side by side. There was a room where the walls were entirely made of mirrors, giving an unsettling sense of the four of them striving throughout infinity, seeking survival in endless dimensions.
The chambers cried out for a throng of people devoted to art and beauty, continually accompanied by the music of their movement. But nowhere was there any sign of life. The scuttling, chattering, whispering sound that followed them wherever they went only added to the abiding sense of loneliness.
Finally, when weariness had turned their legs to lead, they opted to rest in a smaller room where they didn't feel so exposed. Matt fixed the torch in a bracket on one wall, but its faint light did little to dispel the feeling of a sea of darkness all around, waiting to submerge them.
'Ever get the feeling we've taken a wrong turn?' Matt said as he settled down at the foot of a wall. The oppressive atmosphere had crushed all the humour out of him.
'I can't understand this at all,' Crowther muttered. 'Everything suggests this place was clearly occupied very recently. Triathus gave no sign that it was deserted. So where could they possibly have all gone?'
It was a rhetorical question, and no one even began to answer it, though it had been troubling all their minds since they had first stepped into the court.
Both Matt and Mahalia fell into sleep quickly. Crowther, who had spent much of their trek through the court struggling with his desire to wear the mask, forced himself to sit down beside Jack. Even in the grip of his addiction, other concerns were at play in his mind. He watched the boy preparing to put his head down and then said, 'So, you and young Mahalia are… stepping out, as we used to say in my day.'
Jack's brow furrowed. 'Stepping out?'
'An item. A couple. Romantically intertwined. You really have led the ultimate sheltered life, haven't you?'
'I love her.' Jack's eyes sparkled in the semi-gloom. 'Really. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it's only infatuation. You're awash with hormones. It's a genetic process designed to facilitate speedy bonding for continued propagation of the species.' Jack stared at him blankly. 'I know what I feel.' 'No, you think you know what you feel. That's what all this mess is about — everything is an illusion and the truth lies somewhere behind it. Tell me about love when you've been with someone for years, cared for them when they're ill, put up with them when they're miserable or grumpy, taken the sharp side of their tongue and still come back.' He looked away into the dark, and added quietly, 'Tell me about love when you've acted quite appallingly, and the other person has still accepted you.' 'Why are you so concerned about us, Professor Crowther?' Crowther snorted. 'I'm not concerned. Ridiculous.' Jack eyed the gentle rise and fall of Mahalia's chest. Occasionally, she would twitch and half-heard words would spring to her lips. His attention was caught by Crowther fumbling inside his coat, and for a second Jack thought the professor was after the mask again. Instead, he pulled out a dog-eared picture. 'What's that?' Jack asked as he shuffled closer to peer at the snap. 'A painting?' 'A photograph.' Crowther's voice was strained. The picture showed two teenage girls, long, blonde hair, wide smiles, sparkling eyes. Anyone other than Jack would have recognised the fashions of the early nineties. 'Who are they?' Jack asked. 'My daughters.' Crowther's face was shrouded by shadows. 'What are their names?' 'Sophie. And Stacia.' 'Where are they now?' 'You ask a lot of questions,' Crowther said grumpily. He tapped the photo gently with the tip of his index finger. 'I have no idea where they are. They left home. Never really got in touch much.'
'That's not very nice.'
'No, it's not their fault,' Crowther said firmly. 'I wasn't the best of fathers. Quietly obsessed with my own life, you see. Children were a distraction.' He fell silent for a moment, then added quietly, 'It seems to be true what they say — you never really know what you've got till it's gone.' He tucked the photo away.
'Well, I know what I've got with Mahalia,' Jack said adamantly.
Crowther pulled his hat low over his face and shuffled deeper into his overcoat, ready to sleep. His mumbled words issued quietly into the dark. 'Be careful how you treat her, boy.'
'I wouldn't do anything to hurt her, ever.' Jack tried to pierce the shadows beneath the brim of the hat, but Crowther's face was lost to him. 'You care about her, don't you?'
But all that came back was a long, low snore. They woke together, and realised some sound must have disturbed them. Matt instantly took charge, keeping them silent with a cutting motion of his hand while they listened intently. From a distance, a scraping noise came to them, faint, but in the tomblike quietness it might as well have been an alarm.
Matt grabbed the torch from the wall and they all crept out of the chamber.
The noise was intermittent and indistinct and they would often have to wait for long periods until it emerged again to guide them in the right direction. They moved along a broad corridor and eventually came to a large hall that could well have been some place of worship, for there was a strange air of sanctity present. Exquisite paintings of fantastical scenes lined the walls and in the centre of the floor was something resembling an altar — a large stone table set with objects of reverence. In that room the motion-tones took on a different texture, sombre, haunting, prickling the hairs on the backs of their necks.
The scratching sound came from the foot of the altar. As they moved closer, the torchlight set shadows dancing across the hall. The darkness unfurled to reveal a shape crumpled on the floor, and an odd fluttering movement above it.
'Don't go any closer,' Mahalia said in a weak, strained voice, tugging at Matt's sleeve. He threw her off, curious and unnerved at the same time. He had to see.
The shape fell into relief. It was one of the Golden Ones, a male, resembling Triathus with his beautiful features, faintly shimmering skin and long hair. He was twisted half on his back, occasionally clutching feebly at the altar to try to pull himself up.
Mahalia exclaimed quietly, a note of sadness in her words, for they could tell he was dying. They hurried to his side and though his throat had been slit and there were numerous other wounds in his torso, there was no blood. Instead, his body was breaking up into tiny pieces that transformed into something like moths, glowing and golden as they fluttered up to the shadows that swamped the vaulted roof. Inside him, it appeared as though he were made of nothing more than light.
Crowther pushed Matt to one side and knelt beside the dying god. At first the professor attempted to staunch the fragmenting of the body, but when it became apparent that the process was irreversible, he leaned forward and said, 'Who did this?' The god's lids snapped open to reveal shimmering eyes that ranged back and forth until they fell on Crowther's face. Then, with the last of his strength, the god reached up to grab Crowther's coat to pull him closer. His voice was a thin husk. 'They come,' he said. 'They come.'
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than his hand fell back and his eyelids fluttered shut. The deterioration of his corporeal form suddenly became intense; a cloud of fluttering golden moths soared skyward, blinding all those who watched, and when they finally cleared there was nothing left.
'That's why there's no one here,' Crowther said with horror as he stared at the space where the god had lain. 'They've all been murdered. All of them… the entire court.'
'Over here!' Jack's voice carried from the edge of the penumbra.
The others ventured over, distracted and disturbed by what they'd seen. A powerful feeling of dread crept up on them. They found Jack looking up at a standard that had been rammed into the floor with such unnatural force that cracks radiated out across the marble from the base of the metal spur. At the top hung a flag made of some kind of shimmering but ultralight metal featuring a stylised drawing of a seashell.
In the thin torchlight, Jack's face appeared to have drained of all blood. 'It's the standard of the Court of the Yearning Heart,' he said weakly.
Matt grabbed him by the shoulders. 'What do you know?'
Jack wiped his hand across a suddenly snotty nose. 'They're one of the worst of the courts. They don't care about humans… they don't care about anything.' He looked around, eyes blinking stupidly. 'They killed them all. Their own people!'
'We need to get out of here,' Crowther said. 'That poor soul gave us a warning-' A deep, sonorous tolling echoed somewhere in the depths of the court, moving slowly through the thick stone walls, spreading its warning until every room and corridor was filled with the dim pounding.
'They know we're here,' Mahalia said, wide-eyed. 'How do they know?'
Matt cursed. 'Someone obviously just killed that Golden One… a mopping-up exercise. They were probably just leaving when we arrived.' He looked around with uncertainty. 'I can't tell if the alarm is coming from ahead of us or behind.'
