoping there'd be lots of them."

  Pablo ran down the middle of the chapel to the door. "We need to not be in here now," he said, "I think we're better back the way we came."

  "Wait!" Tom shouted, before Pablo had opened the door. "Let's think about this a second. We know there's no way out that way, it's just back to the playroom and those toys."

  "Or we stay here with angels that bite."

  "I didn't say the options were good."

  There came a scratching from the other side of the door, growing louder and louder as more claws added their efforts.

  "OK," said Pablo, "now is no go there either."

  "Maybe there's another way out?" Elise suggested, taking another lighted candle from Tom.

  "Doesn't hurt to look," he agreed.

  They began to make their way around the walls, the cherubs still swooping above them from one side of the room to the other.

  "There is no door!" Pablo shouted. "It make no sense, how you go from dining room to playhouse to church and not go anywhere else?"

  "Maybe we missed something in the corridor?" Elise suggested. "It was pretty dark."

  "Or maybe this is a house that just loves to fuck with expectations," Tom replied. "There's no point in angling for this shit to make sense, it hasn't so far." A cherub swooped down from the eaves with the same piercing song as before, snapping at Tom's candle with its puckered mouth. "Oh, fuck you!" he shouted in exasperation, shoving the candle at it. The cherub's mouth stretched like rubber, chisel-like teeth dotted around its pink gums. It swallowed the candle whole and flew back up to the roof. "How long until it's light?" asked Miles. "You know… roughly."

  Carruthers sighed in exasperation. "I have told you, time is inexact here, the night usually lasts for five or six hours."

  "Did you tell me that?" Miles asked, genuinely confused.

  "Once or twice but it's no matter."

  "Sorry."

  "Honestly, no matter."

  "I'm trying to sleep!" whined Penelope, rolling over on the mattress.

  "Don't get all agitated then," said Miles with a smile, "otherwise you'll never drop off." Penelope scowled at him but said nothing.

  "I used to be able to sleep through anything," said Carruthers. "I remember once, during a trip across Australia, trapped in swampland but crippled with exhaustion, I tied myself to a tree, sleeping the sleep of the just for a full five hours before cutting myself loose and continuing on my way."

  "Got any rope?" Penelope murmured.

  "Is there anywhere you haven't been?" Miles asked, "places you always planned on visiting but never managed?"

  "Oh, many, my boy. I have long been fascinated by tales of the Arctic, to conquer the Northwest Passage… now there would be a thing. Knowing my luck that swine Amundsen will have survived his attempt in my absence. Takes more than ice to knock the Norse, the chilly beggars are used to it. Always thought that was cheating somewhat. Now, Franklin there was an explorer!"

  "Didn't he kill off his whole expedition?"

  "Nonsense! The man was a hero!"

  "A hero that trapped two ships and their crew in ice through bloody-mindedness and poor leadership."

  "Mind your tongue, sir! You happen to be defaming a hero of mine."

  "I read they ate one another in the end."

  "I'll eat you two if you don't shut up!" Penelope shouted. "Dear Lord, it's like being trapped with a pair of little boys."

  They sat in silence for a few moments, Miles and Carruthers intentionally avoiding each other's eyes.

  "Or was it a big Eskimo monster?" said Miles in the end. "I'm sure I read about it…"

  "Eskimo monsters! The man's delirious!"

  "Oh yes, because being besieged by bookworms isn't weird at all."

  Carruthers was about to argue but saw the pointlessness of it. "Yes, well, 'there are more things in heaven and earth' and all that."

  "Indeed."

  They said nothing for a while. The only noise was the grazing of the worms and the occasional irritated grunt from Penelope as she tried to get comfortable.

  "So," said Miles in the end, "how long until it gets light?"

  "Oh, for goodness sake!" Penelope sat bolt upright. "It's utterly pointless."

  Carruthers gave Miles a conspiratorial smile. "It's difficult to tell, it varies from night to night."

  "We know!" sighed Penelope, "you've told him often enough, it's about five hours!"

  "I say, my dear," replied Carruthers, "how on earth did you know that?"

  "You've said it about four times now," Penelope replied.

  "I'm sure I hadn't mentioned it."

  "Of course you have, Miles keeps asking you."

  "Does he?" Carruthers looked baffled at Miles. "Can't say I remember anything about it, do you, old chap?"

  "I wouldn't have asked if I did," Miles replied defensively. "Who's Miles anyway?"

  Penelope stared at them in exasperation. "This is not in the least bit amusing."

  "I'm not trying to be amusing" Miles turned to face Penelope. "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Nothing an hour's sleep wouldn't fix. It's not me that claims not to know his own name."

  "Don't be silly," Miles scoffed, "of course I know what my name is."

  "It's Carruthers, isn't it?" Carruthers said. "That certainly rings a bell."

  "You're not joking, are you?" asked Penelope. "Neither of you actually remember."

  "Remember what?" asked Miles. A look of confusion crossed his face. "I don't feel very good," he said, pressing his hands to his temple, "my head's pounding…"

  "Something's very wrong here." Penelope got off the mattress and sat face to face with Miles. "What's your name?"

  Miles' face crumpled. "I don't know!"

 

The cherubs continued to strafe the room. At first it seemed it was the candles that were attracting them. Certainly the flames were their initial target – they snapped at them with their elastic mouths or their pudgy little fingers. Then one yanked at Elise's hair, wrenching out a handful and flying back into the darkness with it, that high note sounding all the more triumphant.

  "Perhaps it wish to build a nest?" Pablo suggested.

  "Well, it can screw itself," Elise moaned, rubbing at her sore head.

  Another cherub dropped from the air, grabbing Pablo's face and sinking its teeth into his cheek. "
Cosa
de mierda!
" Pablo swore, wrenching it free and flinging it to the floor. He tried to stamp on it, holding his hand to his bleeding cheek, but it was too swift for him, taking to the air with a red smile.

  "You OK?" Elise said, grabbing hold of Pablo and trying to see his wound.

  "Later," Pablo said, "now is not time for nurse."

  "The little bastards are playing," said Tom, ducking as another cherub dive-bombed his head. "I swear the fuckers are enjoying this." He moved towards the altar, keeping down in case one of them tried for another strike. He grabbed a large brass candlestick off the altar and held it in one hand like a club.

  "I will take one of those, I think," said Pablo.

  "Me too," added Elise.

  "There's only two," Tom said, throwing the spare to Pablo.

  "Sexist pig," Elise muttered.

  "It is all right," Pablo said, "I will protect you."

  Elise stared at him. "You have no idea how close I am to taking that thing off you and braining you with it."

  A cherub flew down at them. Pablo swung the candlestick but missed.

  Tom fared better; swinging the candlestick upwards he caught the cherub in the belly, flipping it in the air. Not satisfied, Tom brought the candlestick straight back down again, clubbing the cherub hard on the back of the head. It dropped to the floor only to be snatched by a couple of its fellows an instant later and carried up into the roof. Within seconds there were lots of tearing noises and the air was filled with feathers and whistling as the cherubs fed on their fallen comrade.

  "Smooth," Tom muttered with a scowl. "Cannibal cherubs."

  The taste of the meat incited the rest of the flock as the whistling noise increased and they began swooping
en masse.

  Suddenly a couple of gunshots rang out over Tom's shoulder, and two cherubs all but exploded in mid-air as they were hit.

  Tom fell over in shock, holding his hand to his ringing left ear.

  "You need to be quick," said the man who had appeared from behind the altar, "they'll be almost uncontrollable now."

  "Where the hell did you come from?" Elise shouted.

  "There's a passageway that comes out under the altar," he answered, "but might I suggest we discuss it while we're using it rather than standing here like sitting ducks?"