“Send him away,” Douglas growled in gruff imitation of his father’s tone. “I’m busy.”
“Very good, sir.”
Douglas waited until he heard the footsteps receding. Then, unwilling to further risk being caught with the murdered corpse of his father, he tucked the gold-edged folder under his coat and moved to the French doors. He stepped outside, cast a swift glance around to make sure he was unobserved, then darted across the lawn to the border hedge and a place he knew behind the holly bush where he used to climb over the garden wall as a lad. Once over the wall, he proceeded down the service alley to the road and hailed a cab to take him to Paddington Station.
He bought a ticket and hurried to the platform where the train was waiting, found an empty compartment in one of the carriages, and let himself in. It was only after the train had left the station and was past Ealing and heading for Slough that Douglas removed the leather folder once more.
Setting it on his knee, he carefully untied the strip of green ribbon and opened the cover. Inside was a single piece of paper with a simple handwritten note. It read:
Forgive me, Douglas. It is for the best.
Your loving Father
The Skin Map was gone.
Epilogue
The three travellers hitched a ride down from Montserrat Abbey in the mail truck that called on the monastery every afternoon. Upon reaching the village of El Bruc at the foot of the mountain, they decided it would be prudent to procure a weapon of some description for the onward journey. In the end, the only thing they could find was a sheathed hunting knife from the little general store on the village square.
“If that’s the best we can do, so be it,” concluded Kit. “We’re wasting time.”
Attaching the knife to his belt, Kit led the other two back to the highway and started off along the verge, following the tarmac strip as it wound along the river until, after a mile or two, they came to the place were Kit had been found by the hunters. Happily, there were no gun-toting farmers around this time, so they crossed the little stone bridge and headed up the rising slope towards the cliffs. As they walked, Kit tried to set the scene.
“It is the Stone Age. More primitive than you’ve ever imagined. No buildings, no machines, no metal, glass, or plastic. Skins, not cloth.” He patted his clothes. “It is nature in the raw, and it is man against the elements. That said, it is the middle of winter. At least it was when I left-and that means there are loads of hungry animals around, so we’ll have to make contact with the clan pretty sharpish if we want to avoid getting eaten.”
“Maybe we should have brought more clothes-something warmer?” wondered Wilhelmina.
“Carrying all that extra stuff would only slow us down. Anyway, I think we’ll be okay,” he told her. “Once we’ve rejoined the clan, we can get some skins and furs and whatever else we need if it’s really cold. We don’t need to spend a whole lot of time faffing about. We get to the Bone House and make the jump to the Spirit Well.”
Brother Lazarus said something in German, which Mina translated for Kit. “He is worried that the primitives will be frightened by us-that they might attack us.”
Kit stopped walking and turned to his companions. “Look, I can’t guarantee anything, as I’ve already said. But they never showed a trace of violence in my presence. They accepted me straight away, which is fairly amazing when you think about it. And, even if they are a little skittish, they’ll remember me-I was adopted by the clan, and you’re with me. I don’t anticipate any problems, so everyone just relax and follow my lead, okay?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Okay.”
A few minutes’ hard slog up the hillside brought them to the mouth of a cave.
“This is the place,” Kit announced. He glanced at the sun, which had passed midday. “We may have to wait awhile for the portal to become active.”
They put down their packs, and Wilhelmina consulted her ley lamp. As expected, the blue indicator lights were dark. “Nothing,” she announced. “But it’s early yet. I’ll keep an eye on it. In the meantime, show us this cave of yours.”
Brother Lazarus opened his pack and handed around the flashlights. Kit switched his on and off to check it. “Ready?” asked Kit when they had shouldered their packs once more. “Here we go. Watch your step.”
Moving into the mouth of the cave, he switched on his torch and stepped into the interior. The air was still and tepid with the faintly musty smell of mildew and fungus. Among a heap of rocks near the entrance, Kit retrieved his furry shirt-hidden where he had left it a few days earlier.
“You were wearing that?” asked Wilhelmina with a laugh.
“I’ll have you know this is the height of fashion,” Kit replied. “I made it myself.”
“You’re lucky the hunters didn’t shoot you,” she said.
Kit rolled up the shirt and stuffed it into his pack. “This way,” he said, and led them into the yawning dark. They followed the tunnel deeper into the mountain, their lights playing on the rough surface of the walls. Brother Lazarus took a keen scientific interest in the tunnel shape and rock formation, pausing now and again to examine a particularly interesting feature.
They reached the place where the winding passageway straightened out. Here Kit stopped and flashed his torch along the path he identified as containing the ley line. He had not previously seen it in such clear light, and it appeared different than he remembered. In his mind he had pictured the cave ley as a corridor of straight lines and right angles. But, although the floor of the tunnel was straight and even enough, the walls bulged and wobbled along a length whose end was quickly lost in the darkness beyond.
“Is this the place?” asked Mina, adding her light to his.
“I think so,” replied Kit. “It seems about right.” He produced his ley lamp and held it out. Not so much as a flicker of light emanated from the device. “Does your lamp show anything?”
Wilhelmina brought hers out and waved it around. “Still nothing,” she said. “What do you want to do now?”
“Wait, I guess,” said Kit.
The priest, who had been examining a large crystalline seam in the wall, joined them. “We have to wait a bit,” she told him in German. “The ley isn’t active yet.”
“No?” he asked, gazing at the object in her hand.
Mina glanced down. A faint blue sheen was visible in the tiny openings. Before she could open her mouth to tell Kit, the fickle glint faded and died. She stared at the gizmo, willing it to wake up again. “Come on,” she whispered. “Glow.”
“What are you doing?” asked Kit.
“Shh!” she said. “Watch.”
Even as she spoke, the row of lights flickered to life. Kit dug out his ley lamp and held it up. The device remained dark.
“There is definitely something here,” said Mina. “Keep watching.”
The indigo gleam deepened, strengthening by the second. Kit’s ley lamp, however, remained dead, the carapace a cold lump of metal. Mina’s ley lamp grew brighter.
“How are you doing that?” Kit asked.
“I’m not doing anything,” she said. “It’s just that this new lamp is more powerful than the old one. Upgrades, my friend.”
The priest reached out and moved Kit’s hand until the two devices were side by side. Slowly, the lights in Kit’s ley lamp began to glowa wavering gleam that gradually took hold and intensified until it matched the brightness of Mina’s device.
“Now, that’s interesting,” said Kit. He glanced at Mina’s face, her features bathed in the cool blue glow.
Brother Lazarus tapped his temple with a forefinger. “ S ehr interessant.”
“He says yes, it’s very interesting,” Mina translated.
“I got that,” said Kit. “Thanks.” He flicked his flashlight down the passage. “Well? This is the place. Let’s go.”
