A Dream of Wessex (26 page)

He looked towards the east, across the bay with its clustered drilling-rigs and wells. It looked dark and cold, fouled by man and his endeavours.

‘I wanted to swim there once,’ he said, and Julia looked at him in surprise. ‘There used to be a sport here, sometime in the past, I think. People would ride on motorized boards, and try to stay on top of the Blandford wave. When I came down here I was interested in trying it.’

‘I’ve never heard of it,’ Julia said. ‘And the wave is just a large rip-tide. You couldn’t ride on it.’

‘I’d like to have seen it, though.’

‘Come on, let’s get inside,’ she said.

He followed her down the slope, trying to rid himself of a dreamlike memory: the swell of the wave beneath the board, the high-pitched whine of the engine, the white thunder of the collapsing breaker ... but it had an elusive quality to it; at once remembered, but not in his experience.

The long grass brushed wetly around his trouser legs as he followed Julia, and he shivered. He had been out in the rain for more than an hour, and he was wet through. This open wind-swept place seemed to offer no promise of warmth or dryness.

There was no door to the concrete construction. It stood open, and the wind funnelled in. Pools of dirty water spread over the floor, and much mud and rubble lay about. Julia led the way down a flight of steps.

Walking through the rain, she had tried to explain why she was so adamant about returning to the Castle. She talked of a way back to the twentieth century ... but neither of them had any emotional link with that past. They were both of Wessex.

Harkman had his own reason, though, and it had been the one that persuaded him there was no hope in trying to escape. Maiden Castle still exerted its power over him. As long as he lived he would feel its compulsion.

Now he was in the very place that summoned him. Here was the focus of the invisible, radiating source that beckoned him. And, like a reaction to the body of a much-coveted woman suddenly bared before him, he felt a simultaneous sense of fulfilment of long-held desire, and a vague disappointment now that the mystery was removed. The tunnel at the bottom of the stairs was cool, and ill-lit. There were doors on each side, all of them closed and apparently locked. There was litter on the floor: discarded pieces of paper, a few bottles, fragments of broken mirrors, a pair of shoes. The walls were clad in concrete, but there was a pervasive smell of soil or clay.

‘You’ve been down here for the last six days?’ he said.

‘It’s better in the conference room,’ Julia said.

‘The whole place is damp.’

‘We don’t come here for our health.’ They had reached a door by the end of the corridor, and Julia held him back. ‘David ... you’re going to meet the others. Are you going to show them the newspaper cutting?’

‘What do you think? Should we?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m convinced that this is the way back to the twentieth century, and if I’m right and it’s where we came from, then we’ll understand when we arrive. Do you think anyone will be expecting us there?’

‘I can’t answer that.’

He made a move on, but Julia caught his arm again.

‘You’re going to meet Paul in a moment,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to make a scene, are you?’

‘Is there any reason why I should?’

‘No,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You know what I said, and you know what I want.’ Still holding his arm, but gently now, she opened the door behind him. ‘This is the conference room.’

Harkman walked in, looking around, expecting to find it full of people ... but it was empty. The lights were on, and it was warm and slightly stuffy. Many books and printed papers were scattered over the tables, and used cups and saucers had been left on the floor next to the chairs. Someone had left a jacket hanging from a hook on the door.

Harkman said, wryly: ‘Do you suppose they heard we were coming?’

Julia looked around the room again, as if searching would find.

‘I only left two hours ago,’ she said. ‘They must still be here.’

‘In one of the other rooms?’

‘They’re never used. They must have all gone to the projection hall.’

He followed her, down a side-tunnel towards a doorway, through which bright light was pouring, and as they went into the hall beyond Harkman felt the heat from the lamps glaring down on him. Holding out his hand to shield his eyes, Harkman looked around the room, but it was several seconds before he noticed that someone was waiting: at the far end of the hall, standing beneath one of the clusters of lights, was a man.

He said nothing to them, but watched as they walked in.

On Harkman’s left, running for the length of the hall, was a bank of large drawers, painted grey. In the centre of the room, and, for some reason, at the place where the beams of several lights converged, was a large pile of discarded clothing, Harkman thought, whimsically, that it looked like the scene of an orgy that had been interrupted by a police-raid.

‘Is that you, Paul?’ Julia said, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the lights.

The figure made no movement or sound for nearly half a minute - during which time Harkman stepped forward, to be restrained by Julia’s hand on his arm - but then at last he came slowly forward.

‘They’ve all gone,’ he said. ‘The project has started.’

‘Already?’ Julia said, in evident surprise. ‘But you were going to wait - ’

‘I had all the people I needed. No point delaying.’

Julia glanced up at Harkman, and he saw a strange fear in her expression.

She said: ‘Paul, I’ve found David Harkman. You remember, Don Mander proposed him?’

‘David Harkman, is it?’

‘David, this is Paul Mason, the director of our project.’

‘Mason?’ Harkman extended a hand, but Mason ignored him and looked at Julia.

‘So this is the David Harkman that’s so valuable to my project? Well, it’s no good, we’ve started and it’s too late for anyone else.’ He turned away, and went to stand beside the cabinets. He reached back with both hands, and pressed his palms against the smooth metal. ‘I don’t know you, Harkman. Where are you from? What do you want here?’

Harkman, irritated by the man’s manner - which lay somewhere between psychic disorder and plain rudeness - felt the temptation to give a sharp answer, but he saw Julia flash a warning look at him, and he remembered her request not to make a scene.

He said: ‘I’ve been working at the Regional Commission, Mason. I was sent there from the Bureau of English - ’

‘I don’t trust the Commission, Harkman. Nor anyone in it. What do you want here?’

‘Paul, he was approved by the others.’

‘The others have gone. You and I are the only two left. I want to know what this Commission man wants here.’

‘We want
him
, Paul! ‘

‘So you say. I select the participants for the project, not you.’

Julia looked at Harkman again, this time with an expression of puzzled despair, then went forward to Mason. He turned away from her at once and walked down the line of metal cabinets, running a hand obsessively along the metal surfaces.

With all that had happened during the day, Harkman had had no preconception of what he might find at the Castle ... but this, with Mason apparently distracted beyond sense, was something he had no way of knowing how to deal with.

‘Julia, is he sick?’ he said quietly.

‘I’ve never seen him like this before,’ she said. ‘When I left he was angry ... but I hadn’t expected this. And where is everyone else?’

Harkman said: ‘What shall we do?’

Julia was silent, staring down the long room at Paul’s strangely neurotic figure. He was standing once again under the cluster of lights, his hands pressed against the nearest cabinet.

Looking at him, Harkman could see why Julia had once been attracted to him. He was probably about the same age as she was, and was possessed of undoubted good looks, in a dark-haired, clean-cut way, but there was an ugliness to his mouth and a narrowness to his eyes that made Harkman dislike him. The fact that his dislike was evidently reciprocated came as no surprise: this, after all, was the other man in Julia’s life, and such confrontations were supposed to be charged with suppressed feelings.

‘Do you know how this machinery works?’ Harkman said to Julia.

‘Yes ... Paul was explaining yesterday.’

‘He seems incapable of explaining anything at the moment. What happens?’

‘Each participant has a drawer to himself. Mine is that one.’

She pointed towards the drawer about eighth or ninth from the nearer end, and Harkman realized that this was one of the three that were still not fully closed.

‘How do you know that one is yours?’ Harkman said. ‘They all look the same.’

‘Because ... I’m not sure.’ Julia looked at the other two, shook her head. ‘I
know
it’s mine, because it feels like mine. I can’t say why.’

‘But why is one different from another?’

‘It’s to do with neural and cerebral patterns. Dr Eliot - ’

She broke off suddenly, and looked at Harkman in alarm. ‘What is it?’ he said.

‘Dr Eliot should be here! And Marilyn. And the rest of the staff. Paul was emphatic about this ... the project mustn’t be started without medical supervision.’

‘Then where are they?’

Julia called up from the room: ‘Paul, where’s Dr Eliot?’

Paul said something inaudible, but did not turn to face them. Harkman said: ‘Go on, Julia. What happens to the participants?’

‘We have to lie down in the drawer, and when it’s closed lights will come on inside. That will trigger some kind of cerebral response which will link our minds to the projector. There are electrodes inside.’

They went to the drawer Julia had said was her own, and pulled it open. At the sound of the metal runners, Paul turned round to face them.

‘What are you doing?’ he called. ‘My experiment is in progress. I don’t want it interfered with.’

Harkman said: ‘Take no notice of him, Julia. Go on.’

She pointed out the padded rests for head and shoulders, and between them an array of short, pointed electrodes.

‘We have to lie so those press against the skin,’ she said. ‘I’ve already tried it. They prick the skin, but otherwise don’t hurt.’

Harkman glanced at the pile of clothes in the centre of the floor. ‘And we undress for this?’

‘Of course.’

Harkman stared at the drawer with uncertain feelings; the bright lights and Mason’s mad words; Julia’s earnestness. But he was being infected by it; he was at the centre of his obsession. There was a drawer in this cabinet for him, and he knew which one it was. Like Julia, he didn’t know how he recognized it ... but he knew which of the two remaining drawers was his.

Paul Mason was still standing under the battery of lights, watching them.

‘I’ve killed the others!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll kill you too. Keep away, Julia ... you know what will happen to you! ‘

‘Does he mean that?’ Harkman said.

Julia, who was clearly disorientated by Paul’s irrational behaviour, said: ‘I don’t know. Help me with this.’

She laid her hands on the drawer next to hers, and together they pulled it open. Lying inside was the unconscious body of a naked young man, and so still was he that for a moment Harkman thought he was indeed dead. Julia bent over his face and put her cheek beneath the young man’s nostrils. She placed her hand on his heart.

‘He’s still breathing,’ she said.

‘Then what did Mason mean about killing everyone?’

‘David, I don’t know. We have to ignore him. I don’t understand what’s gone wrong with him ... he was perfectly all right this afternoon.’

But Mason wasn’t to be ignored, for he started coming slowly towards them, pressing his back against the bank of drawers. He was mouthing words, but incoherently.

‘Why is he unconscious?’ Harkman said, looking at the young man on the drawer.

‘Because he’s projecting, I think. I’m not even certain of that.’

Harkman realized with sudden surprise that he recognized the young man. He was the peddler with the mirrors, the one he had sometimes seen about the streets of Dorchester.

‘Who is this?’ he said.

‘His name is Steve. I don’t know much about him.’

They pushed the drawer closed again.

‘What shall we do, Julia? Are we going to go through with it?’

She looked back at Paul, who was still working his way towards them, muttering to himself.

‘I’m frightened, David. Nothing makes sense any more ... we’ve only that old newspaper cutting to believe.’

‘Do you believe it?’

‘I have to. And so do you. Everything else is insane.’

‘Julia, I’ll kill you if you get into the machine.’ Mason was beside them now, staring at them with wild eyes. ‘I planned all this ... it has to be you and me alone together. That’s what we agreed! ‘

Harkman said: ‘Get undressed, Julia. I’ll keep Mason away from you.’

He stepped to the side, standing between her and Mason. Instantly, Mason leaped at him. He threw an arm around Harkman’s neck from behind, and tugged his head back. With his other hand he clawed at his eyes. Julia screamed.

Harkman, taken by surprise, felt himself dragged back. The hand closed over his face, groping fiercely across his nose and eyes; a finger went into his nostril and started pulling. In an instinctive fear, Harkman snatched his head to one side and slammed an elbow backwards into Mason’s stomach. At once the grip around his neck loosened. Harkman turned, and with an awkward untrained blow, hit Mason sideways across the temple. The other man staggered back, and fell weakly against the bank of drawers.

‘David, are you all right?’

‘I’m OK,’ he said, but his heart was racing and he was out of breath. ‘Please, Julia ... get into the machine. It’s all we can do now.’

‘I can’t go by myself. I’m terrified of what will happen.’

‘I’ll be with you. I promise. I’ll follow you.’

Behind them, Mason suddenly let out a howl of rage, and tried to get to his feet again. Harkman turned to face him, clenching his fists. He was no fighter, and Mason’s insane behaviour was scaring him. As Mason levered himself up, Harkman kicked out at the man’s legs, making him fall again.