Church tried to choose his words carefully, but after a moment gave up. "I know this might sound coldhearted, but this could really work in our favour. It's not just a murder. With the history between the Fomorii and the Tuatha De Danann, it's an act of war."
"You'd think, but I could tell from some of the comments flying around the deck that they weren't exactly breaking a neck to retaliate."
Through the window, Church watched a gull skimming the surface of the sea; the other islands must be nearby. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I. Who knows how their minds work?"
Church tried to shift into a more comfortable position, then gave up. "Why would the Fomorii risk committing such a senseless act? The Tuatha De Danann, their arch enemies, were giving them free rein to wipe out our world."
Ruth examined her palm for a while, then said, "I think it might be me."
"What do you mean?"
"When I did the spirit flight to London, that awful thing I told you about ... Balor, I suppose ... followed me back, at least across our world. Maybe it saw us as a threat, sent out a killing party to wipe us out."
"They'd have had to move quickly."
"You know time means nothing to these freaks."
Church grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on to the bed next to him so he could slip his arm around her shoulders. "It's too confusing to try to work it out sitting here. Who knows what's going on? The important thing is I need to be up and about to lobby our case if I have to."
She leaned down beside the bed and emerged with a cane, carved in the shape of a dragon. "Voila."
"That's very fitting."
"Yes, and they seemed to have it waiting for you." Another mystery, but he had long since given up trying to comprehend.
There was movement in the corridor without, and a second later the door rattled open without warning. Church was about to castigate the visitors for not knocking until he saw their faces. Three members of the Tuatha lle Danann cadre who always accompanied Manannan entered, but they were subtly changed. Their faces, which before had been impassive and waxy, now had a cunning and malicious cast at the edges of the mouth and in the eyes, barely perceptible in direct glance, but on another level, quite striking.
"The Master requires your presence," the leader of the group said. His hand rested on the pommel of a sword Church had not seen in his possession before.
"The worms have turned," Church muttered so only Ruth could hear.
They silently followed the guards, Church hobbling as best he could. On deck there was no sign of any of the other travellers, only small groups of the Tuatha lle Danann, watching their passage with dark, brooding expressions.
In his expansive cabin, as large as a mediaeval banqueting hall, Manannan sat behind a desk of gold, carved with figures that appeared to move of their own accord a split second after his attention left them. Other high-ranking members of the Golden Ones were scattered around the room. Church spied Niamh behind a couple of thin, cruel-faced aristocrats, but she would not meet his eyes. The strained, icy atmosphere told him things were about to get much worse.
Manannan rose once they stood before him and clasped his oversized hands loosely together in front of him. His face, too, was changed, though not as unpleasant as those of his guards; but it was harsher, certainly. "Another of our number has been driven on." His voice was as cold and hard as a swordblade. "The circling stars have been shaken, not once but twice." The message was repeated almost for his own sake, as if he could barely believe it. "Two times, in the fleeting memory of Fragile Creatures. Two abominations in the face of existence." Fury flared in his eyes, but his voice dropped to a whisper. "Monstrous."
Church didn't dare say anything for fear of retribution.
Manannan raised a hand to point an accusing finger at them. "You Fragile Creatures brought this upon us."
Ruth stirred angrily; Church fumbled for her wrist to restrain her, but she took a step to one side. "The Fomorii-"
-were brought to the Western Isles in search of you. Were driven to acts of vengeance by you. The Night Walkers are rough beasts, once prompted, rarely stopped. You must be accountable for this."
"You're surely not blaming us for Cormorel?" Ruth held up her face defiantly.
Manannan did not answer.
"Scapegoats, then."
The disrespect in her voice was a step too far. Manannan's face shifted furi ously before settling into its original form. "We have no interest in your feeble concerns."
"The Night Walkers will attack you as soon as they've finished with us," Ruth said, unbowed.
"And when they do we shall eradicate them as we did before. Until then, they are beneath our notice, as all creatures are."
Manannan's tone and the mood of the other Tuatha De Danann filled Church with apprehension. The situation was worse than he had imagined.
"The time has come. It has been proposed that you Brother and Sister of Dragons are a threat to the good running of Wave Sweeper and should be wiped from existence before any further troubles arise."
Ruth blanched. Church couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're going to execute us?"
"No." Niamh's voice was filled with passion. She pushed her way past the other gods to stand before Manannan, her skin flushed to a golden sheen.
Manannan fixed his emotionless gaze on her. "You speak in defence of these Fragile Creatures?"
"I do."
"What worth have they?" one of the cruelly aristocratic gods said.
"You know their worth," Niamh said directly to Manannan. Her words were strangely weighted.
Manannan nodded. "Still, there is a need for discipline."
"Do not be swayed by the voices of the dissenters." Niamh bowed her head slightly so her hair fell around her beautiful face. "In your heart you know-"
"Do you question the word of the Master?" The aristocratic god stepped forward, a dim fury flaring behind his eyes.
Curiously, Church watched. For so long they had pretended to be detached from most human emotions-truly gods. But they weren't gods at all, however much they pretended. His concern grew when he saw the flickers of fear cross Niamh's face; it was obviously a great transgression to question Manannan's thoughts.
"I do not question-" Niamh began, but Manannan held up his hand to silence her.
"I will listen to our sister, who speaks for the Fragile Creatures," Manannan said to the assembled Tuatha De Danann before turning to Church and Ruth. "You are fortunate to have such a powerful advocate."
Church's relief was mingled with surprise that Niamh's voice carried such weight; he suspected Manannan was hoping to be convinced to change his opinion.
"Be warned," Manannan continued, "the eyes of the Golden Ones will be upon you from now on. Accept your role in existence, Fragile Creatures, and bring no more pain to this place."
His attention was gone from them in the snap of a finger. The sneering guards-now strangely less malicious and cunning-herded Church and Ruth to the door. Niamh flashed Church an affectionate smile before she joined the others who were milling around in obvious annoyance at the outcome.
Outside, Ruth's eyes blazed. "Those bastards!"
Church was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. "They're losing control. Looking for scapegoats. They can't believe they're not as all-round wonderful as they think they are."
"And what was that witch doing?"
"Defending us-"
"Trying to get into your pants, more like. She never gives up, does she?"
She took a deep breath of the refreshing sea air, but her temper didn't diminish. "What's wrong with you?" Church said. "We were about to get summarily executed, but she got us off."
Ruth turned to him, defiant. "You know, when it comes to women, you've got a real problem."
"What are you talking about?"
"The witch still thinks she's got a chance with you. Maybe she has got a chance, I don't know. But you just keep diving into all these relationsh
ips, stirring up a whole load of emotional mess, without once thinking about the repercussions."
"I know I've made mistakes-"
"Well, sort yourself out."
"I can't believe the world is falling apart and we're talking about this!"
"Oh, come on. You know this is the important thing. The rest of it is just stuff that happens."
Church was lost for words.
"Do you want her?" she pressed.
"Niamh?" Ruth's gaze held him tight. He could finally read in her eyes all the truth that he had secretly known all along. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I just get the feeling there's something else going on there, but I can't put my finger on it. Her feelings are so intense, they don't have any connection with how long I've known her. Everything feels completely out of balance." He watched the gulls swooping around the masts. "I don't like to hurt people's feelings, especially good people. And she does seem good."
"Sometimes you have to be firm." Her voice softened a little. "You need to talk to her-"
"I've tried."
"-be honest with her. She might be upset at first, but if she knows there's no point she can adjust. And then if you close all that down you can focus on your own future." Her voice remained calm and detached, but there was a tremendous weight to her words.
"I just wish I understood her better-"
"Oh, for God's sake!"
She made to go, but he caught her arm. "Let's not screw this up."
Her eyes moved slowly across his face, reading every thought in his head. Eventually she nodded; the tension between them evaporated, leaving another tension beneath.
A universe away, the emotions that had been crushing Laura for so long had finally started to dissipate. The dislocation when she awakened in the charnel pit had brought shock, despair, horror, futility and a debilitating fear that had left her unable to move.
Eventually all that was left was an emptiness gradually filling with a nearreligious relief at her survival. With an effort she pulled herself into a squatting position, squirming as the soft corpses gave beneath her or when she brushed against cold skin. The only way she could cope was by not thinking about it. Instead, she fixed on the faint light filtering in on the other side of wherever she had been dumped.
The journey across the bodies was sickening. At the far side of the room was a flight of brick stairs leading up to a partly broken door. Beyond it she could see grey sky.
Refusing to look back, she scampered up the steps and tried the door, which swung open at her touch. She was in a street running amongst dilapidated Victorian warehouses that rose up high overhead. It was eerily still and quiet. The damp vegetation smell of open water hung in the air, but there was nothing to give her any clue where she was.
But as she stepped out of the shadows of the building a detail caught her eye that shocked her. The skin of her right hand and forearm had a greenish tinge. It was only faint, but unnatural enough to worry her. Anxiously she checked the other arm and then her legs; it was the same all over.
Finding a window with an unbroken pane, she examined her face closely: another shock, this one uplifting. The scars that Callow had carved into her face were gone, the skin as smooth and clear as a baby's. There wasn't even the vaguest trace of the wounds. It made no sense to her, but her overwhelming joy wiped out any worries. Hastily fluffing her short blonde hair into spikes, she wiped some of the smeared dirt and blood from her face and then set off to investigate her surroundings.
The warehouses had been in use recently. In one there was the strong smell of cinnamon; others had been fitted with modern security systems. Ominously, several had open doorways leading down to cellars, from which familiar unpleasant odours rose.
One side street led down to a broad, grey river. It took her only a second or two of scanning the riverside properties to realise it was the Thames; she was back in London. Heading along a road overlooking the water to the edge of the area of warehouses, she began to make out dim sounds of activity.
Just as she was about to emerge from the cover of the final warehouse she was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged backwards, a hand clamped over her mouth. She fought furiously, but her attacker was too strong.
Only when her assailant had pulled her into the warehouse and flung her unceremoniously on to an oily concrete floor did she see who it was. "What are you doing?" she raged.
The Bone Inspector levelled his staff at her, as if to frighten her into silence. His piercing blue eyes gave him a menacing quality, emphasised by the unkempt grey-black hair hanging lankly around his shoulders. He wore the same dirty cheesecloth shirt, baggy trousers and sandals Laura had seen him in the first time she met him at Avebury.
"Keep silent if you want to keep living," he growled.
Laura dusted herself down as she flashed him a contemptuous look. "I bet you get all your women this way. Let's face it, they're never going to compliment you on your dress sense."
He grabbed her wrist roughly and dragged her over to a window, wiping away the dirt so she could peer out. Fomorii ranged as far as the eye could see, some carrying human bodies, others moving intently about some activity she couldn't discern.
"God." Her throat had almost closed up.
"The whole city is their stinking pit now.,,
Her fear was so strong Laura couldn't mask it; she stared at the Bone Inspector with wide eyes. "So this is their base?" Then: "They've killed everyone?"
The Bone Inspector took pity on her. He let go of her wrist and led her gently to a pallet where they sat side by side. "It's a shock, I know."
"You know what? Let's forget trying to describe things, because there just aren't the words." She buried her head in her hands, shaking as all the repressed tension came out in a rush. When it had eased, she looked up at him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
This made her even more suspicious. "How would you-"
"So I don't have to sit here answering stupid questions all day, I'll tell you. I came looking for your body. You made a sacrifice. It wasn't right that you were just dumped, forgotten." He looked away to minimise the impact of what lay behind his words. "Thought I'd take your bones back to somewhere fitting-"
"You're just a sentimental-"
He waved a threatening finger in her face. "It's my job. I'm a guardian of the old places because I'm a priest of the land, if you will. I tend to the people who fight for it." His eyes narrowed. "But I don't have to like them, understand?"
"Well, God forbid you should show some sensitivity."
"The earth energy's strong in you and your travelling troupe of hopeless cases. I can feel it even more now the changes you've wrought have started to wake the land."
"So you followed your nose." She looked back towards the window uncomfortably. "But how did you get past all that?"
"It wasn't so bad when I came in. They were spreading out across a different part of the city, doing whatever foul business they do, and the eastern approach was pretty open. Even so, I had to move under cover. Took time." He shrugged. "Can't see how we're going to get back out, though." He eyed her askance. "So how come you're not a pile of blood and guts and bone? And why do you look like you've been sleeping in a compost heap?"
"You really know how to chat up a girl."
"Well?"
"How should I know? I've given up trying to work anything out any more."
They sat alone with their thoughts for a while until Laura said, "Did it work?"
He knew exactly what she meant. "You saved her life. Who knows, you might even have saved much more than that. I pointed her and that miserable leader in the direction of the Western Isles to try to get the Golden Ones on our side. They might even do it, if they can put a lifetime of failure behind them."
"The others?"
"Don't know."
There was another long silence before she asked the question they'd both been avoiding. "So I've e
scaped a particularly horrible death to spend the rest of my life in a stinking warehouse with someone who doesn't know what soap is. Or do you have anything approaching a plan?"
He stared blankly at the dirty floor. "No. No plans."
Church and Ruth stayed in the cabin until night had fallen. The air was tinged with the fading warmth of the day and the scent of burning oil as the flickering lantern in the corner sent shadows shivering across the wooden walls.
All their attempts at making head or tail of the eddies of mystery and intrigue swirling around them had come to nothing, but so much was at stake they couldn't afford to just sit back any longer.
"We have to find the Walpurgis-he's the key," Church said eventually. "There's something very strange going on here, on this ship. These days I trust my instinct more than anything, and sometimes it's almost like I can feel deep, powerful currents moving just beneath my feet. I don't know if the death of Hellawes has anything to do with it, but Cormorel's murder is right at the heart. I don't understand why the gods in the furnace are stockpiling weapons, what the meaning is of all the strange looks and half-heard comments the other gods are making. Whatever it is, I know it's going to affect us, even if it's only that we're definitely not going to get any help from the Tuatha De Danann until the suspicion has been taken off us."
"How do you expect to find the Walpurgis if Manannan's massed ranks can't?"
"I don't know, but I know I've got to try. He's down there somewhere."
"I don't know." She shook her head worriedly. "The Malignos are still roaming around. You cross them, you won't be coming back up again." She sucked on her lip thoughtfully. "I'd better come with you."
"No," he replied forcefully. "I'm not being chivalrous, it's just good tactics. If I don't come back, at least there'll be one of us left to try to hold it all together." The shadows had pooled in her eyes so he couldn't read her expression. "You still think it's going to end in tears?"
"Oh yeah."
They were interrupted by a cry from the deck, strangely lonely in the still of the night. Church got up and peered out of the window. "Another island." A couple of lights glimmered in the sea of darkness. A rumbling ran through the walls as the crew prepared to drop anchor.
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