Desolation by Tim Lebbon Page B

people to save?”
    â€œAlways.”
    Sister Josephine glanced at Cain as she pressed past him in the lobby. Her habit flowed like oil, so black that Cain could almost smell the color on it. Her Mona Lisa smile was welcoming but formal. And her eyes were a stunning green, so piercing, so cool and intelligent, that Cain gasped out loud.
    â€œHello, Cain,” she said.
    â€œH-hello.”
    And then she was gone, pulling the front door shut behind her.
    Cain turned to Peter and raised his eyebrows, not knowing what to say.
    â€œShe has that effect on everyone,” Peter said.
    â€œShe’s a
nun?
”
    â€œEither that or a stripogram. I’ve never seen her out of the habit. Though I’d like to, eh?”
    â€œShe’s beautiful” was all Cain could say, and even through Peter’s lecherous laugh he could not manage an impure thought about the nun. Later maybe, when he was over his shock. But right now, Cain could swear that he’d had something bordering on a religious experience. Her smile, so exquisite. Her eyes, so deep.
    â€œStrange one, that,” Peter said. He turned and headed past Sister Josephine’s front door. “But as I told you, they’re all a bit strange in here. Right then, laundry room!”
    He opened the door leading to the basement, stood back from it as if contemplating something, and then glanced at Cain. “You sure?”
    â€œSure of what?”
    â€œSure you want to see the laundry room?”
    Cain nodded. “I have laundry to do. And I wouldn’t want to misuse anything down there. Why, is there a problem?”
    Peter shook his head, the normally confident smile slipping into something more nervous. It looked painted on, like a clown’s. “Nah, not really. I’m just not that keen on being underground.”
    â€œDon’t like the dark?” Cain asked.
    â€œThe dark’s fine. As I said, I just don’t like being underground. It’s the same as being buried.”
    â€œExcept that there aren’t steps up out of a grave.”
    Peter nodded, but he did not meet Cain’s eyes. “Well, all right then, but we’ll just pop down and up again. The stuff’s easy to use, just basic washers and dryers.” He started down the timber staircase, still talking, words tumbling over each other as nervousness took over. “The washer’s more of a commercial design, bigger, more hard wearing, so don’t be afraid to use it as much as you want. Electricity’s included in the rent that you’re having paid for you by Afresh, so no coin slots or tokens needed, or anything silly like that.”
    He flicked a switch, and a bright light flooded up out of the basement, blinding Cain for a few seconds before his eyes adjusted.
    â€œOh, the light’s a bit harsh,” Peter said apologetically. “That’s down to me.”
    Cain paused halfway down the stairs, watchingPeter where he stood uncertainly at the bottom. The landlord looked around the basement, his eyes never resting, head jerking this way and that like a bird wary of predators.
    â€œIt stinks down here,” Peter whispered, and Cain was not sure whether the comment was meant for him to hear or not. He took in a breath, smelling only drying washing and the faint tang of electrical equipment, and something altogether more earthy.
    The basement was surprisingly large. The staircase stood in one corner, and the room extended so far out that Cain was sure it was larger than the house’s footprint. Perhaps it went under the front garden, providing scant bedding for the plants that grew there. It contained several washers and dryers lined along the walls, a couple of ironing boards, and some airing racks adorned with clothing. He wondered whose laundry this was, and smiled as he tried to attach items with their owners. An old woollen jumper, that would be Whistler. Combat trousers, Whistler again, or perhaps