World's end

Chapter Sixteen

"You lot have got it all wrong. This is the key to eternal youth. You spend a couple of weeks in that place and when you get home, everyone goes, `How do you stay so young? What are your beauty secrets?' Then you go round to all your old boyfriends and point out their wrinkles." Laura sat with her feet on the dashboard between Veitch and Shavi, who was driving. Church, Tom and Ruth sat in the back amidst the camping equipment and what clothes and supplies they could afford. The discovery of the time differential had left them feeling uncomfortable.

"You're missing the point," Church said irritably. "We can't afford to lose two weeks. We've still got one more of these damned talismans to recover-"

"Stop moaning." Laura swivelled to flash him a challenging smile. "There's nearly a month to the deadline. That's enough time to do this walking backwards." She turned to Tom. "Anyway, Grandad, you must have known about this before we crossed over."

"Yes," Ruth said. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm sick of you not telling us things before they happen."

Tom took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. "No point. We had to go. You would have found out sooner or later."

"You mean you didn't want to take the chance some of us wouldn't cross over." He didn't return Ruth's pointed stare.

"It's a good thing this mission is based on trust," Laura said ironically before slipping off her boots and planting her feet on the windscreen.

"Bet that position feels familiar," Ruth said sharply. Laura showed her middle finger over her shoulder.

Church rested one hand on the crate they'd picked up from the grocer's to store the stone, the sword and the cauldron; it seemed faintly sacrilegious, but the need for easy, well-disguised transport was more pressing. He could almost feel the power of the talismans through his fingertips. And sometimes it was like he could feel them talking to him, incomprehensible whispers curling like smoky tendrils around his mind. Part of it made him tremble with awe; another part of it made his skin crawl. "I feel nervous carrying these things around with us."

"The Fomorii can't touch them," Tom noted.

"They'll just get somebody else to do their dirty work." He paused. "Now we're out of Glastonbury, does that mean we're meat for the Wild Hunt again?"

Tom nodded.

"We'd better make sure we're somewhere secure by nightfall," Ruth said.

"How about some music?" Laura went to turn on the radio. Ruth told her to wait while she pulled a cassette out of her bag and threw it up front. Laura made a face, but put it in the machine anyway. A second later Sinatra began to sing about flying off to foreign climes for excitement and romance.

Church's face brightened with surprise. "I thought we'd lost this!"

"Even the Wild Hunt didn't want it," Laura said sulkily.

Ruth flashed him a grin and he smiled thankfully; he found real comfort in the way she seemed instinctively to know him. If nothing else, the previous few weeks had given him a true friend.

The Wayfinder led them back to the M5 motorway and then north in the bright, warm sunshine. The van ran as good as new after the repairs, but the cost had made them worry about their funds. They all had credit cards and made their monthly payments by phone transfer from their savings accounts, but their reserves weren't endless.

Shavi was talkative on a range of subjects and Laura kept the banter going, but Veitch hardly said a word. His confrontation with the results of his actions seemed to have had a profound effect on him; above all, it appeared to have confirmed his own worst fears about himself. Church began to worry that Tom's assessment of Veitch had been correct and he resolved to talk to him as soon as he could get him alone.

They picked up the M4 and headed west into Wales, which, as Shavi noted, was an obvious destination, with its rich Celtic history and links to Arthurian legend.

"So, we're talking themes here," Laura noted. "Church has got his sword, so that makes him the big, fat king. I guess the tattooed boy here is Lancelot, the old hippie would be Merlin, Miss Gallagher back there acts like Queen Bee so I suppose she's Guinevere." She slapped a hand hard on Shavi's thigh. "Don't know what that makes you and me, though."

"Is that it?" Ruth said with the excitement of someone who's just seen the light. "We're, like, some kind of reincarnation-"

"No, that's too literal," Church said insistently. "And I keep saying this, but those are just stories. There was no Round Table or chivalrous knights. Arthur, if he existed at all, was a Celtic warlord-"

"So the historians say." Tom pronounced the word with faint contempt.

"I'm not even going to begin talking to you about it." Church waved his hand dismissively. "You'll keep us talking round in circles and then tell us nothing new."

Laura grabbed the rag Shavi used to wipe the windows and threw it hard at Tom's head. "Come on, you old git. Spill the beans or we're going to tie you up and drag you along behind the van."

He glared at her and readjusted his glasses.

"Brothers and Sisters of Dragons," Shavi mused. "Could that have something to do with Pendragon, Arthur's family name?"

Church shook his head. "Pendragon is a mixture of Celtic and old Welsh meaning Chief Leader. The word root has nothing to do with dragons."

"Or perhaps," Tom said, as if he were dealing with idiots, "it's simply another manifestation of the duality which is at the heart of everything."

"That means double meanings, Laura," Ruth called out.

"Come on, Tom, you can't do this to us," Church protested.

"Yeah, come on, Tom." Laura looked around the dashboard for something else to throw.

Tom noticed her and said hastily, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you now. You're almost there anyway. You're not reincarnations in the literal sense that you mean, but you do carry within you the essence that the legends speak of. The Pendragon Spirit. It is a subtle power, a state of mind, an ability which is gifted to some to defend the land. That's the true meaning of the legend."

"So Arthur and the knights are also a metaphor for this Pendragon spirit?" Church said.

"So we're descendants or something?" Laura said quizzically.

Tom shook his head. "The land gifts it to the most deserving. It chooses the ones who'll defend it the best."

"It screwed up this time, didn't it." Veitch continued to stare out of the passenger window.

"That is … a tremendous burden," Church said.

"Yeah, if you believe this," Laura said.

"You're still at the start of your journey." Tom delved into his knapsack for the tin where he kept his drugs. "The journey that the Tarot delineates. At the moment you're all the Fool. When you come out at the other end, you'll be aware of the true meaning of the Pendragon Spirit."

"The ones who survive," Church said. He fought to damp down a sudden flash of the portent of his death.

"The ones who survive," Tom agreed.

"There is something happening here," Shavi interrupted. They felt the van slow down sharply and Ruth, Church and Tom clambered forward to peer through the windscreen. The motorway ahead was blocked by a row of emergency vehicles. Police were directing traffic up the slipway at the next exit. Ominously, Church could see army trucks on the deserted road ahead and some troops with guns discreetly positioned near the central reservation and the opposite bank. "Where are we?"

"Just past Cardiff," Shavi said.

As they pulled off slowly, Shavi wound down the window and asked a policeman what was wrong. "An accident," he said with a face like stone. "Now be on your way. And keep to the diversions."

"I've never seen the army brought in for an accident," Veitch said.

"They're covering it up, aren't they?" Ruth sat down behind Shavi's seat. "They know what's going on. Or if they don't know exactly what's happening, they know something out of the ordinary has hit the country. They'd have to know. And they're trying to stop everyone finding out so there isn't a panic."

"Like holding back the waves." Tom's voice was quiet, but the words fell like stones.

"What do you think's happened down there, then?" Laura seemed suddenly uneasy.

"Must be something bad to close off the whole motorway," Witch said. "It'll be causing chaos on all the roads around."

"It seems like a great deal has happened during the two weeks we were away," Shavi said darkly.

An uncomfortable silence filled the van as they joined the queues of traffic.

Although the Wayfinder continued to point west, they found it hard to follow its direction; a whole section of the country seemed to have been closed off with police and army barricades. But although they constantly checked the radio news broadcasts, there was no information about what was happening.

Just as they were considering abandoning the van and setting off on foot, they finally managed to break away from the main route and weave along deserted country roads through the soaring Welsh hills and mountains. There was an unearthly desolation to the countryside; no tractors in the fields, no pedestrians, although they could see lights in houses and smoke curling from chimneys.

Eventually they started to swing south-westwards until they hit one of the main tourist drags to the coast. Their speedy journey marked how effective the authorities had been at driving traffic away. Veitch, who was in charge of map reading, pointed out a small town, Builth Wells, which lay ahead of a long stretch of open countryside. They all agreed it would be a good place to stop for food, rest, and to see if any of the locals had any idea what was happening nearby.

But the closer they got to the town, the more they realised something was wrong. Even on the main road in there was no traffic, while the only sign of movement was a flurry of newspaper pages caught in the wind sweeping across the huge showground where the Welsh agricultural fair was held each year. They all fell silent as they crossed the old stone bridge over the River Wye that marked the entrance to the town proper, faces held rigid as they scanned the area.

"It's a ghost town," Veitch said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

The van swung on to the one-way system that took them up the High Street where shops which should have been bustling at that time of day stood eerily empty. Cars were parked on the right, but they could have been left there days ago for all they knew. Nothing moved anywhere. Shavi wound down the window in the hope of hearing something they were missing, but the silence was so intense it made them feel queasy.

"Do you think they've been evacuated?" Ruth asked.

Church didn't give voice to what his instincts were telling him.

They followed the one-way system round to a nearly full car park alongside the river where Shavi pulled into a bay and switched off the engine.

"What are you doing?" Veitch said. "You could have left it anywhere."

Shavi shrugged. "What can I say? In situations like this, I find comfort in following old routines."

"Head-in-the-sand dude," Laura chided, but they were all reluctant to get out.

Eventually Church led them from the car park up a side road to the High Street, where they argued about what to do.

"Wake up," Laura said. "It's deserted. Looting is an option."

"That's just what I'd expect from someone with your easy morals," Ruth snapped. "It's still stealing."

Veitch emerged from a health food store chewing on a cheese and onion pastie. "It's still fresh," he said. "Wherever they've gone, it's only just happened."

Shavi looked up and down the street, noting the open doors. "If they were evacuated, they would have locked up at least."

Despite Ruth's initial opposition, they agreed to take some of the fresh food which would spoil quickly. Veitch and Laura picked up a couple of bags and headed into the health food store, the baker's and the butcher's with what Ruth noted as undue glee.

"Least you won't need your gun this time," she said sourly to Veitch as he passed.

Church and Shavi left her with Tom while they explored further up the street. Church had quickly learned to value the Asian's quick insight and measured views; Shavi's obvious intelligence and ability to keep a cool head under pressure made Church feel some of the weight had been taken off his shoulders.

"What do you think, then?" Church turned and looked back down the length of the High Street and beyond to the dangerous face of nature rising up in thickly wooded hills all around.

"I think everything out there is getting braver. Villages, small towns … they do not seem concerned by them any more. The problem is, the enemy is not one group-it is a complete existence that is so alien to us any contact is destructive."

"So can we hold back the new Dark Age?"

"This is a world of the subconscious, of nightmares and shadows. Those things are always more powerful than their opposites."

"So we're wasting our time?"

"We are doing the best we can." Shavi smiled wanly.

They were both suddenly alerted by a faint sound which seemed to emanate from a tiny cobbled alley which ran at breathtaking steepness upwards between two shops; it sounded like a firecracker in the silence.

"What was that?" Church asked.

They both moved forward to the foot of the alley. At the top they could see a parked car, a house, blue sky; no movement. Church put one foot on the cobbles, but Shavi placed a restraining hand on his arm. They stood motionless for a minute until they heard the noise again; the inhuman sound was like an insectile chittering laid over the cry of a baby. A second later a grey shape flitted across the other end of the alleyway, too quick to make out its true form.

"We should get out of here," Church said.

Another movement; there seemed to be more than one of them.

They sprinted back down the High Street, where Ruth was leaning against the wing of a car. She caught their expressions and asked what was wrong.

"Where are the others?" Church snapped.

"The criminal fraternity are back in the health food store. Tom's gone into that clothing store." She pointed across the street. "Are you going to tell me what's happening? Is there something here?" She jumped off the car, glancing around anxiously.

"You two get Veitch and Laura and head back to the van. I'll find Tom." He sprinted into the clothing store, past racks of waterproofs and outdoor wear. Tom was in the back, trying on a pair of walking boots.

"Come on," Church said. "We don't have time for that. Bring them with you if you want."

Tom stood up instantly at the insistence in Church's voice. "Fomorii?"

"I don't think so."

Tom didn't need any more prompting. He hurried behind Church to the entrance, but as they stepped out into the street they both saw movement at the top end of the High Street: fleeting shapes that looked almost ghostly flashed back and forth across the road.

"You're the expert," Church said. "What are they?"

Tom stared for a second, then shook his head. "I have no idea. The twilight lands were filled with all manner of things. I had more to do than study them all."

As they ran across the road, movement erupted in the shops all around. The shapes seemed to be emerging from the backrooms as if they had awakened from their rest in the shadowy interiors and were now intent on seeking out the trespassers on their property. Church caught a glimpse of green eyes and gnashing teeth. A sudden wash of fear spurred him on.

With Tom close behind, he ran down the side road to where Shavi had the van warmed up and waiting. They piled in the back and the van took off with a screech of tires, going the wrong way through the one-way system.

"Changed your mind about sticking to routine, I see," Veitch said to Shavi. The Asian smiled tightly.

As they careered out of town, Church, Tom and Ruth glanced back through the rear windows to see the High Street now swarming with the grey shapes in a manner that reminded them of a disturbed ant hill. It was a scene that filled them all with the utmost terror.

"Where do you think the residents have gone?" Ruth asked feebly.

Church and Tom took up their seats without answering. The atmosphere had become even more dark and oppressive.

When eventually they reached Carmarthen, they were relieved to see the town buzzing as if nothing were wrong. "It shows the size of habitation that is safe," Shavi noted. They followed the Wayfinder along the side of the river and then on the main dual carriageway to the coast, through green fields, past caravan parks, and by 4 p.m. they had reached the palm trees that marked the entrance to the holiday resort of Tenby.

The mediaeval walled town lay perched on cliffs of brown shale and hard grey limestone, offering panoramic views along the rugged Pembrokeshire coastline. Amongst its twisty-turny streets, pastel-painted bed and breakfasts slumbered beneath a powder-blue sky in which seagulls soared and turned lazily. Looking up, Ruth also fleetingly spotted her owl companion skimming the ancient tiled rooftops, although she found it hard to believe it had followed the van from Glastonbury, or even that it had got out of Tir n'a n'Og unseen.

The streets were too small to negotiate effectively in the van, so they parked at the South Beach and returned through the five arches that formed a gateway in the soaring stone walls. Veitch and Shavi carried the talisman crate between them while Church went in front with the Wayfinder held within the fold of his jacket where it couldn't be seen by passers-by. It took them down Tudor Square, bustling despite the unseasonal time of year, and along a winding road to a picturesque harbour where rows of boats bobbed gently on the outgoing tide. At the harbour wall, Church halted, puzzled. The lantern's flame seemed to be pointing out to sea.

After a brief discussion, Veitch set off to scout the area, returning only five minutes later to herd them along a path past a tiny, white-walled museum to a bandstand on the headland overlooking the beach and the brilliant blue sea.

"There," he said. Basking in the sun in the bay was a large island.

Caldey Island was home to an order of Cistercian monks. Regular boat trips were despatched from the mainland several times a day so tourists could experience the isolation-and contribute to the monastery's upkeep-but they had missed the last boat of the afternoon. Their only option seemed to be to find somewhere to hole up until morning and hope they could stay safe through the night.

They checked into one of the pretty bed and breakfasts in the backstreets of the old town, not too far from the front, relishing the opportunity to have a shower and sleep in a bed for a change. After an early dinner, Tom retired to his room where he agreed to oversee the talismans, although he wouldn't go near the crate. The others opted to look around the town while daylight was still with them. Church took the opportunity to steer Veitch away for a heart-toheart, leaving Shavi, Ruth and Laura to pick their way through the streets dominated by pristine ice cream parlours and restaurants. After all they had witnessed, the place seemed uncommonly happy, untouched by the dark shadow that had fallen across the land. It both raised their spirits and made them feel uncomfortable, for they knew it couldn't last.

"I can't believe we've got this far." Church closed his eyes so he could appreciate the early evening sun on his face as he inhaled the salty aroma of the sea caught in the cooling breeze. There on the beach, he could almost forget everything. The sensations reminded him of childhood holidays before the burdens of responsibility had been thrust on his shoulders, and happy summer days with Marianne before life had truly soured. The womb noises of the ocean and the breaking surf calmed him enough to realise how stressed he had become, his shoulders hunched, neck muscles knotted. Opening his eyes, he watched Veitch trudging beside him, oblivious to the seaside joys. "When I went to the Watchtower and heard about the four talismans, I thought it was only a matter of time before it went pear-shaped. But finding them has been easy," he continued, and, after a pause, "Relatively easy."

"That's because they were waiting for us, so Tom says," Witch said unenthusiastically. "We were meant to get them, at this time, and we did. No mystery there."

Church shook his head. "I don't believe it works like that. Even if the stars were aligned, it wasn't fated that these things would fall into our hands. We did this and I'm not going to have it taken away from us." Caldey Island caught his eye and he brought himself up sharp. "But we haven't got them all yet. There's still time for things to go wrong."

"Now you're talking my kind of language."

Church stopped and rounded on him. "Come on, Veitch, stop being so bloody pessimistic. You're not the only one who's had a miserable time-"

"Miserable time! I killed somebody! That's not miserable, that's a fucking catastrophe! I have to live with it every bleedin' day and now I can't forget it for a minute because I'm spending time with the poor bastard's niece, just so I can see on a regular basis how my stupidity fucked up a whole family's life!"

He made to walk on, but Church grabbed at his shoulder roughly. Instinctively Witch's fists bunched and he adopted a threatening posture. "So you screwed up and you're feeling guilty about it. Fine. That's how it should be. But self-pity is just you being selfish. You've got a job to do now that's more important than your feelings. If you want to tear yourself apart, you can do it after this is over."

"Fuck off." Veitch made another attempt to walk off and Church grabbed him roughly once more. This time Veitch's response was instant. He swung his fist hard into Church's jaw, knocking him to the sand.

For a moment, Church was dazzled by flashes of black and purple. Then he jumped up, lowered his head and rammed Veitch in the stomach. They both fell, rolling around in the sand, wrestling and punching. Eventually Church hauled himself on top and locked his arms on Veitch's shoulders so the Londoner couldn't move.

"I'm no hero," Church said through gritted teeth. "I didn't choose to be here. I've got my own agenda going on too. But I know I can't let all this misery and suffering happen if I can do something about it. I mean, who could?"

Witch's eyes narrowed. "Lots of people could." He searched Church's face for a moment longer, then threw him off with an easy shrug. After he'd dusted himself down, he said, "Don't worry, I'm not giving up on my bleedin' responsibilities. But I want to do something to make it up to Ruth. I know I'll never actually make amends, but I've got to try." He paused. "I'm not a bad bloke, you know. Just stupid."

Church rubbed his jaw, which ached mercilessly, but he'd known what he was doing. "Ruth's a smart person. If you've got any good in you, she'll see it eventually. You've just got to give it time."

"Yeah, best behaviour and all that. Listen, sorry about smacking you. I've got a bleedin' awful temper."

"Don't worry. I'll point you in the right direction before I activate you next time." He shook sand out of his hair and added, "Come on, let's find a pub. It's ages since I've had a pint."

"What a great place." Ruth sat on the steps of a statue of Prince Albert and looked out across the harbour. "Everybody here's on holiday, so happy … I can't believe it might all get swept away."

Laura crawled out to the end of the barrel of a cannon and sat back, basking in the sun. "Talk about something important for a change. Like isn't our working class London boy a babe. I wonder how low his tattoos go?"

"If you're trying to wind me up, you've picked the wrong subject," Ruth snapped.

"What about you, Mr. Bi?" Laura said to Shavi. "Does he get your sap rising?"

"He is not unattractive." Shavi smiled, but continued to lie on the grass with his eyes closed.

"You know, I'm noticing a distinct pathology to your sexual obsession." Ruth glared at Laura, who ignored her.

"That's just what I'd expect from you, Frosty. But I'm not a one-obsession woman. I like drugs, music and technology too."

"Well, I never realised you were so deep." Ruth stood up and wandered around the base of the statue. "What do you think we've got to do once we get this last talisman?"

Shavi hauled himself into a sitting position. "Perhaps everything will become obvious once we have all the pieces together."

"Having seen just a glimpse of what's out there, it makes me feel what we're doing is so ineffectual. Do you think these other gods can really oppose the Fomorii?"

"For me, there are more profound concerns," Shavi said. "The Danann are supposed to look like angels. Was the Christian mythology based upon them? Are all the world's religions a reflection of the time when the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii ruled over humanity? This may be an opportunity for us all to meet our Maker."

"Opportunity. I like your optimism," Ruth said sardonically.

"That's too heavy," Laura noted uneasily. "It's bad enough as it is without thinking about things like that."

"But we should think about it," Shavi pressed. "For millennia our lives have been based around religion. If our entire system of belief and morality rests upon a lie, we are truly adrift. It would be difficult to comprehend how our society could recover from a blow like that."

"We lose our faith in science and religion at the same time. That doesn't leave any refuge for most people," Ruth said thoughtfully.

"Most people don't believe in anything anyway," Laura said. "Religion is just a place for sad bastards to go to hide, and scientists can't agree on anything, so why should anyone else believe them?"

"And I thought I was cynical." Ruth looked down at the jumbled streets of the old town; from that vantage point they could almost have been in the Middle Ages. Briefly a cloud shadow swept across the rooftops and she shuddered involuntarily; unconsciously she wrapped her arms tightly around her. From nowhere the thought sprang; a portent: things were going to get worse from that moment on.

Amidst a large group of garrulous tourists, Church and Witch spent the rest of the evening in a pub on Tudor Square finding the common ground that lay between their different backgrounds. Veitch had a dangerous edge to his character which made Church feel uneasy, but it was tempered by an encouraging sense of loyalty; and for someone who had dabbled for so long in petty crime, he seemed to have a strict moral code. Ultimately it was those contradictions which made his character so winning. Veitch showed a respect for Church which the latter hadn't experienced before.

"I can't get my head round it." Witch's brow furrowed as he swigged down a mouthful of lager. "We were being set up for this from the moment we were born? Those dreams that gave me all that bleedin' misery?"

"I had the dreams too, though not as bad as you. I mean, we call them dreams, but they weren't really. It was the Otherworld contacting us-though that makes it sound like they were getting us on the phone. I think it was more like we were in some way closer to their world, so bits of it kept seeping through when we were most receptive to it."

"Bastards. I owe them for messin' with my head, whether they did it on purpose or not. But you said that woman from the Watchtower kept visiting you when you were a kid. What was she, your sponsor?"

Church had wrestled with that thought before and he still hadn't reached a satisfactory conclusion. "I think, maybe, because the Danann knew how important we were supposed to be, they wanted to keep an eye on us."

"Watched over by angels, eh? You lucky bastard." Veitch's words gave him pause, and after a moment he said, "I wonder what they feel about us, really. I know they look like us a bit, the Danann anyway, but they're, like, God, aren't they? God and his angels. And the other lot are the Devil and his crew."

Church felt uncomfortable at this description; old teachings had dug their way in deep and he couldn't help a shudder at the blasphemy. "We should be getting back," he said, draining his pint. It was already closing time and the number of drinkers in the pub had dwindled rapidly. Through the window he could see them making their way across Tudor Square to their hotels and B amp;Bs, quite a number for out-of-season, but still too few for him. Increasingly, he felt the desire for the security of large numbers. Wide open spaces were simply too dangerous.

They were halfway across the square when Veitch glanced up suddenly and exclaimed, "What's that?"

Tiny sparks of light darted overhead, accompanied by a flutter of wings which reminded Church of the sound of bats on a summer evening. But as he peered up into the clear night sky he felt a tingle of wonder. Tiny, full-formed figures, neither men nor women but a little of both, flashed around high above on wings that seemed too flimsy to carry even their slight weight; the light was coming from their skin, which had the faint glow of phosphorus.

"What are they?" Veitch asked curiously.

"I would say the analogue of nature spirits. Whatever made our ancestors think the trees and rivers were alive."

"No trouble, then?" Veitch's hand was inside his jacket where he kept his gun. Church wanted to tell him it would be worthless in what lay ahead, but he supposed if it gave Veitch comfort then it had some use. The hand didn't come out and Church could tell Veitch was weighing up whether he could get away with taking a few potshots.

"They look harmless," Church warned. "Leave them be. They might even be helpful to us at some time."

"I don't want help from any of them," Veitch said harshly. "I want things back the way they were."

"It's not all bad," Church replied. "We've got the magic back. We were missing that in all our lives."

Veitch didn't seem convinced. "Why are they flying around like that? Most of these things seem to stay out of the way when people are around."

Now that he mentioned it, Church did think it was curious. He examined the fleeting trails of the creatures once again, and when one swooped low enough so he could see its face, the answer was unmistakable. "They're frightened," he said. "Something has disturbed them."

Veitch traced their path back across the sky. "They came from over there," he said, pointing to Castle Hill, where Shavi, Laura and Ruth had lazed earlier.

"We could go back," Church mused. He was torn between the knowledge of what terrible things now lurked out in the night and the desire to know what might present a problem to them in the future.

Veitch was already striding down St. Julian's Street. "We'll be fine if we keep on our toes. We've got to check this out."

The quay was awash with the reflected sodium light from the town dappling the gently lapping waves. Tranquillity lay across the area, in direct opposition to the hubbub of the day. The boat trip booth was shut, as was the ice cream shop and surf store on the ramp down to the beach. A few lights glimmered in the holiday apartments overlooking the harbour, but as they passed the old bath house and joined the path which curved around the headland, all signs of life disappeared. Away to their left, the sea rolled in calmly, the breakers crashing on the rocks under the lifeboat station. On their right the bank rose up, too steep to climb, to the top of Castle Hill.

Church and Veitch advanced along the path cautiously. Although it was a clear night, it was dark away from the town's lights and the susurration of the sea drowned out any nearby sounds.

"What do you reckon?" Veitch asked at a point where the path wound round so it was impossible to see far ahead or back.

"Doesn't seem-" The words were barely out of Church's lips when the night was disturbed by a throaty bass rumble, deep and powerful, rolling out from somewhere close by.

"What was that?" Veitch hissed.

Church felt the now-familiar shiver of fear ripple down his back. He glanced down the path behind them, then ahead, and finally up the steep bank. Another sound echoed out. "Up there," he whispered.

They stood stock-still, trying to peer through the gorse and willowherb, their breath burning in their throats. Finally they caught a glimpse of a black bulk moving against the sky on the ridge above them. Veitch went to speak, but Church silenced him with a wave of his hand. The silhouette moved slowly, dangerously, and then it turned its head and Church caught the terrible glitter of red eyes, burning like embers.

"Black Shuck," he muttered.

He thought his words had been barely more than an exhalation, but the creature suddenly froze. Another throbbing growl rolled out menacingly. Slowly, the eyes moved, searching.

The dog disappeared from view and a second later they heard crashing through the undergrowth as it thundered down the bank to the path.

"Is it in front or behind?" Veitch asked, glancing around anxiously. Church shook his head. They vacillated, desperately hoping for some sign, but they knew once they had one it would be too late.

Finally Church grabbed Veitch and forced him onwards around the corner. They breathed easily when they saw the dog wasn't there, but its growls were still reverberating loudly and seemed to be drawing closer. Church nodded to a point where the bank wasn't so steep. "If it's down here, we should be up there."

"Yeah, but we have to come down sooner or later."

They launched themselves at the bank and scrambled up, digging their nails in the turf and weeds to haul themselves along. At the clipped lawn on the summit, they rolled on to their stomachs and peered back down. Church caught a glimpse of the dog prowling menacingly back and forth along the path.

"It knows we're here," Veitch noted in a hoarse whisper. "It can smell us."

"Something more than that, I think."

"Okay, but from what you've told me, if the dog's here, the Hunt can't be far behind, right?"

That was the one thing Church had been trying not to consider. "We have to get back to the others," he said.

Shavi, Ruth and Laura sat in Tom's top floor room looking out across the rooftops. Tom lay on the bed, his face pale and drawn.

"Where've they got to?" Ruth paced around anxiously. "You're sure they're going to be all right?"

"I told you. I've done all I can. A simple direction of the energies, a masking." The snap of anger in Tom's voice was born of exhaustion. "If they're not in plain sight, they should be fine."

"What if they're pissed and lying in a gutter?" Laura asked. "You know how boys like to play once they get together."

"You'd think they'd have thought to get back here by nightfall," Ruth moaned.

"They never call." Laura's singsong voice dripped with mockery. "Listen to you. You sound like their mother."

"Why don't you-"

"Listen." Concern crossed Shavi's face. From the street without came the gentle clip-clop of horses' hooves, an everyday sound, but it made their blood run cold.

"Can you see?" Ruth knew she was whispering unnecessarily, but she couldn't bring herself to raise her voice.

Shavi pressed his face up close to the glass and attempted to look down. He shook his head. "Only if I open the window."

"Don't do that!" Laura snapped.

"I was not about to."

They listened as the sound of the hooves slowly moved away and only when the sound had finally disappeared did they speak again.

"Maybe it wasn't them," Ruth said hopefully. "Earlier I saw a guy who takes tourists on tours of the front in a horse-drawn carriage."

"It was the Hunt." Tom's voice had an edge of fatalism.

"How fast does it move?" Veitch panted. They slipped and slid down the grassy bank on the other side of the hill until they reached the museum.

"Faster than you could ever run, even on a good day." Church dropped on to a path and peered over the old castle walls. If the tide had been out, they could have taken a short cut across the beach and up the vertiginous seafront steps to the street where the B amp;B lay, but the waters crashed against the cliffs on which the town perched.

"Hey, I'm fit. You're the one who spends his time sitting on his arse writing about old bones."

They hurried under the crumbling stone arches of the castle's defences and quickly arrived back at the quay. Disturbingly, the dog's growls didn't diminish. Church glanced back and thought he could see the eyes burning in the distance.

"It's got our scent," he said. "Or whatever. We might lose it up in the town where there are too many other distractions."

But as they turned to run back up St. Julian Street, the threatening blast of a horn echoed out across the quiet town.

Church's heart skipped a beat. "The Hunt. They're in the old town."

As they waited uncertainly, with the dog's growls growing louder behind them, they heard a horse approaching slowly down St. Julian Street. A street light threw an enormous angular shadow across the front of the pastel houses in which Church could make out the cruel pike-weapon he had seen used so effectively on Dartmoor.

"Just one?" Veitch said.

"They're trying to flush us out."

They turned and ran instead around the harbour, diving into an alley that led up to the Tudor Merchant's House tourist attraction. Church could feel the thundering of his blood in his ears. For a long time there was just the lapping of the waves. They both held their breath, listening. Church glanced at Witch, both ready to make their move; he held up his hand for one more listen. The faint clip-clop of hooves echoed somewhere nearby.

Church cursed under his breath. "Good job there're lots of tiny streets and back alleys to hide in."

"And to get cornered in. Bleedin' hell. How did I get caught up in all this?"

Keeping to the shadows, they crept quietly up some old, weathered steps and headed along another alley. At the end of it Tudor Square lay deserted and brightly lit. They listened again; silence.

"We could make a run for it," Veitch suggested.

"If they catch you out in the open, you won't stand a chance." Church edged forward to get a better look, but just as he closed on the light, a horse and rider loomed up in the entryway. He could smell the unearthly, musky stink of the beast's sweat, see the light glint on the rider's metal buckles and arm rings, and the odd, lambent shimmer of his greenish skin.

Just as the rider started to look down the alleyway, Veitch grabbed Church's jacket and dragged him back into the shadows of a doorway. The rider stared for a moment, as if he had seen something, and then, just as Church thought he was going to investigate, he spurred the horse and it trotted away down towards St. Julian Street.

"I thought he'd marked us then," Veitch whispered.

"There's an alley on the other side of the road next to the bookshop I saw earlier. If we can reach that, we might be able to wend our through the backstreets to base."

Cautiously, they crept back to the end of the alley to survey the scene. The square was empty once more.

"He's probably waiting just around that corner," Church noted.

"What we need is a diversion." Veitch pulled out the gun and held it at his side; he seemed to carry it easily.

"What are you going to do with that?" Church asked uneasily.

Veitch moved in front of Church, raised the gun, pointed it at a shop at the top end of the square and fired, all in one fluid motion. The thunder of the retort merged with the high-pitched shatter as the window caved in and the burglar alarm started to scream. In an instant the clatter of hooves erupted as the Huntsman burst from St. Julian Street and spurred his horse towards the shop, his sickle-pike glinting in the street light.

Once he'd passed by, they ran. Veitch had been cunning; the noise of the burglar alarm masked the sound of their running feet.

But just as they'd stepped into the road, a car sped up in the trail of the rider, so fast it almost ploughed into them. There were four youths inside, faces flushed from too much beer. The driver swerved at the last moment, screaming his rage through the open window, then hammered the horn. Church knew instantly that stroke of bad luck had ruined them. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Huntsman rein up his horse and turn it on the spot. Veitch must have seen it too, for he didn't slow for a moment; instead he powered up on to the car's bonnet and launched himself off to the other side.

Church was too near to the rear of the car to follow suit, but Veitch's actions were too much for the beer boys inside. They burst from the doors, their faces contorted with anger, fists bulging, mouthing post-pub threats in broad Welsh accents. One of them took a swing at Church and he had to throw himself back to avoid the blow.

"Come on!" Veitch yelled, as if it were in Church's power to respond.

The rider was almost upon him. Acting purely on instinct, Church propelled himself forward, past his assailant and behind one of the doors, surprising the beer boys with his tactics. The Huntsman's pike raised a shower of fizzing sparks as it ripped along the car's wing.

That resulted in another predictable outburst from the four youths. The driver stepped forward and hurled a near-full beer can. It bounced off the rider's shoulder, spraying cheap lager across the road.

He was already advancing, fists raised, when Church yelled, "No! He'll kill you!" Another of the youths stepped in and kicked Church violently on the leg. More from shock than the agony that lanced up to his waist, Church pitched backwards, half-in and half-out of the car.

He tried to call out again, but it was too late. The driver rode forward, stabbing his pike and ripping suddenly upwards as he passed. A fountain of blood spurted, then showered down to mingle with the lager in the gutter.

The shouts were stifled in the other three youths' throats. But a second later, to Church's disbelief, they resumed their assault on the rider with force, hurling anything at him that came to hand, trying to kick out at the ghostly horse as it passed. Church didn't wait to see any more. He scrambled right through the car, rolled out on to the tarmac and was then up and running to join Veitch at the alleyway.

Overcome by despair and guilt, he glanced back and immediately wished he hadn't. The rider tore through the youths like a storm of knives, shredding and dismembering in a manner that suggested he had only contempt for humanity. The horse that was more than a horse jumped on to the car's roof, crumpling it, and then Veitch and Church were running as fast as they could along the alley.

They rounded into Cresswell Street, hoping to make their way along the front where they could lose themselves amongst the mediaeval streets before reaching the B amp;B, but the futility of their plan became immediately apparent. One rider cantered from the seafront, blocking the bottom end of the street, while another appeared at the top, their pikes raised, ready to harry them like foxes.

"Up," Veitch croaked.

It took Church a split-second to comprehend what he was saying, and then he was running behind him and getting a leg-up on to a garage roof. He leaned over and hauled Veitch up behind him just as one of the pikes smashed into the brick with a force that belied even the formidable strength of both rider and weapon. The old buildings made it easy for them to find footholds until they could reach the bottom rungs of a fire escape, where they could scramble up to the roof. Crawling over the lip of the gutter was a terrifying experience, and once Church thought the whole frame was about to give way and plunge him to the hard pavement far below.

But eventually they were lying back on the dark slate tiles, staring at the sky as they desperately tried to catch their breath; beneath them the horses' hooves clattered insistently.

"They're not going to go away," Veitch said redundantly.

"We could stay up here till dawn. They'll leave with the daylight."

"You think they're just going to let us sit here? Anyway, didn't you say you'd seen them up in the sky?"

Church remembered viewing the eerie shapes among the clouds after Black Shuck's attack at the service station, but it was almost as if they had been in some transitional phase brought on by the sun's first rays. He shook his head. "If they could, they'd have done it by now."

He peeked over the edge. The rest of the Hunt had gathered there now, the imposing figure of the Erl-King at the heart of them. The horses snorted like traction engines as they jostled for space. A few curtains flickered in the apartments overlooking the street, but wisely, no one pursued their investigations.

"If they could rise up here in some way, I think they would have done it by now," he said, but that didn't give him much comfort.

He had good reason to feel that way. The Erl-King raised his horn to his misshapen mouth and blew a long, aching blast. A second later it was answered by the mournful howl of a dog; not Black Shuck, Church noted-it was too thin and reedy-and then more joined in, yelping ferociously. The sound was so eerie; it almost sounded like human voices.

Within a minute, the pack arrived, surging through the alleyway that led to Tudor Square from wherever they had been sequestered, ready for the final stage of the Hunt. Church's heart froze at the sight of the demonic, red and white hounds; they were almost insect-like in the way they swarmed amongst the horses at the foot of the building.

The Erl-King gave them some silent order, and the sight that followed made Church's breath catch in his throat. The dogs were mounting the building; making inhuman leaps on to the garage roof, on to the window ledges; some even appeared to be climbing sheer faces.

"Jesus Christ!" Veitch's face was as milky-white as the dogs' hindquarters. As they advanced, their snapping needle teeth glinted menacingly.

Church and Veitch pushed their way back from the edge in shock and then stood up, frantically looking around for an escape route. The jumbled slate roofs stretched out all around them in a mix of angles and pitches that befitted the buildings' age, but there seemed only one way: further into the mediaeval quarter where the streets were narrow enough to leap across.

Veitch led the way, slipping and sliding on the tiles. Church was relieved the day had been dry, otherwise they would easily have skidded over the edge. Even so, the gutters remained unnervingly close. Church had never had a problem with heights, but he felt a tight band form across his chest as he glimpsed the street far below during their progress from house to house; and his head was spinning so much he was afraid he might black out or make a mis-step.

At ground level the Hunt was following their progress, ready to catch their prey if either of them plummeted. And behind, Church could hear the clicking of the dogs' nails as they clambered over the guttering on to the slates. He told himself not to look back, but he couldn't resist. The dogs were mounting the roofs in force, their white patches glowing in the moonlight like small spectres. They snapped and snarled venomously.

Church was amazed at how Veitch kept his attention singlemindedly on their escape. When a street opened up ahead of them, he paused, took a few steps back, then launched himself across the gulf, clattering on the tiles ahead and somehow clinging on.

He turned and beckoned to Church. "Come on! They're almost on you!"

Church looked down at the dizzying drop and knew at once that was a mis take. The only way he could control himself was to close his eyes and jump blind. Suddenly there was a wild snapping at his heels and he threw himself across the gap. The wind whistled past his ears and his heart rammed up into his throat until he felt his feet touch down on the opposite roof. But his relief vanished when he realised he had mistimed his leap; he was toppling backwards, his arms cartwheeling.

Veitch reached out to grab his jacket and pull him forwards at the last moment and they tumbled together on to the slates.

"Try keeping your eyes open next time," he snapped.

Out of the corner of his eye, Church saw the dogs leap the gap. He scrambled up the pitch after Veitch. The first few missed and fell howling to the street below, but others caught on to the guttering and somehow managed to pull their way up.

Church was breathless from exertion and anxiety. The dogs were relentless. He could hear the gnashing of their teeth so close behind that if he paused for a second they'd have him. At the next street, Veitch cleared the gap easily, but he still had trouble clinging on to the opposite roof's steep pitch. Church felt a brief flurry of relief when he recognised the block where their B amp;B was situated.

He couldn't stop to time his jump. A dog had almost sunk its teeth into his trousers, the teeth clacking so close he felt the vibration. But at the moment he launched himself, his foot skidded on the slate and he lost his momentum. He clamped his eyes shut again, and somehow his fingers clasped on to the guttering, which creaked ominously.

Veitch desperately tried to reach him, but before he could get within a foot, the guttering's supports wrenched out of the brick and Church was falling, still clinging on to the fragile metal.

That act saved his life. The guttering broke his fall enough so that he blacked out for only a second when he slammed into the road. But when he opened his eyes the Hunt had him surrounded.

The horses dragged at him roughly with their hooves, and when he saw the sharp teeth in their mouths he wondered briefly if the Huntsmen were going to allow their mounts to eat him alive. Then the Erl-King dismounted and strode over to Church, his terrible face emotionless, his red eyes gleaming. He stood astride Church and pressed the sickle end of the pike against Church's chest; the blade felt hard and icy cold even through his jacket.

Slowly he bent forward until Church could see the scales of his skin and the bony protrusions which reminded him of the Fomorii, but were somehow very different. In his eyes, there was nothing Church could comprehend; they were alien, heartless.

Just as he had in Calatin's torture chamber, Church felt an uncanny peace come over him as he felt death near. He closed his eyes, and an instant later there was a brief flurry of movement as the pike slashed through his jacket and skin.

It took him a moment to realise he wasn't dead. When he opened his eyes he saw his jacket and shirt had been torn open and a stinging cross had been marked in the flesh of his chest. But astonishingly, that was the extent of his injuries.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he watched in incomprehension as the Erl-King mounted his horse and led the riders to the end of the street. He gave another blast of his horn, and the dogs swarmed from the rooftops, down the side of the buildings, to gather behind the Hunt.

For one second, the Erl-King glanced at Church with a look that made his blood run cold, and then he spurred his horse and the Hunt galloped away with the hounds howling behind. A minute later, a silence fell on the deserted street as if the Hunt had never been there. With the threat gone, the shock and the pain proved too much and Church crashed back on the road in a daze.