Callow laughed, although he didn't get the joke, but when he looked around the table he saw there was obviously some truth in what Church was saying. 'What do you mean, old boy?'
'It's the end of the world, right. That's why we're all sitting here drinking. For tomorrow we may die.'
'Don't mind him,' Ruth said, who was nowhere near as inebriated as Church. 'He talks rubbish when he's drunk.'
'No, no, please tell me. I love a good tale,' Callow said. 'I once met a man in a pub in Greenock who swore the fairies were real. He claimed he'd seen them one Midsummer's Eve.'
Tom finished his drink. 'It's late. We better be on our way.' He added pointedly, 'We've got an early start in the morning.'
'Oh? A little sightseeing?'
'We're meeting a woman who's going to tell us about it,' Church said. Tom helped him to his feet a little too roughly.
'If you don't mind, I'll walk with you a while. It's a nice night,' Callow said. He sidled up next to Church. 'So tell me all about it, old boy.'
The evening was surprisingly mild. As they walked, Church poured out everything he knew, not caring if Callow believed him or not, while Ruth chipped in wry comments every now and then. Tom trailed behind, cautiously watching the shadows off the main road.
'Why, it seems to me that this could be a time of great opportunity for people like us,' Callow said in a tone which suggested he didn't entirely believe them, but was going along with the joke anyway. 'Forward thinkers and dazzling iconoclasts who have shaken off the shackles of a society which only wants to keep us locked away! We are free to adapt while the sheep mutate into lemmings and rush towards the cliff! Magic-now there is a great leveller. Power on tap for all! Raising the lowly up to the level of the great and good!' He paused thoughtfully. 'If one doesn't get eaten first, of course.'
Church and Ruth both laughed at this, the first time they had found humour in anything for too long, and, coupled with the act of unburdening, it provided a greater release than they could have imagined.
'Where are you staying?' Ruth asked Callow. Unselfconsciously, she slipped her arm through Church's and leaned against him.
'Here and there,' the stranger replied. 'A different night, a different billet. But enough of that. Look at the sky! Look at the stars! What a world we live in, eh? We are all in the gutter, but not enough of us look at the stars, to paraphrase Wilde. And where are you staying, my dear?' Ruth told him and he smiled broadly. 'A fine establishment. I could tell you appreciated quality and I am rarely wrong when it comes to character. Let's be off, then!'
'Be off where?' Church asked.
'Surely you're not going to abandon me now?' the stranger asked with a hurt expression. 'On such a fine night, and with it being so early and all. We still have stories to tell, experiences to share! The end of the world is nigh! We must make the most of what we have left. There must be a bar in your hotel that serves libations after hours to guests?'
'No-' Church began to protest.
'Go on,' Ruth laughed. 'Let him get another drink. We don't have to stay up.'
Callow took her hand and kissed it. 'You are a lifesaver, my dear, and I am eternally in your debt!'
In the bar, Ruth set Callow up with a pint of cider and a whisky. He wrung her hand, praised her to the roof and tried to entreat all three of them to stay with him drinking.
Finally retreating to a table in the corner, he called out jovially, 'Remember the words of T. S. Eliot, fellow travellers: `We shall not cease from exploration, And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.' Philosophy does not come easily at this time of the night and that, unfortunately, is the best I can do.'
They left him there, attacking his drinks with a gusto that suggested not a drop had passed his lips all night.
'I shouldn't have got drunk,' Church groaned. He was slumped in a chair in a corner. 'Bloody stupid!'
'We did it to forget. Don't criticise yourself for being human.' Ruth sprawled on the bed against the plumped-up pillows, her eyes closed, while Tom leaned against the wall near the window, occasionally peeking out behind the curtains. 'You know, I'm not a wilting flower. I don't have to have the bed just because I'm a woman,' she continued. They had chosen Church's room to spend the night; it was slightly bigger and it had a better view of the street.
'Indulge us.' Tom nodded towards Church. 'I wouldn't want him to have the bed if I have to sleep on the floor, and I'm sure he would feel the same about me. You're the compromise candidate.'
'In that case, you won't catch me arguing.' Ruth's laugh faded quickly. 'Do you think we're going to be safe?'
'We can hope.' Tom glanced outside again. 'No sign of anything yet.'
'Do you think they'll keep sending bigger and bigger things after us until they get us?'
'The Wild Hunt is coming,' he replied darkly. 'There is nothing after that.'
'Yeah, but we'll be safe tonight,' Church mumbled. He crawled on to the mat at the side of the bed, threw his coat over him and was asleep within seconds.
When he awoke in the deep still of the night, Church at first wondered if Marianne had come to him again. His head was thick with the alcohol, but he soon realised he had been disturbed by a strange grating noise, faint yet insistent. It seemed to be coming from the window. And it sounded like fingernails on glass.
'What's that?' he hissed to himself.
'Be still.' Church started at Tom's strained whisper; Church hadn't noticed Tom was awake, but he was sitting up, staring at the drawn curtains. 'The Baobhan Sith are here.'
'But we're on the first floor.'
Suddenly Church was filled with an overwhelming desire to see what was on the other side of the thick drapes; the fingernails scraped gently, chinking on the glass, calling to whoever was inside. He began to crawl towards the window. He could just peek through the gap, get some final proof that he'd left one world behind and entered another one which had no rules he could grasp. And what would he see? he wondered. What would he feel finally looking into the face of the unknown? He reached out to peel the curtains aside.
Tom's arm crashed on to his shoulder and thrust him to the floor, his nails biting almost to the bone. Tom's breath was hot in his ear. 'Don't,' he hissed, 'if you want to live a second longer.'
There was a pause in the scratching, as if whatever was outside had heard them. Tom and Church froze, their breath hard in their chests. Church halfexpected the glass suddenly to burst inward, but then the scratching resumed and they both exhaled slowly and painfully. Tom gripped Church's upper arm relentlessly and dragged him back to the other side of the bed.
'They only know we're somewhere in the vicinity, but they can't pinpoint us, or they would have had us in our sleep,' Tom whispered. 'The scratching is to draw the occupant of the room. If you had pulled back the curtains, you wouldn't have seen anything, but they would have seen you.'
'Sorry,' Church said, 'I don't know what came over me.'
A noise in the corridor outside made them both catch their breath again. Tom's face was pale in the dark, his cold eyes fearful. 'I think they're coming in,' he said.
Before Church could speak, he had leapt across the room and was kneeling next to the bed where Ruth was still sleeping soundly. He roused her gently, then clasped a hand across her mouth before she could speak; her eyes grew wide and frightened, but Tom silenced her with a finger to his lips.
He summoned Church to his side, then said, 'Hide under the sheets with Ruth. I'll get into the wardrobe. When they come into the room, don't make a sound. Don't move a muscle.'
'But they'll see us under the covers,' Church protested.
'If they don't see you move or hear you they won't investigate further. They have little intellect. They simply respond,' Tom said. 'Trust me. Now, quickly.'
He held up the sheets so Church could wriggle down next to Ruth, then pulled them over their heads. It was hot and stifling, emphasising the swirl of alcohol in Church's head and the steadily increasing rumble of his heart; for the first time in his life, he had a sudden twist of claustrophobia. The wardrobe door clicked and then there was silence. In the dark he couldn't see Ruth's face, but he could feel the bloom of her breath. Her fingers found his hand and gave it a confident squeeze.
