The Keep

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 16Qualto swore and ran after Henk’s retreating form. With an effort — the big man was striding out — he overtook him and turned to stand in his path.

“Enough! Enough! Enough!” he shouted, each exclamation louder than the previous and each accompanied by a determined sweep of the hands. “I’m not going another step further. I’m cold and we’ve got a devil of a way to go back. Let’s get back to the common room — have a drink — a warm one — and a chat.”

Hesitantly Badr moved to his side in silent support.

Henk moved forward, almost as though to brush Qualto to one side, but Qualto’s hand shot out to rest squarely on the taller man’s chest.

“Henk, what are you doing?” Qualto’s voice rose in volume and pitch so that the last word had an incongruous squeak to it. The sound echoed a little, tremulously, and Henk started visibly. Qualto pressed home his advantage. “I said, enough! Turn round, right now, and take us back. Whatever’s bothering you can wait for another time.”

He pointed at Badr and moved to conciliation before Henk could reply.

“When the surveyor gets back with his equipment, our guest...” he laid emphasis on the last word and indicated Badr again, “...and he will be all over the place. They’ll get down here as a matter of course...”

“That’s right, Henk,” Badr intervened. “We have to measure everything — everything.” He too became conciliatory. “Quite possibly you’ll be able to help us. There’ll be nothing untoward here, you’ll see. A building’s a building — this one’s probably going to be more awkward than usual, but we’ll soon have it down on paper.”

Badr could see that Henk was almost leaning on Qualto’s hand and the little man was having to exert some force to prevent himself from being moved backwards. Then Henk relaxed and his expression changed.

“Down on paper,” he echoed, looking around him. There was a long silence. “No, I don’t think so.”

Badr decided not to argue the point. He had no idea what was bothering Henk or where they were and he had the distinct impression that Qualto was little wiser. All that mattered now was that Henk had to be turned about.

As if responding to the thought, Qualto’s other hand gently took Henk’s elbow and made to ease him round. For a moment there was a silent deadlock.

“I really would prefer to get back,” Badr said, a slight plea in his voice. “This isn’t exactly my idea of an evening stroll. It’s cold and we’ve come a long way, and it is getting late.”

“Suppose Nyk and the surveyor have come back,” Qualto added. “They’ll be wondering where...”

“They won’t be back until late tomorrow at the earliest.” Henk dismissed Qualto’s remark irritably, but at the same time responded to the pressure on his arm and to Badr’s solid presence planted firmly but discreetly in front of him. He looked round then gave a slight nod. “This wasn’t here,” he said, as a resigned parting shot, and turned back towards the junction. The others followed him. Badr felt reluctant to look back as he sensed the darkness reclaiming the passage behind them.

When they reached the junction, Badr found himself running his hand over the cold stonework as though to satisfy himself that it was not some bizarre illusion. He reproached himself for his folly, but admitted that he would be much happier when they were back to somewhere that he recognized.

They walked for what seemed to Badr to be a long time. Probably because it’s uphill, he thought, though he felt a considerable sense of relief when the lights in the passage ahead flickered into life to show the door, still standing open. Qualto too, straightened up at the sight and held out his hands as though to clap them, but the gesture faltered into an uncertain dither. Nevertheless, he strode out more purposefully.

As when he had passed through it before, Badr noted that the dark recess of the door was unusually long — far longer than any wall thickness he had so far encountered in the Keep. What could be above this? he thought, as he lifted the hook from the latch and closed the door gently. At the last, there was a resistance and as he overcame it there came again a faint sound like a distant moan, and a waft of cold air.

He was about to make some remark about stiff hinges, but decided not to. No one else spoke, and Qualto motioned Henk forward again with a nod.

As they walked along, Badr did his best to ignore Henk’s odd behaviour by thinking about the problems that surveying this building was going to present. For one thing, he mused, this little escapade showed that it was very much bigger than it appeared to be from the outside and with these maze-like passages there was a real possibility of getting dangerously lost. He must discuss this with the surveyor when he returned. A few simple safety precautions would be advisable.

He was still in this mood when they eventually came back to the Great Hall. It seemed to Badr that the gaping figures protruding from the wall had the look of having fallen suddenly silent at some unwelcome intrusion. He scowled at the unwanted image and glowered briefly at Henk’s back.

Damn the man and his antics, giving everyone the creeps — doors and corridors appearing from nowhere! He was surprised, on reflection, that he hadn’t laughed outright. Probably just good manners, he mused. Or perhaps taking on protective coloration amongst strangers — Henk’s manner had not invited mirth and he was the only one who knew where they were. He abandoned his reflections. He knew where he was now — some food and a warm drink as Qualto had suggested and the whole venture would be seen with a different perspective. Maybe even Henk could be softened into some degree of geniality. Even so, the sooner he and the surveyor were striding through this place, doing their job, the better. Marking, measuring, re-capturing the patterns and shapes that the original designers and builders had laid down. Rooting into its nooks and crannies, ferreting out its puzzles and seeming anomalies — generally disentangling it. The thought raised his spirits. He had been impressed by Josyff’s work the other day — they’d work well together. Whatever surprises this place had in store for them — and doubtless there’d be plenty — they’d yield to the combined persistence and professionalism of the two of them.

Then they were back in the common room. Qualto began immediately laying into the dull fire but merely succeeded in reducing it to further sullenness. Before he could destroy it utterly, Henk gently wrested the poker from him.

“Food?” he said, his eyes indicating the door.

Qualto held his gaze uncertainly for a moment, then grunted and left.

Badr sat down without comment and pulled his chair nearer to the fire.

“I’ll soon have it going,” Henk said, rooting in a carved wooden box by the side of the hearth and taking out some coals and kindling timbers. “Qualto’s a first class cook, but when it comes to fires...” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “He has a way with them — rather like a bucket of water has.”

Badr chuckled. Henk’s recent strangeness seemed to be visibly falling away from him as his long hands coaxed dull redness into flames.

“An ancient solace, the fire,” Badr ventured as the fire began to blaze up.

Henk nodded but did not reply.

Qualto returned, carefully carrying a tray on which was a large bowl, three smaller ones and a loaf. An aroma filled the room which, had the two waiting men not already been hungry, would have made them so.

“Just some soup left over,” Qualto disclaimed, deftly wielding a serving ladle. “I keep making for five instead of three.”

They ate in silence.

Badr finished first. He had not realized how hungry he had become. He thanked Qualto, then leaning back in his chair, idly picked up the book that Qualto had been reading earlier. He did not recognize either the title or the author.

“It’s very interesting,” Qualto volunteered. “You like to read? There are quite a few more by the same man in the book room.”

“Book room?” Badr queried.

Qualto made vague navigational gestures with his steaming spoon. “Didn’t you and the surveyor come across it the other day?”

“No,” Badr replied. “It was slow going with those old instruments, we didn’t get a great deal done and what we did wasn’t particularly satisfactory.”

“Oh, there’s a wealth of stuff in the book room. Shall I show you where it is?”

The comfort of the chair and Qualto’s soup were spreading a pleasant lethargy through Badr and his immediate reaction was to decline the offer. Some brightness in Qualto’s manner however, prevented him. He held out an acquiescing hand and smiled conditionally.

“Providing it’s not too far.”

Qualto was finishing his soup. “Neither far nor cold,” he said. “Come on.”

The book room was indeed not far, though it was at the end of one of the many passages that Badr had noted but not yet ventured along. As they entered through tall double doors, the lights came on, revealing a large rectangular room. Book-filled shelves lined all four walls. Badr let out a small exclamation. The room was unlike any he had encountered in the Keep so far, not least because it was thickly carpeted and had a silence that was noticeably different to the echoing silences he had become familiar with. The lighting was also brighter.

The shelves extended to at least twice his own height, Badr judged, and they were served by sloping ladders mounted on rails. He reached out and touched one curiously. It moved silently and smoothly.

“Nyk makes sure they work properly,” Qualto said. “Even more partial to this place than I am, Nyk is. Any sign of stiffness, or a squeak, and he’ll drop whatever he’s doing to put it right.”

Badr nodded casually. “It’s very... calm,” he said, unconsciously lowering his voice. “Where did all these books come from?”

“Most of them have been here for ever,” Qualto replied. “But every now and then a batch will come up from the village. We catalogue them, put them on the shelves.” He indicated an elegant wooden cabinet of small drawers in the middle of a wide table at the centre of the room.

“The Estate sends them?” Badr asked.

Qualto shrugged. “They just arrive,” he said.

There were eight large tables, each with six chairs, placed symmetrically about the room.

“There must have been a lot of people here once.”

Qualto shrugged again but did not reply.

“May I?” Badr inquired, indicating the waiting shelves.

“Certainly,” Qualto replied.

“I’ll put them back where I found them,” Badr said, anticipating a plea.

Qualto raised his hands in mock urgency. “No — that’s the way we lose them. Just leave them on the tables. We’ll put them back. I’ll leave you to have a look around — see if there’s anything you fancy reading. You know your way back?”

Badr acknowledged the mixture of concern and gentle taunt with a soft laugh. “Yes, I think I can manage that. If not, I’ll just shout.”

Qualto smiled broadly. “I’ll be listening.”

Then he left. The doors made only a muffled click as he closed them.

So different, Badr mused, as he strolled around the room. Quiet, bright, clean, warm, and yet, though there were no windows, with a freshness in the air. He might have been in part of a large city library. It seemed that the Keep was going to keep presenting ever new revelations and questions. Plenty of time for that, though. For the moment he could just browse.

The drawers in the cabinet on the central table all bore labels, each marked in a neat, clear handwriting. He opened the one marked “K” and began fingering through the cards headed “Keep, The”.

There were a great many. He drew out the first one part way, anxious not to risk jeopardizing whatever filing system Qualto and the others used by removing it and putting it back in the wrong place. His concern proved to be unnecessary; the card would only move so far. Badr’s forehead creased in curiosity. How the devil had they contrived to do that? Was this place going to be nothing but puzzles and mysteries? Still, he could read it — there was the title and the author and...

What? The card bore no identifying letter or number to indicate where the book could be found. Nor, for that matter, did any of the shelves, he noted, glancing round. He looked at the card again. Underneath the title was a rectangle with sides divided and sub-divided into smaller rectangles, one of which was black. It took him a moment, some counting of the banks of shelves and a glance at some other cards to work out that this was a representation of the shelves, the black rectangle presumably being the book in question.

As proved to be the case.

Badr was smiling to himself at both the ingenuity and the strangeness of the system as he located the book. It was almost as if it had been prepared for people who could not read, he thought ironically as he sat down at one of the tables. He also allowed himself a brief smugness at having fathomed out so quickly how the card worked.

A Brief History of the Keep by S Airthieid, said the spine of the book.

Not that brief, Badr reflected, hefting it.

He turned immediately to the back of the book.

Splendid, he growled inwardly. No index.

Then he riffled quickly through it, searching idly for plans or sketches. Somewhat to his surprise there were quite a few. He stared down at one, picked at random. Like the layout of the book as a whole, it was in an elaborate style that gave away its age. The current fashion was for simplicity, the avoidance of unnecessary decoration or commentary. He saw the logic of that — indeed, agreed with it — but there was still a slight frisson of concern for worthwhile things lost: care, attention to detail in the execution of the drawings, drafting skills that were useful in their day but were no more.

The quietness of another age, he mused, running his fingers gently over the drawing. Then again, it had been a harder age and such skills were as much a product of fear for one’s job as pride in one’s skills. The present closed about him again. He wouldn’t be so sentimental about times gone if he had to survey this place with those old instruments! Still, someone must have done something.

He turned to the front of the book, and gave an audible grunt of surprise. Just as there was no index so there was no information about the author or how the book had come to be written.

He leaned back, shaking his head. The chair was very comfortable and he could feel the effects of Henk’s tour and Qualto’s soup starting to wash over him. He stifled a yawn and began to read, at the same time warning himself not to go to sleep. He read the same line twice — three times...

Then he was wide awake and sitting upright.

The ladders that served the shelves were all moving.