"What were they?"
"The Malignos."
She stared at him blankly.
"Misshapen dwellers in the dark places, beneath the earth, or under bridges or within the barrows. The natural predator for Fragile Creatures. In your North Country one became known as Hedley Kow, another as Picktree Brag. On the Isle at the Hub off your west coast, another is still known in whispers as the Buggane. They haunt your race memory."
"I couldn't work out what they looked like."
"They are shapeshifters. In the old times they taunted their victims by appearing as gold or silver before adopting a form that could induce nightmares."
"They're like the Fomorii-"
Baccharus shook his head. "They share many qualities with the Night Walkers, but they are lowborn. They cannot transcend the Fixed Lands. Your world is their home."
Ruth slumped against the door, sucking in a deep breath as the adrenalin wore off. "I was following some lights-"
"The Ignis Fatuus."
Ruth started at the strange, tiny voice that was certainly not Baccharus's. She scanned the room twice before her eyes alighted on a figure barely half an inch high seated cross-legged on the floor next to the wall. She knelt down to get a closer look. It was a man, but although his body was young and lithe, his face was so wrinkled it looked ancient. His eyes gleamed with a bright energy that put Ruth instantly at ease.
"The Foolish Flame, your people used to call it, though it also went by the names of Spinkie, Pinket, Joan o' the Wad, Jack o' Lantern-"
"A Will o' the Wisp," Ruth added.
He nodded. "Very dangerous indeed. Another shapeshifter that used the form of gold to lure you avaricious creatures to your doom. It never allied itself with the Malignos, but here-"
"Here there are many strange bedfellows." Baccharus was still listening at the door. "Shared interests draw together. Races that would be at odds beyond these walls are forced to coexist in the confines; new alliances are drawn."
"It's not much of a luxury cruise," Ruth noted.
"All things dwell aboard Wave Sweeper. At one time, just two of each species, but now… There are many things long forgotten in these depths, some that have not seen the light of day since your world was new formed."
The tone in Baccharus's voice made Ruth grow cold. She turned quickly to the tiny figure and asked, "And what are you?"
"What is not a pleasant way of asking. Who would be more polite. And even then naming words should be proffered, not demanded." His eyes narrowed; Ruth thought she glimpsed sharp teeth as his mouth set.
"I'm sorry-
"I will vouch for her, Marik Bocat," Baccharus interjected. "She is a Sister of Dragons."
"And thus above reproach," the little man said. "Then, to you I am Marik Bocat. To others my name is neither here nor there. And to answer the what, my people are the oldest species of the Fixed Lands, distant relatives to the People of Peace." He motioned towards Baccharus. "Though the Golden Ones have more wit and sophistication, we can stand our own in conversation." He smiled so pleasantly Ruth couldn't help smiling in turn. "Your people used to call us Portunes, thanks to one of your educated folk who first wrote of us and our diet of roast frog." He wrinkled his nose in irritation. "Damn his eyes. See how he likes roast frog."
Baccharus opened the door a crack to peer out into the shadowy corridor. "We should move back to the lighter areas before the Malignos return. They will be even hungrier after their exertions."
"Won't we meet them on the way back?" Ruth asked.
"Wave Sweeper's configuration will have altered many times by now. They should be a distance away."
"Or a room," Marik Bocat noted. "Speed is of the essence."
"Do you want me to carry you?" Ruth asked.
Marik Bocat looked insulted once again. "Perhaps my legs are invisible to you?" He motioned to what appeared to be a mousehole in the wainscot. "We have our own routes about the ship."
"I'm sorry." Ruth's head was spinning from everyone she had encountered, each with their own peculiar rules and regulations. "I seem to be saying that a lot."
"Never mind. You will have time to make up for your appalling manners." He smiled sweetly again, then bowed with a flourish before disappearing into the hole.
"A strange race," Ruth noted as she slipped out of the door behind Baccharus.
His voice floated back to her, strangely detached. "We are all strange. That is the wonder of existence."
She found Church watching the waves with Niamh at his side. There was an easiness to them, in their body language and the way they stood a little too close, that made her feel an outsider. She considered leaving them alone, but the tenacious part of her nature drove her forward.
Niamh smiled politely when she saw Ruth, but she didn't appear too happy with the intrusion. "I will leave the two of you alone," she said a little stiffly. "I am sure you have much planning to do if you are to achieve your aims."
Once she was out of earshot, Ruth said, "You seem like you're getting on."
Church's eyes narrowed; he knew her too well. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Just what I said."
"There's nothing going on." He turned his eyes back to the cream-topped surf. The sun was slipping towards the horizon, painting the waves golden and orange. "When it comes to romance I've been an idiot in the past. I was just trying to fill the gap left when Marianne died, and it was a big, big gap. But I couldn't see what I was doing. I can now. I'm not going to make any stupid mistakes again."
"Still, it's obvious she wants to get in your trousers."
"I don't think it's a physical thing. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but the Tuatha De Danann value emotions more than anything. Don't worry, I'm going to be careful, not lead her on. Especially after the last time." He flinched. "It's hard, though. The way they unconsciously manipulate emotions. It's overpowering."
"I can't understand why she's so full-on."
"What, you don't think I'm worth it?" He laughed as he leant on the rail to peer down the side of the boat.
"On second thoughts, go for it. You should take what you can get."
"Steady on, acid tongue."
She slipped an arm around his shoulders; it was something a friend would do, but, as earlier, the warmth was unmistakably stronger and they both drew comfort from it.
"I know lots of terrible things have happened, but when I think about everything that's been lost so far it's all the normal things I feel acutely about," he continued. "Never being able to go to a movie. No more Big Sleep or Some Like It Hot. No more electric guitars at some seedy gig. Sometimes I'm so shallow."
"What do you miss the most? The one thing above all else?"
He thought about this for a second, then gave an embarrassed laugh. "Never being able to hear a Sinatra song again. Stupid, isn't it?"
"No."
"It's not even about the music, it's what it means to me." He tried to pick apart the tangled emotions. "It means a love of life, abandon, not worryingjust enjoying."
"Does it remind you of Marianne?"
"No, it reminds me of what life used to be like before responsibility."
In the distance sea creatures resembling dolphins frolicked in the pluming water, their shiny skin reflecting the late afternoon light. There was a certain poetry to the image that wasn't lost on either of them.
"The quicker we get there, the quicker we can get back and do something positive," Ruth said.
"Maybe we shouldn't be in such a hurry to arrive."
"Why?"
"In all the old stories, the Western Isles are a metaphor. They're where the dead live."
"Heaven?"
"Or Purgatory, in some cases. So we're leaving life behind us and moving into death."
"Trust you to put a damper on things."
He forced a smile. "Let's hope we can make the return journey."