which sloped deeper into the ground. 'That way.'
Veitch glanced in the opposite direction. 'You sure? It looks-'
'That way,' Tom snapped. 'We cannot leave until we have the Wayfinder.'
Church concurred, then led the way along the tunnel which grew steeper and steeper with each step. Soon they were almost slipping and sliding down an incline, desperately trying not to make any noise, but the sound of their shoes on the rough surface echoed crazily. The tunnel came to an abrupt halt in a cavern so large the roof was lost in shadows. After the grey and black of the corridors, Church was shocked to see the gleaming, manmade yellow of the drums he had first come across at the depot in Salisbury; they were piled across the expanse of the cavern.
Alarm bells started ringing in Church's mind. 'What's going on?' he whispered. 'I thought this chemical delivery was just a front for whatever the Fomorii were doing in Salisbury.'
'They are not chemicals,' Tom said darkly. 'Not in any sense you mean.'
Veitch prised off the lid of one of the drums and peered inside, snatching his head back suddenly as the foul stink of the contents hit him. 'Shit! That's bleedin' disgusting!' he hissed. Inside a viscous black solution like crude oil reflected their faces.
'What is it then?' Church searched Tom's face for any sign.
'A ritual potion of some kind.'
Church looked around dumbly at the stacked drums. 'What could they use all this for? And why are they transporting it?'
Veitch cocked his head and listened carefully. 'We can't hang around here gassing all day. Let's sort this out later. Where do we find that Wayfinder thing?'
Tom pointed across the cavern. 'Over there somewhere.'
Witch shook his head. 'If you say so, mate. Lead the way.'
Their footsteps echoed hollowly off the stacks of drums as they wove their way among them; it almost seemed like they were in a maze. At any moment he expected the Fomorii to fall upon them from all directions. But though he strained to hear a sound, there was nothing, and that was just as unnerving.
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the other side, tension growing with every step. Tom led them to an upward-sloping tunnel, and five minutes later they came upon a rough-hewn door. There was a large padlock on it, but when Church touched it, it fell open in his hands and the door swung in. It led on to a small room cast in blue from the flickering flame of the Wayfinder, which stood on a bench against the far wall. Next to it, on a velvet cloth, was the Black Rose, and beside that was a handgun and some boxes of ammunition. Church stepped in ahead of the others, snatched up the rose and slipped it into his pocket.
'What was that?' Tom asked.
'Just something they took from me when I got here,' Church said dismissively. He examined the Wayfinder carefully and then hid it under his jacket.
'Is that what everybody's so worked up about?' Veitch said. 'A bleedin' lantern?' He picked up the gun and slugs.
Church eyed him suspiciously. 'Are those yours?'
Veitch shrugged. 'For self-defence.'
They hurried back into the tunnel, but Church felt increasingly uncomfortable. 'This doesn't make any sense. Surely they wouldn't leave the Wayfinder here without any guards if it's supposed to be so important to them.'
'Perhaps they didn't expect us to be wandering freely out of our cells,' Tom said sarcastically.
'Even so-' Before he could finish his sentence, the mine reverberated with the chilling sound of the tolling bell they had heard before. It seemed close at hand, but still muffled, as if behind thick walls of stone.
'Shit,' Veitch muttered. His face looked drained of blood in the flickering torchlight.
'Which way?' Church prompted. Tom was expressionless; Veitch merely shrugged. On a hunch, Church left them and sprinted back down the tunnel to the cavern. Through the gloom on the other side, he could see movement. It was hard to make out at first, just oddly shifting patterns of shadows like running water in the dark, but as his eyes focused he had the disturbing impression of insects swarming from a nest, an impossible multitude sweeping out amongst the yellow drums. The image was almost hypnotic, but it filled him with dread. He sprinted back up the tunnel, not even pausing as he reached the other two. 'This way,' he yelled as he passed.
The tunnels were low, dark and slick, and numerous times they slipped or cracked their heads against low roofs, but they were driven on by the noise growing behind them; it sounded at first like the low, deep rasp of an enormous beast, then it began to fragment into a mix of individual sounds, of rumbling, bestial voices and thundering feet.
Their breath burned in their throats and sweat stung their eyes, but they knew they couldn't slow for a moment. The tunnel rose upwards relentlessly, but Church couldn't shake the terrible feeling that it would suddenly start dipping down again, leaving them nowhere to run but round in circles. As they passed another junction, Church felt a blast of chill air. Scrambling to a halt, he herded the others up the branch tunnel. A minute later they hit a dead end.
'Shit!' Witch's eyes blazed like a cornered animal.
The thunderous sound of pursuit was growing louder; the Fomorii couldn't be far off the tunnel junction.
'Up,' Church gasped; it was all he could force out.
Veitch and Tom raised their heads, but all they could see was darkness. Then another gust of fresh air hit them in their faces and they realised what he meant. Fastened to one wall was a rusty iron ladder. Although Church wasn't convinced it would hold, he forced Tom up first and then Veitch made him follow before taking up the rear. Tom was starting to fade, but Church egged him on insistently. The ladder was cold and wet to the touch and once or twice Church's foot slipped off it, almost hitting Veitch in the face; a flurry of cursing followed. Their muscles ached almost too much to hold on, but the threat of what lay below was enough to free any last reserves of strength they had. It wasn't long until they felt the vibrations in the ladder that signalled the Fomorii were behind them.
Church was just beginning to fear that the climb was too high for them when Tom suddenly hauled himself over the top. Church launched himself out, rolling on to scrubby grass and Dartmoor granite. It was night, cold but clear, the sky sprinkled with stars. Veitch landed on top of him, winding him.
'They're right behind,' Church gasped unnecessarily. 'We'll never get away-
'Give me a hand.' Veitch was at the shaft entrance. For a second, Church couldn't understand what he was doing, but then it clicked. Together they gripped the top of the ladder and strained. Church thought he could see movement in the dark just below and wondered briefly if they had made the right decision. But then there was a deep rending noise as the rusty supports pulled free from the wall of the shaft. The weight of whatever was ascending continued the movement and with a loud crash the ladder tore away and plummeted into the depths.
Witch clapped Church on the shoulder jubilantly. 'Bloody hell. We did it!'
But Tom was insisting there was no time for celebration, and soon they were stumbling across the moorland in the moonlight.
The land rose and fell, but they kept to the hollows, crawling on their bellies when they had to mount a ridge, and eventually they made their way to a windswept copse which allowed them some shelter. Church leaned against a tree and looked back, but he could see no indication of pursuit. Suddenly Church was filled with all the pain and exhaustion inflicted upon him by Calatin's torture. It had somehow been suppressed by the urgency of their flight. As he began to pitch forward, Veitch caught him and supported him to the ground.
They allowed themselves only ten minutes to rest, just in case, then Church pulled out the Wayfinder and, with Witch's help, he wearily began to follow its flame westwards across the moor.
Chapter Twelve
Sunlight drenched the streets of Glastonbury and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and
