Free Broken Voices (Kindle Single) by Andrew Taylor

were doing
seem a little less strange.
    Holding up the
lantern, Faraday opened a desk that stood at the far end of the room. In a
moment he gave a little cry of triumph and held up a long key.
    ‘What’s that
for?’
    ‘The door from
the choir vestry to the Cathedral.’
    ‘All these keys
without labels,’ I said. ‘Old Veal would have a fit if he knew.’
    We snorted with
suppressed laughter, the tension forcing its way out as a bubble of mirth.
    ‘Atky doesn’t
let him in here,’ Faraday said. ‘They hate each other.’
    He unlocked the
door into the Cathedral. This was nine feet tall beneath a pointed archway; I
had often seen the choir marching through it, two by two, processing into the
Cathedral in their cassocks and surplices.
    We passed into
the south aisle. Faraday pulled the door to behind us but did not latch it.
    For a moment we
stood still, shocked by the immense, cold darkness around us. We were in the
belly of a huge and unimaginably heavy stone beast. I had been scared before — but
what I felt now was something different — terror, yes, but there was an element
of awe mixed in with it. At night the Cathedral lost its familiarity and became
strange.
    ‘Oh God.’
Faraday sounded close to tears. ‘It’s horrible.’
    ‘It’s all
right,’ I said. ‘It’s just dark, that’s all. You’re not scared, are you?’
    It was bravado
that made me say that, together with the desire to contradict and needle
Faraday. The more signs of fear he showed, the more my bravado increased.
    ‘Come on,
Rabbit. We haven’t got all night.’
    We set off down
to the south aisle, which would take us the length of the nave to the west
tower. At first we walked slowly and then more quickly. I tried to suppress the
idea that there might be someone behind us.
    I glanced
upward. I could not even see the vault of the aisle. On our right were the
massive pillars of the nave, looming palely like a line of great grey oak
trees. The lantern cast a puddle of light on the grounds, enough to see where
we were going, but little else.
    Faraday touched
my arm. ‘We had better stay together.’ I felt his hand sliding around my elbow
and gripping it. ‘If - if we hold onto each other, we can’t get lost.’
    He spoke in a
whisper. All the time we were in the Cathedral that night, we spoke in whispers
— except, of course, at the end. I felt there was a danger that we might be
overheard: that someone or something was listening.

12
    For me, the worst thing at that point
was not the darkness but the sound of our footsteps on the flagstones. Try as
we might, we could not walk quietly. Our steps sounded louder than usual, but
muffled and dead, as if sinking into cotton wool.
    At the end of
the aisle we came to the south-west transept and the west tower. Our footsteps
changed as they entered these wider, taller spaces. They sharpened and acquired
an echo.
    Faraday’s grip
tightened. ‘Did you hear that? Someone’s behind us.’
    ‘Don’t talk
rot. You’re getting windy. Let’s go and look for your beastly anthem.’
    Clinging to
each other, we crossed to the door leading to the tower stairs. Faraday let go
of me while he fumbled for the key he had borrowed from Mr Veal. I had
privately cherished the hope that it would turn out to be the wrong key. But it
turned sweetly in the lock.
    The door opened
outwards. We pulled it to its full extent, so it grated against the wall. The
light from the lantern showed only the first two or three steps, spiralling in
a clockwise direction into the utter blackness above.
    We climbed,
side-by-side, for the staircase at the lower level was wide enough for this.
The air became colder and colder. After the vastness of the nave, the enclosed
space pressed in on us. I was soon out of breath — from the climb and from
fear. So was Faraday. Our laboured breathing was deafening. I wanted to put my
hands over my ears.
    At first I
tried to count the steps as a distraction. We had been told that the