tables in the corners of the room. Tom plucked from his ever-present haversack two bags of roasted peanuts he had been saving as a last resort, and they munched on them hungrily.
Veitch was filled with questions, but at first Tom wouldn't speak to him; it was almost as if he couldn't bring himself to do it. He retreated to his chamber for an hour where he smoked a joint quietly on the deep, comforting bed.
Veitch couldn't begin to rest. His mind turned over all that he had experienced, but kept returning to the image of the naked Queen; it was beginning to torment him. And when he forced himself not to think about her, his eyes drifted to the food.
When Tom finally walked in, he sat bolt upright with relief and said, 'Come on. Spill the fucking beans. What am I up against?'
Tom pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, folding his arms on top of the backrest. 'You and your big mouth, agreeing to anything she said.'
'We didn't have any choice.'
'Of course we had a choice. They play games, barter, throw things back and forth. You don't take the first thing offered. You were too hypnotised by the sight of her cunt.'
'And you weren't? You were almost down on your knees with your tongue hanging out!'
Tom cursed under his breath and put a hand on his eyes. 'There's no point arguing about it. It's done. We have to find a way to make sure you survive.'
Veitch kicked the other chair so hard it flew across the room. 'Come on, then. Talk. What's this thing I've got to hunt?'
'The Questing Beast. It's a living nightmare, something that even the Tuatha De Danann are wary of facing head-on. Their own legends say it was there in Otherworld long before they arrived, one of the first creatures to exist after the universe was formed. They call it a Rough Creature. A prototype for what was to come, if you will. Not fully formed.'
Veitch sat carefully on the edge of the bed. 'If it's in their legends-'
'Exactly.'
'So they're sending me out there because they don't want to have a go themselves. That's par for the course, isn't it? Those Bastards don't like getting their hands dirty. So if they're so wary of it, what was it doing here? And how the fuck am I going to kill it?'
'The Queen keeps many dangerous things here at the Court. It's a mark of prestige. How are you going to kill it?' He shrugged wearily. 'I don't know enough about it. Neither do the Tuatha De Danann. But their distaste for it isn't because of its power, it's because of its imperfect form, which they find abhorrent in the same way they react to the Fomorii. Us, they can just about tolerate. Anything less is to be despised.'
'So how dangerous is it?'
'Very. Make no mistake about that. It escaped into our world several centuries ago, before my time, and many people died before it was driven back to Otherworld. The general belief of the time was that a mortal girl gave birth to it after having sex with the Devil. The legends that grew up around it described it as having the head of a snake, the body of a big cat and the hindquarters of a lion, which is just another way of saying the people of the time couldn't describe it. It was said to give off a sound like forty hounds baying, or questing, in its stomach, and that's how it got its name.'
'So we don't know what it looks like, just that it's very fucking bad.' Veitch jumped to his feet and started pacing round the room; his eyes repeatedly strayed to the appetising food. 'Well, it was driven off, so it can be done. It sounds like a big deal, but I'll be hunting it, not the other way round. Anyway, it's got to be, for Ruth, for Church and everything. Can't fuck up now.'
Tom realised he was talking to himself, planning, bolstering; it was like the ritual of a boxer preparing for a fight.
After another moment's pacing, he turned to Tom and said, 'Okay, I've got my head round it. I'm going to get some Zs in now. We'll do it when I wake.'
As he left the room, Tom hid the fact that he was secretly impressed; once a conflict situation had been established Witch's developing abilities made him like a machine. Fear or overconfidence didn't burden him; he simply weighed up all the available evidence and decided what needed to be done. Tom hoped that would be enough.
In the court it was impossible to know if it was night or day. But when Veitch woke his body told him he had had a good rest; the exhaustion had seeped from his muscles and he felt ready for anything. He was still hungry, but he knew he could find something to eat back in the real world.
Tom joined him soon after, as if he had been waiting for the sounds of stirring. Together they stepped out into the corridor where Melliflor was waiting.
Veitch had hoped the Queen would have come to see him off, but she was nowhere around. Instead, Melliflor led them to the armoury, a long, lowceilinged chamber where the walls were covered with a variety of bizarre weapons and strangely shaped body armour. Veitch picked up one of the weapons which looked like an axe with a spiked ball hanging from it, but in his hands it felt a different shape completely to how it appeared and he replaced it quickly.
While Melliflor oversaw, three other members of the guard brought Veitch different pieces of armour. They strapped across his chest a breastplate which shone like silver, but which was covered with an intricate filigree. Shoulder plates were fastened on, and he was given a helmet which vaguely resembled a Roman centurion's, but was much more ornate. After mulling over the weapons for fifteen minutes he eschewed them all for his own sword and crossbow.
He had no idea of what the armour was constructed, but it was surprisingly lightweight; he could have walked for miles in it. He didn't have to, though, for as soon as he was ready Melliflor took him through to an adjoining stable which contained enough horses for a small army.
'Stolen from our world,' Tom muttered. It allows the lesser members of the Tuatha De Danann to travel quickly when they cross over.'
'This is no bleedin' good, I've never ridden before,' Veitch moaned.
'The steed will respond to your every movement. We have adapted it,' Melliflor said ominously.
Melliflor offered Veitch a handsome white charger, but he didn't feel comfortable with it. 'Too flash,' he grumbled. Instead he chose a nut-brown stallion indistinguishable from many of the others.
Once he had mounted the steed, Melliflor led it by its reins to a blank stone wall at one end of the stable. He made a strange hand gesture and the wall opened with a deep, rumbling judder. They were high up on a hillside with a vista over Loch Ness. Mist drifted across the water in the post-dawn light. From all around came the sweet aroma of pine trees. Everywhere was still and quiet.
Veitch turned to view the scene in the stables, but he couldn't think of anything to say to Tom. Instead, he merely waved; Tom nodded curtly in reply, but there was much hidden in the two gestures. Then Veitch spurred his horse and galloped off into the world.
The darkness licked at the foot of Mam Tor, an angry sea crashing on the rocks. From his vantage point beneath a burning sun and a brilliant blue sky, Church watched as hopelessness washed over him.
'They'll be coming up soon.' Laura's voice made him start.
'Best not to think about that.'
'Sure. Do you want me to help bury your head or can you do it yourself?'
Church managed a tight smile; he didn't have much humour left in him. With Ruth's condition worsening by the day, the strain of their isolation and the constant fear that their hiding place would be discovered at any moment, it was surprising he hadn't lapsed into permanent silence.
'No sign of the others yet?' Laura rested on his shoulder and peered out to the horizon. It was a running joke; she asked the same thing every day, knowing the answer.
'Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.' He tried, but he couldn't help believing that they wouldn't be coming back at all. He knew they had long distances to travel, with huge obstacles along the way, but they still seemed to have been gone a long time. Even if they did return, how would they be able to slip past the mass of Fomorii? He had been right the first time: best not to think about it.
'She's asking for you.' Laura continued to scan the horizon, as if by doing it everything in the foreground could be forgotten.
