Murder by Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

hard
shake, but it refuses to budge.  He tries a couple of others, but they
appear to be firmly wedged, and nailed together where they overlap.
    ‘I
don’t reckon our Leonid came this way.’
    He
bows his head and ducks out into the fresh air.  DS Jones’s complexion
appears pale, despite their brisk walk up through the forest; Skelgill seems to
notice, for he leans sideways and pulls a half-eaten packet of glucose sweets
from the map pocket of his trousers.
    ‘Here
– the best I can do in lieu of brandy.’
    She
grins self-consciously.
    ‘Sorry,
Guv – I wasn’t expecting that – it really spooked me.’
    Skelgill
shrugs and steps past her.
    ‘Come
on – let’s get up to the top.  They mined the slate up there as well
– there’s some big chambers – that’s where folk tend to knock
around if they’re exploring.’
     
    *
     
    ‘This
is like being in a secret Covenanters’ chapel, Guv.’
    Skelgill
glances about proprietorially.
    ‘Aye,
well – you’re not so far wrong – they call this the Apse .’
    DS
Jones nods appreciatively.  They are speaking in whispers, and have halted
at an aperture that leads into a huge domed chamber.  Skelgill has
switched off his torch, for there is a fracture in the roof through which a
shaft of sunlight illuminates a rockfall of gigantic flakes of slate.  The
biggest of these points back skyward like a jagged standing stone, and in front
of it one great slab the size of a bed lies flat – together they give the
impression of a primitive altar and reredos, mysteriously floodlit amidst the
crowding shadows.  Beyond, the darkness gathers, even blacker for the
light that streams down into the centre of the cavity.  But before the
shadows consume all, it is evident that a large pool of water stretches from
behind the rock formation to the back of the cave, and the constant timpani of
drips and plops make an eerily echoing fugue.
    ‘This
is as far as you can go – or you can abseil in and walk out the way we’ve
come.’
    Skelgill
directs his flashlight so that its beam reflects off the black water and highlights
the naturally vaulted ceiling, a succession of arched ribs like the interior of
a great pharynx, taking a greenish hue from the once sought-after slate.  At
either side of the chamber are horizontal shafts, known as drifts, but these
are blocked with rubble – whether by accident or design it is impossible
to know.  As they begin to retrace their steps other side-passages beckon,
and Skelgill inspects them as far as is possible.  In due course he leads
them along one such corridor; killing the torch reveals a bend some seventy-five
yards ahead, with daylight filtering from just beyond.
    When
they emerge DS Jones stretches with relief, turning her face up to the sun.
    ‘I’m
not good with the dark, Guv – these tunnels give me the creeps.’
    ‘Aye,
well – I’m no big fan of caving myself – though we have mock rescue
exercises in these places – I’ve done them right here in days gone by.’
    DS
Jones, despite the ambient warmth of the fine day, visibly shivers.
    ‘Imagine
being trapped underground – I think I’d die of claustrophobia – if
you can do such a thing.’
    Skelgill
grimaces.
    ‘The
worst scenario is when someone gets stuck roof-sniffing and then it rains
– and the water level rises.’
    DS
Jones seems to understand his caving slang; she winces and brings her palms
together in prayer fashion.  Skelgill waves a hand to indicate that she
should follow him.  They walk across the smooth bedrock of an opencast section
of former quarry, to the entrance they had originally taken.  There is an
official notice warning members of the public that they enter at their own
risk, and that group activities require prior permission of the National Trust.
    ‘Why
would he have come up here, Guv?’
    ‘Same
reason as we did.’
    DS
Jones looks perplexed – but perhaps as she considers her superior’s
answer she comprehends his logic: