Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(29)

Lazenby took a deep breath. “Something odd happened last night. I don’t know what it was, but it was damned odd, and since damned oddness seems to be associated with you—”

“If it’s odd, I’m interested.”

“Yes but— It’s absurd in the light of day. I don’t know how it will sound.”

“Find out by telling me.”

Lazenby narrowed his eyes but launched into the tale, which chimed all too well with what Randolph knew from the Rector and the silent watcher. He told it clearly and well, neither attempting to minimise his own fear, nor adding the usual details that people seemed to think gave verisimilitude.

“And we went to bed,” he finished. “I lay awake half the night, but nothing else happened. It sounds ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t. What did you skip?”

“What do you mean?”

“You sat in the dark, afraid to move, with something gibbering in the room and the hand of terror on you. Believe me, I know how that feels. And then you rose and found the matches, against every instinct. What helped you there? What determination, or prayer? It may be important.”

“How could it—” Lazenby stopped himself and then said, “Camlet Moat.”

Randolph had been hoping for almost anything else. “Camlet Moat,” he repeated.

“There was something about the atmosphere— I don’t know. It was completely different in every possible way, but I thought of that place—the well water—what you did—”

He broke off again. Randolph couldn’t blame him.

“You thought of Camlet Moat, and you could act.”

“If you must know, I pretended I was there. I shut my eyes and imagined it. Have you ever been in a bad situation and you needed to be in a better place, in your head?”

“Often and often.”

“It’s a habit I have, I’ve always done it. Especially in—well, in bad times. I imagined I was at Camlet Moat and it helped, that’s all. But I can’t see any way in which that could be relevant.”

He said that too defiantly. Randolph cast him a sideways look. “You can’t think of any connection at all?”

“Nothing. Unless one considers that the lights went out when our host told the story of Geoffrey de Mandeville, and Camlet Moat was Geoffrey de Mandeville’s house, and you baptised me from his well—”

“And we’re a brief stroll from the ruins of the castle where he received his mortal wound. Aside from that, no connection at all.”

“What’s going on?” Lazenby halted, grabbing his arm and pulling him round to glare into his eyes. “What in hell’s name is this?”

He looked afraid, and angry too, the kind of anger bred by fear. “Specifically, I don’t know,” Randolph said. “I’m trying to find out. More generally— My advice, in all honesty, is that you get as far from Peabody as possible. Leave the silly sod to it.”

“No.”

“Yes.” If he did Randolph would never see him again, and that would be...call it a missed opportunity, or even a connection lost, but probably Lazenby’s life saved. “Vanish, man. Change your name, start again, and leave the Major to his idiocy before he drags you down with him. I said I’d tell you if I was concerned; well, I am. Get on a train to London and then a train to somewhere else, and don’t come back. I shall miss our meetings, naturally,” he added. It didn’t come out as ironically as he’d meant it to.

“No,” Lazenby said again. “I can’t do that. For one thing, I like my name.”

Saul. An odd name, with a sound to it that suited him. Raw, sullied soul. “I like it too.”

They looked at each other, there on the road under the great flat open sky, and then Lazenby went on with determination. “For another, the Major has been decent to me. If he’s in trouble by accident, I owe him something. Tell me this: were we in danger last night? Of—of any kind?”

Spiritual, was what he meant. He didn’t know the half of it.

“Yes,” Randolph said. “You were. If you want the truth, I suspect you saved four lives, or at least four minds, by lighting that candle. No, I am quite serious. If you had not resisted, if you hadn’t brought back the light—” He stopped dead.

“What is it?”

“You brought the light. You...brought... Fuck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Saul, the character in the Bible. Wasn’t he unenlightened?”

“Well, he was a pagan,” Saul said. “His name was changed to Paul when he turned to Christ. Better known as the Apostle Paul, if that rings any bells? You did have an education?”

“You don’t want to know about my education. The unenlightened man brings light. Hell’s teeth.”

“What, if anything, are you talking about?”

“Saul.”

“Yes, Randolph?” Lazenby enquired, in tones of extreme courtesy, and even in the middle of this, Randolph felt himself smile.

“Damn it. Right. I have an unpleasant feeling that you may not have a choice in this matter, but I’m giving you one anyway. I will get you to a railway station, to a port, out of the country even, if you will go now. That means leaving Peabody to his own devices, but I will endeavour to stop him doing whatever he started. Or, God help me, I will tell you what’s going on, fully and truthfully to the extent of my ability to do so, and then you’ll be sorry. Your choice, but make it now.”