thrust on his shoulders, and happy summer days with Marianne before life had truly soured. The womb noises of the ocean and the breaking surf calmed him enough to realise how stressed he had become, his shoulders hunched, neck muscles knotted. Opening his eyes, he watched Veitch trudging beside him, oblivious to the seaside joys. 'When I went to the Watchtower and heard about the four talismans, I thought it was only a matter of time before it went pear-shaped. But finding them has been easy,' he continued, and, after a pause, 'Relatively easy.'
'That's because they were waiting for us, so Tom says,' Witch said unenthusiastically. 'We were meant to get them, at this time, and we did. No mystery there.'
Church shook his head. 'I don't believe it works like that. Even if the stars were aligned, it wasn't fated that these things would fall into our hands. We did this and I'm not going to have it taken away from us.' Caldey Island caught his eye and he brought himself up sharp. 'But we haven't got them all yet. There's still time for things to go wrong.'
'Now you're talking my kind of language.'
Church stopped and rounded on him. 'Come on, Veitch, stop being so bloody pessimistic. You're not the only one who's had a miserable time-'
'Miserable time! I killed somebody! That's not miserable, that's a fucking catastrophe! I have to live with it every bleedin' day and now I can't forget it for a minute because I'm spending time with the poor bastard's niece, just so I can see on a regular basis how my stupidity fucked up a whole family's life!'
He made to walk on, but Church grabbed at his shoulder roughly. Instinctively Witch's fists bunched and he adopted a threatening posture. 'So you screwed up and you're feeling guilty about it. Fine. That's how it should be. But self-pity is just you being selfish. You've got a job to do now that's more important than your feelings. If you want to tear yourself apart, you can do it after this is over.'
'Fuck off.' Veitch made another attempt to walk off and Church grabbed him roughly once more. This time Veitch's response was instant. He swung his fist hard into Church's jaw, knocking him to the sand.
For a moment, Church was dazzled by flashes of black and purple. Then he jumped up, lowered his head and rammed Veitch in the stomach. They both fell, rolling around in the sand, wrestling and punching. Eventually Church hauled himself on top and locked his arms on Veitch's shoulders so the Londoner couldn't move.
'I'm no hero,' Church said through gritted teeth. 'I didn't choose to be here. I've got my own agenda going on too. But I know I can't let all this misery and suffering happen if I can do something about it. I mean, who could?'
Witch's eyes narrowed. 'Lots of people could.' He searched Church's face for a moment longer, then threw him off with an easy shrug. After he'd dusted himself down, he said, 'Don't worry, I'm not giving up on my bleedin' responsibilities. But I want to do something to make it up to Ruth. I know I'll never actually make amends, but I've got to try.' He paused. 'I'm not a bad bloke, you know. Just stupid.'
Church rubbed his jaw, which ached mercilessly, but he'd known what he was doing. 'Ruth's a smart person. If you've got any good in you, she'll see it eventually. You've just got to give it time.'
'Yeah, best behaviour and all that. Listen, sorry about smacking you. I've got a bleedin' awful temper.'
'Don't worry. I'll point you in the right direction before I activate you next time.' He shook sand out of his hair and added, 'Come on, let's find a pub. It's ages since I've had a pint.'
'What a great place.' Ruth sat on the steps of a statue of Prince Albert and looked out across the harbour. 'Everybody here's on holiday, so happy … I can't believe it might all get swept away.'
Laura crawled out to the end of the barrel of a cannon and sat back, basking in the sun. 'Talk about something important for a change. Like isn't our working class London boy a babe. I wonder how low his tattoos go?'
'If you're trying to wind me up, you've picked the wrong subject,' Ruth snapped.
'What about you, Mr. Bi?' Laura said to Shavi. 'Does he get your sap rising?'
'He is not unattractive.' Shavi smiled, but continued to lie on the grass with his eyes closed.
'You know, I'm noticing a distinct pathology to your sexual obsession.' Ruth glared at Laura, who ignored her.
'That's just what I'd expect from you, Frosty. But I'm not a one-obsession woman. I like drugs, music and technology too.'
'Well, I never realised you were so deep.' Ruth stood up and wandered around the base of the statue. 'What do you think we've got to do once we get this last talisman?'
Shavi hauled himself into a sitting position. 'Perhaps everything will become obvious once we have all the pieces together.'
'Having seen just a glimpse of what's out there, it makes me feel what we're doing is so ineffectual. Do you think these other gods can really oppose the Fomorii?'
'For me, there are more profound concerns,' Shavi said. 'The Danann are supposed to look like angels. Was the Christian mythology based upon them? Are all the world's religions a reflection of the time when the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii ruled over humanity? This may be an opportunity for us all to meet our Maker.'
'Opportunity. I like your optimism,' Ruth said sardonically.
'That's too heavy,' Laura noted uneasily. 'It's bad enough as it is without thinking about things like that.'
'But we should think about it,' Shavi pressed. 'For millennia our lives have been based around religion. If our entire system of belief and morality rests upon a lie, we are truly adrift. It would be difficult to comprehend how our society could recover from a blow like that.'
'We lose our faith in science and religion at the same time. That doesn't leave any refuge for most people,' Ruth said thoughtfully.
'Most people don't believe in anything anyway,' Laura said. 'Religion is just a place for sad bastards to go to hide, and scientists can't agree on anything, so why should anyone else believe them?'
'And I thought I was cynical.' Ruth looked down at the jumbled streets of the old town; from that vantage point they could almost have been in the Middle Ages. Briefly a cloud shadow swept across the rooftops and she shuddered involuntarily; unconsciously she wrapped her arms tightly around her. From nowhere the thought sprang; a portent: things were going to get worse from that moment on.
Amidst a large group of garrulous tourists, Church and Witch spent the rest of the evening in a pub on Tudor Square finding the common ground that lay between their different backgrounds. Veitch had a dangerous edge to his character which made Church feel uneasy, but it was tempered by an encouraging sense of loyalty; and for someone who had dabbled for so long in petty crime, he seemed to have a strict moral code. Ultimately it was those contradictions which made his character so winning. Veitch showed a respect for Church which the latter hadn't experienced before.
'I can't get my head round it.' Witch's brow furrowed as he swigged down a mouthful of lager. 'We were being set up for this from the moment we were born? Those dreams that gave me all that bleedin' misery?'
'I had the dreams too, though not as bad as you. I mean, we call them dreams, but they weren't really. It was the Otherworld contacting us-though that makes it sound like they were getting us on the phone. I think it was more like we were in some way closer to their world, so bits of it kept seeping through when we were most receptive to it.'
'Bastards. I owe them for messin' with my head, whether they did it on purpose or not. But you said that woman from the Watchtower kept visiting you when you were a kid. What was she, your sponsor?'
Church had wrestled with that thought before and he still hadn't reached a satisfactory conclusion. 'I think, maybe, because the Danann knew how important we were supposed to be, they wanted to keep an eye on us.'
'Watched over by angels, eh? You lucky bastard.' Veitch's words gave him pause, and after a moment he said, 'I wonder what they feel about us, really. I know they look like us a bit, the Danann anyway, but they're, like, God, aren't they? God and his angels. And the other lot are the Devil and his crew.'
Church felt uncomfortable at this description; old teachings had dug their way in deep and he couldn't help a shudder at the blasphemy. 'We should be getting back,' he said, draining his pint. It was already closing time and the number of drinkers in the pub had dwindled rapidly. Through the window he could see them making their way across Tudor Square to their hotels and B amp;Bs, quite a number for out-of-season, but still too few for him. Increasingly, he felt the desire for the security of large numbers. Wide open spaces were simply too dangerous.
They were halfway across the square when Veitch glanced up suddenly and exclaimed, 'What's that?'
