The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET. Scott Mariani

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СКАЧАТЬ Fulcanelli’s manuscript and Notre Dame cathedral. He ran his eye along the carving, its bladelike feathers, curved talons and cruel beak. Its eye was a glittering ruby-red glass inset that seemed to stare back at him.

      ‘Is this an original feature?’ he asked. ‘The fireplace, I mean,’ he added, remembering she was blind.

      ‘Oh yes. It was carved by Corbu personally. In fact he began his career studying carving and jewellery-making before he became an architect.’

      Below the raven, the Latin words HIC DOMUS were carved in gold-lettered gothic script. ‘Hic… here,’ Ben translated under his breath. ‘Here the house…this is the house…This is the House of the Raven…’

      But where was this leading? Why had Fulcanelli put the house on the map? There had to be a reason. There must be something here. What?

      As he searched his mind for some kind of connection, he gazed around the room. His eye lit on a painting hanging on the opposite wall. It showed an old man dressed in what looked like medieval garb. In one hand the man clutched a large key. In the other he held up a circular shield, or perhaps a plate, that was oddly blank as though the artist had never completed the painting. The old man was smiling mysteriously.

      ‘You never told me your name, monsieur,’ said the blind woman.

      He told her.

      ‘You are English? It was nice to meet you, Ben. My name is Antonia.’ She paused. ‘I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave now. I am going to visit my son in Nice for a couple of days. The taxi will be arriving soon.’

      ‘Thanks for the tour.’ He bit his lip, trying to hide the frustration in his voice.

      Antonia smiled up at him. ‘I’m glad you found the place. And I hope you will find what you are seeking, Ben.’

60

      He sat amongst the trees overlooking the valley with the Le Corbusier house below him, and tried to get his thoughts in order. Evening was falling fast, and the wind was picking up. It was close and sticky. He could see black clouds scudding beyond the treetops. A storm was coming.

      Antonia’s last comment struck him as a little odd, a little out of place. I hope you find what you are seeking. He’d told her he was looking for the house, that was all. As far as she was concerned, he’d already found what he was seeking. And seeking seemed too strong, too evocative a word for someone who was just checking out an old house they found on a map.

      Maybe he was reading too much into it. Or did the blind woman know something she wasn’t letting on? Did the house have something to yield up to him? If it didn’t, that was it. There was nowhere to go from here.

      There was a rumble of distant thunder. He put his hand out and felt a large, heavy raindrop splatter against his palm. It was soon joined by another, then another. The rain was lashing down by the time car headlights appeared, winding slowly up the private road to the house. Lights went off in the windows. Antonia came out, and the driver helped her to the taxi under an umbrella. Ben watched from under the dripping canopy of an old oak tree as the car drove off.

      When the taillights had vanished to red pinpricks in the falling darkness, he turned up his collar and headed across the valley.

      He moved quietly and cautiously around the outside of the house. Rain was cascading from the guttering, churning neat flowerbeds into mud. There was a sharp flash of lightning, and thunder rumbled angrily overhead a second later. He brushed the water out of his eyes.

      Darkness had fallen fast as the black thunderclouds rolled in. He used the LED pistol torch to find his way around the side wall until he came to a back door. The lock was flimsy and easy to pick, and in less than a minute he was in the house. The thin white beam of the torch led him from room to room, throwing long shadows. The storm was right overhead now and building in intensity. There was another flash, two seconds of flickering strobe lightning, and the crash of thunder that followed instantly afterwards rocked the house.

      Remembering his way around, he quickly found the room with the ornate fireplace. He shone his light on the carved raven, which looked even more alive in the shadows than it had in daylight. Its beady red eye glinted in the light beam.

      He stood back, thinking. What was he looking for? He didn’t really know. The raven symbol had led him this far, and his instinct told him he should keep following it. He stared at the fireplace, his mind working furiously as rain beat against the windows. Something occurred to him. He went back outside into the downpour and saw he was right.

      From inside the house, the fireplace seemed to be set into the outer wall–yet as he stood in the garden, wiping the rain out of his eyes and sweeping the torch beam along the line of the roof, he saw that the squat chimney stack protruded from the roof inboard of the gable end by about three metres. He’d noticed that the window in the wall adjacent to the fireplace was about a metre from the corner, but looking from the outside it was about four metres from the end of the house.

      As he hurried back inside, dripping and shivering, he realized that unless it was some quirk of the ultramodern design, it meant there was a hidden cavity behind the fireplace. An insulation space? Too big, surely. It had to be about three metres deep. Maybe it was a corridor, or even a cupboard, that could be accessed from some other room.

      But where was the way in? He tried all the doors, but nothing led in the right direction. The room above was a bedroom with solid floorboards and no way down. There was no cellar beneath the house, from where the hidden room might have been accessible through a stairway or trapdoor. He returned to the living-room and scrutinized the fireplace again. If there was a way through, it must be here.

      He turned on the lights and tapped around the wall, listening to the sound. All around the fireplace, the wall was solid. Moving to the left of the fireplace, his tapping made a different note. Another metre to the left and the wall sounded quite hollow. There were no cracks or joins anywhere, nothing that could have been a hidden doorway. He tried levering away the wooden panels on the walls, in the hope that one of them might reveal something. Nothing.

      He reached his arm up behind the fireplace surround, groping up into the sooty chimney. Maybe there was a lever or some mechanism to open a way through. There wasn’t. He wiped the black dusty soot off his hands. ‘Must be something,’ he muttered. He ran his hands all over the fireplace, down the sides, his fingertips running over the intricate carvings, feeling for something that would press in, or give or turn. It seemed hopeless. The rain hit the windows with a crackling like flames.

      He stood back from the fireplace, thinking desperately. There was nothing for it. He was going through that wall, and if there wasn’t a ready-made doorway he’d make one himself. Fuck it.

      He found a wood-axe in a tool-shed outside, buried in a chopping block surrounded by a pile of split logs. He grasped the long axe-handle and wrenched it out of the block. Back in the house, he swung the axe up over his shoulder and aimed it at the hollow part of the wall. If his guess was right, he could smash a hole through to the other side.

      What if I’m wrong, though? He lowered the axe, suddenly filled with doubt. He shot a guilty glance at the raven, and its glittery red eye seemed to meet his knowingly.

      He looked thoughtfully into its impassive face. The bird was so lifelike that he almost expected it to fly at him. He СКАЧАТЬ