Iain Pears - Stone's Fall

'What's going on?'

'I don't know. Apparently a few days ago Cort had asked Macintyre to come and help him knock down some pillar. Macintyre showed up about an hour ago and went inside. Some sort of argument started and Cort began screaming at him. Then he pushed all the workmen out and locked the doors.'

'What was it about?'

'They didn't really understand it. But apparently Cort said something about people wanting to take his building as well.'

'As well?'

Drennan shrugged. 'Look.'

He pointed at one of Cort's workmen, who had a reddening, swelling eye and a look of fury on his face.

'That was Cort?' I asked incredulously.

'So it appears. Macintyre went into the building, and Cort became quite deranged. Started screaming at the men, pushing them, and when one protested, he hit him. Then he picked up a sledgehammer and ran at them with it. Calling them all thieves and traitors. So they retreated, not surprisingly. But they're worried. They're good people, and they like him, even though they think he's a bit mad.'

'Macintyre can look after himself, though,' Longman said uncertainly.

'Maybe. But can Cort?' Drennan replied.

'Perhaps we should try shouting over the wall,' Longman suggested.

And so we did, but it was no use. The entrance to the building was many yards back across the courtyard, the wall was high, the door thick. Had either Macintyre or Cort been outside, they would have heard. But not if they were inside.

Drennan and I looked at each other. 'What do you think?'

Drennan shrugged. 'I don't imagine anything really bad can happen. I can't imagine Cort really picking a fight with Macintyre. He's half his size.'

'There's several boxes of explosives in there, though,' one of the men said. 'The big Englishman brought them two days ago. We were told they were dangerous, and weren't allowed to go near them.'

Then Drennan took charge. He talked to the men, and one of them turned and left. The other gestured for us both to follow him.

'He's got a boat. We can row round to the front of the palace on the canal, and see if we can get in through the main door. It's probably locked, though.'

'What's the other one doing?'

'I sent him to get Marangoni to hurry up.'

We walked down the alleyway to the canal, and in a few moments the little boat came along, rowed by one of the workmen, who looked remarkably placid, considering how agitated we were. He was a good rower and a taciturn one. He gestured us to get in, then he rowed us, swiftly and silently, along a tiny inlet and then out into the canal which went past the main entrance of the palazzo.

I recognised it immediately; it was the building the old man had sung below; I could see the window, the place where the torch had flickered; I looked back and saw the bridge that I had been standing on. Under normal circumstances, I would have been impressed. Seen from water level, it seemed huge, four storeys high with complex Gothic windows on the main floor, neglected and imposing even in its decrepit state. Covered with stucco which had once been painted a rich red, but was now blotchy and with weeds growing out of the crevices in the brickwork. It loomed over you like some vast, polychrome monolith. The main door was large and covered in a heavy iron grille which, although rusting, was more than strong enough to keep us out. It would need specialist tools or an expert locksmith to open it.

Drennan pointed at a small hole in the side of the building, only about five feet high, the place where, once, supplies had been brought in. It was a dark, forbidding place, only just higher than our heads as we sat in the boat. The rower obediently dipped his oars into the water once more and propelled us towards it.

The ceiling of the corridor which ran along the left side of the house was dank and slimy, and the darkness was total until our eyes adjusted. But we soon enough made out a little landing stage, over to the right. Beyond it there seemed to be the faintest outline of a door. We slipped and stumbled our way out of the boat, and onto the slimy stone, Drennan in the lead and me following. He got to the door first and fumbled for a latch. A clunking, scratching sound told me he'd found it. Then I heard him grunt, and the crack of old wood as he put his shoulder against the door and pushed.

A splinter of light. Dark by normal standards, but almost blinding to our eyes. And a great relief as well. We were in. Drennan led the way through, and I came after him, bumping into his back when he stopped to listen. It was all completely quiet. Not a sound could be heard, not even the water lapping against the landing behind us.

'Cort!' I shouted. 'Macintyre? Where are you?'

No reply. Drennan started moving again, his feet on the stone floor making no noise at all, and I became preoccupied with the loud clatter of my boots as I followed. Drennan seemed to know what he was doing; he walked a few steps, then stopped, his head cocked, to listen. Then he walked a few more. After one longer pause, he turned to me and pointed. We crept quietly up a short stone staircase, into a huge room, which must have been about the same size as the great reception rooms on the floors above. There we came across a terrible sight.

Macintyre was lying on the ground, one arm above his head, blood trickling from a wound in the back of his skull. Not serious, perhaps; there was not much blood, but the blow had been enough to knock him unconscious. Cort was sitting on a rickety wooden chair beside him, a flame in one hand, chin resting on the other. In between was a column of masonry reaching perhaps fifteen feet into the air. And around it were half a dozen packages, with a long string coming out of the side, curled round into neat circles and lying on the floor.

'Cort,' I called. 'What the hell is going on here?'

He turned and looked at me. 'Ah, Stone,' he said in an entirely normal voice. 'About time too. I've been waiting for you.'

'What are you doing?'

He said nothing.

'What happened to Macintyre?'

'He tried to take over. Said I didn't know what I was doing. I've had enough of his patronising attitudes.'

'Will you come outside? I think we should have a talk.'

'I've nothing to say to you, Stone. I never want to talk to you again. I know what's been going on. Louise told me. How could you? How could you do that to such a sweet, kind woman?'

'Do what?'

'I know everything. You thought she'd be too ashamed to tell me. And she was, almost; she was in tears, crying her eyes out as she told me what you'd done to her.'

'What are you talking about?'

'She showed me the bruises, the marks of the rope. Everything. Told me what you'd done to her. I should kill you for it. You're a monster. A beast even to think of doing something like that to a woman . . .'

'She's been telling you lies . . .'

'She said you would say that. But she told me about you, Stone. How you attacked her, raped her. The poor defenceless, sweet woman! And it's all my fault! If only I hadn't brought her here, been able to give her the sort of life she wanted. But it will be all right. I'll look after her now. I love her so much. From the moment I saw her, I loved her. I must look after her.'

'Cort, don't be absurd,' I said. 'This is nonsense. She told me the same things about you. She's a liar, Cort. She says these things.'

'Oh, Mr Drennan!' Cort said, frighteningly conversational again. Drennan had been moving softly around the column as I talked. 'Please stand where I can see you. Otherwise I will put this match into the gunpowder here. It will only take a moment to ignite it. Would you be so kind as to stand next to Mr Stone?'

Drennan did as he was told.

'Listen, Cort,' I said urgently and as calmly as I could manage. 'It's not true, do you understand? It's not true. She does that to herself. I know she does. I've got proof, back at my rooms. Do you want to see it? No one has been beating her, whipping her, anything. She's been saying things like that for years. It's all invented.'