Basilisk

Wallis had taken a sick day. He didn’t dare set foot in public, much less the office.

He didn’t trust his mobile either, instead calling a cab the old-fashioned way from his house’s landline. It pulled up outside the Hereford Cathedral just past ten in the evening; Wallis paid the driver in cash and exited quickly.

There was a lingering chill of winter in the air. The cathedral loomed over him in the dark, huge and gothic; its doors closed to the public at five o’ clock. This late at night, there was no getting in.

A whispered hiss caught his attention. Fowler was waving to him from around the corner of the building; he wore a black jacket over what appeared to be the same gaudy shirt as last time and had a cap pulled low over his face.

Wallis hurried across the lawn as Fowler ducked back around the corner, until they were both tucked out of sight.

“Why here?” Wallis groused.

“No cameras,” Fowler replied. “Did you bring your phone?”

Wallis shook his head. “I left it at home.”

“Good. It should be safe to talk, then.”

“Talk about what?” It came out a little too loud; Wallis looked around and lowered his voice again. “What’s going on?”