There was a frantic scratching sound from the other side of the gap and both men started to make soothing sounds assuming that it was Claire clawing at the dirt in fear but then Saracen looked down at Claire’s motionless legs and a nightmare was born. If Claire was still unconscious…what was making the scraping sound?
“Oh Jesus Christ Almighty,” said Saracen in a faltering whisper. His lungs went into a spasm of revulsion as he realised the awful truth. MacQuillan too had realised the significance of Claire’s lifeless legs and the scraping noise. “Rats,” he said as if afraid of the word.
Saracen nodded. “She must have been trying to crawl through the gap and got herself stuck between the rats and freedom.”
“Is she dead?” asked MacQuillan.
“She’s dead.” replied Saracen who had been searching for a pulse.
“Oh my God,” said MacQuillan mesmerised by horror.
“The rats are still trapped inside,” said Saracen. “We’ll have to be careful when we pull her body out.”
MacQuillan did not need the warning for his imagination had gone into overdrive. They pulled hard and moved Claire’s body back through the gap slowly and paused before the final tug. “Ready?” asked MacQuillan.
Saracen nodded and they moved Claire’s body so that a gap between her shoulder and the roof of the gap appeared. As soon as it did a rat flew through the space and spread-eagled itself across Saracen’s face visor before scrambling down over his shoulder and off into the blackness. Saracen looked down and saw a rat still fastened to Claire’s face. He overcame a tide of nausea and swung his torch at the thing sending it flying across the room. Several other rats joined in the exodus from the chamber and then there was silence.
Saracen looked at Claire and had to swallow hard to contain the urge to vomit. He heard MacQuillan do the same. “God and she was so beautiful,” he whispered looking down at the featureless tissue. MacQuillan turned away.
When they had both sufficiently recovered MacQuillan said, “You’ve got your rat.”
Saracen followed MacQuillan’s torch beam and saw that it was resting on the rat that he had hit with his torch. It was lying in a bundle in the corner. MacQuillan fetched it and Saracen prepared his equipment. He opened the lids of several containers in readiness and then removed the guard from a scalpel blade as MacQuillan held up the animal to expose its throat. Saracen cut straight across it and collected the blood, filling one container after another until the animal was completely exsanguinated then MacQuillan tossed the carcase away.
Saracen was packing the bottles into his bag when he heard MacQuillan say, “Good God, look at that!”
Saracen saw MacQuillan reach through the gap where Claire had been trapped and remove something. He held it up and shone his torch on it. It was a gold chalice encrusted with rubies as big as birds’ eggs. “So that’s why she was trying to get in there,” said MacQuillan. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? It must be worth millions.”
“Leave the damned thing,” said Saracen. “God knows how many people have died for it.”
“Let’s not over-react,” whispered MacQuillan, examining the chalice from every angle. Surely you don’t believe that old curse nonsense.”
“Let’s get this blood back. We’ll take Claire’s body with us.” said Saracen, arranging the body so that he could grip her arms. “You take her feet.”
MacQuillan stuffed the chalice inside his protective suit and gripped Claire’s ankles. “Ready.”
They had almost reached the iron gate when they heard footsteps coming towards them. It was the soldiers and they had brought more rat traps. Saracen thanked them but explained that they had managed to catch a healthy rat. He handed the blood samples to the sergeant, telling him to get them to Beasdale as fast as possible. “He knows where they have to go.”
“And the traps sir?”
“Just leave them.”
As the soldiers took charge of Claire’s body and turned to head back along the passage the air was filled with a rumbling sound from above. It grew louder and they could make out the characteristic throb of a diesel engine. Saracen looked at the sergeant in alarm and said, “You did warn them about not crossing the line of the tunnel?” He could see by the look on the man’s face that he had not. The man turned on his heel and started running back to the entrance while the soldiers bearing Claire’s body followed as quickly as they could.
As the truck passed overhead the roof of the tunnel collapsed. It was quite sudden; there was no warning trickle of dirt, no creaking sounds. The roof just imploded some thirty metres from where Saracen and MacQuillan stood.
Saracen stared at the wall of rock in stunned silence. The sergeant, the soldiers, Claire’s body, the blood samples were all gone, buried under tons of black stone. Two more stone sets fell from the roof and broke the spell. “The rest is going to go!” Saracen yelled. They turned to run but MacQuillan tripped and fell. The chalice he had been clutching flew from his grasp and sailed between the bars of the gate. “Leave it!” urged Saracen but MacQuillan was determined. He crawled over to the bars and stretched his arm through to grope blindly for the lost chalice in spite of Saracen’s warning.
Instead of the chalice MacQuillan’s hand found the rat trap that he had set earlier by the gate. The hammer released and smashed down on his fingers making it impossible for him to pull his hand back through the bars. He cried out in pain as he tried to free himself and overhead the roof began to move. One stone fell, then another. Saracen threw himself backwards as the whole lot collapsed. As he did so he caught a glimpse of the terror on MacQuillan’s face just before a huge stone fell and crushed him.
Saracen was alone in the infirmary of Skelmoris Abbey save for fifteen skeletons and the rats. He was exhausted physically and mentally and could not be certain how long he had been sitting there in the darkness. He had switched off his lamp to conserve the batteries after a fruitless search for another way out. Was there any point in going on, he wondered. The odds were hopelessly against him and time was running out. He brought out the revolver that the soldier had given him and weighed it in his hand while he considered his position. God, he was tired. Revulsion, fear and anguish had conspired to drain him of every last vestige of hope. He brought the cold muzzle of the gun to rest against his temple and curled his index finger lightly round the trigger. He caressed the curved steel and flirted with an increase in pressure. The thought of Jill stopped him.
Ye Gods! How clear it all seemed now. The hurt and pain that Marion had caused him had been much greater than he had ever cared to admit. His reluctance to concede that he had fallen in love with Jill had just been fear that it might happen all over again. Claire had been right about that. He did love Jill. Of that he was now very sure. The guilt he felt after his fling with Clare should have told him but he had fought against it and now it was too late. He would never be able to look into Jill’s beautiful face and tell her how much he loved her, how much he adored her and wanted her. The thought of her hair on the pillow and her face smiling up at him filled him with an almost unbearable sadness.
The spectre of death was returning to court Saracen when the sound of scurrying paws startled him out of his trance. He whipped the gun round and blazed away at where he thought the sound had come from.
The chamber was transformed from being a silent tomb into an echo chamber filled with endlessly reverberating thunder and the blackness was punctuated with flashes of orange lightning. “Bastards!” Saracen yelled. “Stinking, verminous bastards!”
He started to tremble all over and hysteria made his breathing erratic. Curses were interspersed with sobs as he dropped the gun and placed both hands over his face, taking what comfort he could from the feel of his fingertips massaging his skin. The moment passed and he came back from the brink. “For God’s sake get a grip,” he muttered as he got to his feet. If only he could find a way out there might still be time to destroy the rat colony before Beasdale acted.
If only. He reloaded the gun, picked up his lamp and returned to the North wall of the cellars.
At the end of another fruitless search where he had felt his way along each stone from ground to shoulder level along the entire North face of the Abbey cellars Saracen sat down to rest. The silence was broken periodically by the sound of running feet in the blackness but he had now come to terms with this. As he sat there listening, it occurred to him that the movement of the rats was not entirely random. There seemed to be a constant East to West movement along the corridor outside the chamber where he sat. He tested his theory by waiting for the next
