Free Ice and Fire by David Wingrove

sensed, underlying the chaotic sprawl of new growth.
    ‘Well?’ she said, looking up at him. ‘What now?’
    The wall was too high to climb. The gate seemed strong and solid, with four big hinges set into the stone. A big, thick-linked steel chain was wrapped tightly over the keyhole, secured by a fist-sized padlock.
    Ben smiled. ‘Watch.’
    Taking a firm hold of two of the upright bars, he shook the gate vigorously, then gave it one last sharp forward thrust. With a crash it fell inward, then swung sideways, twisting against the restraining chain.
    Ben stepped over it, then reached back for her. ‘The iron was rotten,’ he said, pointing to the four places in the stone where the hinges had snapped sheer off.
    She nodded, understanding at once what he was really saying to her. Be careful here. Judge nothing by its appearance.
    He turned from her.
    She followed, more cautious now, making her way through the thick sprawl of greenery towards the house.
    A verandah ran the length of the front of the house. At one end it had collapsed. One of the four mock-doric pillars had fallen and now lay, like the broken leg of a stone giant, half-buried in the window frame behind where it had previously stood. The glass-framed roof of the verandah was cracked in several places where branches of nearby trees had pushed against it, and the whole of the wooden frame – the elaborately carved side pieces, the stanchions, rails and planking-was visibly rotten. Ben stood before the shallow flight of steps that led up to the main entrance, his head tilted back as he studied the frontage.
    ‘It’s not what I expected,’ he said as she came alongside him. ‘It seems a lot grander from the river. And bigger. A real fortress of a place.’
    She took his arm. ‘I don’t know. I think it is rather grand. Or was.’
    He turned and looked at her. ‘Did you bring the lamp?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Good. Though I doubt there’ll be much to see. The house has been boarded up more than eighty years now.’
    She was silent a moment, thoughtful, and knew he was thinking the same thing. Augustus. The mystery of this house had something to do with their great-uncle, Augustus.
    ‘Well?’ she prompted after a moment. ‘Shall we go inside?’
    ‘Yes. But not this way. There’s another door round the side. We’ll get in there, through the kitchens.’
    She stared at him a moment, then understood. He had already studied plans of the old house. Which meant he had planned this visit for some while. But why this morning? Was it something to do with the soldiers’ deaths? Or was it something else? She knew they had had a visitor last night, but no one had told her who it was or why they’d come. Whatever, Ben had seemed disturbed first thing when she had gone to wake him. He had been up already. She had found him sitting there, hunched up on his bed, his arms wrapped about his knees, staring out through the open window at the bay. That same mood was on him even now as he stood there looking up at the house.
    ‘What exactly are we looking for?’
    ‘Clues…’
    She studied his face a moment longer but it gave nothing away. His answer was unlike him. He was always so specific, so certain. But today he was different. It was as if he was looking for something so ill defined, so vaguely comprehended that even he could not say what it was.
    ‘Come on, then,’ he said suddenly. ‘Let’s see what ghosts we’ll find.’
    She laughed quietly, that same feeling she had had staring down at the cove through the trees – that sense of being not quite herself – returning to her. It was not fear, for she was never afraid when she was with Ben, but something else. Something to do with this side of the water. With the wildness here. As if it reflected something in herself. Some deeper, hidden thing.
    ‘What do you think we’ll find?’ she called out to him as she followed him, pushing through the dense tangle of bushes and branches. ‘Have you any idea at