it would be better if nothing existed at all.
He saw through multifaceted eyes London cast in negative: bodies piled in the streets and the Thames running thickly, white shadows reaching into buildings and hearts. He glimpsed the world from a hundred thousand eyes, and more, the Lake District, the Welsh borders, the South Coast, the Midlands, moving out with the tramp of an infinite marching army ringing all around.
Even more sickening was that the longer he was in it, the more he could control, picking eyes here, then there. And eventually he saw through eyes that looked out over Wave Sweeper and soaked up the oily impression of intent.
His body prickled with cold sweat. He was Fomorii, and it would never, ever let him go. The vibrations that convulsed him grew stronger and stronger, until he thought he was beginning to shake apart…
He hit the floor hard, driving the wind from his lungs. It took a second or two for the black oil to drain from his mind, but daemonic voices still rang in his ears, even when he saw Baccharus's face above him.
'Jesus.' He choked; a mouthful of bile splattered on the sizzling ooze that ran from the now-dead Fomor.
'Find peace, Brother of Dragons.'
'I was one of them… I couldn't get away…'
'Your face told me what was happening. I thought I would never be able to break the spell.'
Church took several deep breaths, then put his head between his knees, but he couldn't shake the squirming in his brain.
'I know what they're going to do,' he gasped.
Baccharus helped him to his feet. 'You saw?'
'Saw… felt… whatever.' He heaved in another breath, trying to keep the nausea at bay. 'Are they really a part of me? Is that it? For the rest of my life?'
'We are all a part of everything, and everything is a part of us.'
'That doesn't sound like one of the Tuatha De Danann.' He rested on Baccharus as the god led him away from the corpse. 'I saw something… a structure… a geometrical shape that seemed to disappear into other dimensions… glowing ruby, then emerald.'
'The Wish-Hex.' Baccharus's voice was suddenly so dismal, Church snapped alert.
'But it wasn't just that,' Church continued. 'I got a hint of something about disease… a plague…'
Baccharus turned away so Church couldn't see his face.
'What is it?'
'The Wish-Hex is a construct of unimaginable power. The Night Walkers used it to break the pact and sever the bonds that chained them to the Far Lands. It decimated my people. Some were contaminated by the essence of the Night Walkers, some-'
'… were driven into exile and some fled. I know the story.'
'The Night Walkers must have sacrificed much to focus it again.' He bowed his head and put a hand to his temple. 'But to bind one of the great plagues into the matrix…'
'That's even worse?'
He looked up at Church with liquid eyes. 'My people will not be exiled. They will be destroyed, in the worst way imaginable. Eaten away from within.'
'They're going to convince Manannan to take them to your high court, and then they'll unleash it there.'
Baccharus shook his head. Church thought he was going to break down in tears.
'It's not done yet, Baccharus. The ship is still stationary. They haven't broken Manannan.'
They were both disturbed by a scuttling across the wooden floor behind them. They whirled to see a silver spider disappearing into the shadows: a Caraprix, one of the symbiotic creatures shared by the Fomorii and the Tuatha De Danann. It had vacated the cooling body.
'Quick!' Baccharus said.
Church whirled the thong and loosed the star, but it simply raised a shower of splinters from the floor. The Caraprix was already en route to the deck. They both chased around the corner to see it disappearing out into the night.
Baccharus grabbed Church's arm forcibly. 'We must flee. The alarm will already have been raised. They will be on us in moments.'
As if in answer to his words, a shocking outcry of animal noises tore through the night. It was followed an instant later by the thunder of forms rushing to the lower decks.
Church and Baccharus turned as one and sprinted away along the endless corridors.
The cacophony of pursuit dogged them for fifteen minutes, but Baccharus took them down hidden tunnels which, from the cobwebs that festooned them, appeared not to have been used for years. After a while, the silence lay heavy again and they could both rest against the wall to catch their breath.
'Now they've found their dead comrade they'll be fanning out across the ship,' Church noted. 'There's no element of surprise any more.'
'We cannot hide forever.' Baccharus was unusually anxious.
'We're not going to be hiding.'
'Then what do you suggest? Two of us, against an army…'
'There're more than two of us, Baccharus.' Church smiled at the god's curious expression. 'You seem to know the ship well.'
'Very well.'
'Good. Then there are some places I want you to take me.'
Liquid echoes and dancing splashes of light reflected off the oily water below. The stink of rotten fish and seaweed choked the air. Church and Baccharus hurried through the gloom along a wooden walkway that hung shakily over the black, slopping contents of the bilge tanks. They were vast and deep, filled not only with the buoyant seawater, but also the runoff from the kitchens. This was only one of many, but Baccharus had convinced Church it was the correct one.
It was also one of the most rundown sections of the ship. The walkway was creaking and bowing, and in some areas vital planks were missing so they had to jump gaps, or edge along a strut with their backs to the wall.
Two Fomorii who had pursued them down there entered the tank when Church and Baccharus were about a hundred and fifty yards along the walkway. Church felt the chill rippling out from them long before he looked back to see the looming shadows. 'This better work.'
The Fomorii closed the gap quickly. Baccharus could move faster, but he was holding back to stay with Church. Church was feeling the strain of the exertion; his chest hurt and his legs occasionally felt like jelly. A bout of weakness overcame him just as he was jumping one of the gaps in the walkway; his toes caught the edge, but began to slip back on the slick, broken boards.
'Bacch-' was all he had time to shout before he slid off the edge and plummeted through the gap. At the last moment he jammed out his elbows and wedged himself between the two supporting struts. Peering down, he could see his boots were dangling only two feet above the water. The Fomorii were coming up like a train, now only thirty yards away.
Suddenly there was a frantic splashing in the water sweeping towards him. A second later golden fish with enormous jaws and twin rows of razor-sharp teeth were leaping from the bilge, snapping at his feet. One came within half an inch of his toes; if those monstrous jaws closed on him, the thick leather of his boot would amount to nothing.
He kicked out wildly, but before any more of the fish had a chance to go for him, Baccharus's iron hands closed on his shoulders and hauled him effortlessly out of the gap. Lacking the breath even to gasp thanks, Church drove himself on. He did not have to run far. The walkway came up against the end of the bilge tank with no sign of any other exit.
Church and Baccharus turned to face the approaching Night Walkers, who slowed as they realised their prey was cornered. The walkway creaked beneath their bulk. In their shadows, Church could see armoured plates and bony spikes, constantly shifting. They carried the cruel serrated swords favoured by Fomorii warriors, rusted and bloodstained.
'No way out now,' Church said. He didn't take his eyes off the approaching warriors.
Baccharus dipped into his pocket and pulled out a lump of clinker from the furnace, which he tossed over the
