The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(102)

It was after he’d been climbing for more than a minute that McLean began to understand what was going on. The house had been built by the man who owned the ironworks; he remembered Needy telling him, years earlier, how they’d once been the wealthiest family in Midlothian. Quite how the Guild of Strangers fitted in, he had no idea, but this tunnel, and the chapel down below, were obviously some early Victorian folly. A rich man’s conceit; maybe even a way of spying on his workforce unseen.

His suspicions were confirmed moments later when he emerged into a windowless room lined with empty wooden shelves, and felt the temperature drop by several degrees. There was only one door, artfully disguised as part of a bookcase in the large office into which it opened. Shafts of light broke through gaps in the boarded-up windows. The candle cast shadows over some plain 1950s office furniture, but it was obvious from the decoration that this room had originally been the domain of the boss.

The beep, beep, beep of a truck reversing broke the silence, and with it McLean realised he could hear distant traffic again. He moved as fast as his candle flame would allow, across the office and into the next room. It, too, was boarded up, disused since the ironworks had closed down. This would have been the reception area for the administration of the business, he guessed. The door to the outside was locked, leaving only one other way that Needy could have gone. Into the great steel hall itself.

The space was huge; cast-iron pillars rising like spruce trees to support the roof high overhead. The lower windows had been boarded up, but higher up they were still clear, the light outside painting the distant ceiling and casting evil shadows. Most of the heavy machinery had long since gone, and the floor space was now taken up with piles of building materials. Scanning around, he couldn’t see Needy anywhere, but there were plenty of places to hide. Only one way out, though; the big roller doors that opened onto the compound beyond. They were closed right now, so with a little luck, Needy was trapped.

McLean put the altar candle down carefully on the concrete floor, then went to get his mobile phone out. Only then did he remember that it was in his jacket pocket, draped around Emma’s unconscious body. He took one step towards the roller doors, looking for help. Something whistled out of the shadows at him.

Twisting out of the way, he took most of the blow on his shoulders and back, but it was enough to drive the wind out of him and send him to his knees. Coughing and retching, he tried to stand as Needy danced into view, an old leather-bound book clasped under one arm, a length of two-by-four in the other. His face was a mess of swollen redness, his eyes puffed up so much he surely couldn’t see. And yet he was grinning like an idiot.

‘You came back! I knew you would. It told me you would.’ Needy shrugged the arm with the book under it, then raised the two-by-four again. McLean rolled out of its way as it cracked on the floor, and felt his arm knock something over. There was no time to see what it was, Needy was coming back for another blow. He rolled away again, and again, as the blows came faster and faster. He had to get to his feet, had to find something to fight back with.

The two-by-four hit the ground inches from his head; splinters cracked off the end of it, cutting his face. For an instant it seemed that Needy had run out of breath. McLean seized his opportunity, grabbed at the length of wood, and pulled hard. He’d been hoping to catch Needy off balance, but the old sergeant yanked the stick free with surprising strength. Still, it had given McLean enough time to get to his feet. Now all he needed was a weapon of his own.

And then he saw the fire.

It was a small flame, but growing rapidly. The candle lay on its side, rolled up against a pile of sweepings that had caught and then spread to a pile of sawn timber. As he watched, tongues of blue flame licked up the walls, spreading both ways with a speed that couldn’t be natural. It looked like a giant gas burner had just been turned on, and he was standing in the middle of the oven.

McLean was so transfixed by the sight that he lost track of Needham and the two-by-four. It struck him hard in the stomach, driving him to his knees. Before he could react it had whipped back the other way, clattering the side of his head and sending him back to the floor. The blood roared in his ears, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It was hard to focus, the edges of his vision dimming so that all he could see was Needy’s legs and the fire behind them.

The two-by-four clattered to the ground, and then McLean felt hands grab him under his armpits. He tried to fight, but all the strength had gone from him. He was dragged a short way, propped up against a pillar. He managed to raise one hand, though it felt like it was encased in concrete, and touched the side of his head. Sticky wetness coated his fingers and pain exploded across his vision in a shower of sparks. When they cleared, he could see Needy, bending down and looking at him through those horrible, puffed-up eyes. He had the book in his hands, a quizzical expression on his face.

‘Why do you fight it? It’s nothing to be afraid of.’ Needy opened the book and then held it up so that McLean could see. His vision was still blurry from the smoke and the blow to his head, but there was something about the size and shape of it that filled him with a terrible certainty. This was the book he’d found the slip of Kirsty’s dress in. This was the Liber animorum, the Book of Souls.

‘I can’t read it, Needy,’ McLean said, his voice cracking. The heat was rising quickly now, the fire spreading between the piles of materials stacked up against the walls nearby. Needy didn’t seem to have noticed at all.