The night was hot and humid, filled with the distant cries of alien birds. Beyond the barricade, the Nuckelavee roamed relentlessly, testing its strength with repeated attacks that sent furniture rolling off the top. Time and again the Tuatha De Danann guards clambered up to replace them, but it was a futile act. Sooner or later the Plague- Bringer was going to break through.
Church had led Ruth and Baccharus on a tour of the building to try to find something they could use to escape, but had given up after an hour. The rooms went on forever, filled with insane bric-a-brac and useless objets d'art. When they tried to retrace their steps the layout of the house had changed, just like Wave Sweeper, but after a while they passed through the chamber where the dying god had been imprisoned. All it held now was a noxious black stain on the floor to mark his passing.
When they finally made it back to the main area, the baby cry was rising and falling until Ruth wanted to tear at her ears. She dragged Church to one side. 'What are we going to do?' Before he could protest, she added, 'You're the leader.'
'Don't worry, I know my responsibility.' He scrubbed his hand roughly through his long hair; he had only one option. 'We need a diversion. Someone to pull that thing over to one side so the rest of us can get out, get back, or-'
'Attack it.'
'You've got an idea?'
'I can do some stuff.' She tapped her head. 'It's all locked up here.'
'You've been trying it out?'
'Little things. Here and there. Just to get a feel for it.' For some reason she looked guilty, wouldn't meet his eyes.
'How much can you do?'
There was a long pause before she said, 'I honestly don't know. But it's like I've been made the receptacle for all the knowledge that exists about the Craft. It's like being supercharged.' Still not meeting his eyes, she added, 'Sometimes I feel like I can do anything.'
Church rested a hand on her shoulder, played with her hair. He was worried about how distant and troubled she appeared. Most of the time she had a blase attitude to her new-found abilities, but it was obvious that behind it lay a deepseated concern. 'What are you planning on pulling out of the bag this time?'
She peered at the thin gap of dark sky above the blockade. 'I have a couple of ideas.'
Church gave the back of her neck a squeeze before heading over to Niamh and Baccharus, who had been waiting patiently. 'I hate to ask this,' he said, 'but I need a volunteer to draw that thing's attention. There's not much chance of getting off alive. One of the guards-'
'I shall do it,' Baccharus said confidently.
'No!' Niamh's face crumpled with worry. 'There is no need-'
'There is every need. How could I ask another being to take such a risk if I would not do it myself?'
'Your abilities are needed. You have responsibilities.' Niamh's voice rose a notch.
Baccharus took her hand with surprising tenderness, the mark of deep friends. 'I have to shed my burden.'
Niamh nodded reluctantly. Baccharus turned back to Church. 'What do you request?'
'We need to move most of the blockade from the far end. When the PlagueBringer moves up the other end, we kick over the last of it, and you make a break for the tree line.' He paused. 'How close does it have to be to infect you?'
Baccharus gave a faint smile, said nothing.
Church spent the next half hour fashioning a spear with a length of wood and one of the guards' swords. It was a paltry weapon compared to what roamed beyond the walls, but there was nothing else to hand that he could use. He longed for the mystical sword he had rescued from its hiding place underneath Tintagel; he had responded to whatever power it held, understood how it had been responsible for the coded legends of Excalibur. He had never seen himself as much of a fighter, but with that sword he had felt capable of anything.
Ruth spent the time meditating quietly in one corner. Church watched her serious face as the arcane knowledge gradually emerged from its secret chambers. Some of it brought a smile of surprise to her lips, others left her brow furrowed in concern.
When they were nearly ready, he knelt next to her, caressing the back of her neck. 'Are you fit?' he asked softly.
She flashed him an unsure smile. 'As fit as I ever will be. The way this thing seems to work is that I have to act on instinct as much as possible. That means I can't plan. And if the instinct fails, I have no idea what I'm going to do.'
'You could always run.'
'That doesn't help Baccharus. Or you.' Her smiled faded. 'I'm not going to let you down.'
'I never for a minute thought you would.' He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss.
'We can't afford to lose this, you know,' she whispered.
There was nothing he could say to that.
As he stood up, he realised Niamh was watching them from the other side of the room, her face impossible to read. She turned away when she saw him looking at her.
By the time they were ready, the Nuckelavee was rattling the blockade so hard it was rocking wildly, nearly toppling over. Church marshalled the guards, who obeyed him reluctantly, their eyes flickering in the direction of Niamh and Baccharus. When the beast reached one end of the row, Church dropped his hand and the guards hastily dismantled the barricade at the other end where Baccharus waited.
There was a moment of intense tension and then Church gave the nod; Baccharus silently slipped out into the hot night. The response was instantaneous. The cry rose up several notches, followed by the thunder of sturdy arms hitting the ground and the obscene slithering as it dragged its body behind it. The speed of the movement shocked them all. Church wondered briefly if his plan was already doomed; at the rate it was moving, it would reach Baccharus and be back on them before anyone reached the tree line.
Once the Nuckelavee was far enough away, Church gave the signal and the guards demolished the barricade at the other end of the room. They were hurrying out into the moist dark before the last item of furniture was rolling away. Ruth blanched when she laid eyes on the Nuckelavee for the first time-there was something sickening about it beyond mere appearance-but then she caught herself and set off in pursuit with Church beside her while the guards hurried Niamh towards the trees.
'Why us, eh?' Ruth said with a tight smile.
'Cannon fodder. We know our place in life.' Church shouldered the spear, ready to throw.
Baccharus moved across the lawns like a shimmer of light cast by numerous mirrors, his form growing hard to perceive, but he was not fast enough for the Nuckelavee, which had surprising speed for its bulk and awkwardness. Church could see every bunch of its muscles, every pulse of its blood with each minor exertion.
At the tree line, Baccharus came to a halt. Church had given him strict instructions not to take the creature into the jungle, where it would be hard for them to attack it in the dense undergrowth, but it was bearing down on him so quickly it was impossible for him to run in any other direction. He sensed this, for he brought himself round to face the Nuckelavee and drew himself up ready to meet his fate. There was something so noble about the way he stood-head slightly bowed, accepting the worst kind of death; even worse for the Tuatha De Danann, who thought they would never die-Church felt compelled to succeed. He hurled the makeshift spear as hard as he could, even though his plan had optimistically called for it to be used for the deathblow once Ruth had made her attack.
In the split second before Church launched the spear, the Nuckelavee drew itself up and threw its grotesque head back, before making a silent belching motion. A barely visible exhalation rushed from the creature's mouth. It had little substance-Church could see the jungle and dappling stars through itbut Baccharus's face darkened as it raced towards him, and at the last moment he threw himself to one side. The cloud continued into the trees, where there was a sudden crash as an ape-like beast fell from the branches in violent death throes.
The sword spear embedded in the Nuckelavee at the base of its skull; a fountain of dark-red blood gushed out. The creature went into paroxysms, the baby cry turning into a shriek of agony. Near to it, it smelled like an old rubber boot that had been left in the rain.
The size, speed and hideous appearance of the beast were hypnotic. Church found himself rooted as it curled
