Part 12 (1/2)

She had checked the calculations three times with the same result. Full of foreboding, she closed the book and hurried back into the other room.

Jobiska was asleep again, her bowl of gruel untouched.

Innocet started to put on her cloak and bonnet. Immediately the old lady was awake. 'Take me home, dear,' she pleaded. 'I want to go home.'

'I have to go out,' said Innocet. 'You stay here.'

Jobiska started to whimper, so Innocet took her skinny hand. 'Do you know what today is? It's Otherstide Eve. It's six hundred and seventy-three years today since it all started.'

'I'm three thousand, four hundred and sixty-two,' said Jobiska. 'Sixth regeneration. I want to go home.'

'Never mind. Finish your gruel,' Innocet said wearily. She went to look at the contents of the pot. It was empty.

'He came back,' said Jobiska.

Innocet was suddenly fl.u.s.tered. 'Who came back?'

'Owis came back while you were away. He thought I was asleep and he ate al the gruel.'

Much annoyed, Innocet began to buckle her bonnet.

'Better not leave me again,' said Jobiska hopeful y.

'Stay here. I won't be long.' Innocet went to open the door.

Apart from the usual drowsy furniture, the pa.s.sage outside was deserted. The lamps barely glimmered, lost in the House's untold dreams. Innocet fastened her cloak and set out along the shadowy corridors of Lungbarrow's long, candledark night.

53.

Chapter Ten.

Good Day for Mushrooms

The deeper they went into the warren of the House, the louder the whispering became. It had started soon after Chris and the Doctor descended from the kitchen. In a typical volte-face, the Doctor decided that he would accompany Chris after all. However, at every available opportunity, he found an excuse to linger at each pale-beamed archway while Chris moseyed on ahead to check the lie of the land.

The whispering didn't seem to come from any particular direction. It was just there, a sibilant muttering from a number of voices that Chris could not really interpret. There was, however, one recurring sound, a repeated guttural note that Chris supposed to be laughter.

The Doctor denied hearing anything.

The night showed no sign of relenting, but Chris's eyes were already used to the dimly lit gloom of the pa.s.sageways. As they crossed the galleries overlooking the dark canyon of the Hal , he peered down and could just make out the hemispheres of the great clock set in one of the lower balconies. Overhead, the high ceiling was shrouded in a mesh of web. He blew a puff of air upward and watched a ripple spread out across the surface of the web like a bil ow in a silken sail. He wondered what had happened to Arkhew.

'Go on,' muttered the Doctor in his ear and Chris ventured ahead into another wing of the House, hoping to find a way down.

The age of the place was almost tangible. As the whitewood trees reached up around him, Chris felt as if he was walking in a mysterious wood, whose bizarre denizens disguised themselves as items of giant furniture to observe the strangers intruding on their territory.

The Doctor, who usual y had plenty to say about any new environment, said nothing. He wandered yards behind Chris immersed in his own dark thoughts. Chris noted, however, that every time they pa.s.sed a mirror, of which there were several, the Doctor contrived to drop something on the floor. He would grovel on his hands and knees in the gloom, discovering the item only when he was wel past the mirror.

As Chris moved ahead along one pa.s.sage, he recognized the place where he had looked out of the window in his dream. He pulled back a dusty curtain and was surprised to find that the window had been boarded up.

For a moment, the whispering voices grew louder and then subsided back to their general level.

He pushed on until he reached the corner of the pa.s.sage that led to Satthralope's room.

'Not that way,' said the Doctor, who was suddenly at his side. He indicated the other way. 'This looks more promising.'

'OK,' said Chris. 'After you.'

The shadow across the Doctor's face twitched slightly. 'Too kind,' he said and started to lead the way.

They soon reached a side arch beyond which a flight of stairs led downward. Every step creaked as they went, until they finally emerged into a large area with a high gla.s.s dome. A baleful glimmer of light came from a lantern hanging on the wall. Impenetrable darkness pressed on the outside the dome. The walls were silvered, presumably to catch the sunlight. Out of the flagstones sprouted a long dead tree, its gnarled and blackened trunk clambering up towards the dome.

Chris walked out across the area, but the Doctor skulked near the foot of the stairs, apparently regarding every shadow with suspicion.

One side of the conservatory had been penned off by a low curving wall. Chris leant over the top and saw hundreds of tiny shapes covering the floor. Some were round, some were flat-topped, while others had intricate coloured patterns.

'Species of edible fungi,' observed the Doctor, final y venturing out to join him. He pointed to different varieties.

'Feathergills, pogsquats, skullcaps... Those flat, circular ones are called Cardinal's collars.'

'Indigenous,' said Chris.

'Biotrophic: they live in harmony with other plants.'

'Like the House, for instance,' Chris suggested.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 'The residents have obviously set-up some sort of fungi farm. I wonder why.'

Chris leant on the fence. 'Looks deserted to me.'

'Not totally,' said the Doctor. 'Don't forget someone's left the dinner on.'

'You call that dinner?'

The Doctor leant on the fence next to Chris and they stared at the fungi.

I know you know where we are, Chris thought. You know I I know where we are. So why does neither of us admit it? know where we are. So why does neither of us admit it?

What have we got to hide?

The fungi were growing thickest on a dark mound at the far end of the pen. There was a sudden pop and a little puff of dust shot up out of the throng.

'Spores,' said the Doctor. 'They're multiplying.' He picked up a piece of broken wood that was propped against the fence and pulled off some splinters. He tossed them into the pen. 'Hungry little devils. They're not averse to a little dead material either.'

Chris listened to the whispering for a while. 'Doctor?'

'Hmm?'