They had to hurry to catch up with Gillian. While not deliberately trying to outpace them she had nevertheless declined to wait while they debated the merits of smoking in an inflammable environment and the vampire kept up a significant pace. Loathe as he was to touch Dill, Jasfoup had been forced to carry the slowest member of the party, changing his form to something resembling a four-foot spider Harold would have trouble not having nightmares about later. Jasfoup knew, of course. Why else would he have changed back to his bipedal form but left the extended arachnid fangs in place.
It took them another hour in the tunnels before they reached the bone cathedral. Harold had never seen it and insisted on spending a few extra minutes to appreciate the artistry of the macabre sculptures.
“Who did this?”
“There was a monastery on the site Magelight now owns.” Jasfoup's voice carried easily across the acoustically perfect cave. “Before my time, obviously. It was in ruins by the time I first arrived in England. There's very little of it left, now, though you can see the stones in some of the oldest cottages and houses in the village. He lit a cheroot now they were safely past the tunnel. “The manor has part of the monastery chapel in the cellars, not that you'd tell now. Much of it was bricked over by Sir Roger Waters in the eighteenth century.”
“Why?” Dill took the opportunity to smoke as well. “Why would you hide stone under brick?”
“This was after the Cathedral of Nuremberg was built. Brick was all the rage.” Jasfoup tapped ash into the eye socket of a skull. “Besides, he was hiding bodies.”