The Betrayals(84)

‘If you wanted … I know you mostly go round with the others on Sundays. Emile and Felix and … But I thought – listen, it was only an idea, forget it.’

‘Spit it out.’

‘I wanted to show you something. Take you somewhere.’ He didn’t give me time to answer. ‘Never mind.’

‘Wait,’ I said, ‘I’m not awake yet. All right. Give me a second to get dressed.’ I left him at the door and dragged on my clothes. When I came back he’d turned his back, as usual. ‘Right then. Lead on. Where are we going?’

He strode ahead of me. He had a canvas bag across his shoulder, and I caught the whiff of garlic and cheese, and saw the shine of apples. It made me want to laugh, somehow. ‘You’ll see,’ he said. But instead of going down the staircase into the courtyard, he led us along the corridor and up, turning at a half-landing and then pushing open the door to a storeroom. He held aside a leaning broom and ushered me forward.

‘What on earth …?’ I stumbled over a bucket. ‘What’s all this about, Carfax?’

‘This way.’ He slid round an old tallboy at the far end of the room, disappearing into the shadows. There was a thud, and I heard him swearing; then the creak of a door. I squeezed after him and into a low, dusty passage. For a second I wondered whether it was some kind of ploy, and they’d find my desiccated body there months later. Then Carfax held his hand up to stop me banging my forehead on a low lintel. ‘All right? Careful.’

‘This is – are you—’

But he’d already moved on. There was another flight of stairs – I think, I was finding it difficult to keep track – and another passageway, with small grimy windows and dust in drifts like snow. It was much quieter, as if we’d left the scholars’ wing completely, and neither of us spoke. I found myself trying to walk as softly as possible. Once, at the intersection of two little tunnels under the eaves, I thought I heard a child crying. It was hard to tell which direction it was coming from. I paused, remembering Jacob last term, and his insistence that his room was haunted; but then Carfax caught my sleeve and beckoned me forward, and I was glad to leave the sound behind.

All this time, I thought he was taking me up to the roof. We inched through a stuffy triangular space that smelt of woodworm and hot wood, ducking to get past the bare joists, and I was sure of it. But then he stopped right in front of me, and said, ‘Here.’

He stepped aside. We were at the edge of a huge, dim space. The roof met in an angle above us, seamed with threads of sunlight. In the far corner a shaft of gold sliced down, so thick with dust it looked solid. There were fragments of blue above us, where slates were missing.

The floor dipped and rose in front of us, the curves meeting in a central spine. It was disconcerting, like standing on the hull of a stone ship. Carfax glanced at me. ‘What do you think?’

We were above the Great Hall, looking down on the vaulted ceiling. I laughed – I couldn’t help it – and the echo seemed to skim over the ribs of the floor like a pebble. ‘It’s amazing,’ I said. ‘How did you know …?’

‘Sometimes I come here when I can’t sleep.’

I looked round. In the daytime it was odd and impressive, but I didn’t fancy being there at night. Clearly he’s got stronger nerves than I have.

He followed the curves of stone towards the long spine. Then he sat down on the slope, slung his bag on to the floor next to him, and leant back on his elbows. I followed him. My knees felt tingly and loose; I knew the floor wouldn’t give way, but all the same I made myself tread carefully. If he hadn’t been there I might have turned round and gone back.

‘Here.’ He passed me the bag. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but suddenly I was ravenous. For a while we ate sausage and cheese and fruit without speaking. I was conscious of the hall and the empty benches and the terra underneath us, as though silence was welling up between the silver lines, flooding the whole space until we were breathing it in.

He didn’t say anything else, and neither did I. At first my head was full of the grand jeu and bits of my game; but by the time we’d finished eating I was in a dream, watching the shimmer of the sunlight where it came through the gaps in the roof. No words came. It was the sort of interior peace they’re always telling us to aspire to in the Quietus, but I’ve never felt it before. As if the world was enough. I closed my eyes and put my hands behind my head. I think maybe I dozed off.

When I opened my eyes again the sun had moved and the air was bluish and soft, all shadows. I could feel the warmth of Carfax’s body next to me, although we weren’t touching. He was breathing so lightly I thought he was asleep, but when I turned my head I saw his eyes were open.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, as though he was answering me, ‘when I come up here, I’m afraid that I’ll fall asleep, and when I wake up, everyone else will have disappeared. Afraid … No, maybe that’s not the right word. But I have this conviction that I’ll go down to the scholars’ corridor and every cell will be empty. And I’ll look out of the window, and I’ll see that Montverre is starting to fall into ruin. No smoke from the chimneys, no one in the courtyard … The walls already crumbling. Gargoyles smashed where they’ve fallen off. Rain stains and piles of mouldering leaves. No lights, no voices, no clock bell. Nothing. As if I’m the last person left on the entire planet.’