He turned to me as if for confirmation of this and, realizing he was playing for time, I said, ‘Squalid rather than bizarre, I’d have thought.’
Sch?nbrunn nodded, then set the torch on the floor as Porringer had ordered, angling it to shine on to the iron door. When he grasped the thick old handle it turned, and he pulled the door open. There was a faint sound as if ancient breath had been released, and a stench of old soot gusted out. For a moment I thought there was a movement in the corner near the furnace, almost as if our entrance had disturbed something, but it was only black beetles scurrying away from the light. Sch?nbrunn seemed hardly to notice. His eyes were already scanning the room, and I knew he was searching for a means of escape.
Porringer nudged the torch with his foot, so that the light fell more fully into the room, and gestured to us to move back to the wall. The furnace was on our left, and as the light fell across it, I saw that it had a round door, held in place by a long steel rod, placed diagonally and thrust into grooves. The rod would make a good weapon, but I could not see any means of snatching it from the door without Porringer seeing.
He seemed in no hurry to shoot us. Clearly he was relishing having the legendary Sch?nbrunn at his mercy, and would no doubt brag about it to his paymasters in Berlin.
Sch?nbrunn said, ‘What exactly is this place? Come now, Porringer, if this is to be our tomb, you can at least tell us where we are.’ He took an unobtrusive step towards the furnace, and my heart skipped a beat, because I knew he, too, had marked the steel rod.
‘We’re in the bowels of Deadlight Hall,’ said Porringer.
‘What is – or was – Deadlight Hall?’
Porringer gave a small shrug, and said, ‘A hundred years ago this house was a cross between an orphanage for the bastards of the rich and respectable, and what used to be called an Apprentice House. A sort of hostel for the orphans who were brought up here and sent to work in the local industries. As a matter of fact an ancestress of mine ran the place. Maria Porringer was her name.’
‘I shouldn’t have thought this part of the country would have much industry,’ I said, strongly aware of Sch?nbrunn taking another step nearer to the furnace, and wanting to keep Porringer’s attention on me.
‘There was more than you’d think,’ he said. ‘In particular there was a glass-making manufactory. Salamander House it was called. Most of the children who lived here worked there. It’s long since gone, of course.’
‘This house has a bad feeling. As if violent things have happened here.’
‘Oh, the locals will spin you any number of stories about Deadlight Hall,’ said Porringer. ‘No one will live here. It’s been empty for years, and—’
The sentence was never finished. Sch?nbrunn dived for the furnace door, seizing the steel rod and dragging it free, so that the door creaked slightly then began to swing open.
Faced with two victims in separate parts of the room, Porringer fired at me, but I had already dropped flat to the floor. (I may not be as resourceful as Sch?nbrunn, but I do have some instincts.) The bullet went harmlessly over my head and into the wall behind me. Tiny chips of stone and plaster flew out.