"So you consigned those poor bastards to be meat for another scavenging class we've all had dumped on us."
Shavi was looking from Veitch to the faces of the assembled group and then back; the truth of Witch's account was in the guilt that was heavy in every feature. But Shavi was still puzzled. "I do not understand. If all the doors were locked, the creatures would not have been able to get to anyone-"
Veitch shook his head. "You're too much of a good bloke, Shav. You've got to think like these bastards. They like cash. They'll do anything for cash. It's their fucking god. They hated being prisoners in their own homes. Couldn't make any lucre. But if those creatures laid low for a few days they had a chance to see if they could get their businesses going. Working their fucking big farms or trying to keep their fucking wine-importing business going or whatever the fuck it was." He turned slowly around to them. "That was it, wasn't it?"
Sir Richard began to protest. Veitch stepped forward and hit him sharply in the mouth; his lip burst open and blood splattered on his clean, white shirt. A gasp rippled round the room, and Laura realised she had joined in, so shocking was the image.
One of the old women started to cry. "I'm sorry-"
"Bit fucking late for that. Thought you'd get rid of a single mum last time, didn't you? Instead you got a poor kid."
"We didn't mean-"
"Shut up. Whose idea was it?"
There was a long silence while everyone in the room tried to read what his next actions would be. Finally Sir Richard stopped dabbing at his lip. "It was all of us. We discussed it together." There was an unpleasant defiance in his face that gave the truth to everything Veitch had said.
"Yeah? Fair enough." Veitch nodded reasonably. Then he slowly drew the crossbow out of the harness, loaded it and pointed it at the thin man in the dark suit; his face turned instantly grey. "We'll start here then."
"No, Ryan," Shavi cautioned. Veitch ignored him. He slowly tightened his finger on the trigger.
"No!" The thin man pointed a shaking finger at Sir Richard. "It was his idea! Yes, we all went along with it! But it was his idea!"
"You know what? I fucking thought as much. I'm a good judge of character like that. I know scum when I see it. And I knew you slimy fuckers would all be jumping to save your own skin when the shit hit the fan." He motioned to Sir Richard with the crossbow. "You're coming with me, matey."
"I certainly am not!" Sir Richard's eyes darted round like a hunted animal. Before he could move Veitch had loosed the bolt into the floor and had clubbed him on the side of the head with the crossbow. Sir Richard slumped to the floor unconscious.
Veitch coolly reclaimed the bolt and slipped it back into the harness with the crossbow. Then he bent down and effortlessly slung Sir Richard over his shoulder. He turned to Shavi and Laura as he marched towards the door. "I'll see you at the pub later."
"Where are you going, Ryan?" Shavi asked darkly.
"I said, I'll see you later." He tried to mask what was in his face with a tight smile, but Laura and Shavi both saw, and wished they hadn't.
The journey through the temple, across the autumnal fields, and out into the wide world, resembled a funeral procession. Ruth's face was like jagged shards of glass, her eyes constantly fixed on an inner landscape. She leaned on Church, for emotional rather than physical support, but his tread was heavy. Tom followed behind, unusually disoriented, with Max looking poleaxed at the rear.
In Richmond it was midmorning, the air heavy with an unpleasant heat. Insects buzzed in from the surrounding dales, and traffic fumes choked the market place. They had no idea if it was the next day or several weeks hence; although it remained unspoken, they all knew the date was now mightily significant.
In the back seat of the car, Ruth could no longer contain herself. She undid her jeans and pulled them down over her belly; there was an unmistakable swelling there.
"It doesn't make any sense!" Church protested to Tom. "There's nothing actually, physically inside her! Is there?"
Tom looked away, shaking his head; it could have meant anything. Ruth broke down in sobs of shock.
After they had subsided, she slumped on the back seat in desperate silence. Tom caught Church's eye and the two of them slipped out, leaving Max to keep an eye on her.
"There must be something we can do," Church said when they were far enough away from the car not to be overheard.
"Perhaps. But there is a more immediate problem. The Fomorii will never leave us alone until they have Balor back. Inside her is their entire reason for existence, the Heart of Shadows. They must have regrouped after the devastation in Edinburgh. Once they locate us their pursuit will be relentless." He paused. "They can't take the risk that you'll kill her to prevent Balor being born."
"Kill her?" The thought hadn't even entered Church's head.
Tom nodded gravely. "At the moment it's the only option."
Church cursed Tom furiously for his cold-heartedness, but his reaction was so extreme because he knew, if he could bear to examine his thoughts rationally, that the Rhymer was right. The rebirth of Balor meant the End of Everything. To prevent that, Ruth's life was a small price to pay. Rationally, objectively, from a distance. But from his close perspective she was so dear to him her life was more important than everything. How could he kill her? And he knew, with a terrible, hollow ache, that ultimately the decision would come down to him; one of the burdens of leadership. And whatever his choice, he also knew it would destroy him forever.
The atmosphere on the way back was thick with unspoken thoughts. Church could see Max was seething with questions, but he didn't feel like answering anything; it was too big to consider even in the privacy of his head. Ruth had dried her eyes and was coping with the shock remarkably well; somehow, that made Church feel even worse.
"That's why my familiar has disappeared," she muttered, almost to herself. "It won't come anywhere near me while that thing's inside me."
They drove with all the windows down, but even that couldn't disperse the oppressive heat in the car. They were sleeked in sweat, sticking uncomfortably to the seats, flushed and irritable. There wasn't even a breath of wind across the lush landscape; the trees remained upright, the crops and hedgerow flowers unmoving.
Max drove speedily along the empty roads, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen that was streaked yellow and orange with the remains of a hundred bugs. But as he rounded a corner, he cursed loudly and slammed on the brakes, the Fiesta fishtailing to a sudden halt. A stream of cars filtered past the turning they needed for the route home: ahead were the unmissable signs of another police roadblock.
"They did see us on the way here." Church grabbed Max's shoulder. "You need to back up and get out of here. Find a different route."
The words were barely out of his mouth when a spurt of blue activity broke out at the road junction; someone had already spotted them. Officers wearing body armour and helmets were tumbling out of the back of a van parked on the edge of the road; Church thought he glimpsed guns.
Max slammed the car into reverse and stepped on the accelerator. With a screech of tires, they shot backwards, but they'd only travelled a few yards when he hit the brakes. Church and Ruth crashed into the seats in front. Roaring out of a field behind them where it had been hidden was another police van, lights flashing.
"What now?" Max shouted. Before Church could answer he engaged gears, threw the car to the right and shot through an open gate into another field. The going was easy on the sun-baked ground, but they were still thrown about wildly as the car propelled itself over ridges and furrows.
Church gripped on to the ridge of the back seat so he could watch through the back window. The police were drawing closer. "I hope you watched The Cannonball Run," Church said.