'Before I came along nothing! Jenny told me you were good friends, but that was all. Anything else was what you assumed yourself.'
The tutor wheeled away, his boots making sucking noises as he stomped towards the house. Fender hurried after him.
'Hey, Vie, I didn't mean ...'
But Whittaker marched on, ignoring Fender's words, and the rat catcher fell silent once more. When the tutor's foot slipped and he went down on one knee in the mud, Fender reached out for him and, suppressing a grin, helped him to his feet.
Whittaker looked at him sullenly. 'Okay, maybe I did imagine much of it. But I do care about her, even though I've got my own ...
responsibilities. I don't want to see her hurt.'
'I understand, Vie, believe me, I understand. I've no intention of hurting Jenny; I'm in too deep for that I'm sorry you're the loser, but try to see: you were never really in the race.'
Whittaker shrugged slowly. 'Perhaps you're right. I don't know.
She'll make up her own mind.'
You poor idiot, Fender thought. She already had. And strangely, right at that moment, so had he. When he left the forest, his work done, Jenny would be leaving with him.
'Come on,' he said, 'let's look at the house.'
They continued their journey, boots squelching noisily as they sank deeper into the mud. A low, barbed-wire fence appeared on their left, presumably to keep the pigs from the lush vegetation on the other side.
That was part of the gardens,' Whittaker explained, not looking at Fender, his voice low. They stretch right back and around the house itself. It's like a jungle round there.'
By now they were close to the gutted manor house and Fender was surprised at its true size. He had only had a side-view as they approached along the track but now, as the rough-hewn road swept on past the entrance, he could see the whole frontage. The large ground-floor windows and arch-shaped door were barricaded with corrugated iron, decorated with mindless, sprayed-on graffiti. Rubble was heaped against its walls as though, year by year, more and more brickwork had dislodged itself from the upper floors and formed a defensive barrier around the perimeter. The first- and second-floor windows were no longer black and ominous, for he could see the sky through them, as most of the building's roof was completely demolished.
The many chimney stacks were perched precariously on inner walls, rising above the main shell like solemn sentinels. A balustrade ran round the roof-top, joined at the centre by a triangle of grey stonework that stood above the projecting wall of the main frontage.
From where they stood, the whole structure seemed to dominate the surrounding countryside.
'It must have been some place in its day,' Fender said.
Whittaker made no comment, but turned off the main track, taking an even muddier path that ran alongside the building.
There are old stables around the side here,' he called back. They've been converted into pig-pens.'
Fender followed, treading warily through the mire, clutching his protective helmet in one hand. He concentrated on one foot at a time, choosing the firmer patches of mud and avoiding the water-filled troughs. When he looked up, the tutor had disappeared round the corner of a wall jutting out from the side of the main building which obviously formed the outer wall of the stables. As he rounded the corner, he saw Whittaker with his back to him, looking into the gloomy interiors of two facing stable blocks. The floors of both sections were covered with deep layers of straw and, as Fender narrowed his eyes to pierce the shadows, he saw bulky, pink shapes lying amongst it, their bodies half-concealed. He almost choked on the nauseous smell and wondered how even an animal could live with such a stench.
Whittaker turned his head towards him. There they are,' he said.
'Sleeping like babies.'
'What a lovely life,' said Fender, moving past Whittaker for a closer look.
'If you like muck and dirt,' the tutor said. He saw Fender suddenly stiffen. What's wrong? What is it?'
Fender's voice was low, almost a whisper. Take a closer look.'
Whittaker frowned and peered into the gloom. 'I can't see...'
'Closer. Look, just over there. That one.' Fender was pointing at a nearby recumbent form. The tutor edged forward until Fender grabbed his arm. 'No further. Can't you see from here?'
This time it was Whittaker who stiffened. 'Oh God,' he said. 'It looks like blood.'
'Look at the others. There's no movement, no breathing. And listen there's no noise at all.'
Whittaker slowly shook his head. They're dead.'
The rat catcher moved forward, his senses alert, eyes searching for dark-haired shapes among rough bedding. He knelt down and pulled at the straw, clearing an area around one of the still bodies. The pig had been torn to pieces, its neck ripped, the head almost severed from its body. There were only stumps where its legs had once been and the stomach was punctured with large holes from which its insides had been dragged through, presumably to be devoured. Fender now realized that the terrible stench had come from corrupted flesh. The pigs had been dead for a long time.
Whittaker was uncovering another decomposing body and as Fender stood, his eyes becoming accustomed to the gloomy interior, he saw they were littered all around the stable, a carnage of destroyed animals. Most of the bodies were shrivelled, bearing little resemblance to the creatures they once were, the flesh of their underbellies gone.
The rats must have attacked them at night while they were sleeping,'
Fender said. They had no chance at all. Not even to get out into the open.'
'But they're only half-eaten. Some of them...'
