House of Bones Page 10

  Lucy took the phone. “There is – if you can manage it. See if you can open up Mr Vane’s desk and get copies of his keys. Then we’ll be able to visit more of his houses – all of them, if we have to. All we need is one piece of really concrete evidence.”

  “I don’t know,” said Courtney. “Supposing I get caught? I don’t want to sound like a coward or anything, but I don’t want that statue coming after me, no way.”

  “So you really do believe us.”

  “I don’t think I have any choice, do I? Either you’re stark-staring mad, the both of you, or else you’re telling me the truth.”

  “Has Cleaty said anything about us not showing up for work?”

  “I told him you’d both caught Liam’s cold. I don’t think he believed me but he didn’t seem to care. He’s been acting very strangely. He keeps leaving the office for hours on end and coming back all peculiar, like he’s got something on his mind.”

  “What about Mr Vane?”

  “No sign of him at all.”

  “Thanks, Courtney. We’ll call you later. And do try to get hold of those keys.”

  They spent the morning with a map of the British Isles spread out on Uncle Robin’s dining table, covered with a sheet of tracing paper. Using John’s copy of the special list, they pinpointed every one of Mr Vane’s properties, twenty-seven of them altogether. Then they sat back and stared at the map they had drawn and tried to make sense out of it.

  “Maybe there’s no logic in it at all,” said John, drinking tea. “Maybe some houses are haunted and some aren’t, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Uncle Robin came in, sucking on a pipe that wouldn’t light. He leaned over their map and studied it for a very long time without saying anything.

  “What do these crosses represent?” he asked them, at last.

  “Houses. We’ve been trying to work out some connection between them. The trouble is, there just doesn’t seem to be any. Some of them are old, some of them are new. And they’re scattered all over the place.”

  Uncle Robin ran his finger north-westwards up the map, through a number of the crosses, until it reached Derbyshire. “Not exactly scattered” he said.

  “What do you mean?” asked John, getting out of his chair and standing beside him.

  “Well, look. If you were to draw a line from this house here in Salisbury to this house here in Bromsgrove, up near Birmingham, and then on to this house in Congleton, what would you get?”

  John was perplexed, but Uncle Robin picked up a newspaper and used the edge of it like a ruler.

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” said John. “A completely straight line.”

  “That’s right. And that’s unusual enough, in itself. But this isn’t any old completely straight line, is it? Look where else this line runs through.” With the tip of his tobacco-stained forefinger, he slowly retraced its route through the English shires.

  “It runs through Stonehenge,” said John.

  “That’s it … you’ve twigged it. And not just Stonehenge, but look here – this Iron Age fort at Old Sarum, and Salisbury Cathedral, and this Iron Age camp at Clearbury Ring, and this Iron Age hill fort at Frankenbury Camp. All of your houses exactly line up with three-thousand-year-old ancient monuments.”

  Lucy limped up and stared at the map, too. “And?” she wanted to know.

  “And there’s only one explanation. This line is the Old Sarum Ley.”

  “I don’t get it,” said John. “What’s the Old Sarum Ley?”

  “It’s one of Britain’s main ley lines, that’s what.”

  John turned to Lucy but all Lucy could do was shrug.

  Uncle Robin said, “Ley lines are straight, unwavering lines that run from one ancient site to another, from one side of the country to the other. Mathematically straight. They’re still a mystery, as far as scientists are concerned, because the only way those monuments could have been aligned so accurately would have been by very advanced geometry and a knowledge of astronomy which people simply didn’t possess in those days. We’re talking about 900 BC, even earlier.”

  He peered at the map even more intently. Then he said, “Fetch me that T-square.” John passed it to him, and he began to draw criss-cross lines all across their map.

  “There,” he said. “I don’t know what you’ve got yourselves into, but here’s your answer.”

  “The answer to what, Uncle?”

  “The answer to what you’ve been drawing on your map. Every one of these houses falls exactly on an ancient ley line. Now, I don’t know what trouble you’ve been in, and I know that I’ve promised not to ask, but not a single one of these houses was built on any of these sites by accident.”

  “You’re sure about that?” John asked him.

  “Of course I’m sure, lad, I wrote a book about it. The Way of the Druids. Awen Press, 1962. I’ve got a copy here somewhere if you want to take a look.”

  “So what are ley lines?” asked Lucy.

  “They’re supposed to be lines of incredible magical force, running through the earth’s crust. They’re like a kind of primitive Internet, if you like, because they were supposed to be capable of carrying messages and warnings – and some scholars say that they were even capable of carrying solid objects, like stones, or daggers, or magical talismans – right from one side of the country to the other. The legend is that the stones from Stonehenge were carried through the earth along ley lines.”

  “But those stones weigh tonnes and tonnes.”

  “That’s right, they do. But some experts say that goes to show just how powerful the ley lines are. They were supposed to have been there since the earth was first created, but it was the Druids who discovered them first, about 1000 BC.”

  “Oh, right. The Druids. We did them in school. They worshipped mistletoe, didn’t they?”

  “The Druids were a religious caste in ancient Britain – and, yes, you’re right, they did worship mistletoe, and everything else that came from the oak tree. In fact, they believed that oak trees could actually speak, because they had spirits in them.”

  Lucy looked across at John and it was clear from the wide-eyed expression on her face that she was thinking about the statue.

  Uncle Robin caught her look but he misinterpreted it. “You’re entitled to have your doubts. But it’s only fair to the Druids to say that when Julius Caesar invaded Britain and first came across them, he was deeply impressed by what they knew about the earth and the stars, and what he called ‘the nature of things and the power and prerogatives of the immortal gods’.

  “The Druids practised medicine and sorcery, and they believed that when they died their souls would live for ever. They killed people so that they could feed on their spiritual strength. They believed that even after death, when their bodies had rotted away, their spirits would continue to live within the earth, and within the trees; and that they would still go on taking human sacrifices for ever, dragging people into the netherworld.”

  “That’s scary,” said Lucy.

  “Yes, you’re quite right. It’s very scary. But they also believed that men were capable of anything, provided that they remained in close contact with Awen, the divine name, and the eye of the light, which is the sun shining through a specially-built collection of upright stones – like Stonehenge, for instance.”

  John sat down and stared at the map. “The trouble is – even if all of these houses are built on ley lines, what does it mean? And, you know, what does it prove?”

  “Don’t ask me. I’ve just given you the answer, but so far you haven’t even told me what the question is.”

  “The question is, why do you think these houses are all built along ley lines?”

  Uncle Robin made another unsuccessful attempt to light his pipe. “Let me tell you one thing – they wouldn’t have been built there for the benefit of the occupants. Living on a ley line is rather like living on the San Andreas Fault in America, only much more frightening. An earthquake is only an earthqua
ke, after all. You might get hit on the head by a large chunk of falling masonry. Your house might collapse. But at least an earthquake doesn’t walk casually into the room and take your soul.”

  “What? What are you talking about, your soul?”

  Uncle Robin said, “I think I’ve said too much already.”

  “Tell us,” John demanded.

  “All right, so long as you promise to keep an open mind. I believe in the power of ley lines but a lot of people don’t. A lot of it is nothing but legend, after all. Fantasy. Stories passed down from mother to daughter, for hundreds and hundreds of years. The Druids gradually died out, but they had themselves buried along ley lines so that even after death their spirits would still be able to travel.”

  “Why would the Druids want to travel around the country so much?” asked Lucy.

  “Because they’re still all-powerful, as far as they’re concerned, even though they’ve been dead for two thousand years. They still think that they own this country. They still think that they control its destiny. They’re still sliding along those ley lines, like spiders sliding along their webs, sliding from north to south, from east to west. And God help you if you’re young and vulnerable, and just happen to be standing on top of one of those ley lines when a Druid sweeps past, underneath you.

  “You know those old children’s warnings about not stepping on the cracks in the pavement, because bears would come up and get you? Those warnings weren’t just a game, they were serious. But it wasn’t bears that children had to be afraid of. It was the Ancient Order of Druids – and, believe you me, it still is.”

  “So they’re actually underground?” asked Lucy.

  Uncle Robin shook his head. “Not underground as such. They don’t have any material substance themselves, not any more, so they exist in anything solid. Walls, doors, chairs, ceilings. If I thought that I was living anywhere near a ley line, I’d throw out my wardrobe. You could get eleven Druids in it, complete with sacrifical white bulls and golden sickles and all.”

  John said, “I still don’t understand the houses.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you for certain,” said Uncle Robin. “But I suppose that travelling along ley lines must be a bit like travelling by submarine. Now and again you want to come up to the surface and stretch your legs and take on supplies. My guess is that these houses were built as places where Druid spirits could rest and recuperate and get their strength up.”

  “And feed?” said Lucy, her voice slightly wobbly.

  “Well, of course, yes, feed.”

  Lucy’s ankle buckled again and she had to sit down. John knelt beside her and took hold of her hand. Her uncle Robin bent down close and his face was very serious.

  “What have you found, you two? I think you’d better tell me now.”

  13

  They told him everything – about Mr Rogers, about Liam, and most of all about the statue. He listened to them without interrupting, and when they had finished he still remained silent for almost another two or three minutes, thinking.

  “This is almost unbelievable. But I don’t have any doubt at all that you’ve come across the greatest surviving network of pre-Christian magic that’s ever been recorded.”

  “Do you mean people have found them before?”

  “At least twice, so far as I know. You know Mont St Michel, in France – that monastery that’s built on a rock and stands in the middle of the sea? That used to be a Druid place of worship before the Romans came.

  “The actual monastery was finished about AD 1120 but part of it was burned down in 1203. When the builders came to repair it in 1211, they found the skeletons of more than twenty monks and pilgrims bricked up inside the foundations. Some of the skeletons were actually half-buried in the walls – just like that little girl’s skull you found in Tooting.

  “There was only one explanation. The spirits of the Druids were still there, after more than a thousand years, deep in the granite beneath the monastery. They had been dragging people into the walls. Human sacrifices, to help them survive. They couldn’t see the sun any more – they had to depend on the flesh of people who had recently walked on the surface of the earth, and looked into Awen’s eye.

  “Some of the victims’ bones were completely encased in rock or brick, but the reason why so many of them were only half-buried was because they were priests and they were wearing crucifixes … and the Druid spirits didn’t have the power to suck in the symbol of the crucified Christ.

  “There was another case in Wales, something in the early 1800s. The skeletons of three young men were discovered in Caerphilly Castle, and again they were half-buried in solid stone.

  “This, however –,” he said, waving at the map they had drawn – “this beats everything.”

  “What do you think we ought to do?” asked Lucy. “Our friend Courtney wants to call the police but we’re not so sure. We don’t think that they’re going to believe us.”

  “No, well, they won’t, will they? You might be lucky and find one detective who believes you. His superior officer might be persuaded, too. But if they’re going to bring a prosecution against your Mr Vane, it’ll have to be referred to the Crown Prosecution Service, and I can’t see anybody there risking their career to prosecute anybody for making human sacrifices to ancient Druid spirits, can you?”

  “But if it’s the only possible explanation…” John began.

  Uncle Robin shook his head. “I’ve been studying Druids and Druidic lore for thirty years, John, and I know what they were capable of doing. But I gave up trying to persuade other people a long time ago. People don’t want to believe that there’s such a thing as magic. They don’t want to think that there are other worlds, right beneath their feet. It rattles them.

  “When my book came out The Sunday Times said it was ‘mumbo-jumbo’. Since then I haven’t written another word on the subject and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut. Until now, that is.”

  “We have to stop Mr Vane somehow.”

  “For your own protection, yes, you do. But right at this moment I don’t exactly know how. I need to do some more research for you … and you can do some research, too. Find out who Mr Vane actually is, where he comes from, some of his background.

  “There are three things that we can do. First, we can gather enough information on Mr Vane’s connection with these skeletons to have him prosecuted for being an accessory to murder. I’m not very optimistic about that, but we can try. Second, we can find a way to break the link between the houses so that the Druid spirits can’t use them any longer. Again, I don’t think there’s much chance of that, because the ley lines are so strong. Third, we find a way to deal with Mr Vane.”

  “Deal with him? What do you mean?”

  “Put him out of the property business, for good.”

  “You mean kill him?”

  “Of course not. I’m an anthropologist, John, not a hit man. But I don’t think he deserves very much sympathy if he’s been doing what you think he’s been doing – selling houses to young families so that they can be offered to his spirit friends like sacrificial lambs.”

  Lucy said, “I’ll see what I can find out about Mr Vane. I’ve got a friend who works in the library and she’s very keen on local history and family trees and stuff like that.”

  “I’ll get in touch with some experts on ley lines,” said Uncle Robin. “There was a TV programme about them not too long ago … I’ll see if I can find out who did it.”

  “I’ll go and check some more houses,” said John.

  “What about the statue?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.”

  Uncle Robin said, “That’s another thing. I’ve never heard of a living statue before, not in Druidic lore. I’m going to have to find out what it is and what we can do to stop it. It won’t be much use getting rid of Mr Vane if you’ve got that statue hunting you down for the rest of your life.”

  John thought of that line in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
about the traveller on a lonely road who “turns no more his head … because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread.” He was still frightened by what was happening. He still dreaded seeing the statue again, and going into Mr Vane’s houses. But now that he was beginning to understand what was happening, he felt that he could cope with his fear.

  He finished his tea and gave Lucy a kiss. Uncle Robin clapped him on the back and said, “You keep your eyes open, young man. We don’t want anything untoward to happen to you, do we?”

  John caught the bus back to Streatham High Road. It took him a few minutes of pacing up and down before he plucked up the courage to walk back into the office of Blight, Simpson & Vane, but eventually he opened the door and marched right in. Mr Cleat was standing by one of the filing cabinets and gave him a reptilian look of surprise.

  “That was a very rapid recovery,” he remarked.

  John gave a loud pretend sniff and said, “It’s only a cold. I thought I’d come and share it with everybody else.”

  “There is no ‘everybody else’ today,” said Mr Cleat. “Liam is still off sick, Lucy has the same cold as you, and Courtney is meeting some clients. Perhaps you’d like to make us some tea.”

  “All right, then.”

  “No sugar for Mr Vane.”

  John glanced towards Mr Vane’s office door and a chilling sensation ran through his nerves.

  “Mr Vane’s here?”

  “Anything wrong with that? He’s had some clients around this morning. He’s got more tomorrow, too.”

  “Clients? You mean he’s been showing them one of his houses?”

  “66 Mountjoy Avenue, as a matter of fact.”

  “But you said that 66 Mountjoy Avenue wasn’t in a fit state for viewing.”

  “We’ve had the cleaners in since then,” said Mr Cleat, in his most patronizing voice.

  John thought: This is it. I can’t go on pretending any longer. He reached into his pocket and took out Mr Rogers’ ring. He held it up right in front of Mr Cleat’s face.

  “Well?” said Mr Cleat, trying to focus on it. “What’s that supposed to be?”