Читать книгу St Paul’s Labyrinth - Jeroen Windmeijer - Страница 11

Friday 20 March, 6:50pm

The three of them stared at the bloodstain on Peter’s shirt, frozen like characters in a promotional still from an action film.

‘That wasn’t there just now, was it?’ Janna asked.

Peter tugged himself free of her grasp. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What do you mean by asking me what really happened down there? I’ve told you, haven’t I? He walked into the tunnel ahead of me and then he walked around the corner. There was no rope left, but I went in after him, shouting his name. When he didn’t answer, I came back to get you so you could help me.’

‘And that blood on your shirt? Is it yours?’ Janna demanded.

‘He fell over. We heard a loud noise … You threw the rope down and it gave us a fright. Arnold was stumbling around and his hardhat fell off. He grazed his head on the wall and then he fell against me …’

Daniël stood between Peter and Janna, like a football captain trying to prevent one of his players from attacking an opponent.

‘What do you think happened? That I was down there in the tunnel and thought, oh, I know, I’ll smash Arnold’s brains in, they’ll never find out that I did it?’

‘Well … everyone knows you can’t stand him …’ Janna said.

‘Hey now,’ Daniël intervened, ‘this won’t achieve anything.’

‘We have to go back down,’ Peter said. ‘I didn’t want to go any further on my own.’

‘I’m calling the police first,’ Janna said, taking out her phone and dialling the emergency number.

It was quiet for a moment. They heard her say ‘Police’ and then ‘Leiden’. Peter checked the time on his own phone. It was almost seven o’clock.

Janna explained the situation. After a brief pause, her voice rose sharply. ‘Excuse me, what do you mean by that?’ She listened to what the person on the other end of the line had to say, then said, ‘Yes, I know he’s been reported missing lots of times before, but this is a totally different situation. He was in a tunnel … under the city, yes … was only discovered today … no, just now … with a colleague … no, they went on their own, but … he’s gone yes … l know this isn’t the first time, you keep saying that, but this time … Listen to me! He’s—’ She looked at her phone as though she was wondering what it was doing there. ‘She hung up on me,’ she said with disbelief. ‘She’s not allowed to do that, she’s not allowed to hang up.’

‘Why did she do that?’ Daniël asked.

‘She didn’t take it seriously,’ she answered bleakly. ‘The boy who cried wolf …’

‘Then perhaps we should …’ Peter started to suggest, but he stopped mid-sentence when something in the distance caught his eye. It was already twilight, but the streetlamps gave off enough light for Peter to see a shadowy figure standing just beyond the Hooglandse Kerk, looking at them.

He appeared to raise his hand, as if he was beckoning them over. He wasn’t wearing a coat and his clothing flapped around him as though his shirt and trousers were far too big. When he noticed that Peter had seen him, he abruptly turned around.

‘Hey!’ Peter shouted. ‘Hey! You! Wait!’

Janna and Daniël looked to see who he was shouting at, but the man had already disappeared around the corner into the cobbled alley of the Beschuitsteeg.

Peter ran after him. ‘Stay here!’ he heard Janna shout angrily, but he kept running. He saw the man turn left and run along the Nieuwe Rijn canal. Peter ran past the American Pilgrim Museum. He saw the man cross the canal via the narrow Boterbrug and then turn left again, running towards Van der Werfpark. There was too much distance between them now for Peter to be able to catch up with him, and to make things worse, his knees had started to hurt. He decided to gamble on the man having gone to the park; he’d be able to hide himself easily there at this time of day.

Peter wheezed as he ran along the Mosterdsteeg. Sweat dripped from his brow. I’m going on a diet on Monday, he promised himself.

After crossing the Breestraat, he turned right at De Kler’s bookshop and ran into the Boomgaardsteeg. It brought him out onto the Steenschuur, with the park shrouded in dusky shadows on the other side of the canal. He thought he saw someone go into the park via the left entrance. They were casually sauntering, as though they were enjoying an evening stroll. Was he imagining it? Peter slowed his own pace and stayed close to the Lorentzgebouw, trying not to cause suspicion by looking behind him. He went over the Steegbrug.

The shadowy figure walked behind the statue of Burgemeester Van der Werff and sat down on a bench. He still looked relaxed, almost as though he might produce a sandwich from a bag and enjoy a leisurely lunch, as office workers often did in the park. But instead, he looked straight ahead.

Peter approached the man, being careful not to be seen. Just as he was getting ready to sprint after him again, he turned to look at him.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said calmly, as though they had agreed to meet at exactly this time.

Peter stared at him in bewilderment. ‘What do you mean, “there you are”?’ He moved closer, so that he was just a couple of steps away from him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

It was difficult to make out the man’s face in the dark, but he could see that he was young, slim, clean-shaven, with medium-length dark blond hair and a plain-looking face. His clothes were so ill-fitting that they appeared to belong to someone else.

‘But you’re …’ Peter said in amazement. ‘You’re the one who was lying in that tunnel this afternoon.’

The young man ignored Peter’s words. ‘I have a message for you,’ he said.

‘What were you doing there? How did you get there?’

‘That’s not relevant right now.’

‘Not relevant? My colleague disappeared in that tunnel.’

The man looked at him in surprise, but seemed to be sincere. ‘Disappeared?’

Deep furrows appeared on his brow. ‘Even so,’ he continued, ‘I have a message for you.’

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but the man cut him off before he had a chance.

‘You’ve been chosen,’ the young man said abruptly, as though he was keen to avoid any discussion.

‘Chosen?’

‘Yes, chosen. A great honour.’

‘Now listen,’ Peter said with irritation, ‘I don’t have time for this now. My colleague has just disappeared and I—’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about your colleague.’

There was a short, awkward pause.

‘I’ve been … chosen?’ Peter asked, confused by the direction the conversation had taken.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ The young man sat up straight. ‘Have you seen The Matrix?’

Peter nodded impatiently.

‘With the red and blue pill …’ the man continued. ‘Neo is given a choice: if he takes the red pill, he’ll wake up and experience the world as it really is. If he takes the blue pill, nothing changes and he carries on as before …’

‘And that would make you Morpheus, I suppose?’

The man scoffed. ‘Peter …’

Peter was unpleasantly surprised that the young man knew his name.

‘Listen,’ the man said, getting up from the bench. They were standing no more than a metre apart now. When he spoke again, his voice was very calm. ‘Just like the prisoner who escapes Plato’s cave and discovers the truth, you can … be set free, disconnected … like in The Matrix.’

‘So I need to choose the red pill?’

‘You don’t need to understand everything now. You will, eventually. “The hour has come.” That’s the message.’

‘The hour has come?’

‘Hora est.’

‘Hora est. This is …’ Peter let his arms fall to his sides, nonplussed. ‘How do you know who I am? And who are you? Do you have a name?’

‘You can call me Raven.’

Peter had run out of patience. He was exhausted from the chase, from the adventure in the tunnel, from worrying about what might have happened to Arnold. ‘You know what, I’m done here—’

‘Look out! Behind you!’ the man said suddenly.

Peter turned around. As soon as he did, Raven pushed him backwards and he fell to the ground, hitting his head hard on the edge of the bench. He felt his skull explode with pain.

The oldest trick in the book.

The man sprinted off but then he stopped a few metres away and shouted: ‘Salvation is at hand!’