“Right. Shall we go on up these steps and see what we find?” He peered at the soft ground. “Can’t see any tracks of any kind around here.”
The stairs were wide enough for a good-size wag to drive down them, lined with creepers that hung their purple flowers to the ground.
They opened onto a long terrace, edged with ornamental shrubs and drooping willows, growing alongside a narrow stream that flowed slowly through the garden, its limpid surface covered in waxen pink lilies.
“There,” Krysty said. “That looks like a building, covered with ivy.”
“Could be. Looks more like a church.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Now they could see it more clearly. It consisted of a single story, a kind of stubby tower at one end, with a crenelated top to it and a large clock face, handless, the gilt Roman numerals faded and worn.
There were windows all along the side of the building and a door, iron-studded, protected by a large porch.
“It’s definitely a kind of church,” Krysty said. “Looks real old. Lovely honey-colored stones.”
“Doesn’t seem much damaged.”
“There’s a track leading to it from the opposite direction. Mebbe there’s a highway out that way.”
Ryan nodded. “Could be. Don’t want to go too far and attract attention to us. Take a quick look, then I think we should get back to the raft. See what kind of food Mildred shot for us. I’m already feeling hungry again.”
“Me, too.” Krysty sniffed again at the scented air. “Beautiful flowers. Make you feel almost dizzy with their smell. All right, lover, let’s go take a look.”
THE SMALL BUILDING was in an amazingly good state of preservation. On one side there was a range of stained-glass windows, but from the exterior it wasn’t possible to see what they portrayed. On the other, northern flank, the glass was crazed and clear, as if the color had been leached from it.
“Could have been some kind of radiation from a skyburst,” Ryan suggested, leaning on the stick and staring at the windows. “Likely a neutron nuke.”
“Path’s been kept trimmed back, and someone’s mown the grass at the side by the porch.” Krysty beckoned him to her. “Let’s look inside.”
Ryan wasn’t comfortable. The short hairs at his nape were prickling, often a sign of some sort of impending threat. “You feel anything?” he asked.
She stopped, her hand reaching for the twisted iron handle of the arched double door. “Yes Could be someone’s not too far away. Feeling’s sort of blurred.”
“Bad?”
“No. Not bad. Not anything. You know it’s often sort of confused. Might be someone good at veiling their true feelings. Come on, let’s look inside.”
Inside the porch was a wooden notice, painted black, neatly lettered in gothic gold printing The Shrine Of The Blessed Antoninus Of Padua. Founded 1889. Come In To Worship.
Ryan ran his fingers over the lettering, looking at them. “Clean,” he said, speaking quietly. “Been wiped free from dust in the last day or so.”
“Must be a priest.”
“We should get back to the raft.” He had an urgent feeling that wouldn’t translate into words.
“In a minute. Door’s open, look.”
Krysty pushed it silently back, walking away from Ryan into the cool interior. He followed her, combat boots ringing on smooth gray stone, catching the strong smell of incense, a scent that seemed to overlay another, more familiar odor that made him hesitate. But he couldn’t quite identify the elusive smell.
There were a dozen pews ranged down each side, and a stone altar sat at the far end of the nave. Now in the gloomy interior, with the bright sun outside, it was possible to appreciate the delicate stained glass.
Five separate windows ran down one side. The other side still had the lead patterning, but all color was gone and the glass was starred and fractured.
Ryan looked behind him for a moment, sensing the door closing of its own accord. He saw that it hung on drop hinges and relaxed a little. Walking down the aisle, they admired the workmanship of the pictures.
They all, oddly, showed scenes of violence but done in a Victorian classic way, strangely devoid of emotion. Despite the horror show, nobody seemed to be actually suffering any real pain or emotion.