Fantom chapter 3, part 5.

  Tom and Adam emerged panting from the shaft into the folly.  Agnes was not far behind them, and they could see the guards, with their guns, only a step or two behind them.
  “Run!” Tom said.  They ran out of the folly and, to the surprise of a few tourists who were wandering around the hilltop, dived down into one of the grass-grown hollows that pitted the ground.  There they tried to recover their breath.
   “They can’t do anything to us out here, can they?  There are other people around,” Agnes said.
   “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Tom said.  
   Adam was peeping out between the rocks at the lip of the hollow.  “They’re heading the other way,” he said.  “Can we get down the hill this side?”
   Tom peered over the opposite edge.  “I think so.  We’d better try, anyway.  If we stay here they’ll find us eventually.”
   “And we need to get help for Ruth,” Agnes added.
   It was only later that they realised that the sensible thing to do would have been to phone for help.  But when you’re being chased by someone with a gun you don’t always think of what would be sensible.  
   They began to make their way down the hill, as unobtrusively as possible.  At the bottom of the hill they avoided the car park by the cavern entrance and struck out across a playing field towards the campsite.  They had almost reached their tents and were beginning to think they had escaped when behind them they heard shouts and the roar of a van.  
   “Here!” Tom shouted.  His car was parked next to the tent.  He fumbled in his pockets for the keys, and then dropped them into the grass.  Eventually he got it unlocked and they got in just as the guards arrived.  Swerving round them, Tom drove off the campsite, just as a bullet glanced the back of the car.  
   “Where are we going?” Adam asked.  She and Adam were hunched down in their seats, afraid of further bullets.  
   “Anywhere they’re not,” Tom said grimly.
   “There’s a car following us,” Agnes said.  “And a van behind that.”  
   There were no further shots, but the car and van followed everywhere they went.  They drove around for hours, afraid to stop, afraid to go back to the camp site.  It was starting to get dark and they had been tired and silent for some time.  They were driving up a steep narrow road when suddenly Tom spoke.
   “Oh good grief,” he said.
   “What?” Agnes asked.
   “I’ve just realised where we are, or rather where we’re going,” he said.  “It’s the old A625.  It doesn’t go anywhere any more, it’s closed.  There were landslides and the road- just ends- it can’t be far ahead.
   “We can’t get through?”  Agnes asked.  Tom shook his head.
   “We can’t turn back,” Adam said.  Behind them, headlights showed their pursuers were still hard on their heels.
   “We’ll have to run for it,” Tom said.  “Maybe we can loose them in the dark.”
   “It’s getting misty too,” Agnes said.  “What’s that ahead?”
   “A fence,” Tom said.  “It must be the end of the road.”
   It was.  Tom swerved into the lay-by just before the fence, and they jumped out and disappeared into the dark.  On the other side of the fence the road seemed to continue as normal for a few metres, then they heard the noise of slipping stones and Adam said, “Ow!”  
   “What is it?” Agnes whispered.  Behind them they could hear shouts of wrath and the slams of car doors as their pursuers argued about what to do.  Headlights were visible through the mist.
   “There’s a drop- the road’s subsided,” Adam said.  “About half a metre.  Watch out, let me help you down.”
   “There’s several places it does that,” Tom whispered.  “I’ve been here before.  “I’ve got a torch but if we use it they’ll see us.  We’ll have to feel our way along, and stay together.”
   Shreds of fog drifted past them as they made their cautious way over the uneven surface of the broken road.  It was not long before they were disorientated and had lost track of both the road and their direction.  Behind them they could still hear occasionally the sounds of pursuit.  Occasionally a torch beam would pierce the mist and they would duck down behind a dry stone wall, but each time the mist closed in again and the light and sound disappeared.
   In the darkness they made their way over boggy ground and through fields.  They clambered down a steep rocky path which, on reaching the bottom, they realised was actually a mostly dried up stream bed.  
   Eventually, as the sky began to lighten they climbed wearily up a hill, hoping to be able to see where they were.  There seemed to be some sort of building at the top of the hill, although they could not see more than a rough outline.  They had heard nothing of the pursuit for some time, and were so tired by now that they did not realise until too late, that they were not the only ones there.

The story continues...

Fantom chapter 3, part 4.

   And then, without a sound, they stopped.  It was as if whatever was powering them had been switched off.  Their arms sank to their sides, their whole bodies drooped.
   “And that’s what happens when I stop conducting,” the adjudicator said.  “The world will dance to my tune  now!”
   She stepped forward and tapped the taller Fantom on the arm.  A crack had appeared, only small, but noticeable.
   “They are not perfect,” the adjudicator said.  “Any wrong notes- and there were plenty in your performance- mean they will be weakened and clumsy.  I doubt these two could climb those stairs!  Next time I will be able to use better singers!”  She turned and walked to the far side of the cave, holding up a torch.  The light fell on the entrance to a tunnel, choked by fallen bolders and rocks.  The stream trickled through the gaps between them, suggesting that somewhere down there the cave connected with other caves, and, eventually, another way out.  
   The adjudicator waved her baton and the creatures lumbered into life once more, and lurched across to the rockfall, beginning to dig.  The adjudicator beckoned the guards over to help too.  
   Ruth and the others looked at each other.  Tom nodded towards the stairs.  “Now!” he whispered.  They ran for it towards the stairs.  But the floor was uneven and Ruth had never been much of a runner.  She tripped and almost fell.
   “Stop them!” the adjudicator shouted.  The guards, taken by surprise, pelted after them.  
   They reached the foot of the stairs.  Tom, Agnes and Adam began to climb.  Ruth, behind them, looked up with a sinking heart.  Surely they would never reach the top without the guards catching them, and even if they did, they were on a hill and would have a long run before they could find safety...
   She felt a hand on her wrist, holding her back.  Turning quickly she saw it was Patrick.  
   “Let me go,” she said.  “What are you doing?”
   “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  Behind him, the guards were already pushing past them.  She tried to block the stairs but they just pushed her out of the way and she was knocked into Patrick.  He staggered, but did not let go.  The others were halfway up the stairs.  She saw Tom pause for a moment and look back down at her.
   “Go on!”  Ruth screamed.
   “What about you?”
   “Just go!  If you don’t we’ll all be in danger.  Get help!”  She struggled to get away from Patrick, but his grip on her arm was still iron-tight.  He was almost hiding behind her as one of the Fantoms, directed by the adjudicator, moved towards them.  Ruth gave an almighty tug, and got herself free, her wrist smarting.  She began to climb after the others.
   “Stop her!” the adjudicator demanded, waving the baton.  In her other hand was a gun.  Ruth was not sure which she was most afraid of.  The monster stepped forward over the cowering Patrick, reached up with its’s long arm and picked up Ruth.  She found herself being held eye to eye with the creature, her legs kicking at the empty air, its hand around her chest painfully tight.  In pure terror she looked into it’s eyes, saw the curious, hungry look, and was sure that was the end of her.
   “No!” the adjudicator commanded, waving the baton again.  The creature yelped and released Ruth.  She dropped onto the cave floor and lay still, sobbing.
   “So, you decided to stay and help?” the adjudicator said to Patrick.  “In the hope that I’ll reward you?”
   “You promised,” he said.
   “Tie her arms,” the adjudicator said.  “I may still need the pair of you.  You’ll get your reward when this is over.”  Patrick came over and helped her up.
   “Are you ok?” he asked.
   “What do you care?” Ruth said, turning her face away from him.  She did not try to resist as he took her arms and tied them in front of her.  She could see that her wrists were already red from where she had struggled against him, and the rope chaffed.
   By this time the Fantoms had cleared a hole in the rockfall.  
   “Come on,” the adjudicator said, and led off down the tunnel to the exit.  She waved the baton and the monster followed.  Patrick indicated to Ruth to follow, and he brought up the rear.  
   It was dark and damp, and sometimes slippery.  The two fantoms went ahead to clear their path.  With her arms tied Ruth felt oddly unbalanced and was afraid she would fall.  Once or twice she stopped completely, tired and afraid, but the adjudicator waved the baton and the fantoms turned to menace her.  Her fear of them grew greater than her fear of falling.  Tears continued to seep down her cheeks like the flow of water over a stalagmite, and she could not brush them away.  Once Ruth slipped, and almost fell into one of the monsters.  She managed to catch herself on a rock instead, but she was cut and scared.  
   “Please,” she begged, “Please untie me.  I won’t run away, I promise-”
   “Shut up,” the adjudicator said, not even looking round.  Ruth stumbled on, afraid and half-blind with tears.    She felt Patrick put an arm around her, and stiffened.  He helped steady her on the slippery places and gave her some reassurance, even if it was from the traitor who had got her into this mess. 

The story continues...

Fantom chapter 3, part 3.

   At the side of the cave, where it was lower, drops of mineral rich water dripped down a small stalagtite that was growing there until they reached it’s tip, and then fell on to the point of a small stalagmite beneath.  Ruth found her eyes drawn towards it as the singing began to gain momentum.  
  They sang on.  Drips rolled down the stalagtite ever faster.  Before their very eyes it grew, in a few minutes reaching the size others had taken hundreds of thousands of years to reach.  The water dripped off on to the stone below.  The stalagmite there was growing too, reaching up towards the one above.  Ruth could not take her eyes off it.
  She heard a crack behind her, and turned sharply.  In the middle of the pool a large flowstone stood.  But now it was moving, bulges straightening to give the impression of a head and limbs.  It creaked, reaching out a cold, stony arm.  It rose from the water, drips cascading off it as it straightened up.
   Her voice faltered, and their taskmistress leaned forward menacingly.  “Sing!” she hissed.  Ruth flinched back, but dared not resist.  The music seemed to have gained a life of it’s own, and she kept going almost automatically.  To stop seemed more effort than to continue.
  Her eyes flickered back to the stalagtite and stalagmite.  They were close together now, and as she watched they joined in the middle.  The pillar began to broaden.  Ruth saw a split developing as the base of the column separated into two legs.  Further up two arms were developing.  They began to move. Finally, with a shattering crack, the creature tore itself free from the cave roof and floor, shuffling heavily out into the centre of the cave.  The flowstone creature, also now free of the rock, joined it.  
   The singing died away as they reached the end of the act one finale.  Their taskmistress stepped forward, heels clicking on the rocky floor, to inspect her creations.  They stood in the pool, their heads featureless, their hands and feet undeveloped.  One was tall and thin, the other shorter and bulbus, both were larger than human size.  They looked like horrible mockeries of humas foetuses, Ruth thought, watching them in fear.    The adjudicator had a conductor’s baton in her hand and tapped each of the shapes on her heads, hands and feet with it.  
   The adjudicator turned back to them.  “Act two!” she said.  “And do not stop.”
   They were all weary now, but the threat of the guns compelled them to obey.  As they sang features began to develop on the stalagmite creatures, eyes, ears, mouths, toes, fingers.  All looked strangely squashed and flat, but definately there.  As they reached the finale the tall thin one spread his fingers, and Ruth barely resisted a gasp.  They were flat, and when they were spread they looked like a fan.  But as it held them up Ruth could see that the edges of the fingers were sharp, like the blade of a knife.  The creature closed them with a snap.  Ruth’s over-active imagination imagined what would happen to anything caught between the bladed fingers.  It was nearly impossible to keep singing- she was terrified.
   At last they reached the finale, it’s jolity in sad contrast to the terror the singers were in.  As the dying notes echoed around the cave Ruth heard another noise, coming this time from the two creatures.  Their mouths were open.     The creatures spoke, like the grating of gravel in a a riverbed.  “We are your servants, oh conductor.”  And with that they knelt, lumberingly, before the adjudicator.
   “Fantoms,” the adjudicator said.  “Come to me.”  She ran her hands over their arms, caressing them almost lovingly.  She obviously felt none of the fear that Ruth and the others did.  They looked at each other.  The guards were still between them and the stairs.
   “They will obey me, their conductor,” the adjudicator said.  She raised her conductor’s baton, and the Fantoms stood up.  She began to conduct and they turned and began to lumber towards Ruth and her friends.  
   They shrank back, trying to get away from them, but came up against the wall of the cave.  Ruth felt Patrick next to her, and saw the look of fear in his eyes.  He was as frightened as she was- whatever he had intended by bringing them to the cave, it wasn’t this.  
   The Fantoms were still moving towards them.  The tall one flexed its arms and spread its fingers.  Ruth swallowed as she heard the metallic sound, like a dozen scissors snapping shut.  It was only centimetres from her face.

The story continues...

Fantom chapter 3, part 2.

    Slowly they climbed down into the hill, Patrick leading, Ruth bringing up the rear.  The steps weren’t too bad after all, but as the lights showed only yet more steps below them she felt that the staircase would never end.  She could just see the others below her, and heard their feet echoing on the stone.  It began to feel cool and damp after the warm breeze of the hilltop.  Ruth began to relax a little as the steps continued to be regular and solid, but, although she was normally fine with caves, something still didn’t feel quite right.
   At last she heard the others in front of her reach the bottom of the stairs and the light grew as the cave opened out.  She sighed with relief as her feet touched the solid stone floor.  Looking up, the shaft didn’t seem so deep after all, though she was glad no one had started climbing down behind her, all the same.  
   She turned her attention to the cavern.  It was quite impressive, even in the sinister glow of a few small electric bulbs.  Stalagtites clung tight to the ceiling while stalagmites reached up from the floor.  In a few places they met in a glistening greyish column.  Stones glittered as water trickled over them from a crack in the cave wall, meeting in a pool at one side of the cave before disappearing into another crack in the rock.  
   “I wonder if this is why the folly was built in the first place?” Ruth said.  “To mark the entrance to this place?”
   “I wonder where the stream comes out?” Adam said.
   “Probably joins up with the rest of the caves at Poole’s Cavern,” Tom said.  “This can’t be far from there.”
   “You are both correct,” said a voice behind them.  They turned round, surprised to find anyone else there.
   A figure stepped forward from the shadows.  A tall woman, wearing a long dress and heels that Ruth thought were completely impractical for climbing around in caves.  It was, to her astonishment, the festival adjudicator.  
   “Sorry,” Tom said, “We didn’t realise there was anyone else here.”
   “But I knew you would come here,” the woman said.  She stepped towards them, a long dark cloak swooping about her.  Ruth noticed that she was now between them and the stairs, and began to feel that something was wrong.
   “I knew,” the adjudicator continued.  “Didn’t I, Patrick?”
   The others turned to look at Patrick, who had shrunk back towards the cave wall.  
   “I asked him to bring you here, because I want you to do something for me,” the woman continued.  Ruth heard a noise behind them and looked round to see two dark figures.  She could not be sure in the half-light, but it looked very much like they were carrying guns.  
   She wants the TTC!  The thought flashed through Ruth’s mind and she could see the others thinking the same.  They had brought the TTC with them to Buxton, parking it as- they had hoped- an unobtrusive green door in between an antiques shop and a pet shop.  When they had walked past later, though, they had been rather surprised to see that the door had labelled itself ‘Gilbert & Sullivan.’  Presumably the TTC could pick up the local atmosphere and adjust to camouflage itself better, although in this case it hadn’t quite worked perfectly.  
   Now they wished they had left it safely in York.  How had she found out about it- had Patrick told her?  Had he betrayed them, let something slip in talking to her?  It would explain why he had been so quiet and subdued since talking to her.
   “I know you have the Thespis score,” the adjudicator said.  “Don’t try to deny it.  And I know you’ve been learning it- your friend here was most helpful.”  Patrick shrank further into his corner from their accusing glances.  “So you had better co-operate.  I want you to sing Thespis.”
   They stared at her.  That was all she wanted?  “What, here?  Now?” Tom asked.
   “Yes.”  The adjudicator nodded to one of the dark figures.  He spread a rug over a rocky shelf and the adjudicator sat down.  
   “I know you know the music,” she said.  “I know you’ve got a recording of the piano parts on your music player, Adam.  There are speakers on that rock next to the lights.  Plug it in, and get started.”  The singers looked at each other, confused and uncertain.  They drew together.  “What can we do?” asked Agnes.
  “Can we do anything except co-operate?” Ruth said.  They could all see now that the guards really were carrying guns.  
   “I suppose not,” Adam said.  “But why does she want us to sing down here?  She must be mad!”
   “Shh!” Tom whispered.  “She’ll hear.”  The cave echoed strangely.  
   “What did you tell her about the TTC and Thespis for?” Agnes asked Patrick indignantly.
   “She knew already,” he said, as if pleading to be believed.  “I don’t know how, but she did.  She came up to me and asked about it, and then said...asked me to bring you here.  That’s all I know, really!”
   “Then why didn’t you tell us?” Tom said.  “Why did you just do what she said?”   
   “Come on!” the adjudicator snapped.  Her guards took a step closer.    “Get on with it.  I’m not going to wait all day!”
   “We’d better do what she says,” Adam said.  He plugged his music player into the speakers, and they began, rather self consciously, to sing.

The story continues...

Fantom chapter 3, part 1.

3. Far away from grief and care.

   Blue skies above, soft grass below and a warm sun beating down on them, while a gentle breeze took the edge off the heat.  It was a perfect day for a picnic.  So Ruth was not surprised when things turned out ot be less than perfect.
   "How did you forget the drinks?" Ruth asked, as Patrick produced a stack of plastic cups from his bag but not the fruit juice he was supposed to be carrying.  He shrugged.
   "I've got the water, anyway," Tom said.  "And the sweets from last night...oh, wait, no, I must have left them back at the campsite."
   "Well, I've got the sandwiches," Ruth said.  "Adam, have you got the fruit?"
   "Err..."Adam rummaged in his bag.  "Yes," he said, producing a large melon.  Ruth knew the answer to the next question before she asked it.
   "Has anyone got anything to cut it with?"  Awkward silence.  She sighed.  "I've got my penknife, that  might do but it'll be tricky..." She felt in her rucksack.  "Oh.  I took it out this morning to cut some string at the tent and it looks like I didn't put it back in."
   "We can manage without fruit," Agnes said.  "I've got the cake."  It was more like crumbs than cake, having been crushed in transit.  "It still tasts ok," Agnes said apologetically.
   Ruth laughed.  "I think we've spent too much time on Thespis," she said.  "This is ending up like the wedding' picnic!  ‘The best of a pic-nic is that everybody contributes what he pleases, and nobody
knows what anybody else has brought till the last moment.’  It’s so true!”
   They ate and drank their less-than-perfect picnic near the folly known as Solomon's Temple, on a hill on the outskirts of Buxton.  It was something of a tradition to visit there when they came to the Festival, and indeed the view from the folly over the surrounding area made it worthwhile.  The top of the hill was broken up by little dells where there had once been lime pits, and tiny purple harebells peeped through the grass that now covered the industrial waste of previous generations.
   Among other things they discussed their production of Ruddigore, which had taken place two days before.  It had turned out quite well, and the audience had seemed to enjoy it.  But several members of the cast had been annoyed by the comments made afterwards by the festival adjudicator, who judged all the amateur performances and gave criticism.  They felt she had missed the point on several parts of their show.
   "I mean, it doesn't surprise me," Tom said.  "We've always said the same about her, she has very different ideas from us of what makes a good show."
   "Like that time she complained that a performance of Pirates was too funny," Agnes said.  "Remember?"
   "Ernest wasn't too pleased, was he?" Tom said.
   "Nor was Eliza," Ruth added.  "She thinks she's the bees' knees and then gets told she ought to tone down!  She's not happy."
   "Can't say I disagree though," Adam said.  "She wasn’t my idea of a Margaret.”
   "Wasn't she- the adjudicator I mean- talking to you last night in the Festival club?" Ruth asked Patrick.   The Festival club took place after the main show of the evening, usually with some communal singing and performances by members of the cast of that evening's show.  Many of the society had done solos or duets, including Patrick.
   “Er...yes,” he replied hesitantly.
   What about?" Agnes asked.  
   "Nothing much."  He shifted uncomfortably on the grass.  Ruth looked at him, wondering if there was something he wasn't telling them.  Maybe she had complimented him on his performance, or more likely given him 'constructive criticism' that he did not want to talk about.  He had been quiet since then and had wandered off somewhere on his own yesterday, not turning up until it was time to go to the theatre to watch the evening’s performance- a Gondoliers which, they had agreed, wasn’t anywhere near as good as the one their group had done the previous year, whatever the adjudicator might think about them.  
   He went quiet again now, as the rest of them chattered.  Ruth looked up from packing up the remnants of the picnic and saw him wandering up towards the folly.  She wondered what was bothering him.
   They soon followed him, planning to take the obligatory group photos at the top.  But when they got there they found Patrick waiting for them.
   “Look,” he said, pointing.  Spiral stairs led up to the viewing gallery of the folly, as they always had done.  But now they also led down.  A winding stone stairway, lit at intervals with bare electric bulbs disappeared down into the hill beneath Solomon’s Temple.
   “Oh!  That wasn’t there last year,” said Tom.  
   “Have they just made it?  It looks old,” said Agnes.  
   “‘Buxton’s Lost Caves,’” Ruth read, from a sign next to the steps.  “‘Visit this stunning cavern, lost since Victorian times and recently rediscovered.  Entry free.  Please mind your step on the stairs.’”
   “Shall we go down?” Patrick said, already on the first step.
   “We might as well,” Tom said.  “We’ve got plenty of time.”
   Ruth was staring down into the dimly-lit darkness.  Somehow she didn’t like the look of it.  “I’m...well, I’m not great with spiral staircases,” she said reluctantly.  
   “It’s fine,” Patrick said, already disappearing underground.  She was momentarily angry with him for ignoring her fear.  
   “It looks like the steps are ok,” Tom said.  “But if you want to wait here we shouldn’t be long.”
   “No, I’ll come,” Ruth said.  “It might bring you out somewhere different and I’d have to find you.  But let me go last so I don’t feel I’m slowing you down.  I don’t want to have to hurry.”

The story continues...