Free Marlford by Jacqueline Yallop

‘We can’t let it put us off, man. Not now, when we’ve got a good thing going. And I bet there’ll be electricity downstairs. We should go downstairs again. We can set up the wireless.’
    â€˜I don’t know.’ Gadiel went over to the bed and fingered the curtains gently. The fabric flaked, disintegrating under his touch. ‘I quite like it up here. There’s something about it… it’s as if they’ve lent us their bedroom, as if we’ve been invited to stay.’
    â€˜Oh, come on, we’re not house guests, man. This is a squat. It’s a radical act of subversion.’
    â€˜Still, I think it’s a cool room. I think we should stay here.’
    Dan sat up, brightening at a sudden thought. ‘OK – yeah, I see. It’ll be ironic. A statement. The modern politics of equality and opportunity in the boudoir of the ancien regime.’
    Gadiel rubbed away the greasy dust between his thumb and forefinger. He laughed. ‘You talk rubbish,’ he said.
    When they had first forced their way into the rear of the house, they had left their bags by the door. Now, they could not find their way back. The bedroom corridor was longer than they remembered; there were several flights of stairs.Only the faintest glow squeezed through the scarred and dirty windows and the darkness disorientated them. They had not thought to mark their route and neither of them had noted any features by which to navigate. They had to feel their way, keeping close together.
    â€˜We should have left a trail of string, like that Greek guy,’ Gadiel said.
    â€˜Theseus.’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s it – Theseus.’
    â€˜And the Minotaur,’ Dan reminded him. ‘It’s just the kind of place for Minotaurs.’ He pounced on Gadiel, gripping him by the shoulders. ‘ Rargh!’
    Even such a stupid joke disconcerted them.
    They found themselves on the ground floor in the most ancient part of the manor, the rooms smaller and lowceilinged, panelled in thick wood and flagged in stone, the air cool, trapped from winters long past. They came to a dead end where the passage was blocked by a wall and had to retrace their steps. They chose another door. The internal configuration of the house was baffling: different periods were overlaid one on top of the other, each wrestling with the next, grappling to overcome structures that had gone before: there were doors at odd angles; windows packed with stone or sulkily offering abbreviated views; cupboards and closets knocked through into airy chambers; elegant reception rooms eroded into cupboards and closets. The fabric of the manor seemed uneasily held, the aggression of its reconfigurations barely contained.
    â€˜We could be here for ever at this rate, man, going round and round,’ Dan complained. ‘I can’t believe they could live like this. Why would they want to live like this?’
    It seemed too insubstantial, their hunt for an untidy pile of carrier bags, tiny evidence of the present in the vastness of the past.
    â€˜I suppose they knew their way around,’ Gadiel answered, reasonably.
    Dan opened another door to a dead end. ‘Look, man, in my house you open a door and it goes somewhere. There’s a reason to open it. There’re no tricks. It’s honest. Here – well, it’s… it’s pointless.’
    â€˜It’s cool, though, too, don’t you think?’ Gadiel answered. ‘Isn’t there a part of you that thinks it’s really cool?’
    â€˜I’m not taken in like that, man.’
    â€˜I bet you are, really. I bet you love it.’
    Dan gave a short, bitter laugh and walked on.
    At last, and all of a sudden, they found themselves in another set of rooms, defiantly simple. Somewhere a tap dripped.
    â€˜I remember that! I remember the tap!’ Gadiel was triumphant. He rushed ahead. ‘Look, Dan, that’s the window we broke to