original form. 'We have no interest in your feeble concerns.'
'The Night Walkers will attack you as soon as they've finished with us,' Ruth said, unbowed.
'And when they do we shall eradicate them as we did before. Until then, they are beneath our notice, as all creatures are.'
Manannan's tone and the mood of the other Tuatha De Danann filled Church with apprehension. The situation was worse than he had imagined.
'The time has come. It has been proposed that you Brother and Sister of Dragons are a threat to the good running of Wave Sweeper and should be wiped from existence before any further troubles arise.'
Ruth blanched. Church couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'You're going to execute us?'
'No.' Niamh's voice was filled with passion. She pushed her way past the other gods to stand before Manannan, her skin flushed to a golden sheen.
Manannan fixed his emotionless gaze on her. 'You speak in defence of these Fragile Creatures?'
'I do.'
'What worth have they?' one of the cruelly aristocratic gods said.
'You know their worth,' Niamh said directly to Manannan. Her words were strangely weighted.
Manannan nodded. 'Still, there is a need for discipline.'
'Do not be swayed by the voices of the dissenters.' Niamh bowed her head slightly so her hair fell around her beautiful face. 'In your heart you know-'
'Do you question the word of the Master?' The aristocratic god stepped forward, a dim fury flaring behind his eyes.
Curiously, Church watched. For so long they had pretended to be detached from most human emotions-truly gods. But they weren't gods at all, however much they pretended. His concern grew when he saw the flickers of fear cross Niamh's face; it was obviously a great transgression to question Manannan's thoughts.
'I do not question-' Niamh began, but Manannan held up his hand to silence her.
'I will listen to our sister, who speaks for the Fragile Creatures,' Manannan said to the assembled Tuatha De Danann before turning to Church and Ruth. 'You are fortunate to have such a powerful advocate.'
Church's relief was mingled with surprise that Niamh's voice carried such weight; he suspected Manannan was hoping to be convinced to change his opinion.
'Be warned,' Manannan continued, 'the eyes of the Golden Ones will be upon you from now on. Accept your role in existence, Fragile Creatures, and bring no more pain to this place.'
His attention was gone from them in the snap of a finger. The sneering guards-now strangely less malicious and cunning-herded Church and Ruth to the door. Niamh flashed Church an affectionate smile before she joined the others who were milling around in obvious annoyance at the outcome.
Outside, Ruth's eyes blazed. 'Those bastards!'
Church was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. 'They're losing control. Looking for scapegoats. They can't believe they're not as all-round wonderful as they think they are.'
'And what was that witch doing?'
'Defending us-'
'Trying to get into your pants, more like. She never gives up, does she?'
She took a deep breath of the refreshing sea air, but her temper didn't diminish. 'What's wrong with you?' Church said. 'We were about to get summarily executed, but she got us off.'
Ruth turned to him, defiant. 'You know, when it comes to women, you've got a real problem.'
'What are you talking about?'
'The witch still thinks she's got a chance with you. Maybe she has got a chance, I don't know. But you just keep diving into all these relationships, stirring up a whole load of emotional mess, without once thinking about the repercussions.'
'I know I've made mistakes-'
'Well, sort yourself out.'
'I can't believe the world is falling apart and we're talking about this!'
'Oh, come on. You know this is the important thing. The rest of it is just stuff that happens.'
Church was lost for words.
'Do you want her?' she pressed.
'Niamh?' Ruth's gaze held him tight. He could finally read in her eyes all the truth that he had secretly known all along. 'No.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, I'm sure. I just get the feeling there's something else going on there, but I can't put my finger on it. Her feelings are so intense, they don't have any connection with how long I've known her. Everything feels completely out of balance.' He watched the gulls swooping around the masts. 'I don't like to hurt people's feelings, especially good people. And she does seem good.'
'Sometimes you have to be firm.' Her voice softened a little. 'You need to talk to her-'
'I've tried.'
'— be honest with her. She might be upset at first, but if she knows there's no point she can adjust. And then if you close all that down you can focus on your own future.' Her voice remained calm and detached, but there was a tremendous weight to her words.
'I just wish I understood her better-'
'Oh, for God's sake!'
She made to go, but he caught her arm. 'Let's not screw this up.'
Her eyes moved slowly across his face, reading every thought in his head. Eventually she nodded; the tension between them evaporated, leaving another tension beneath.
A universe away, the emotions that had been crushing Laura for so long had finally started to dissipate. The dislocation when she awakened in the charnel pit had brought shock, despair, horror, futility and a debilitating fear that had left her unable to move.
Eventually all that was left was an emptiness gradually filling with a nearreligious relief at her survival. With an effort she pulled herself into a squatting position, squirming as the soft corpses gave beneath her or when she brushed against cold skin. The only way she could cope was by not thinking about it. Instead, she fixed on the faint light filtering in on the other side of wherever she had been dumped.
The journey across the bodies was sickening. At the far side of the room was a flight of brick stairs leading up to a partly broken door. Beyond it she could see grey sky.
Refusing to look back, she scampered up the steps and tried the door, which swung open at her touch. She was in a street running amongst dilapidated Victorian warehouses that rose up high overhead. It was eerily still and quiet. The damp vegetation smell of open water hung in the air, but there was nothing to give her any clue where she was.
But as she stepped out of the shadows of the building a detail caught her eye that shocked her. The skin of her right hand and forearm had a greenish tinge. It was only faint, but unnatural enough to worry her. Anxiously she checked the other arm and then her legs; it was the same all over.
Finding a window with an unbroken pane, she examined her face closely: another shock, this one uplifting. The scars that Callow had carved into her face were gone, the skin as smooth and clear as a baby's. There wasn't even the vaguest trace of the wounds. It made no sense to her, but her overwhelming joy wiped out any worries. Hastily fluffing her short blonde hair into spikes, she wiped some of the smeared dirt and blood from her face and then set off to investigate her surroundings.
The warehouses had been in use recently. In one there was the strong smell of cinnamon; others had been fitted with modern security systems. Ominously, several had open doorways leading down to cellars, from which familiar unpleasant odours rose.
One side street led down to a broad, grey river. It took her only a second or two of scanning the riverside properties to realise it was the Thames; she was back in London. Heading along a road overlooking the water to the edge of the area of warehouses, she began to make out dim sounds of activity.
Just as she was about to emerge from the cover of the final warehouse she was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged backwards, a hand clamped over her mouth. She fought furiously, but her attacker was too strong.
