They hurried after Gillian, leaving the bone cathedral with its curious phosphorescent fungi behind. Another ten minutes of walking brought them to a section of passageway where the walls were composed of dressed stone.
Dill traced a series of Roman numerals. “Were these from the monastery you mentioned?”
“Yes, probably.” Jasfoup dug a piece of flint out of the mortar. It was an arrowhead dating back to before the world officially existed. He crushed it into dust. “I assume so, anyway. The cutting style is twelfth century and I can't think of any other reason they'd be here.” He looked at Dill.
“I don't remember seeing them the last time I walked along here. It's not like I'm an expert.”
“You don't recall any monastery sections in the main facility?”
“No. Like you said, the locals nicked all the stones. There is the plane shift, mind. I think that's a couple of levels above us.”
“Where the ghosts grow weed in a hydroponic bay. Very clever. Mr. Hunt... Jim... even told me it was why it separated the spirit from the body. Something to do with the properties of growing it in the Dead Line.
“That makes sense.” Jasfoup sucked at his lower lip. “Actually, it explains a lot, too. I wondered how he was getting Elven plants.”
“Elven? As in Tolkien?”
“No. Yes. He got the idea from the folklore of the British Isles. This used to be a hunting ground for them until they were wiped out.”
“Gee. What wiped out elves?”
“Goblins, mostly.” Jasfoup smiled. “And their human descendants.”