going to keep getting things like this, are we? It won't be important. All the bigshots will be making sure everyone just has enough food, trying to keep the riots to a minimum.'
Church laughed quietly. 'So that's your motivation, is it? Fight for the pint?'
'No,' Witch replied indignantly, missing the humour. 'It's just the little things that bring all this shit home. You look out there and you can almost believe everything's the same as it always was. But it's right on the brink of going belly-up. How long do you think it's got?'
Church shrugged. 'Depends how soon the Fomorii and the Tuatha De Danann start flexing their muscles and really screwing things up. Maybe they'll leave us alone enough to carry on with some kind of normality.' Even to himself, he didn't sound very convincing.
There was a long pause while they both sipped their beer and then Veitch said, 'You know what those spooks said. About one of us being a snake in the grass. It isn't me, you know.' He looked at Church uncomfortably. 'Because with my past record, I know that's what everyone's going to be thinking.'
'I don't think that's true, Ryan.'
'Don't get me wrong, I don't blame them. Everything I've ever done points in that direction. I'm just saying. It's not me.' His gaze shifted away as he asked, 'Do you believe me? It's important that you believe me. The others, I don't-' He held back from whatever he was about to say.
Church thought for a moment, then replied, 'I believe you.'
Veitch's shoulders relaxed and he couldn't restrain a small, relieved smile which crept around the lip of his glass. He finished the lager with a long draught. 'All right, then. Who do you think it is?'
'It's hard to believe any of us could be some kind of traitor. I think I'm a pretty good judge of human nature and I don't see anything that makes me even slightly suspicious.'
'The old hippie sold us down the river once.'
'But that wasn't his doing. Anyway, that's been sorted out. Once the parasite was removed from his head he was back to normal.'
Veitch leaned back in his seat and rested one foot on a stool. 'You reckon they were making it up then?'
'Not making it up exactly. It seems to me that whenever any information comes over from some supernatural source, it's never quite how you think it is. They're saying one thing, you hear another. I think they do it on purpose, another power thing,' he added with weary exasperation.
'Well, I'm going to be watching everyone very carefully.'
'That's what I'm worried about. I don't want paranoia screwing things up from within. There's enough of a threat outside.'
An old man with a spine curved by the years and a face that was little more than skin on bone shuffled in and cast a curious glance in their direction before making his way to the bar. He was wearing a checked, flat cap and a long brown overcoat, despite the warmth of the day. Pint in hand, he headed towards a seat in a shadowy corner, then seemed to think twice and moved over to the table next to them.
'Mind if I sit here?' His accent had the gentle, lilting quality of the Highlands, his voice steady, despite his appearance. Once he'd settled, he glanced at them with jovial slyness. 'Out-of-towners?'
'We're travelling down to Edinburgh,' Church said noncommittally.
'On holiday?'
'Something like that.'
The old man sipped his beer thoughtfully. 'You wouldn't happen to know what's going on in the world, would you?'
'What do you mean?'
'With the papers all printing junk and the TV and the radio playing the same old rubbish from the Government, you can't get any news worth hearing. It's got to be something bad to shut down the TV. We always get lots of tourists travelling through here from the cities, but there's been nary a soul over the last few days. So what have you seen?'
Church wondered how he could begin to explain to the man what was happening; wondered if he should. Veitch interjected before he could reply, 'All seems pretty normal to me, mate.'
'Aye, that's what everyone round here is saying. Oh, there was a bit of panic when those Government messages started repeating, but once the police went round calming everyone down and we all saw it wasn't the end of the world, everyone carried on as normal.' He chuckled. 'What are we going to do with us, eh?'
'So what do you think's happening?' Church asked.
'Aye, well,' the old man rubbed his chin, 'that's the question. Like I say, at the moment it doesn't seem too bad. Oh, there's a few things you can't seem to get in the shops, but there's talk they might be rationing petrol-'
'Oh?' Church glanced at Veitch, both aware of the problems that might arise if their ability to travel was hampered.
'Aye. So they say. Could be shortages. And the phone's off more than it's on. It's awful hard trying to find out what's happening in the next village, never mind in the cities.' He looked at Church and Veitch with a tight smile. 'Reminds me of the war.'
Church glanced out into the main street at a boy cycling by lazily. 'I bet you get a lot of your income round here from tourism. What's going to happen if that dries up?'
'People will find a way to get by.' The old man took out a pipe that looked as ancient as he appeared and began to feed it with tobacco from a leather pouch. 'They always do, don't they? The Blitz spirit. People find a way.'
They all gathered in the bar at 6 p.m. to eat. The food was plain but filling and it was even more comforting to feed on something they hadn't prepared themselves on a Calor Gaz stove. The atmosphere in the place seemed so secure and easy-going after their nights on the road that even Laura's usual complaining seemed half- hearted.
After they ordered drinks, they assessed their situation and considered their plans for the future. Ruth and Shavi were bank-rolling them as the others had all run out of funds, but the two of them still had enough savings to keep them going. They discussed the possibility of fuel rationing and agreed to top up the tank first thing and, if possible, get some large diesel containers they could keep in the back. None of them discussed their prospects for success, nor did they mention Balor by name, although his presence hung oppressively on the edge of the conversation.
Apart from a few minor points, it was the severed finger that concerned them the most. During the day its obscure symbolism had set unpleasant reso nances deep in their minds, triggering images which they couldn't recognise; the lack of obvious meaning made them feel hunted and insecure.
'The Fomorii wouldn't have resorted to such a subtle tactic,' Tom noted. 'They would have been upon us in an instant. But they don't care about us any longer. We're no longer a threat. In their eyes, we have failed in our primary mission.'
'Losers,' Veitch said with obvious irritation. 'At least if they're not watching us we can come up on their blind side.'
Church was heartened to see the fatalism which had infected them ever since they came together was slowly dissipating; now there seemed no doubt that they could do something, however little that might be. Against the allpowerful forces lined against them, that was a great victory in itself.
'It has the hallmark of someone working alone,' Shavi noted. 'In this new world, perhaps we inadvertently antagonised something. Trespassed on land it presumed was its own.'
'But who did the finger belong to?' Ruth asked.
'Some poor bastard,' Church muttered.
'Let us hope it was a warning not to go back there,' Shavi said, 'and that it has not decided to pursue us for recompense.'
The hotel was holding its weekly ceilidh that night and by 7:30 p.m. the regulars began to drift in to the large lounge next to the bar. The band had already started to set up; it was the fiddle player's intense warm-up which had attracted Church and the others. They wandered in with their drinks and were welcomed with surprising warmth. The old man Church and Veitch had met in the bar earlier was there and gave them a wink as they took a beer from the barrels lined up on a table at one end of the room.
At 8 p.m. the dancing began. The moment the fiddle player launched into his reel the lounge turned into a
