The Boudicca Parchments

Chapter 8

Daniel asked for directions from the girl tending the bar, but he had to ask several other people along the way as he navigated the village roads and paths towards the house. He walked rather than drove because he had been told that it wasn’t all navigable by car and it was easier to ask for directions on foot. SatNav was all very well, but how do you enter “the derelict house on the way to Partridge Hill” on a SatNav input?

The last stretch of the walk was along a narrow dirt track lined with trees, hedges and bramble — much of it overhanging, creating a shelter of foliage along the path. The house selling arts and crafts was on the left, set back somewhat from the path and had a large garden and grounds all around it. He knew it was the right house from the sign on the gate announcing that arts and crafts items were for sale there. But that house held no interest for him. He had been told to come to the derelict house next to it that stood directly on the path, also on the left.

The derelict house was in fact two semi-detached houses. The part farther along the path — to the right when looking at the house — had a brick facade. The upper bricks had been painted white, but the lower ones were still their native red. There was some foliage clinging to the exterior walls and the corrugated roof was dirty and bore patches of moss.

But it was the other house — standing closer to the arts and crafts house — that appeared to be the derelict one. This one had a stucco facade, although little of it was visible beneath the thick blanket of ivy clinging to the surface. The roof was a horizontal, watershed lattice of wood. But as he moved round the house to the left side, he noticed that there was a part of the house that receded from the path and had no roof at all, just the long wooden beam at the apex that had once supported it. Even some of the upper brickwork was missing.

This must be the place.

He moved round it to find an entrance, eventually seeing a door that was ever so slightly ajar. Was Costa already in there waiting for him? Or was he late again? And was the door open simply because the house was abandoned and contained nothing of value that anyone would want?

Daniel rapped on the wooden door with his knuckles.

“Anyone home?”

No answer.

He pushed the door gingerly with his hand. It swung open slowly and then, even slower still, started to close again. That could have just been the way it was hung on its hinges. At any rate, he stopped it with his hand and stepped across the threshold. As he entered, he turned his head to survey the contents.

He saw nothing untoward. The place was almost completely empty, save for an old dark wooden chest that seemed like some aging relic to remind people that that house had once been occupied. It was then that Daniel noticed a pair of feet protruding from beyond the wooden chest.

He well knew the old classic film noir scenario in which the innocent man stumbles on the corpse only to be accused of murder. The natural reaction was to run. But he was an adult and he had to keep his thought processes within the realm of a man’s estate. The feet might be attached to a dead body, but it could equally have been something innocent, like a tramp taking refuge in an abandoned house and oversleeping after a heavy night’s boozing. He had to know, before he did anything rash. So he took a couple of steps towards the chest and what lay partially obscured behind it.

But as he was about to take his third step, something arrested his movement. For in that instant he became aware of an unpleasant smell. Not a rotting or decaying corpse. But still a strong pungent smell.

It was the smell of petrol.

And before he could process the information any further, there was a sound from outside and movement in his peripheral vision as a burning object seemed to fly overhead. It landed near him and there was a loud, deep roar of air, as the house went up in flames. He made a dash for the door, but tripped and as he tried to get up, he started coughing and choking from the smoke and fumes.

He was amazed at how quickly the effect took hold of him. But this wasn’t just a fire: it was a fire started deliberately and aided by an accelerant. Though his mind was sharp enough to understand this, his body — wracked by the smoke-induced choking spasm in his throat — lacked the resilience to do anything about it. He could hardly keep his eyes open and his head was spinning as the blackness descended upon him.