The Book: Chapter 46

 

They didn’t have time to breathe.

The soil settled over Tristan’s remains, and the book snapped open. Fresh ink oozed across the page in strong, deliberate strokes, forming the next riddle.

Broken is the promise never given.

The weight of truth will tip the scale.

Offer that which is most precious,

and the path will never fail.

Mick was still shaken. ‘Offer what’s most precious?’ he said. 'That’s you. Well, you or my car.’ He managed a tight laugh. ‘This sounds as ominous as hell. And a riddle again. Can’t this thing just send a text like a normal psychopath?’

Alice stared at the words. ‘It’s clever. The last task forced us to return something. This time it wants us to give something.’

Mick’s jaw tensed. ‘Good observation. But as usual, we don’t get to know what it is until we’re in too deep.’

The book had nothing to say.

Alice got down to business. ‘Where do we go?’

The ink rearranged, forming a single word:

Justice.

Mick frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Justice. The police or a courtroom? Thinking more laterally, a scale? Truth, maybe?’ She ran through possibilities. ‘The old courthouse,’ she said.

Mick looked at her. ‘On Abbey Road? We’ll never get in there. It has airtight security.’

‘I don’t think we have to. This old sod doesn’t like modern architecture.’ She was typing on her phone as she talked. ‘Here we are.’ She tilted the screen so they could both see.

Before the imposing courthouse was used on Abbey Road, Barrow-in-Furness had a small judicial building known as The Old Market Square Courthouse. Constructed in 1852, this Victorian building stood proudly at the end of the town near what is now the site for the new marina.

Mick nodded. ‘It fits the riddle. Justice, truth, a scale. If the book wants something precious in exchange for a path forward, it’s going to test us. What else can we arm ourselves with?’ He carried on reading the report.

The courthouse was the site of many notable trials in Barrow’s early days, particularly cases related to industrial disputes and maritime law, given the town’s booming shipbuilding industry. It housed the town’s first police station, with small holding cells in the basement where rowdy sailors and local troublemakers were kept overnight. By the early 20th century, the need for a larger judicial building led to the courthouse on Abbey Road. The Old Market Square building was partially demolished in 1934. However, part of the structure, including the original entrance and clock tower, still stands today.

Mick read it again. ‘Something tells me this isn’t going to be straightforward. I don’t like the wording in the clue.’

Alice shouldered her bag, gripping the book tight. ‘Let’s find out.’

‘I had a horrible feeling you were going to say that. But I’m calling a halt, this time. Think about it. It’s teeming with construction people down there through the day. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but let’s wait until later tonight.

That night they put on warm clothing in dark colours and fitted new batteries in their torches. ‘The Old Courthouse—at Midnight. Will they make it out alive?’ Mick said.

‘Stop it,’ Alice said. ‘I’m jittery enough. And it isn’t midnight, it’s only half past nine. Are you ready?’ He used humour to mask his terror, but it got on Alice’s nerves when she was scared witless, too.

‘No. But let’s do it before my common sense catches up and slaps me.’

The building made no apologies for its gothic stonework and had a proud elegance about it, even though the grand entrance doors barely hung from rusted hinges and it had been empty for centuries.

As Alice and Mick stepped inside, the air shifted with the familiar involvement of another presence. It was subtle at first, a light pressure against their skin. Something unseen had become aware of them. The silence of the outside world faded, replaced by a deliberate creak.

A heavy scale hung from the centre of the ceiling. Ancient, rusted, and swaying despite the absence of wind.

Alice shuddered. ‘That wasn’t in any of the photos. Love that. Nothing says fun evening like a haunted scale.’

Mick shook his head. ‘Of course, it wasn’t shown. The master at work. Theatrical to the last.’

The book’s pages flipped violently, stopping on a new instruction:

The weight of one life for another.

The guilty walk free

while the innocent

Suffer. Choose.

Mick’s face blanched. ‘Oh, hell, no.’

Alice felt tears stinging her eyes. ‘It’s asking us to decide which of us will die. I knew it would trick us.’ More words appeared.

Ye, of little faith.

‘Go to hell,’ Alice said.

The book shuddered, and ink laced across the page, forming two names.

Eleanor Henshaw. Daniel Price.

She felt Mick’s breath whoosh against her ear as he held her close. ‘It’s okay. It’s not us.’ The relief in his voice was palpable.

‘Does it make it better that it wants us to condemn somebody else?’ Alice’s stomach dropped. ‘Oh, God. I know those names. They’re patients at the hospital.’

Mick stiffened. ‘What does it want us to do to them?’

Alice forced herself to read the rest of the passage:

One is a killer.

One is not.

Choose wisely to pick the guilty.

If you’re wrong, the innocent will rot.

Mick ran a hand down his face. ‘It’s making us play executioner.’

Alice’s mind spun. ‘Eleanor’s an elderly dementia patient and Daniel’s a schizophrenic man on suicide watch. Neither of them seems capable of harming anyone. I need to think,’ she said. She paced the cracked marble floor.

‘You aren’t seriously going through with this madness. Alice, it’s asking us to kill somebody. God knows if it means literally by our own hands or by casting judgment. But I can’t have somebody’s blood on my hands. Can you?’

Alice winced. Her voice was monotone. ‘The book doesn’t give us a way out. We have no choice.’

Mick gritted his teeth to argue his point, but he looked up and froze. ‘Jesus. Time’s running out.’

Alice followed his gaze.

‘We don’t have time. Look,’ Mick said. He pointed at the scale above them. One side was rising. The other, lowering.

‘The courthouse is deciding for us. Choose. Quick.’

Alice’s pulse raced. ‘We need proof. Something has to tell us which one is guilty.’

She grabbed the book and went back through its pages, searching desperately. But this time, it wouldn’t cooperate. The words bled and twisted, unreadable. It wanted them to make a random guess.

A scream rang out.

Alice’s head snapped up, and they clung together, terrified. The sound came from the judge’s bench. A shadowy figure sat in the high-backed chair. It hadn’t been there a minute ago.

Mick tensed. ‘What the hell is that?’

The figure leaned forward. Chains rattled at its feet and the sound of rusted metal grinding against stone filled the room. It was waiting.

Alice’s breath hitched. ‘It’s Daniel Price and he’s in chains. He sold drugs on the street. Maybe he killed somebody inadvertently. Oh God, I can’t believe we’re doing this. He must be the murderer.’

Mick rubbed his hair as if it was full of cobwebs. ‘Are you sure? Can we trust that? Why would he be sitting in the judge's chair? Maybe he’s casting judgment on the woman.’

The book shuddered in her grip, its pages snapping back as fresh ink scrawled across them.

Only the innocent beg.

Alice’s chest tightened. The figure in the chair was silent. Unmoving.

The scale creaked louder. They were almost out of time. Alice screamed her answer with tears running down her cheeks. ‘It’s Daniel.’

Mick’s jaw clenched. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I don’t know. But Eleanor’s a sweet old lady. Daniel was streetwise. We have to pick one.’

The scale lurched violently. The building shook. The figure stood.

‘Choose,’ it roared.

Alice shouted Daniel’s name and banged her hand on the lowest plate.

The courthouse was still.

‘Daniel didn’t beg,’ Mick whispered.

For a lifetime, nothing happened as they craned their necks to watch. Then, slowly, the scale righted itself. The shadowed figure collapsed into dust.

Mick let out a shuddering breath. ‘Did we do it? Have we killed him?’

The book snapped shut.

Alice’s hands were ice cold. She turned to Mick, but before she could speak. Another scream tore through the courthouse.

Alice spun. The walls were bleeding. Words carved into the stone, fresh and raw:

Wrong.

Alice screamed, ‘No!’

The book burst open again, a new passage forming’

The innocent suffer. The game is not over. Part-three.

Mick’s face was pale. ‘Jesus Christ, Alice. What have we done?’

She was sobbing, her eyes burnt. She had chosen incorrectly.

And someone else would pay the price.

Here's the Amazon link for The Book. Available on KU and Audible, as well as eBook and Paperback  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0F2J7QYCQ