Resurrectionist. James McGee

down from on high and the keeper tensed. “Buggeration. Er … sorry, Reverend.”

      The slam of a metal door from deeper inside the building echoed through the darkened wing. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps and an angry warning. “God damn it, Norris! If you don’t keep it down, I’ll be in there tightening the bloody screws!”

      As if at a given signal, the threat was answered by an uneven chorus of raised voices in varying degrees of excitement. This was followed, in quick succession, by a cacophony of high-pitched screams, a peal of hysterical laughter and, somewhat incongruously, what sounded like the opening chant of some religious exultation.

      “Hell’s bleedin’ bells!” Leech spat. “That’s gone and done it.”

      The priest shook his head. “Poor demented souls.”

      Poor souls, my arse, Leech muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Come on, Reverend, I’ll take you to him. Quickly now, stay close to me. And I’d be obliged if you’d put your ’at back on and keep your scarf high. Don’t want any pryin’ eyes spottin’ your collar. Wouldn’t want either of us to get into trouble.” The attendant jerked a thumb skywards. “Then I can go and help deal with that lot upstairs.”

      Casting a wary eye around him, Leech turned and led the way along the dimly lit corridor. The priest hurried in his wake. Gradually, the noise from the first floor began to recede as they left the stairs behind them.

      Not for the first time, the priest was struck by the speed at which decay was spreading through the building. There were wide cracks along the edges of the ceiling. Rainwater was running down the walls in streams. Many of the window frames were so far out of alignment it was clear that some sections of the roof were too heavy for the bowed walls to support. The entire edifice was crumbling into the ground.

      Leech turned the corner. Ahead of them a long corridor led off into stygian darkness. A blast of rain splattered loudly against a nearby window. The sound was accompanied by a groan like that of an animal in pain.

      Leech grinned at the priest’s startled expression. “Don’t worry, Reverend, it’s only the rafters. Used to be in the navy,” the attendant added, “I knows a bit about ship building. Got to give the ribs room to breathe. Same with this place. Mind you, the stupid buggers only went and built her on top of the city ditch, didn’t they? Know what we’re standing on? About six inches o’ rubble. Below that there’s naught but bleedin’ soil. We ain’t just leakin’, we’re bloody sinkin’ as well!” Leech looked up. “Anyways, we’re here.”

      They were standing in front of a solid wooden door. Set into the door at eye level was a small, six-inch-square grille, similar to the screen in a confessional. At the base of the door there was a gap, just wide enough to admit a food tray. Both the grille and the gap were silhouetted by the pale yellow glow of candlelight emanating from inside the room.

      Leech reached for the key ring at his waist.

      “You know what to do, Reverend. Pull on the bell as usual. It’ll ring in the keepers’ room. I’ll be off at midnight, unless the buggers upstairs are still awake, but old Grubb’ll be on duty. He’ll be waitin’ to unlock the door and see you out.”

      The priest nodded.

      Leech gave the door a wary eye. “You’ll be all right?”

      The priest smiled. “I’ll be perfectly safe, Mr Leech, but thank you for your concern.”

      Leech rapped the key ring on the door and placed his mouth against the metal grille. “Visitor for you. The Reverend’s here.”

      Leech waited.

      “You may enter.” The voice was male. The soft-spoken words were measured and precise. There was something vaguely seductive in the tone of the invitation that caused the short hairs on the back of Mordecai Leech’s neck to prickle uncomfortably. Slightly unnerved by the sensation, though he wasn’t sure why, the keeper unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped back.

      In the corner of the room, a shadowy figure rose and moved slowly towards the light.

      The priest stepped over the threshold. Leech closed and locked the door, then waited, head cocked, listening.

      “Good evening, Colonel.” The priest’s voice. “How are you this evening?”

      The reply, when it came, was low and indistinct. Leech tipped his ear closer to the door but the conversation was already fading as the occupants moved away into the room.

      Leech stood listening for several seconds then, realizing that it was pointless, he turned on his heel and made his way back down the corridor. As he approached the stairwell his ears picked up the sounds of discordant singing and he groaned. Sounded as if they were still at it. It was going to be a long night.

      Half an hour after midnight, the bell rang in the keepers’ room. Amos Grubb sighed, wrapped the blanket around his bony shoulders, and reached for the candle-holder. Attendant Leech had warned him to expect the summons. Even so, Grubb felt a stab of resentment that he should have to vacate his lumpy mattress in order to answer the call. The wing was quieter now, after the recent disturbance. It was quite astonishing the effect a bit of laudanum could have on even the most obstinate individual. One small drop in a beaker of milk and Norris was sleeping like a baby. Most of the others, nerves soothed by the resulting calm, had swiftly followed suit. A few were still awake, snuffling and whispering either among or to themselves, but it was relatively peaceful, all things considered. Even the rain had eased, though the wind was still whistling through the gaps around the window frames.

      It was bitterly cold. Grubb shivered. He’d been hoping to get his head down for a few hours before making his early-morning rounds. Still, once the visitor was on his way, Grubb thought wistfully, he could look forward to his forty winks with a clear conscience.

      The elderly attendant swore softly as he squelched his way along the passage.

      He halted outside the locked door and rattled the keys against the grille.

      There was the sound of a chair sliding back and the murmur of voices from within.

      Grubb unlocked the door and stepped away, holding his candle aloft. “Ready when you are, Reverend.”

      Grubb saw that the priest was already wearing his cloak. He’d donned his hat and scarf, too. The clergyman turned on the threshold. “Goodbye, Colonel, my thanks for a most convivial evening. And very well played, though I promise I’ll give you a good run next time,” he said, wagging an admonishing finger.

      Stepping through the door, the priest drew himself tightly into his cloak and waited as Grubb secured the door behind him.

      Together, they set off down the passage. Grubb led the way, candle held at waist height, on the hunt for puddles. He was conscious of the priest padding along at his side and glanced over his shoulder, trying to steal a look at the clergyman’s face. Leech had asked him about the scars a month or two back. Grubb had confessed his ignorance and was as curious as his colleague to learn their origin. He couldn’t see much in the gloom. The priest’s head was still bowed as he concentrated on watching his footing, his face partially obscured beneath the lowered hat brim, but Grubb could just make out the scars along the edge of the jaw. The attendant’s eyes searched for the jagged weal across the priest’s right cheek. There it was. It looked different somehow, more inflamed than usual, as though suddenly suffused with blood.

      As if aware that he was being studied, the priest glanced sideways and Grubb felt the breath catch in his throat. The priest’s eyes were staring directly into his. The obsidian stare made Grubb blanch and lower his gaze. The old attendant sensed the priest raise the scarf higher across his face, as if to repel further examination.

      Wordlessly, Grubb led him to the front hall and waited as the clergyman adjusted his hat. Then he unlocked the door.

      Across the courtyard, almost obscured beyond the veil of drizzle, Grubb could just make out the entrance columns and the high main gates.

      “Can