right.” Gill was on Turnbull’s side. “That bloke was scared witless, but not like Varre and Clayborne—no offence meant. He was scared of something real.”
“You’d better believe I was,” said the stranger, emerging from a clump of undergrowth. “And I still am. I was listening to you lot, making sure you weren’t just part of all this. You can’t trust anything in this place.” He licked his lips, looked nervously all about. “We should be okay now, for a little while anyway. But let’s get away from here, see if we can find a clearing or something.”
Turnbull had snatched out his gun; he put it away again and said, “For someone who’s obviously knackered, you’re in one hell of a hurry. Don’t you ever stand still?”
The little man scowled at him. “We just came through a door and landed here, didn’t we? If something follows us through, it’ll land here too. Right here! You do as you like but I’m moving on.”
“But you must be dead on your feet.” Anderson carefully stood up.
“No,” said the other. “I’m alive on my feet! And I intend to stay that way.”
He moved off in a fashion suggesting a certain familiarity with this new environment, and the group quickly followed suit to stay close behind. The green growth was more forest than jungle, close but not densely grown. Ducking his way beneath low branches or hanging festoons of vines or creepers and weaving between or around clumps of thorn trees and brambles, the stranger led on. He seemed to be aiming at the sun.
Despite the fact that Gill was growing very tired now, he stuck as close to the little red-haired man as possible. That way he could talk to him as they traversed the forest’s ways. In any case the going wasn’t too bad: the stranger’s own exhaustion made keeping up with him no great hardship.
“I’m Spencer Gill,” Gill at last introduced himself. “I work for the government—or I did. It was my job to study the Castle, the House of Doors, on Ben Lawers’ flank. Now it seems the House of Doors may be studying me, and these others with me. The girl is Angela Denholm. Her being here is pure bad luck. The others—Anderson, Turnbull, Bannerman, the Frenchman Varre, and the American Clayborne—were just too close to the place at the wrong time.”
“Castle?” said the other. “I can understand ‘House of Doors’ easily enough, but ‘Castle’?” He frowned for a moment, then snapped his fingers and said, “Hey, I remember reading about that! A spaceship or spook house or something, which grew up overnight on a Scottish mountainside, right?”
Anderson and Angela were right behind and listening to the conversation. Anderson said, “Do you mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?” The stranger didn’t look back.
“You don’t know that this is the Castle, and that somehow we’re inside it?”
At that moment they emerged from under the canopy of trees at the forest’s edge onto the banks of a sparkling river. It wound out of the trees on a bed of bright, rounded stones between green banks cut through declining meadowland. Fifty yards ahead the water turned white over a series of shallow falls, and where bare rock thrust up through the thin soil, there the rushing river became a waterfall. From two hundred yards away the deluge roared its futile challenge to gravity, sending aloft a fine, drifting spray that fell soft and welcome on itching, sweaty faces. At the edge of gapped, jutting cliffs a rainbow bridged the void between earth and sky; and in the sky, halfway towards its zenith, there hung a ball of fire too bright and searing hot to allow more than a glance.
Wearily approaching the chasm, the little redhead laughed a raucous, almost hysterical laugh and finally answered Anderson’s question. “Inside it? We’re inside something, are we? Just how big is this bleeding castle of yours, mate? I mean, do you really believe there’s one big enough to pack all of this into?” He stood
“You’d better believe I was,” said the stranger, emerging from a clump of undergrowth. “And I still am. I was listening to you lot, making sure you weren’t just part of all this. You can’t trust anything in this place.” He licked his lips, looked nervously all about. “We should be okay now, for a little while anyway. But let’s get away from here, see if we can find a clearing or something.”
Turnbull had snatched out his gun; he put it away again and said, “For someone who’s obviously knackered, you’re in one hell of a hurry. Don’t you ever stand still?”
The little man scowled at him. “We just came through a door and landed here, didn’t we? If something follows us through, it’ll land here too. Right here! You do as you like but I’m moving on.”
“But you must be dead on your feet.” Anderson carefully stood up.
“No,” said the other. “I’m alive on my feet! And I intend to stay that way.”
He moved off in a fashion suggesting a certain familiarity with this new environment, and the group quickly followed suit to stay close behind. The green growth was more forest than jungle, close but not densely grown. Ducking his way beneath low branches or hanging festoons of vines or creepers and weaving between or around clumps of thorn trees and brambles, the stranger led on. He seemed to be aiming at the sun.
Despite the fact that Gill was growing very tired now, he stuck as close to the little red-haired man as possible. That way he could talk to him as they traversed the forest’s ways. In any case the going wasn’t too bad: the stranger’s own exhaustion made keeping up with him no great hardship.
“I’m Spencer Gill,” Gill at last introduced himself. “I work for the government—or I did. It was my job to study the Castle, the House of Doors, on Ben Lawers’ flank. Now it seems the House of Doors may be studying me, and these others with me. The girl is Angela Denholm. Her being here is pure bad luck. The others—Anderson, Turnbull, Bannerman, the Frenchman Varre, and the American Clayborne—were just too close to the place at the wrong time.”
“Castle?” said the other. “I can understand ‘House of Doors’ easily enough, but ‘Castle’?” He frowned for a moment, then snapped his fingers and said, “Hey, I remember reading about that! A spaceship or spook house or something, which grew up overnight on a Scottish mountainside, right?”
Anderson and Angela were right behind and listening to the conversation. Anderson said, “Do you mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?” The stranger didn’t look back.
“You don’t know that this is the Castle, and that somehow we’re inside it?”
At that moment they emerged from under the canopy of trees at the forest’s edge onto the banks of a sparkling river. It wound out of the trees on a bed of bright, rounded stones between green banks cut through declining meadowland. Fifty yards ahead the water turned white over a series of shallow falls, and where bare rock thrust up through the thin soil, there the rushing river became a waterfall. From two hundred yards away the deluge roared its futile challenge to gravity, sending aloft a fine, drifting spray that fell soft and welcome on itching, sweaty faces. At the edge of gapped, jutting cliffs a rainbow bridged the void between earth and sky; and in the sky, halfway towards its zenith, there hung a ball of fire too bright and searing hot to allow more than a glance.
Wearily approaching the chasm, the little redhead laughed a raucous, almost hysterical laugh and finally answered Anderson’s question. “Inside it? We’re inside something, are we? Just how big is this bleeding castle of yours, mate? I mean, do you really believe there’s one big enough to pack all of this into?” He stood
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