‘Your body is cleansed,’ the Inquisitor said. ‘Time now for your soul.’
The door whispered open in front of them, ancient oak sliding into the wall. Jonah closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, gathering himself, and it was memories of Wendy that he used to clasp hold of his identity. He could not afford to lose himself here, not for an instant. He could not let fear overcome him, nor weaken him. I am Jonah Jones, he thought, and as the Inquisitor led him from the room towards whatever might lie beyond, every memory he had ever treasured solidified in his recollection, and his determination to succeed grew stronger by the moment.
The door opened onto a hallway fifty feet across, a marble-clad area that stretched out from left to right. To his right Jonah saw the hallway fading into gloom, but two hundred feet to the left was a wide opening, beyond which gorgeous blue sky and blazing sunlight were visible. Elaborate sculpted fountains lined the centre of the hall, the musical mumble of falling water perhaps there to calm the people walking by. The high vaulted ceiling was decorated with complex and beautiful paintings – the Virgin Mother cradling her baby child, the scene at Calvary with characters named in ornate writing, a Concert of Angels, and a collage of holy men marching across lightning-streaked clouds. As Jonah realised that these holy men wore facial masks that looked terribly familiar, he registered just where the crowds thronging the hallway were coming from, and where they were going.
Doorways lined the wide space on both sides, equally spaced along the high walls, all decorated with arched openings and carved reliefs. The doors opened and closed, and each cycle introduced a new couple onto the floor.
Inquisitor – and victim.
There were hundreds of them there, all walking right to left towards the light. Inquisitors marched with solemnity, and their naked victims’ reactions differed widely. Some shouted and raged, others cried, a few fought, and some walked with a blank-faced stare. Several people reminded Jonah of himself, and his heart raced as realities clashed.
Each Inquisitor, each Inquisitors’ companion, represented another Earth fallen to the zombie plague, and the scale was staggering.
And then Jonah saw that the Inquisitors had faces.
He turned to the being who had been haunting him since the moment when the experiment to open the breach had succeeded. The Inquisitor walked as before – solemn, almost proud – but he had removed the strange snout appliance, and the goggles now hung around his neck on a ragged strap made of skin. He blinked against the light, and a soft steam rose from the moisture running from his eyes. Seeming to sense Jonah’s scrutiny, the Inquisitor glanced at him.
His glistening eyes were of the palest blue, piercing and utterly human.
Jonah caught his breath and turned away. It had felt as if the man was looking into his soul. He made sure that the soft ball was secure beneath his tongue, then asked, ‘What of your world?’ His skin was crawling, his balls tingling. Someone just walked over my grave, he thought.
‘This is my world,’ the Inquisitor said.
‘But your time in the navy, on HMS Cardiff. Were your parents proud? Mine would have been. Your father, the miner, do you think he would be proud of you now?’
‘This is my world,’ the Inquisitor said again without acknowledging Jonah’s questions, ‘and pride is a sin.’ In his left hand he held the breathing apparatus that he had worn for so long. In his right he rolled and caressed a set of rosary beads. Jonah had the sudden urge to rip them away, tear them apart to send the beads skittering and bouncing across the marble flooring. But he had not come here to put on a display of petulance.