rumblings that still came from her belly. 'We need to decide what we're going to do with Callow.'
Church cursed under his breath. 'I'd forgotten about that bastard.'
'We could execute him.' She appeared to be only half joking.
Church forced a smile that faded quickly. 'We can't leave him here. These people have enough problems without a psycho like that around. And if Ryan and Tom are still alive he'll just go after them-'
'We can't take him with us!'
'We don't know we're going anywhere yet. If we do find the ship, we might be able to do some good for him. I'm going to try to get the Fomorii shit cleaned out of my system. Maybe we can do the same for him-'
'Do some good!' she said incredulously. 'The bastard murdered Shavi! Almost killed Laura.' She showed him the gap between her fingers.
'I know, I know.' He waved her protestations away. 'But still. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, they say.'
Ruth grunted in grudging agreement, but as she rose from the table she muttered, 'I still think we should execute him.'
'You sound more like Laura every day.'
The morning was brittle, but filled with the warmth of a good summer. The air had the salty tang of seaweed and fish. In the daylight, Mousehole was quaint and comforting, hunkered up against the rugged Cornish coastline. Church and Ruth herded Callow along the deserted seafront, the half-man keeping his peeled-egg eyes away from the brilliant light of the sun. Church was disturbed how the creature had begun to grow into his new form; his manner of walking had become almost insectile in the way he skittered in and out of the gutter, a little too fast, a tad too angular.
'You make a bolt for it, I'll boil those freaky eyes out of your head,' Ruth said calmly. 'You know I can do it.'
Church eyed her, not sure if it was within her new powers, which were as mysterious to him as the sea, a feeling she did nothing to dispel. Callow flashed her a brief glance that suggested he would kill her, given half a chance.
'What do we do when we get there?' Ruth asked.
'We call out for the ship to come to us.' It sounded so stupid, he winced. He wished Tom were there. Despite the Rhymer's brusque and generally unpleasant manner, Church missed his wisdom and his knowledge about all the new, strange things that had found a place in the world.
The information they had found in the pub pointed them in the direction of Merlin's Rock. As Callow scuttled ahead of them, Church couldn't shake the ludicrous image of the world's most bizarre couple out walking their dog.
Ruth glanced at the white-rimmed waves before flashing a teasing smile at Church. 'Better get calling, then.'
'Your trouble, Ruth, is you're too straitlaced to let yourself go,' he said wryly. 'You should unbutton a little.'
'I'll take that on board, Mr. Black Pot.'
Callow started to edge away, sure the others couldn't see his subtle movements. Church grabbed the collar of his jacket and hauled him forward so he teetered on the edge over the choppy waves. 'Enjoy the view. You might never see it again.'
'You can't make me go!' Callow protested.
'I can't make you swim, either, but I can put you in a position where you have no choice.'
'You don't understand! Those wretched golden-skinned creatures will detest everything about me. They'll make me pay for what the Night Walkers did to me, and it's not my fault!'
'They don't care too much for me either,' Church replied. 'Thankfully I don't give a toss what those inbred aristocrats think. They might believe they're better than us, but they're not, and given half a chance I'll bring that home to them.'
'They'll hurt me!'
'Not while I'm there. You deserve some justice for what you've done, Callow, but not at their hands. You're one of us and if anyone's going to make you pay-
Callow struggled frantically. He calmed instantly when Ruth rested a hand on his shoulder.
Church moved away from them and faced the horizon. The wind rustled his long hair with soothing fingers; a tingle ran down his spine. He thought of Frank Sinatra singing 'Fly Me to the Moon,' remembering the great times he'd had with that music playing in his head: kissing Marianne in the lounge of their flat in the early hours of New Year's Day, staggering through Covent Garden, drunk with all his friends, watching the dawn come up on a boat on the Thames. They were at the start of something big, a great journey, and there was still hope; he could feel it in every fibre of his being. The moment felt right.
'Come to us.' The wind whipped the words from his mouth. He coughed; then spoke with greater firmness and clarity: 'Come to us. Take us to the Western Isles.' Once again his voice was caught by the wind, but this time it rolled out across the waves. The tingling in his spine increased a notch.
Cautiously he scanned the horizon. The weather was so clear he would see any ship miles away. He glanced back at Ruth, unsure.
'Be patient,' she said firmly.
Once more he spoke loudly. 'I beseech the Golden Ones to carry us, their humble servants, away to the wonders of the Western Isles.' Behind him, Callow sniggered.
For several long minutes he waited, sure he was making a fool of himself, but gradually he began to sense slight changes in the atmosphere. The air grew more charged, until he could taste iron in his mouth, as if he were standing next to a generator. He looked back at Callow and Ruth and saw they could sense it too; Ruth was smiling, but Callow had an expression of growing anxiety. Church couldn't stop himself smiling either-almost laughing, in fact: a ball of gold had formed in his gut and was slowly unfolding along his arteries and veins. Everything around became more intense. The sea shimmered as if the waves were rimmed with diamonds, emeralds and sapphires and the sun's golden light suffused every molecule of the air. The scent of the ocean was powerfully evocative, summoning a thousand childhood memories. The wind caressed his skin until every nerve tingled.
This is the way to see the world, he thought.
Despite the glorious morning, a misty luminescence had gathered along the horizon like a heat haze over a summer road, igniting in him a feeling of delighted anticipation that he could barely contain.
'It's coming,' he whispered.
It felt like the air itself was singing. Church realised he was kneading his hands in expectation and had to hold them tightly behind his back to control himself.
The white, misty light curled back on itself, suggesting a life of its own. There was a billow, another, and then something could be glimpsed forcing its way through the intangible barrier. His heart leapt.
A second later the ship was visible, ploughing through the waves towards him. It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, a water-borne star of gold, silver and ivory. At first it looked like a Phoenician galley he had seen during his university studies. Then it looked Greek, and then Roman, then like nothing he had ever come across before, its shape changing with each crash of white surf on its prow, although he knew it was his own perception that was altering. A white sail marked with a black rune on a red circle soared above it, but the ship didn't appear to be driven by the wind, nor were there any oars visible. Every aspect of it was finely, almost oppressively, detailed. Fantastic golden carvings rolled in undulating patterns along each side, culminating in an enormous splash of silver and white like streamlined swans' wings at the aft. The prow curled round into a statue with an awesome visage made of what appeared to be thousands of tiny, interlocking figures; the eyes glowed ruby red. There was something about the design of the face that spoke to Church on a deep level; it was as if it were an analogy for the ultimate secret made plain for all to see.
Ruth appeared at his side, eyes fixed on the approaching ship. Her arm brushed his and goosebumps rushed across his skin.
'It's magnificent,' she said in a hushed voice.
Church turned, expecting Callow to be galloping away now Ruth had abandoned his side, but he remained just as fixated, although the wonder in his face was tempered by a steely streak of terror.
It took five minutes for the ship to reach them. Church attempted to scan the deck on its approach, but
