And suddenly, very suddenly, he realized that all the others were not looking at Stuart, they were looking at Tommy and at him.
He felt a pain in his chest as though someone had begun to press on his breastbone with impossibly strong hands.
He turned, desperately searching the faces around him-Enzo, Harberson, Elvera, and the others, staring at him with malign expressions, Elvera herself staring straight up into his eyes. And right beside him, Timothy Hollingshed, staring coldly down at him.
Only Tommy did not stare at him. Tommy stared across the table, and when Marklin looked to see what had so distracted him, what had made him oblivious to the perfect horror of all this, he saw that Yuri Stefano, clothed in proper funereal black, was standing only a few feet away.
Yuri! Yuri was here, and had been here all along! Had Yuri killed Stuart? Why in the name of God hadn’t Stuart been clever, why hadn’t he known how to deflect Yuri? The whole point of the intercept, of the bogus excommunication, was that Yuri would never, never be able to reach the Motherhouse again. And that idiot Lanzing, to have let Yuri escape from the glen.
“No,” said Elvera, “the bullet found its mark. But it wasn’t fatal. And he’s come home.”
“You were Gordon’s accomplices,” said Hollingshed disdainfully. “Both of you. And you and only you are left.”
“His accomplices,” said Yuri from the other side of the table. “His bright ones, his geniuses.”
“No!” said Marklin. “This is not true! Who is accusing us?”
“Stuart accused you,” said Harberson. “The papers scattered all through his tower house accused you, his diary accused you, his poetry accused you, Tessa accused you.”
Tessa!
“How dare you enter his house!” thundered Tommy, red with rage as he glared about him.
“You don’t have Tessa, I don’t believe you!” Marklin screamed. “Where is Tessa? It was all for Tessa!” And then, realizing his terrible error, he realized in full what he already knew.
Oh, why hadn’t he listened to his instinct! His instinct had told him to leave, and now his instinct told him, without question-
“I’m a British citizen,” said Tommy under his breath. “I won’t be detained here for any sort of vigilante court.”
At once the crowd shifted and moved against them, pushing them slowly from the head of the table, towards the foot. Hands had taken hold of Marklin’s arms. That unspeakable Hollingshed had hold of him. He heard Tommy protest once more, “Let me go,” but it was now utterly impossible. They were being pressed into the corridor and down it, the soft thudding of feet on the waxed boards echoing up beneath the wooden arches. It was a mob which had caught him, a mob from which he couldn’t conceivably escape.
With a loud metallic shuffle and crack, the doors of the old elevator were thrown back. Marklin was shoved inside, turning frantically, a claustrophobia gripping him that again pushed him to scream.
But the doors were sliding shut. He and Tommy stood pressed against each other, surrounded by Harberson, Enzo, Elvera, the dark-haired tall one, and Hollingshed and several other men, strong men.
The elevator was clattering and wobbling its way down. Into the cellars.
“What are you going to do to us?” he demanded suddenly.
“I insist upon being taken to the main floor again,” said Tommy disdainfully. “I insist upon immediate release.”
“There are certain crimes we find unspeakable,” said Elvera softly, her eyes fixed on Tommy now, thank heaven. “Certain things which, as an order, we cannot possibly forgive or forget.”
“Which means what, I’d like to know!” said Tommy.
The heavy old elevator stopped with a shattering jolt. Then it was out into the passage, the hands hurting Marklin’s arms.
They were being taken along some unknown route in the cellars, down a corridor supported with crude wooden beams, rather like a mineshaft. The smell of the earth was around them. All the others were beside them or behind them now. They could see two doors at the end of this passage, large wooden doors inset beneath a low arch, and bolted shut.
“You think you can detain me here against my will?” said Tommy. “I’m a British citizen.”
“You killed Aaron Lightner,” said Harberson.
“You killed others in our name,” said Enzo. And there was his brother beside him, repeating in a maddening echo the very same words.
“You besmirched us in the eyes of others,” said Hollingshed. “You did unspeakable evil in our name!”
“I confess to nothing,” said Tommy.
“We don’t require you to confess,” said Elvera.
“We don’t require anything of you,” said Enzo.
“Aaron died believing your lies!” said Hollingshed.
“God damn it, I will not stand for this!” roared Tommy.
But Marklin could not bring himself to be indignant, outraged, whatever it was he ought to be, that they were holding him prisoner, forcing him now towards the doors.
“Wait a minute, wait, please, don’t. Wait,” he stammered. He begged. “Did Stuart kill himself? What happened to Stuart? If Stuart were here, he would exonerate us, you can’t really think that someone of Stuart’s years …”
“Save your lies for God,” said Elvera softly. “All night long we’ve examined the evidence. We’ve spoken with your white-haired goddess. Unburden your soul of the truth to us, if you wish, but don’t bother us with your lies.”
The figures closed ranks tightly against them. They were being moved closer and closer to this chamber or room or dungeon, perhaps, Marklin couldn’t know.
“Stop!” he cried suddenly. “In the name of God! Stop! There are things you don’t know about Tessa, things you simply don’t understand.”
“Don’t cater to them, you idiot!” snarled Tommy. “Do you think my father won’t be asking questions! I’m not a bloody orphan! I have a huge family. Do you think-”
A strong arm gripped Marklin about the waist. Another was clamped around his neck. The doors were being opened inward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tommy struggling, knee bent, foot kicking at the men behind him.
An icy gust of air rose from the open doors. Blackness. I cannot be locked in blackness. I cannot!
And finally he screamed. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. He screamed, the terrible cry begun before he was pushed forward, before he felt himself topple from the threshold, before he realized he was plunging down and down into the blackness, into the nothingness, that Tommy was falling with him, cursing them, threatening them, or so it seemed. It was quite impossible to know. His scream was echoing too loudly off the stone walls.
He’d struck the ground. The blackness was outside him and also within. Then the awakening to pain throughout his limbs. He lay among hard and jagged things, cutting things. Dear God! And when he sat upright, his hand fell on objects which crumbled and broke and gave off a dull ashen smell.
He squinted in the single shaft of light that fell down upon him, and looking upwards, he realized with horror that it came from the door through which he’d fallen, over the heads and shoulders of the figures who filled it in black silhouette.
“No, you can’t do it!” he screamed, scrambling forward in the darkness, and then, without compass points or touchstones of any kind, climbing to his feet.
He couldn’t see their darkened faces; he couldn’t make out even the shapes of their heads. He’d fallen many feet, many, perhaps thirty feet, even. He didn’t know.
“Stop it, you can’t keep us here, you can’t put us here!” he roared, raising his hands to them, imploring them. But the figures had stepped back out of the lighted opening, and with horror he heard a familiar sound. It was the hinges creaking as the light died, and the doors were closed.
“Tommy, Tommy, where are you?” he cried desperately. The echo frightened him. It was locked in with him. It had nowhere to go but up against him, against his ears. He reached out, patting the floor, touching these soft, broken, crumbling things, and suddenly he felt something wet and warm!
