She yawned theatrically. 'You're getting up your arse again, aren't you? Just enjoy it, for Christ's sake. And don't screw up your love life this time. If she doesn't kill you, I will.' She watched him for a minute, her eyes shining, and then she smiled, still a little sadly, and rolled over to sleep.
As Church shuffled down to rest his head on the cushion, his gaze fell on Veitch's still form and for a fleeting moment he thought the Londoner was still awake. The notion disturbed him, but as he slipped into sleep he couldn't quite work out why.
The cry ripped through the camp, snapping them all awake in an instant. It was the sound of a woman shrieking, filled with such desolation and horror it left them frozen in shock. The cry rose, becoming more hysterical, louder, until they thought their ears would burst, and then, just as suddenly, it snapped off. The ringing echoes of it persisted for several more seconds.
'What the bleedin' hell was that?' Veitch's face was drained of blood.
Tom pushed himself back from the table where he had been resting his head. 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci.'
'The Banshee, to you and me,' the Bone Inspector said, bleary eyed.
'Bummer.' Laura crashed back on to her cushions. 'Bad omen-a-go-go.'
Church looked to Tom. 'Is it as bad as the legends say?'
'You don't need the Banshee to tell you it's not going to be a walk in the park tomorrow.' The Bone Inspector slumped back on to the table.
'Some stories say anyone who hears it will die,' Ruth said. Church wished he could comfort her, but Veitch appeared to be watching them both closely.
'You're all going to die,' Tom said. 'Sooner or later.' He lay back down on the table.
'Thanks for the morale boost, old git,' Laura said sleepily.
'It doesn't mean death for anyone who hears it,' Tom said wearily. 'But it does mean death. And destruction and suffering and devastation on an epic scale.'
'Situation normal, then.' As Veitch lay down, Church steeled himself and surreptitiously moved next to Ruth.
The others assimilated the information and after a few minutes somehow managed to go back to sleep, but Ruth was aware Church was still lying awake.
'What are you thinking?' she whispered.
His words were given greater weight by the long pause before he replied. 'I'm thinking, where are they keeping the Wish-Hex? And when are they planning on using it?'
They were woken at first light by the sound of stirring across the camp. The smell of cooking drifted into the tent, teasing pangs of hunger from their sluggish forms. With an effort, they dragged themselves out into a cold, clear morning, their breath pluming; they were forced to bang their arms against their sides in a futile bid to keep warm. It was a beautiful dawn: a full-hearted swell of gold and purple before the sky slowly turned a pale blue; a day for hope and love and great things, not a day for war.
The lesser gods had gathered in the various large clearings amongst the tents, eating at long wooden tables. Church still wasn't sure that they really needed to eat, but they relished experience with a hunger that belied their status, as if searching for something valuable they had long since left behind. They certainly ate with gusto, shovelling down platefuls of food, swilling it down with flagonfuls of a hot, fragrant liquid.
All of the gods appeared to be in high spirits. They called Church and the others over with hearty shouts and made a space for them at the end of one table with much backslapping and camaraderie. It was so out of place that all of them felt uncomfortable. Platefuls of dried fruit and spiced meat and several loaves of bread were brought to all but Laura and Shavi, who were given an odd but tasty bouillabaise of tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers without having to ask. Laura admitted that although she didn't have to eat, she too, like the gods, still enjoyed the sensation.
As they ate, their spirits rose, all except Veitch who remained sullen and uncommunicative. 'They look like they're eager to get off to war,' Ruth noted.
'For all their many claims to a wonderful life, they lack much colour in their existence,' Tom said, dipping a sausage into an egg. 'Quite simply, they are bored.'
'Despicable bastards, the lot of 'em,' the Bone Inspector muttered as he gnawed on a chunk of bread. 'Like a bunch of upper class idiots whipping themselves up before a rugby game, without a single thought for all the suffering that's going to happen. With any luck a few of 'em will meet their maker.'
'That is a little harsh,' Shavi said.
'Might teach 'em to appreciate life a bit more.'
'I still don't get why you're helping us.' Church sipped on the hot, invigorating liquid.
'That's because you're a moron.' The Bone Inspector threw the remainder of his bread to a group of ravens that had ventured fearlessly into the camp.
'I can see why you and the old git get on so well,' Laura said under her breath. 'Both graduates of the Finishing School for Irritating, Miserable Bastards.'
Shavi pushed out his chair and stretched his legs. 'I would guess the Bone Inspector is simply following his office as a guardian of the land's old places. If the End of Everything happens on the morning after Samhain, there will not be many old places to guard.'
'Well, aren't you the smarty-pants.' The Bone Inspector was watching the ravens intently. 'Ready for carrion,' he mused.
'Carry On to the End of the World, maybe,' Laura said. 'With Kenneth Williams as the dark god Balor and Charles Hawtrey as the Guardian of the Old Places.'
The Bone Inspector eyed her so darkly Laura realised she couldn't chide him in the same way that she toyed with Tom.
Shavi was laughing. 'Oh, yes. And you would be Barbara Windsor,' he said to Laura. 'And Church would be Sid James-'
'Bwah hah hah,' Church said flatly. 'So what's going to happen after we've stuffed our faces?'
'In half an hour there will be a meeting to outline the strategy,' Tom said. 'As the spearhead of the attack, we must be there.'
'The generals sending the disposables in first?' Veitch said sourly.
'Something like that,' Tom replied. 'They have their agenda and we have ours. As long as we are not swayed, who cares what their motivations are?'
'But they have the Wish-Hex.' Church made the comment quietly so none of the gods could hear.
'Yes,' Tom said, 'which is why we shall have our own meeting first.'
After the meal they wandered off separately, agreeing to meet fifteen minutes later. Ruth had not gone far when her arm was grabbed sharply enough to cause her pain. She whirled angrily. It was Veitch. She could tell instantly from his threatening expression what was on his mind.
'You couldn't wait to get off with him, could you?' There was pain in his voice beneath the anger.
'I'm sorry you're upset, Ryan, but-'
'Upset? I'm upset when my team loses on a Saturday. This is like a kick in the bollocks, and another one in the face for good luck.'
She bowed her head, sorry to see him so hurt. 'I didn't want you-'
'No, you didn't want me. I put my life on the line in Scotland-for you. Not for all this end of the world bollocks. I couldn't care less if the whole miserable place went belly-up tomorrow. But, you… ' He shook his head, his long hair falling across his face. 'I nearly died for you. I took risks to get down herefor you.'
She was shocked to see the rage lighting in his face; there was a seething glow in his hooded eyes. 'You've got so much anger in you! Were you always like this?'
Her words appeared to strike him hard. He rubbed at his temples furiously. 'Stop talking about that!'
'I tried to be honest to you about how I felt, Ryan. I think you're a good man. I admire you. But there was never going to be anything between us.'
'Never?' She flinched as he bunched his fist but instead he smashed it into his side. There were tears of hurt in his eyes.
She went to comfort him, but he backed away. 'Ryan, don't hate Church and don't hate me. We love each other. And we both care about you, really.'
