CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

 

'Oh God,' whispered to Nigel. 'We’re going to die!'

'Die? What on earth makes you think that?’ Preston grabbed the torch from Nigel and scanned it frantically around, as a distant rumble of thunder permeated through the thick walls. 'No…the axe-man isn't down here. We’re definitely trapped, though. Bloody hell, Nigel - how did you get me into this? Even your wedding is going to be intolerably hazardous!'

'Shut up, Preston!' snapped Nigel, seizing the light back. 'It's your fault we ended up down here!’

'My fault? You were always the jumpy one…’

‘And you're a bloody liar!’

‘Really, Nigel, there’s no need to be abusive!’

At this point, Nigel decided discussion was futile. He couldn’t even start to tell Preston that the enemy was the ghost of a long-dead Irish prince. He’d just deride him - until the blood flew and it was all too late.

Trying not to panic, Nigel thought to himself: ‘What would Sydney do? Not sit about doing nothing, that’s for sure…’

Mumbling determinedly, he clambered to his feet, brushing an extensive amount of mud from the back of his shirt and trousers. He deliberately did not look back at the axe - he knew his brother, despite his skepticism, sensed something about it and was watching it like a hawk. He shoved the torch in a niche in the wall and started to examine the trap door.

‘I was enchanted by that scream,’ said Preston, after over a minute of awkward silence. ‘You say it sounds like, err, Claudia?'

'Yes, it did,’ said Nigel dully, still gazing upward.

‘It was amazing… ear-piercing, yes, but somehow heartrending! It was a cry of a beautiful maiden in distress. I knew I had to help her…’

‘Oh, that's what you were doing, was it? To me, it looked like you were standing in the doorway, dithering!’ Nigel stood up on tiptoes and began prying at the edges of the trapdoor with his fingertips. ‘And we never did get to help her. Dammit! I hope she's okay?' Having made little progress, Nigel began jumping up and down, bashing at the bottom of the trapdoor, to very little effect.

‘Claudia!’ declared Preston with a flourish, making no effort to assist. ‘It's a beautiful name, isn't it? Anyway, I was trying to make a rational decision about what to do next, when you ran up panicking. Ah, I wish I'd looked behind all those parts of luggage now, just for a peek at her. From that enchanting scream, I'm guessing she's even more beautiful than Karen…’

‘Nnnng!’ cried Nigel, landing heavily as his efforts came to nothing. ‘How can you think about your hopeless love-life at a time like this? We’re stuck in a dungeon…with…with…oh hell, you’d never understand. You’d might as well stop moping and come and help me, because you’ve absolutely no chance of getting it on with Claudia – no more than I’ve got any chance with Sydney!’

‘What in heavens name do you mean?’ blustered Preston. ‘No chance with Sydney? You’re marrying the woman tomorrow - she clearly adores you!’

Nigel raised his fingers to his temples in horror as an image flashed into his brain: Preston and Sydney touring the British Museum, alone, at night, devoid of all tourists. His brother was translating ancient hieroglyphs to her. He was reading them slightly wrong, of course, but she was smiling and nodding, admiringly – lovingly, even. Then, suddenly, they were in the Greek display room, rolling between the columns of the Nereid temple, kissing, fondling…making love. And, hell, they looked good together! Nigel felt nauseous as he tried to thrust the image from his consciousness. Where the hell did that come from?

‘Eh?’ he said at length. ‘Oh…oh, yes, I’m marrying her tomorrow. But maybe it isn’t such a good idea.’

‘What are you wittering you on about?’ Now Preston was really confused.

Nigel gazed miserably at the axe. ‘I can’t make her happy. And neither can you!’

‘I never said I could!’

‘No…no. It’s just that…oh, I don’t know.’ Nigel’s head drooped forward balefully. ‘She needs somebody as uninhibited and as full of life as she is. In the end, I’ll hold her back, slow her down. She’ll always want another man - a real man. Not stupid, boring, fumbling….Podge!’

Preston was mystified. His vindictive streak urged him to say, ‘you’ve seen sense at last then, little brother!’ but the echo of the scream still tingled in his ears, unleashing long suppressed sentiments. He lifted a hand to Nigel’s shoulder. ‘Uh…of course you can make her happy.’ His fingers shifted awkwardly and he could feel Nigel’s muscles tense under his touch – this didn’t feel natural. Nevertheless, he choked out the words.

‘You’ve made her happy for the past half decade - no doubt you’ll make her happy for the next half century. You always did get all the luck.’ He laughed ruefully.

Nigel edged away and Preston dropped his hand. ‘What do you mean…get all the luck? You stole half-a-dozen girlfriends from me, and the job at the British Museum!’

‘Yes,’ lamented Preston. ‘And, besides always being mother and father’s favourite little darling, you ended up with the PhD, the appointment at the prestigious American university, discovering half the lost treasures of ancient Christendom, and getting shacked up with one of the worlds most beautiful and successful women.’

Preston garbled this out as if it hurt him to admit it. It did – but not as much as it usually did. ‘What had changed?’ he wondered. ‘Oh,’ added the elder brother as an afterthought. ‘And Sydney is a fantastic kisser!’

‘How the hell would you know?’

Preston licked his lips – he’d been having some wonderfully real daydreams lately – but maybe they were not to be shared. ‘Oh…just a guess. There’s something odd about this place. The strangest thoughts keep popping into my mind…’

Nigel grunted. ‘Tell me about it!’

‘You’ve felt it too. Ah, well, there you are. So stop moping about! Marry the woman and be done with it. Now,’ he jumped to his feet, and weaved his fingers together so his hands formed a step for Nigel to climb up on. ‘You’d better get on with this, and make it quick. If not, I’ll be sending you and the future Mrs. Bailey a very big chiropractor’s bill…’

………………………………..

‘Syd?’ Claudia called, her voice high-pitched and wary, from the entrance to the spiral staircase. She didn't know whether Karen and Sydney had gone up or down, and she sure as hell wasn't going in there by herself. It was way beyond creepy!

'Up here, Claudia!’ came the reply. ‘We’re in the Great Hall… heading around the back.’

‘You don't want to be there,’ called Claudia, increasingly mournful. 'Nigel is in the… dungeon. The tea…err, guide-lady so said.’

‘He is?’ In a matter of seconds, Sydney was descending a staircase tearing past her former secretary. 'How the hell does he get down there? I hope he's okay!’

‘Me too,’ whispered Claudia. 'I never thought it would be Nigel… I mean he's cute, and all, but…oh God, the man I was supposed to be with, is marrying my best friend!'

‘What did you say?' The question was Karen's. Sydney was long gone, but her current secretary rounded the corner just as Claudia let slip her little confession.

Claudia pouted, her grief heartfelt. 'It’s Nigel! He’s in the dark place…he must be the one! But it's okay. I can’t ever steal him from Syd – I love them both too much. I guess it's just my fate to be alone forever!'

‘No way! It’s all a mistake, Claudia - you'll see that soon.’ Karen took her friend gently by the wrist. ‘Come on…let’s help Syd. We’ll sort this out later, okay?'

Claudia looked yearningly into her friends sincere blue eyes and bit her quivering bottom lip against the tears. 'Okay…’

…………………………

'For crying out loud, Nigel! Push harder!'

'I can't push if you keep moving…’

‘How can I not sway a bit? You weigh a bloody ton!’

Nigel braced his arms against the trapdoor, for the umpteenth time, and pushed as hard as he could. Preston, who was sure that his arms had become a least a foot longer in the time he had been supporting his brother's weight, wobbled drastically at the crucial moment once again, making all Nigel's straining redundant.

'This is useless!’ Nigel jumped down. 'Can't I try sitting on your shoulders or something?'

'If you want me to spend the rest of my days in a wheelchair, yes! Look, why don't we wait for Sydney… if you were in your right mind, you’d know that she’d come.’

Nigel gazed at the axe. 'Yes,’ he thought. 'But this time, will she be quick enough…’

He took a deep breath. 'We’ve got to keep trying. This castle is, um, haunted. And that fellow with the axe - he was the ghost of the long-dead Irish prince, Morholt – the one slain by Tristan. Walls won’t keep him out of here if he wants to get us. And, um, for some reason he’s not too keen on Syd and I being together.’

'I thought you'd grown out of this rubbish,' began Preston, his voice far from confident. 'What tosh…uh? Aaaargh!’

For the second time that afternoon, Preston grabbed his brother in terror as the axe twitched once, and then raised itself, very slowly, a few inches in the air. After a second, it dropped to the floor with a clatter.

‘How…what?’

‘He’s trying, you idiot,’ whispered Nigel. 'He's trying to lift it. For some reason his power is not adequate…yet…’

‘All right, all right! Better a broken back than a severed head!’ Preston, not entirely convinced he hadn't gone mad, crouched down. 'Get on my shoulders and push, Nigel - but let's call for help at the same time, shall we?'

Nigel nodded, for once in total agreement. 'Good idea!’

…………………..

'Nigel!'

Sydney raced into the undercroft and straight over to the closed trapdoor from where her fiancé’s muffled cries came. 'Nigel! Are you okay?'

‘Sydney! Yes, I'm fine…I think! The doors jammed - really jammed this time!’

'Don't worry, I'll get it open.’ She motioned to Karen and Claudia, who had just rushed into the chamber, with a large sweeping motion of her arm. 'Come on girls, we’ve got to put our backs into this. Up for it, again?'

'You bet!' Karen wrapped her arms firmly round Syd's stomach, and Claudia did the same around hers.

'Okay?’ called Sydney. ‘You push from below, we’ll heave upwards. One, two, three – go!’

Just like earlier, it all came to nothing.

'It's not shifting, Syd,’ hollered Nigel. 'And, I hate to say it, but it's kind of urgent we escape…’

‘Here, here,’ came a shadowing voice.

Claudia jumped. 'Someone else is down there?'

'That sounds like Preston,' replied Sydney, not even looking up to see the radiant smile that flooded across Claudia’s face. 'Okay, I've got a plan,’ she called down to Nigel. 'But you've got to trust me on this. The door could be sealed with the power of, err, hatred. To get you out, I'm figuring we need to think loving thoughts. Really loving thoughts!’

‘Loving thoughts?’ squeaked Nigel. 'I can do that…I think?!’

‘Well, you've got to try! Let's give it another go - and think nice things! Remember when we first made love, in the long barrow in the Great South Wessex Forest? And the night we got engaged, in the South Seas? That was just so romantic. And that wonderful time in Greece, soon after we first hitched up – you knew then we’d always be together!'

Nigel squeezed his eyes shut, and continued to push on the door above. It was no good. All he could think of was the axe on the floor, and Sydney and ruddy Preston – they were still there, in his minds-eye, making love in the Nereid monument, but now the Greek infantry soldiers in the frieze beneath them and the crumbling statues of dancing girls were waving their arms in a celebratory fashion. Where they had mouths left, they were cheering them on!

‘You’re not trying hard enough,’ wailed Preston, swerving unsteadily. Nigel jumped to the muddy ground with a soft thud, and then froze. Preston, too, suddenly stood still as a rock, his mouth agog.

The axe was now suspended about shoulder high in the air, not a yard away from them. Behind it swelled a mottled grey shadow, taking form like a cloud building up to rain. Then it took shape: the shape of a man, towering well over six feet into the air. Two searing green eyes faded into vision, glowering from behind a vibrantly flaming red beard. The axe was now held aloft, wielded by a muscular, chain-mail wearing arm, clutched in a bear-like hand.

Nigel’s throat contracted with fear as the bonds of ice that had claimed him before began sizzling against his skin, infiltrating his nerves and senses. He suddenly felt utterly alone: deserted, unloved and surely about to die. A terrible grin began forming on his nemesis’ face, stabbing into his heart like the deathblow of a knife…

A sudden touch on the back of his hand changed it all. It was a gesture of timid desperation on Preston’s part – he was constitutionally unable to actually take his brother’s hand - but it sent unexpected current of warmth flowing up Nigel’s arm. The cold fetters that had nearly possessed him melted instantaneously; Nigel turned his head to be reminded that Preston was not only down there with him, he was still standing beside him.

‘Wha…what do you want,’ stammered the elder Bailey. ‘I’ve not got my wallet…if you let me go, I could get it for you…’

‘He’s a ghost, you fool,’ hissed Nigel. ‘He doesn’t want money!’

‘Oh…’ began Preston, as the dreadful apparition turned his searing stare onto the elder brother. Speech then failed him.

‘What’s going on down there?’ Sydney's anxious call sounded all too distant. ‘Nigel?’

‘Its…its him,’ was all Nigel could manage. The ghost, still grinning, stopped in his process of paralyzing Preston, and turned back the main object of his visit.

Morholt lowered his axe but leaned down so close into his face that Nigel feared the edges of the evil prince’s horrid undead whiskers would brush against him. He tried to shuffle backwards, but his feet became numb and would not respond.

‘Why do you not listen?’ Morholt’s booming voice ricocheted around the dungeon like a cannon ball. ‘She does not love you. She loves the Frenchman!’

Nigel made an executive decision: until Sydney gets in, agree with the big guy with the axe!

‘Err…you’re, um, probably, right,’ he garbled nervously. ‘She loves Francois! She looks very good with Preston, as well. I'll ask her to marry him…can I go now?’

‘Nigel – I’ll be right with you,’ yelled Sydney. ‘Just think those, uh, loving thoughts!’

Nigel cringed, as the ghost shot a look upwards in the direction of the voice, malicious pleasure diluted by a surge of anger. ‘It’s no good,’ he roared. ‘You people just will not stop loving each other. I have but no choice!’

‘No choice but for what?’ whimpered Nigel, darting a sidelong glance to confirm that Preston had retreated into the shadows, leaving him to face the beast alone.

Morholt hoisted the terrible axe up to his shoulder again, an action that, Nigel noted, seemed to require some effort this time. Any chink of optimism, though, was smothered by the obvious intent behind the action.

‘Kneel, boy!’

The sinister words were superfluous. A force, which felt akin to a small alpine avalanche, compelled Nigel’s already unsteady knees to buckle. He found himself peeping up at his erstwhile executioner through a lock of hair that flopped dejectedly over his eyes.

Although his heart and mind were racing, Nigel realised it was time to try another plan. ‘Sydney,’ he murmured, meeting the gaze of the monster. ‘I love her so much. You cannot come between us. Even if the whole world conspired to tear us apart, even if we were parted forever…I’d…I’d still love her.’

Morholt gave a terrible roar. An arctic blast slammed across the enclosed chamber, sweeping back Nigel’s hair and drowning out a portentous creek from the jammed trapped door that would have told him the girls were making progress. He valiantly struggled to think how much he loved her: the shimmer of sunlight on her hair, the way her eyes danced when she was happy, the times she stole his glasses when she wanted to read the inscription on a relic in a hurry. He recalled the passion with which she carried through everything in life - kissing, laughing, making love; the way she would grasp him so tight when they were in danger. How he wished he was in her arms now! His last thoughts, should they come now or in half a century, would be of her. The evil prince would not win!

‘No! Please don’t do this!’ Preston stepped falteringly into the narrow path of light from the torch, devoid of a plan. ‘Surely…surely we can come to some sort of arrangement… aaaargh!?’

He wailed as the limp shackles on the walls suddenly jumped into life, coiling around both his wrists and pulling him back against the wall. ‘Good God!’ gasped Preston, his fear diluted by a genuine effrontery. ‘You can't do this! I'm a British citizen…err…oh!’

Preston trailed off as he saw the daemon, labouriously but surely, lift the axe for what surely seemed to be the final time above his brother.

Nigel, momentarily distracted from his meditations on Sydney, found that he possessed the strength to turn his gaze towards his brother. Their eyes met. Preston appeared so terrified, that, on any other occasion, Nigel would have laughed. His mouth was hanging half open, much as it did when he looked superciliously aghast about all the ‘ridiculous’ things that Nigel said and did. This time, however, Preston simply looked destitute and achingly regretful. It always seemed somehow better between them when they simply didn’t speak. Nigel’s lips thinned, almost into a smile.

‘She loves you.’ whispered Preston.

‘I know…’

Nigel's focus returned to the form of the ghost – and the deadly weapon looming over him. He noted, with a dull hope, that Morholt seemed to be straining under the weight of the axe, and was wheezing hideously.

However, it was only as the instrument of execution began to totter to towards him, that Nigel realised he could actually move. Gathering his wits, he rolled rapidly to the side as its plummet began. The metal blade missed him by inches; squidging into the mud and leaving a deep, wet rut that bled brown gunge.

The back of Nigel's head knocked against cold, slimy stone - he had rolled into the corner. A dark, formless cloud soared up in front of him; amidst it, the axe raised again. Trapped and helpless, his dreams of Sydney finally began drowning in a breathless fear…

Then everything happened at once.

There was a collective female scream. The trap door flew open and a pair of shapely, legging-clad legs descended on top of the dispersing back cloud, landing as smoothly and dexterously as a cat. As the axe tumble towards him again, it was seized by a confident hand. Sydney turned and threw herself into the disappearing apparition, baring her teeth and swinging the weapon with aplomb.

With a guttural final cry - ‘you people just won't stop loving!' - Morholt evaporated into thin air.

'Sydney,' whispered Nigel, even as she scooped him into her arms. He hugged her, tentatively at first, scarcely daring to believe it was all over, then clutched her tight.

'Its okay,’ she husked. 'Are you all right?'

'I…I’ve been better.' Nigel's voice was still shaky. 'But I think so. My head and all my extremities appear to still be attached. And I never… never doubted you…’ He wished these words hadn't been a slight lie.

'Me neither,' murmured Sydney, suppressing her own guilt. 'Not for a moment!’

As she slipped her parted lips over his, a cough sounded from behind them. Preston, realising he was now free, stepped forth into the light.

‘Really!’ he started, forgetting his relief at his own, and Nigel's, safety. 'This is hardly the time and place for snogging…’

A little squeal from the room above obliged Preston to look up. Then his whole world did a backflip.

Preston absorbed the sight of the most exquisite angel, her features more ravishing than the celestial beings ensconced in the stained glass of St Paul’s. Her lips were fuller and redder than Kentish cherries; her eyes sparkled azure blue, brighter than the Serpentine in summer. Birds sang, waves crashed, and the London Symphony Orchestra began playing the final movement of Tchaikovsky's sixth Symphony in his head. It was like Romeo meeting Juliet, Nelson meeting Lady Hamilton - he was utterly blown away.

Claudia raised four petite fingers to her lips. He wasn't quite what she’d imagined. But, hey, while that three-piece suit might not be the height of fashion, it certainly had an expensive cut to it – even if it was splattered with mud! He was tall, and not unhandsome – he'd more than do.

Birds sang, waves crashed and Ricky Martin began serenading in her head…

Preston stretched out a hand to his goddess. Without hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his, and he pressed them ardently to his lips. She squeaked with pleasure.

'I’m sorry to be so forward,’ he breathed. 'We haven't been introduced but you… you must be Claudia?'

'And you must be Preston?’ she simpered. He reeled at the impact of the voice - surely the chime of the bells of heaven! He'd never heard anything like it - apart from that enchanting scream, of course.

'I am sincerely honoured to meet you,' he stammered. ‘And completely at your service!’

Claudius scrunched her nose in delight, wondering where to begin the list of lengthy services Preston could perform for her.

‘I trust you are quite well? I heard you scream – nothing would have stopped me coming to you – except that my brother got us embroiled in a spot of bother.’

‘Scream?’ Claudia appeared confused. ‘I guess you must have really good hearing. But there’s nothing for me to scream about now, right? You’ll protect me from the bad guys, won’t you, Preston?’

‘With my very life, if necessary!’

Nigel, still ensconced in Sydney's arms, looked up at them with a similar abhorrence to that with which he had regarded Morholt. ‘I think I'm going to be ill,' he muttered as Sydney caressed him consolingly.

‘Preston and Claudia!’ he mumbled pathetically. ‘Some things were just not meant to be!’

……………………….

'Do you think we killed him?’ asked Karen, after Sydney, Nigel and Preston had all clambered up out of the dungeon.

'I have no idea,' replied Sydney, casting an uncertain glance at her fiancé. Nigel shook his head doubtfully.

‘From what I know of Poltergeists,’ piped up Claudia suddenly, ' he must have used up a hell of a lot of energy chasing the guys around like that. Even if we haven't killed him, it'll slow him down for a bit.’

'I didn't know you were an expert,' said Sydney, not entirely surprised.

‘Oh, there's a lot you don't know about me,' replied Claudia airily. ‘Some people think that poltergeists are the spiritual embodiment of a really intense emotion - usually one experienced at the time of death. That Morholt must have been really pissed off when he died! Another theory is that they feed off the power of thunderstorms, so I guess that accounts for why he was way too frisky this evening. Anyhow, we should be safe for a little while.'

'Brains as well as beauty!' exclaimed Preston.

Claudia simpered delightedly. 'You ain't seen nothing yet, honey-bun. There’s nothing you can't learn from a few good horror movies and Occult Weekly… oh, and Vanity Fair!'

'Ah, the work of William Makepeace Thackeray,’ sighed Preston. ‘That is my favourite of the great early 19th-century novels! I'm so glad you're an admirer.'

'Uh, who?’ replied Claudia, as Nigel smirked.

'It's never going to work,' he mouthed to Preston, who retaliated with a venomous glare.

‘Okay,’ said Sydney decisively. 'We need to try and find this relic while the poltergeist is still weakened. Claudia, how long do you think we’ve got?'

Claudia was just giving this some thought when there was a cry for the spiral staircase.

'Good God! What is going on down here!'

The bald hotel manager stood on the bottom step; his hand raised his forehead, as he spotted the open trapdoor.

'Oh dear, oh dear! Ladies! Gentlemen! Please stay away from this part of the castle. As I told you, it's quite unsafe!’

‘Unsafe for lovers, huh?' questioned Sydney

‘Yes! Um…no. Really, I must ask you to follow me.’

‘Fine.’ Sydney motioned with her head to the others that they might as well follow. There was little more to seek out in the dungeon, at any rate. When they reached the corridor, however, she was irritated when the man pulled a metallic grate firmly across the entrance to the staircase, and padlocked it.

'Hey,' began Sydney. ‘We are historians you know. Surely not all of the old castle is dangerous?’

‘I'm sorry madam,' twittered the hotelier. 'But I'm completely uninsured against any interference by…uh…’

‘Supernatural means?’ offered Karen sardonically.

The manager gawped at her. 'Young lady, the castle is not haunted! But please, Professor Fox, Dr Bailey - you must come down to dinner and greet your guests. There are at least two dozen people waiting for you in the lounge.’

Sydney shot Nigel a familiar look, one that, even after all this time, still made his stomach lurch a little – it meant they'd be back, and through that grate, just as soon as they got a chance.

‘We’d better go and welcome everyone.' He ventured a smile.

‘Great - let's get this party going,’ chirruped Claudia, fluttering long, mascara-clad lashes at the new object of her desire. 'You know,' she whispered. ‘I’m no expert on your English, um, wordy stuff, but I'm guessing that a candlelit dinner in a romantic, haunted castle might just be the right sort of place for snogging?’

Preston, bright pink and wordless, mustered an embarrassed smile. Sydney slipped a reassuring arm around Nigel, who was rigid with silent irritation, and steered him away. She hoped he hadn’t spotted that Claudia’s hand was just on the verge of squeezing Preston’s backside.

'Hang on in there, Nige’ she muttered. 'I think we’re in for a bumpy night…’

 

Continue to chapter 6