“At least it’s not Olympic size. Hey, do you suppose it’s heated?”
“Fuck if I want to find out, looks like nobody’s cleaned it since the First World War. Okay, let’s back up a room and try the first door on the right.”
One hour and fifty-three minutes—and five densely scribed sheets of A4 graph paper—into their mapping run, Game Boy cried uncle. “Listen, I gotta go bad.” (They had just opened a door onto a water closet. The splendid white ceramic throne perched beneath an overhead cistern bearing the monogram of Thos. Crapper. The walls were dusty painted brickwork, illuminated by a small glass skylight above the entrance. Vintage: late Victorian, servants, for the use of.)
“Okay, I guess.” Doc leaned against the wall while Game Boy went inside and pulled the door almost all the way shut, leaving a crack to allow for conversation.
“This is fucking crazytown,” Game Boy complained as he did his business. “We’ve done what, two hundred rooms?”
“One hundred and eighty-four rooms, thirty-nine corridors, twelve staircases, four swimming pools, nine garages, five coal cellars, three empty lift shafts, and the maze.”
“Yeah, the maze. What the fuck was up with that, Doc?”
“I have no idea what was up with that, Boy.” Game Boy frowned furiously as he pinched a loaf. Doc winced at the splash: “I did not need to hear that.”
“Sorry not sorry. Who builds a giant glassed-over conservatory on the roof of their house and puts a hedge maze in it? With memorial headstones? Then leaves the hedge to die?”
“Did you notice how old they were?”
“What, the hedge—”
“—The memorial stones: they were all for kids or teenagers…” Doc trailed off. “Are you going to be much longer? My feet hurt and I think we skipped lunch.”
“No, I’m nearly done here.” Too late, Game Boy saw to his dismay that the toilet paper was weird and shiny-surfaced stuff. “Oh yuck.”
Doc sighed. “Let’s head back, I think I’m done exploring for now.”
Game Boy finished up hastily, stood, and restored his attire to a semblance of order. When he pulled the chain the cistern groaned ominously, then vomited a torrent of red-brown water into the toilet bowl. It’s probably rust, he consoled himself.
“I want to check one of the ground-level exits before we go home,” Game Boy mused. “They worry me. How do we know nothing can sneak in and find their way through the hedge maze and the library and murder us in our sleep if we don’t check that they’re locked? Also, where do they come out?”
Doc began to say something, then swallowed his tongue. He tried again. “Yeah, smart thinking. Let’s open the door to some place that shouldn’t exist in our universe and see if there’s something horrible on the other side.”
“Yes, let’s!” Game Boy snarked.
Retreating through the manifold was faster than breaking new ground, although they had a couple of nasty moments when Game Boy screwed up his left and right turns. “I’m really getting a workout,” Doc wheezed as they finally made it back onto the first sheet of graph paper.
“You should get out more.” Game Boy paused to consult the map. “If we take the next left, then the second right, go down the gallery to the end, through the kitchen, and take the next left onto the landing, there’s a servants’ staircase. It’s not far off our route. Wanna do it?”
“Yes. Let me just catch my breath first? I’m not cut out for this Lara Croft shit.”
“Come on, it’s not far! We’ve only walked—” Game Boy chunked average room sizes in his head—“about three kilometers!” He giggled, a high, silly chime of pure delight. “And we haven’t met any wandering monsters yet! Not even a gelatinous cube!”
They entered the servants’ staircase via a doorway from an old-fashioned kitchen that was, thankfully, refrigerator-free. It was severe and narrow, its walls plain, the stone treads of the steep steps worn from use. They descended five floors, until Doc was sweating and complaining. Game Boy hastily pencilled in the landings and doors. Finally they bottomed out on another landing with three doors. One of them clearly opened outside.
“If we go out—” Doc hesitated—“we need to wedge it firmly. There’s no telling … just a quick look?”
“Yes, yes! A quick look!” Despite his hunger, Game Boy bounced up and down on his toes. “I just want to know!”
“How does this open—” Doc peered at the door. There was an old-fashioned keyhole below the doorknob, and very sturdy cast-iron bolts at top and bottom. He slid back the bolts, then reached an impasse. “How do we unlock it?”
“With one of these?” Game Boy excitedly flourished a bunch of slightly rusty keys bound with garden twine. They’d been hanging on a nail hammered into the side of the stairs, where Doc had missed it.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Doc reached for the keys.
“No! Mine!” Game Boy darted in and shoved the biggest key at the hole. By luck or something else, it turned. “Leeeroy—”
“Hush.” Doc twisted the doorknob and pulled, then froze, blocking the doorway. An odd noise came from beyond him: a distant ululation, rising and falling like the mating call of zeppelins.
“What’s that noise—”
“Fuck!” Doc stepped back, sending Game Boy stumbling against the stairs as he slammed the door. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I only ever heard them in old movies, should have recognized them sooner.”
“Not cool, dude! What the fuck got in you?”
“Those were air raid sirens,” said Doc. He stared at Game Boy in silence. “Do you still want to go out?” he asked.
Game Boy shook his head sullenly. “Want lunch.”
“I think … that would be for the best.”
Wendy had a bunch of
