Urgently Billy glanced over to where Charley was still sleeping. It looked as if frost had settled on her. She was covered from head to foot in tiny granules, the moonlight through the window making the crystals glisten coldly.
But it was not ice.
They had both been covered with sand.
Pushing down his rising sense of dread, Billy roused Charley gently.
“Charley,” he said softly. “Don’t be afraid, but something has happened to us.”
She moaned, as all sleepers do when the joy of dreaming has to end too soon. But then she felt the sand clinging to every pore of her skin and she was instantly awake.
Charley shook her long ginger hair and sent a thousand grains spilling to the floor of the carriage. Calmly – Much more calmly than me, Billy thought – she flicked the sand from her clothes.
“It’s a message,” said Charley, pointing to a square of parchment on the floor.
With sand beneath his nails and in the corners of his mouth, Billy picked it up and read:
Billy dashed out into the corridor. His head snapped back and forth, searching the shadows for movement. His inner sixth sense was reaching out, searching the invisible realm for traces of the supernatural.
Something had been there, Billy knew. There was a taint in the air – an oily smokiness which only Billy could detect – and a metallic tang in his mouth like blood. Magick had passed this way, he was certain. Old and dangerous magick.
But the traces were faint and fading fast.
“We’re too late,” he told Charley with a snarl, as he stumbled back into their carriage. Billy’s “gift” came at a price; each time he used it he was left drained. Right now he could barely stand and was clinging to the door frame for support.
Billy breathed in through his nose, his head clearing as the scent grew cold. “‘The Sandman’ is long gone.”
Charley shuddered. “It’s monstrous to think that someone was in here, watching us while we slept.”
Billy closed the compartment door again, although it didn’t make him feel any safer. “Do you think Sir Gordon is being followed?” he wondered out loud, scratching his head and dislodging still more sand. The train shuddered then and began to slow. “Edinburgh, finally,” declared Billy, looking through the window and seeing the unmistakable silhouette of the castle looming over the city.
“Quick,” said Charley. “Gather up some of the sand in an envelope, I want to analyze it as soon as we get to our lodgings.”
“Isn’t sand just sand?”
Charley gave a theatrical sigh. “How simple it must be in your world, Billy Flint.”
“Right,” said Charley, as she steered her wicker wheelchair towards the open train door and the platform that lay beyond it. “This is how we’re going to do it.” She spotted a porter and waved him over. “He can take the weight on the footrest while you support me with the handles.”
“You don’t want me to just bump you down on my own then, like we do on stairs?”
“Only if you want to tip me out,” said Charley. “Honestly, you can tell who’s got the brains on this team.”
Once Charley was safely down on the platform, Billy left her to it. Charley had very strict rules about her chair. Charlotte Steel decided where she wanted to go for herself; nobody pushed her around.
Billy gathered up their bags. Charley had five to his one, he noticed. Typical girl.
At the far end of the platform Sir Gordon and his entourage were whisked away into a waiting coach without so much as a second glance in their direction.
“We’re fine, thanks,” Billy called out sarcastically. “But it was kind of you to offer.”
“Forget it,” said Charley, “we’ve got the address for the hotel. We can make our own way there.” A cold rain was blowing in from the east and her teeth started to rattle in her jaw.
Billy shivered as the damp night air wormed its way beneath his coat. “Lead on, Duchess,” he said with a smile.
They were heading towards the exit when a small boy called out to them. “Hey, wait up!” said the lad. He came pounding along the platform towards them, a Scottish terrier bouncing at his side. “Did ye see any policemen on the train?” asked the boy anxiously, while the dog ran round and round him, tangling him in its lead. “Sir Gordon sent me… The footman should’ve come but he’s run away, so I’m s’posed to take them to their hotel…only I fell asleep when the train was so late.” The young lad looked at them, his eyes pleading like a puppy’s, bigger even than the terrier’s. “I’ll get a hiding if I’ve missed them. Charles Steel and William Flint. Have ye seen them?”
“We are them,” said Charley, extending her hand. “I am Detective Constable Charlotte Steel and this is Detective Constable Billy Flint.”
“Away with you!” said the Scottish lad in disbelief. “He’s only a few years older than me and you’re a poor wee cripple.”
Billy winced. Charley wouldn’t take that lying down.
“You can believe it or not,” said Charley, spinning her chair so her back was to him. “Come on, Billy. I’m not in the mood for this.”
“I was on the lookout for two men,” the boy explained, dodging round to face her and whipping his cap from his head as a mark of respect. “I’m Doogie McCrimmon,” he said, “and I’m sorry for my mistake, miss.”
Charley pushed her chair forward until one wheel was crushing Doogie’s foot. Doogie winced. Charley rocked the wheel slightly, until she heard him whimper. “All forgiven,” she said breezily. “Who’s your friend?”
“My…? Och,” said Doogie, realizing she was talking about the dog. “This handsome laddie is Wellington.”
“Pleased to meet you, Wellington,” said Charley, rubbing his ears. Wellington gazed back at her from beneath formidable doggy eyebrows. He really was a fine animal, with a beautiful black coat. Pedigree undoubtedly.
“Lead on,” said Charley.
Doogie hesitated, unsure whether she was talking to him or the dog, then he snatched up three of their bags and lumbered off, swaying under their weight. “This way,” he said.
The weather was worsening by the moment, the drizzle turning into small hard pellets of rain. They followed Doogie with their heads down and their collars turned up.
“Welcome to Scotland,” muttered Billy.
Suddenly Wellington tensed. The dog stood stock-still, fur bristling, a growl vibrating in his throat.
“Come on now,” urged Doogie, straining under the weight of the bags.
“Wait,” said Billy.
“What is it?” asked Charley.
“I’m not sure,” said Billy, sticking out his tongue. “But it tastes evil.”
They were all alert now, eyes trying to pierce the darkness, searching for the danger that Billy and Wellington could sense.
“There!” snapped Billy, pointing into the shadows. At that instant Wellington broke free from his lead and the pair of them sprinted away. Charley was half a second behind. For a fleeting instant she thought she could see a silhouette, lurking in an archway. The figure had the body of a man and the head of a…what was it? A crocodile!
Its cover blown, the hulking shape retreated. “Stop in the name of the law!” Charley shouted. Doogie whipped a small knife from out of his sock and brandished it as he ran alongside her.
Panting, Billy reached the spot where they’d seen the figure hiding. But he was too late. Whoever – whatever – it was, had gone. How long had it been there? What did it want?
Wellington was barking ferociously at the empty air. Bizarrely, there was a whirlwind of sand twirling on the floor and it was driving the small dog crazy. Billy watched the vortex. Ordinary people might have dismissed it as the wind eddying, but Billy could taste the lingering tang of magick all around. It was the same oily mixture of blood and smoke that he had sensed on the train. The Sandman again?