Past Lives by Ken McClure Page A

level.
    There were two doors leading out of the room. One led to the place where they were holding Benny and he had just discovered that the other was locked. Slowly he released the handle so as not to make any noise. He supposed he could charge straight out through the room where they had Benny but he suspected that the upstairs door would be locked. The alternative was to try and pick the lock of the door he was still holding. The mechanism looked simple enough and he was not entirely inexperienced in such matters: he had not always been a dish washer. This was the option he’d go for.
    Stroud had left some instruments lying on the table by the bed. Eli selected what experience told him would be most suitable for the job and started to probe the lock. He heard more anguished cries coming from his friend next door and felt a pang of guilt in taking comfort from the fact that the sound would cover any noise that he might be making. Ignatius was shouting. He sounded angry but not at Benny because he could hear Stroud shouting back. He couldn't make out what the argument was about but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out. With a final twist of the improvised pick, the lock turned and he stepped out into a narrow stone passage.
    His heart sank when he saw that it didn't seem to lead anywhere. In fact, it appeared to end about five metres to his left in a solid stone wall but he decided to check it out anyway. He edged his way along, stretching his arm out in front of him. It did end in a wall but there was a small recess to the left where a wooden ladder was propped up. It was rough to the touch and smelt old and dry.
    As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could see that the ladder led up to a trap door in the roof. There was no place else to go so he climbed up and started to work on freeing the rusty bolt that secured it.
    It took several attempts before the bolt finally yielded and slid back in a shower of metallic dust. He blinked to clear his eyes and spat out the rust that caused his mouth to pucker. He moved up another rung and applied his shoulder to the hatch cover, only to be rewarded with another shower of dirt but at least the cover moved. He raised it a little and looked out through the gap to see a broad, stone-walled passage. It was considerable wider than the one he was currently in and had lights along it at regular intervals. There were also lit candles in small alcoves, flickering in front of religious statues. The passage seemed deserted so he opened the hatch fully and hoisted himself up through the space to sit on the edge of the opening and pausing to consider whether or not it was wise to burn his bridges.
    The passage was clearly part of the convent but it didn't smell like it. No incense. It didn't have the clinical smell of the cellar he’d just left either; it had a different smell. It smelt . . . like a prison. For Eli it had been a while but it wasn't a smell you forgot easily, if ever. He was still in two minds about continuing when he was distracted by a cry of anguish echoing up from the tunnel below. He didn’t feel good about it but he let the hatch cover fall back into place and committed himself to going on.
    He listened for a moment before setting off along the new passage, taking comfort from the fact that he must now be up at ground level. With any luck he could be out of here soon. He would raise the alarm and get help for Benny. He turned the first corner then froze as he heard sounds coming from up ahead. His first thought was that it was the chanting the Christians were so fond of, but, as he neared the wooden door it seemed to be coming from, it was clearly too discordant for that. It was more like the moaning of people in torment.
    The door suddenly opened and a nun stepped out into the passageway. She was wearing a plastic apron over her robes and carrying a tray with crockery on it. She got as much of a surprise as Eli and dropped the tray. Plates smashed on the