Her words were simple, but Church felt a swell of affection; he knew how deep her pain really went. If Laura had found some kind of redemption, there was hope for all of them; for everyone. The others recognised this too. As she looked round, for the first time she felt accepted.
"Then we really are all back together," Shavi said. "As it was intended."
"Yes, yes, yes, the stars are aligned, and God is looking down on you from his heaven." Tom was standing in the entrance with the Bone Inspector. "Now I suggest you get some rest. For tomorrow, as the saying goes, you may die."
Veitch slipped into a drunken sleep quickly; Shavi had a remarkable ability to nap instantly, wherever he was. Tom and the Bone Inspector sat at the table, talking quietly, their faces stern. Ruth tried to stay awake as Laura and Church chatted, but even her faint jealousy couldn't stop her eyelids from drooping.
Laura watched the regular movement of Ruth's chest for a moment or two before turning back to Church. "So I'll ask you again: have you and little Miss Frosty done the monkey dance yet?"
"Laura-"
"You still don't know me, do you?" There was a trace of sadness in her smile. "In most cultures that's known as humour."
"Are you really okay?"
"Yes, I am. For the first time in my life. So don't go giving me any pity or I might be stirred to be my old catty self." She put her fingertips on his sternum and pushed him down.
"I'm sorry I wasn't better to you. And that's not pity. What you did to save Ruth… that showed a side of you I never knew, and I feel bad for that. I jumped to conclusions, just like everybody else."
She rolled on to her back, her hands behind her head. "It's all in the past now. We learn, we move on, and all that shit." She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "I'm still sorry it didn't work out between you and me, but I've finally got a good injection of reality. It wasn't the right time, maybe we weren't the right people, but I was so desperate I was trying to force it." She nodded to Ruth. "You and her, you're the real deal. She's a good person, for all her many, many problems. And you, well, you're Saint Church, aren't you? Mr. Walks On Water."
He watched Ruth's chest rising and falling and wished he was lying next to her. "Is it that obvious?"
"It was obvious to everybody right from the start. You were the only one who couldn't see it. Because, let's face it, when it comes to emotion, you're damaged goods."
"And you're okay about it? It's important to me. Really."
There was a brief pause in which he dreaded her answer, but then she said, "I'm okay with it. All I really wanted was somebody to stand by me shoulder-toshoulder. I've never had that. But I was, like, where's the dog and the white stick? It was all around me. It's stupid. The world's falling apart and right here I've got the best friends I could ever wish for. You, the Shav-ster, even Miss Icy Knickers. We'd have got on okay if I hadn't been the Bitch From Hell from the get-go. Witch, well, he's about as fucked-up as it gets, but if it came to the crunch I know he'd come through. I just hope I haven't learnt my big old life lesson too late."
He fumbled for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's a lesson we've all had to learn. When you're looking for meaning in life, don't look at the big picture, look at this. Look at your friends and your life and your loves-you need no meaning other than people."
She yawned theatrically. "You're getting up your arse again, aren't you? Just enjoy it, for Christ's sake. And don't screw up your love life this time. If she doesn't kill you, I will." She watched him for a minute, her eyes shining, and then she smiled, still a little sadly, and rolled over to sleep.
As Church shuffled down to rest his head on the cushion, his gaze fell on Veitch's still form and for a fleeting moment he thought the Londoner was still awake. The notion disturbed him, but as he slipped into sleep he couldn't quite work out why.
The cry ripped through the camp, snapping them all awake in an instant. It was the sound of a woman shrieking, filled with such desolation and horror it left them frozen in shock. The cry rose, becoming more hysterical, louder, until they thought their ears would burst, and then, just as suddenly, it snapped off. The ringing echoes of it persisted for several more seconds.
"What the bleedin' hell was that?" Veitch's face was drained of blood.
Tom pushed himself back from the table where he had been resting his head. "La Belle Dame Sans Merci."
"The Banshee, to you and me," the Bone Inspector said, bleary eyed.
"Bummer." Laura crashed back on to her cushions. "Bad omen-a-go-go."
Church looked to Tom. "Is it as bad as the legends say?"
"You don't need the Banshee to tell you it's not going to be a walk in the park tomorrow." The Bone Inspector slumped back on to the table.
"Some stories say anyone who hears it will die," Ruth said. Church wished he could comfort her, but Veitch appeared to be watching them both closely.
"You're all going to die," Tom said. "Sooner or later." He lay back down on the table.
"Thanks for the morale boost, old git," Laura said sleepily.
"It doesn't mean death for anyone who hears it," Tom said wearily. "But it does mean death. And destruction and suffering and devastation on an epic scale."
"Situation normal, then." As Veitch lay down, Church steeled himself and surreptitiously moved next to Ruth.
The others assimilated the information and after a few minutes somehow managed to go back to sleep, but Ruth was aware Church was still lying awake.
"What are you thinking?" she whispered.
His words were given greater weight by the long pause before he replied. "I'm thinking, where are they keeping the Wish-Hex? And when are they planning on using it?"
They were woken at first light by the sound of stirring across the camp. The smell of cooking drifted into the tent, teasing pangs of hunger from their sluggish forms. With an effort, they dragged themselves out into a cold, clear morning, their breath pluming; they were forced to bang their arms against their sides in a futile bid to keep warm. It was a beautiful dawn: a full-hearted swell of gold and purple before the sky slowly turned a pale blue; a day for hope and love and great things, not a day for war.
The lesser gods had gathered in the various large clearings amongst the tents, eating at long wooden tables. Church still wasn't sure that they really needed to eat, but they relished experience with a hunger that belied their status, as if searching for something valuable they had long since left behind. They certainly ate with gusto, shovelling down platefuls of food, swilling it down with flagonfuls of a hot, fragrant liquid.
All of the gods appeared to be in high spirits. They called Church and the others over with hearty shouts and made a space for them at the end of one table with much backslapping and camaraderie. It was so out of place that all of them felt uncomfortable. Platefuls of dried fruit and spiced meat and several loaves of bread were brought to all but Laura and Shavi, who were given an odd but tasty bouillabaise of tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers without having to ask. Laura admitted that although she didn't have to eat, she too, like the gods, still enjoyed the sensation.
As they ate, their spirits rose, all except Veitch who remained sullen and uncommunicative. "They look like they're eager to get off to war," Ruth noted.
"For all their many claims to a wonderful life, they lack much colour in their existence," Tom said, dipping a sausage into an egg. "Quite simply, they are bored."
"Despicable bastards, the lot of 'em," the Bone Inspector muttered as he gnawed on a chunk of bread. "Like a bunch of upper class idiots whipping themselves up before a rugby game, without a single thought for all the suffering that's going to happen. With any luck a few of 'em will meet their maker."