Corbenic Read Free Page A

“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but . . .”
    The woman smiled and stepped back. “Please! You’re soaked, and cold. Come inside. It’s too evil a night to be on the road.”
    â€œI haven’t . . . I mean I just need to use the phone. Do you have a phone?”
    â€œYes. We have everything you need. Come in.”
    He followed her over the threshold, into a hall panelled with dark wood. It was dazzlingly lit with expensive-looking marble lamps. A huge round table stood in the hall’s center, with some sort of sword on a stand; on all the walls red brocade wallpaper glowed, and in a vast hearth between two suits of armor a log fire roared and crackled.
    Classy, Cal thought. He eased the dripping rucksack off and dumped it on the floor. He felt cheap and wet and thoroughly out of place.
    â€œWhile you call,” the woman said kindly, “I’ll have your room made ready.”
    A room! Cal stared, alarmed. “Oh no! I mean, I won’t be staying. I’m just going to get someone to pick me up.”
    She shook her head. “From here? I doubt it.”
    â€œMy uncle will. Well . . . how far are we from Chepstow?”
    â€œAs far from there as from anywhere, I’m afraid.” The woman knelt and put another log on the fire carefully, the wide sleeves of her dress slipping back to show strong arms. She looked up at him. “This is the Waste Land. But the room won’t be expensive, if that’s what worries you. You’re our guest, and there’s no charge.”
    That really scared him. Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever came free. Whatever sort of weird setup he had wandered into here had to be dodgy. Phone, then get out, he thought.
    As if she guessed the woman stood, wiping her fingers on a lace-edged handkerchief. “There’s the phone.” She nodded behind him. It was an old-fashioned sort of booth in the corner of the corridor.
    Cal said, “Thanks,” and headed for it quickly.
    A door opened and closed somewhere in the building; he heard music and a rumor of voices, shut off, instantly.
    The booth had no door and smelled of lavender. When he’d picked up the receiver and turned the woman had gone, so he dialed his uncle’s number quickly. It was an ancient bakelite machine, black and heavy with a silver dial that spun with a satisfying purr, the words CORBENIC 301000 printed in the center.
    There was a crackle, the ringing tone. Then, oddly small and distant, his uncle’s voice. “Hello?”
    â€œUncle Trevor? It’s Cal.”
    â€œCal? Where are you?” He didn’t sound anxious. More surprised. “Is your train in early?”
    â€œNo. Look . . .” Cal took a deep breath, hating himself. “I made a mistake. I got off at the wrong stop.”
    He heard his uncle’s hiss of annoyance. “How on earth did you manage that! Where are you?”
    Cal ignored the first question. “Somewhere called Corbenic.”
    â€œNever heard of it.”
    â€œNo. I think it’s sort of out in the sticks. The last station I remember before it was Craven Arms, but . . .”
    â€œ Craven Arms! That’s about three hours’ drive!”
    Cal scowled. He felt a total fool, and suddenly knew what was coming. When his uncle spoke again he sounded even more distant, as if he’d stepped back. He was also brisk and matter-of-fact. “It’s far too far for me to pick you up. I’m going out later anyway. You’ll have to stay over. Where are you ringing from?”
    â€œA hotel. The Castle. But I . . .”
    â€œIs it all right?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, Cal! Is it decent? How many stars has it got?”
    He had no idea. Wearily he looked around at the paneled hall, the crackling fire. “It’s posh. It’ll cost an arm and a leg.”
    â€œDon’t pay more than forty pounds for the night. Have you got