If she ran, it was so dark she would either injure herself or stumble, so whatever was there would be on her in a second. The throaty growl grew louder, the shuffling of feet echoing along behind. There was more than one, she was sure of it: they were coming from different directions. Then: a ruby glint of an eye opening and closing, the smell growing stronger until she felt like choking.
The malignancy was palpable. Be strong, she thought.
Cautiously she crept away from the approaching figures, moving as fast as she could without making a sound. In motion, she couldn't hear what was behind, so after a while she stopped and listened again. Nothing. The gloom was undisturbed by movement, although the smell remained.
Satisfied whatever was there had taken an unseen branching corridor, she began to edge along the wall.
The growl was so close every hair on her neck stood erect at once. It brought up a primal fear of being hunted at night, so strong that, despite herself, she launched herself down the corridor. Now she could hear whatever was behind: low growls, padding feet, rough breathing filled with a hungry anticipation. Terror began to lick at her; the growls sounded so bestial, so predatory. She was blind, but instinctively she knew they could see. Unable to control herself, she ran faster.
It was madness. She clipped one wall, careered over to the other, stumbled, smashing her elbows and knees, so scared she scrambled to her feet in a second and was away again.
She hit another wall head-on, dazed herself. The pursuit was growing louder, closer, more eager.
Stumbling into a side corridor, she began to run again, this time trailing one hand against the wall in a feeble attempt to guide herself. It worked reasonably well; at least she didn't knock herself out, although she picked up several more bruises. Anxiety pain spread across her chest. And then, suddenly, she realised she could no longer hear anything behind. Gradually, she came to a halt. Had she lost them?
Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed rapid motion and jerked herself to one side. Something that resembled a battle-axe, although oddly organic, crunched into the wall where her head had been. Splinters of wood showered over her. A roar nearby made her ears ache, and then shapes moved towards her, at first serpentine, then like a pig, and then covered in fur. The intensity of the stink made her retch. Her hypersensitive senses picked up more motion. This time she didn't wait for the jarring impact. She turned and ran as fast as she could, bouncing off the walls, somehow managing to keep her balance, her heart thundering wildly.
The sounds of pursuit were now deafening; there was a pack at her heels. The corridor turned sharply and in the distance she saw a flickering torch that provided enough light for her to increase her pace. She found a split second to look back, but all she could make out were leaping shadows, heavy and low, the burning sparks of eyes and the glimmer of weaponry.
She took another sharp turn into an area of more concentrated torchlight and then, midstep, a door to her left opened suddenly, arms reached out and she was dragged inside.
Behind the closed door, she dropped into a defensive posture, ready to claw at anything that came near her. But the only occupant of the tiny chamber was Baccharus, who pressed one finger to his lips, demanding silence. She calmed instantly, her breath folding into her throat as the frenzied pack approached, then passed without pausing. Once silence had returned, she relaxed her muscles and turned to her rescuer. 'Thank you.'
Baccharus nodded shyly. 'You should not venture into this part of Wave Sweeper. The dangers down here are many and Fragile Creatures are easy prey.'
'What were they?'
'The Malignos.'
She stared at him blankly.
'Misshapen dwellers in the dark places, beneath the earth, or under bridges or within the barrows. The natural predator for Fragile Creatures. In your North Country one became known as Hedley Kow, another as Picktree Brag. On the Isle at the Hub off your west coast, another is still known in whispers as the Buggane. They haunt your race memory.'
'I couldn't work out what they looked like.'
'They are shapeshifters. In the old times they taunted their victims by appearing as gold or silver before adopting a form that could induce nightmares.'
'They're like the Fomorii-'
Baccharus shook his head. 'They share many qualities with the Night Walkers, but they are lowborn. They cannot transcend the Fixed Lands. Your world is their home.'
Ruth slumped against the door, sucking in a deep breath as the adrenalin wore off. 'I was following some lights-'
'The Ignis Fatuus.'
Ruth started at the strange, tiny voice that was certainly not Baccharus's. She scanned the room twice before her eyes alighted on a figure barely half an inch high seated cross-legged on the floor next to the wall. She knelt down to get a closer look. It was a man, but although his body was young and lithe, his face was so wrinkled it looked ancient. His eyes gleamed with a bright energy that put Ruth instantly at ease.
'The Foolish Flame, your people used to call it, though it also went by the names of Spinkie, Pinket, Joan o' the Wad, Jack o' Lantern-'
'A Will o' the Wisp,' Ruth added.
He nodded. 'Very dangerous indeed. Another shapeshifter that used the form of gold to lure you avaricious creatures to your doom. It never allied itself with the Malignos, but here-'
'Here there are many strange bedfellows.' Baccharus was still listening at the door. 'Shared interests draw together. Races that would be at odds beyond these walls are forced to coexist in the confines; new alliances are drawn.'
'It's not much of a luxury cruise,' Ruth noted.
'All things dwell aboard Wave Sweeper. At one time, just two of each species, but now… There are many things long forgotten in these depths, some that have not seen the light of day since your world was new formed.'
The tone in Baccharus's voice made Ruth grow cold. She turned quickly to the tiny figure and asked, 'And what are you?'
'What is not a pleasant way of asking. Who would be more polite. And even then naming words should be proffered, not demanded.' His eyes narrowed; Ruth thought she glimpsed sharp teeth as his mouth set.
'I'm sorry-
'I will vouch for her, Marik Bocat,' Baccharus interjected. 'She is a Sister of Dragons.'
'And thus above reproach,' the little man said. 'Then, to you I am Marik Bocat. To others my name is neither here nor there. And to answer the what, my people are the oldest species of the Fixed Lands, distant relatives to the People of Peace.' He motioned towards Baccharus. 'Though the Golden Ones have more wit and sophistication, we can stand our own in conversation.' He smiled so pleasantly Ruth couldn't help smiling in turn. 'Your people used to call us Portunes, thanks to one of your educated folk who first wrote of us and our diet of roast frog.' He wrinkled his nose in irritation. 'Damn his eyes. See how he likes roast frog.'
Baccharus opened the door a crack to peer out into the shadowy corridor. 'We should move back to the lighter areas before the Malignos return. They will be even hungrier after their exertions.'
'Won't we meet them on the way back?' Ruth asked.
'Wave Sweeper's configuration will have altered many times by now. They should be a distance away.'
'Or a room,' Marik Bocat noted. 'Speed is of the essence.'
'Do you want me to carry you?' Ruth asked.
Marik Bocat looked insulted once again. 'Perhaps my legs are invisible to you?' He motioned to what appeared to be a mousehole in the wainscot. 'We have our own routes about the ship.'
'I'm sorry.' Ruth's head was spinning from everyone she had encountered, each with their own peculiar rules and regulations. 'I seem to be saying that a lot.'
'Never mind. You will have time to make up for your appalling manners.' He smiled sweetly again, then bowed with a flourish before disappearing into the hole.
'A strange race,' Ruth noted as she slipped out of the door behind Baccharus.
His voice floated back to her, strangely detached. 'We are all strange. That is the wonder of existence.'
She found Church watching the waves with Niamh at his side. There was an easiness to them, in their body
