 
The Wyrm Conspiracy

### Richard Middleton
Discover other Wyrm Saga books

by Richard Middleton:

Wyrm Gold

Arran, Joney and the Goblinenesis Flatulata

Arran, Joney and the Ice Elves

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Wyrm Dominion

The Wyrm Conspiracy

Richard Middleton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2016 Richard Middleton

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

### For finn

Old King Cole is a thirsty old soul,

And a thirsty old soul is he,

So he calls for his bowl,

And he calls for his blade,

And he calls for his servants three.

Traditional
Chapter 1

Emily leapt to her feet in panic, her heart pounding. Her dinner plate tumbled off her lap and smashed unnoticed on the flagstones at her feet. She looked around frantically, searching for the source of her sudden fear.

But the peaceful evening scene offered nothing. Most of the evening boat traffic on the canal her house backed onto had died down now and the only sounds were those of evening meals being served and eaten, distant chatting, and a lone blackbird singing from the top of a slate roof.

For a moment the feeling that she should be doing something immensely important right now was overwhelming.

'What's wrong?' asked Sam, startled.

A shriek up the canal to their left made Emily turn sharply, but it was only one of the little Mewick twins playing out before bedtime.

The shriek seemed to break the spell. The urgent feeling began to fade, and Emily sighed and turned back to look at her friend. Sam was sitting with his back to the stone wall with his dinner plate on his lap, looking up at her anxiously from under his mess of fair hair.

'I get this weird feeling,' she said, 'like there's something really important I should be doing.'

Sam regarded the mess at her feet. 'Like eat your dinner?'

Emily glumly regarded the remains of eel and mash splattered amongst the pieces of smashed plate. She picked out the shards of plate carefully and took them inside to the kitchen bin. She grabbed a broom and swept the spoiled food off the landing stage into the canal below.

'You can share what's left of mine,' Sam offered.

'It's ok, I wouldn't want you to waste away.'

Emily watching the scraps spiral slowly down through the dark water. Two fish-shaped shadows, each as big as a good-sized dog and with a wide flattish head and a broad mouth curved into a genial smile, rose from the depths to gulp at the remains, then sank back into darkness, their whiskers waving gently in farewell as they disappeared.

'Your dad's not back yet, have his before it goes cold.'

Emily frowned. Dad should have been back home nearly an hour ago, and he was almost never late. Worry was already scratching at her.

'I'm sure he'll be back soon,' said Sam.

'Of course he will.' She tried to sound more confident than she felt. Where was he?

'Parents, you can't trust 'em,' said Sam, sympathetically.

Emily nodded in agreement. Both their mothers had abandoned them; Emily's when she was a baby; Sam's more recently. And neither of their fathers were particularly diligent. Sam's dad was a nightwatchman at the Fountainhead brewery and as he slept during the day, he and his son rarely coincided. Consequently as well as cooking for herself and her dad, twelve-year old Emily tended also to include Sam, whose cooking was dreadful. Left to his own devices Emily was confident that he would soon poison himself.

Sam finished his pie and scraped the last of the buttery mash off his plate into his mouth. He stood and started to hand the plate to Emily, then caught himself and said, 'I'll do the washing up, then.'

Emily swiftly took the plate from him. 'Save yourself for a night when I haven't already dropped mine.'

Sam grinned.

Emily took the plate indoors and put the kettle on.

'Is he alright, your dad?' asked Sam, standing in the doorway. 'He's seemed a bit, you know, strange lately.' He thought about what he'd said and amended it to, 'Well, stranger.'

Emily busied herself making three cups of tea, including one for her dad on the illogical basis that if there was a hot drink waiting for him he would have to arrive home in time to drink it before it went cold.

She shrugged. 'He gets obsessed with things,' she said. 'He spends a lot of time in his study looking at old maps. He's into local history. Old buildings and stuff. Then he goes out and studies them.'

'He looks tired.'

Emily nodded. 'He studies them a lot. Doesn't sleep much.'

She was always worrying about her dad, not least because there was no-one else in the family to do it, but Sam was right. Recently her dad had looked stressed and ill.

So him not being home on time tonight was a bigger worry than usual.

They took their tea out onto the small landing stage that connected their two houses and provided mooring for the family boats. Emily's own kayak, the Linnet, was tied up against the house wall, leaving space for her dad to moor his launch when he finally returned home.

'That's weird,' said Sam, looking down into the water.

'What's that?'

'Look at the fish.'

Emily peered down into the dark water and saw fish of all kinds, small and large, spiky perch and razor-toothed pike, slow-moving carp and sinuous eels, silvery rudd and roach and chub were all streaming through the water past them.

As she watched, a shoal of minnows leapt out of the water in the centre of the canal and then dived back in again, spattering the surface like glittering raindrops.

In the depths she caught sight of the dark, slowly undulating shapes of the two catfish as they rose to join the strange procession, and she felt a sudden chill as she watched them disappear from view.
Chapter 2

'What d'you think they're doing?'

'Maybe someone's feeding them.' Sam didn't sound convinced.

'I just did. Did you see those minnows jump out of the water?' As she said it, another shoal did the same, scattering over the surface of the water like a handful of thrown sand. 'They only do that if they think something's going to eat them.'

Sam turned to her in excitement. 'That's it!'

'What is?'

'They think something's going to eat them.'

'Like what?'

'Like that thing that was in the paper.'

Emily shook her head. 'Shouldn't believe what you read in the paper.'

Sam wagged his finger at her. 'Shame on you, Em. What job does your dad do again?'

Emily said, reluctantly, 'Editor. He edits the paper.'

'There you go.'

'What was it anyway?' She knew already what he was going to say. It was the most popular story in the Inquisitor.

'The Beast of the Backwaters! What else would be scaring the fish?'

Emily cringed. It was the sort of story that her dad ran in the paper during the summer when not a lot else seemed to be happening.

'It's got to be that, right?' said Sam enthusiastically. 'They reckon it's a huge scaly thing. Enormous. The paper made a big thing about how people were afraid to go out on the water anymore and demanded immediate action from the Mayor.'

'Forget it.' Emily dismissed it with a shake of her head. 'It's a silly season story.'

Sam wasn't to be put off so easily. 'There was a photo of the Beast in the paper.'

'That was a very blurred photo of someone's dog.'

'It was in the water.'

'The dog was swimming.'

'It had a severed arm in its mouth!'

'That was a stick! Dogs do that, carry sticks. Even in the water.'

Sam shrugged. 'One dodgy photo doesn't mean that the thing doesn't exist.'

'My dad said it was nonsense and I was not to worry about it. He should know.'

'He should tell the fish that. They're really upset about something.'

Emily had to admit that Sam was right about that. All kinds of fish continued to swim frantically past them. Looking up the canal in the direction they were coming from, Emily couldn't see anything that might frighten them.

The evening was still and clear. The early autumn sky was cloudless and silvery. The evening sun was still touching the tops of the west-facing roofs and the high Abbey wall beyond them, leaving the buildings and canal beneath in twilight. In the distance Emily could hear the laughing, excited voices of the Mewick twins as they wound themselves up in a final push before going to bed.

The noise of the kids was drowned by the sound of an engine from the other end of the canal, and a small launch veered into view around the corner.

Emily's heart leapt, recognising the boat. It was her father. At last.

The trick with the tea had worked.

But something was wrong. The launch was going too fast. Emily's heart thumped as she watched it swing wildly into Eel Way and her dad had to throttle up desperately with a roar and a cloud of blue smoke to avoid ramming it sideways into the Applewick's landing stage at the end of the terrace.

Then with a spin of the wheel he regained control and the Merlin surged forward and she could breathe again. He powered down the canal towards home leaving a rolling backwash that broke noisily against the houses behind him, and which would no doubt prompt a flood of letters to the editor in the morning about inconsiderate driving on residential canals.

Eric kept up speed until he was within a stone's throw of the landing stage, then he reversed the engine harshly, churning the water into a boiling froth at the Merlin's stern, and drifted up to the landing stage and turned off the engine. Emily caught the mooring rope that he flung to her and she secured it to a bollard.

Before she'd even finished tying it Eric had leapt off the launch onto the landing stage beside her and dashed inside the house. She could hear the thump thump thump of his feet going up the stairs to his study at the top of the house.

'Blimey, he's in a hurry,' observed Sam. 'Must be a big story'.

Emily went inside and stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up, her anxiety heightened rather than relieved by her father's eventual appearance. His job as editor meant he rarely actually went out and covered a story himself, and she'd never seen him this worked up before.

Muffled swearing drifted down from above and the sound of drawers being opened hurriedly and things being knocked over. Finally there was a cry of triumph and Eric pounded down the stairs again. His normally curly fair hair was dark with sweat and his thin face was flushed, the thin scar on the side of his face pale. His expression was odd.

'Dad, what's...' started Emily as he thundered down the last flight towards her, but Eric barely slowed as he went past and headed outside again to the launch. He was holding something thin and twiggy in his hand, a strange object that Emily didn't recognise, the thin dark arms almost forming a star shape, three spreading forward, two backwards.

'Sorry, Em, big story. Back later, don't wait up.'

She followed him outside. He untied the mooring rope from the bollard and threw it onto the launch, then leapt aboard.

'Can I come, dad?' Even if she had to stay out of the way on the launch whilst he did his job, at least she'd get to talk to him on the way there and back.

Eric stopped in his tracks and looked horrified.

'No! No way. Definitely not!' He said it so vehemently that Emily actually stepped away from him.

Eric shook his head, then said more calmly, 'No, sorry, Em, it's too dange...well, I mean there might be things a twelve year old shouldn't see.'

She stared at him, confused. What was he talking about? What was dangerous?

He frowned back at her. 'Promise me you'll stay here.'

He looked so agitated that she immediately nodded. 'Of course. I promise.'

He nodded and looked relieved. 'Good. I've got to go. I'll be back late. I'll see you in the morning.' He started the engine and the Merlin nosed forward.

'Love you, dad,' called Emily, but he didn't hear her and soon the Merlin was far up the canal and then around the corner and out of sight.

Emily stood on the landing stage, stunned. She'd never seen him like that. His expression had been very odd indeed. Her heart went out to him. If he was in danger, then...

A door banged shut behind her and she turned to see Sam locking his front door. He put the key in his jeans pocket and grinned at her.

'So, are we going to follow him?'

'I promised him.'

'And?'

'Of course we are.'

### Chapter 3

Emily realised with relief that now she'd made the decision to head out into Wormwell, the uneasy feeling that she should be somewhere else had almost disappeared.

'You noticed that he went towards whatever's scaring the fish?' said Sam.

Emily nodded. 'Untie the Linnet. I'll be back in a moment.'

She scooted back into her house and pulled on her walking shoes. She grabbed a warm jacket and a torch from the store cupboard under the stairs, then ran outside again, locking the door behind her.

Sam had untied the Linnet and was already settled on the front seat. He leaned out and held the kayak against the landing stage to steady it whilst Emily got in. Emily settled herself and picked up her paddle.

'Ready, crew?'

'Shipshape, Captain.'

Emily used her paddle to push the kayak away from the landing stage and they set off, paddling with light, easy strokes that quickly settled into a familiar rhythm. At first the Merlin was easy to follow on the quiet backwaters, as it had left a slick trail on the water which was mostly undisturbed by other craft. Although the sun had set the sky was still bright and the canal was a silver pathway between the dark houses.

The trail led them through a couple of crossways and into increasingly large canals and Emily soon recognised the route her father was taking: it led to the High Canal, the main waterway which ringed the centre of the town and separated the mainly residential Outwaters from the more business and Civic-oriented Abbeyside.

'Oden's bloody eye,' Sam swore. 'How are we going to find him now?'

They looked out across High Canal at the stream of boat traffic that had erased any chance of them following the Merlin's trail.

They tried to spot the Merlin amongst the watertaxis, barges and launches that chugged noisily along the wide waterway, their running lights bright in the evening gloom. There did seem to be fewer craft on the water than normal, however. Perhaps Sam was right about people being too scared to use their boats. The streetlights had already lit and were casting yellow pools of light onto the last of the workers still trudging home along the stoneways that ran along either bank and tramping over the bridges that linked the two halves of the town.

'I can't see it. Let's have a look down that alleyway opposite.'

They skimmed under the prow of a slow-moving, brightly-lit watertaxi, earning a blast on the horn from the irritated pilot which Sam responded to with a cheerful wave, and shot to safety beneath the bridge on the far side, back-paddling hard to bring the Linnet to a stop.

'What d'you think, Em?'

'I think this is it,' she said. 'Look at the watermark on the walls. A fast boat's been down here recently.' There was a dark, damp stripe on both walls, nearly a foot above the waterline, where the backwash from the boat had surged up.

There was little light between the high buildings and Sam looked nervous about heading into the dark corridor. Emily had to admit to herself that she also felt a bit edgy.

'There's a lamp under your seat, Sam. Fasten it to that bracket on the prow.'

Sam didn't need to be told twice. When he'd secured it to the bracket he switched it on and a powerful, wide beam lit up the water and the walls ahead. They immediately felt better.

They resumed paddling. The narrow alleyway twisted and turned and the looming walls threw the splash of their paddles back at them with strange echoes that made it sound like they were surrounded by a team of ghostly kayakers. Fortunately they soon joined a larger canal that stretched left and right, empty of other craft and bordered by high, many-storied warehouses and left the phantom kayakers behind. The slick trail left by the Merlin led to the left and they headed in that direction.

They had left the noise of the High Canal behind and it was now so quiet that every sound they made seemed to be amplified hugely. The few small windows set into the grimy brickwork of the warehouse walls were blank and dark. Ahead of them the canal curved out of sight, heading even further inwards.

Emily shivered. When she and Sam explored the town in the kayak, they mostly stuck to the waterways on the Outwaters side, and rarely ventured into the Abbeyside with its large forbidding buildings.

Now they were not only deep in the Abbeyside but drawing ever closer to the Abbey itself at the very centre of the town, a place of dark rumour and late-night tales, not least because the monks within were rarely if ever seen, but more so because they were supposed to worship water or something equally strange, not Father Oden's family of gods and goddesses that Emily was familiar with.

'Can you hear that?' Emily started in surprise at the sudden sound of Sam's voice, even though he'd whispered. There was a faint throbbing sound from back the way they had come. Looking back they could see a bright light heading rapidly towards them. The throbbing grew louder and deeper and suddenly they had to shield their eyes as the searchlight picked them out and held on them as a Wardens' Patrol boat roared up alongside, its wake causing the Linnet to pitch and roll alarmingly.

The Patrol boat idled its engines and several Wardens came to the guardrail and looked down at them. The searchlight was almost painfully bright and behind it the Wardens were virtually in shadow. Behind them on the deck there were mounds of equipment that Emily couldn't quite make out.

One of the Wardens lifted a megaphone and barked through it, 'What are you children doing here at this time of night? Go home.'

Beneath his abrupt tone Emily thought there was a hint of fear.

'You shouldn't be here. Clear the area immediately. There's been an incident. Turn your craft around and go home. No questions. Go.'

He lowered the megaphone and waved them to turn the kayak around. Unwillingly Emily and Sam turned the Linnet until she was pointing back the way they had come.

'What's going on? What's happened?' Sam shouted.

The Warden with the megaphone muttered something to the Warden standing next to him, then raised the megaphone again.

'I told you to go home.'

His amplified, angry voice clamoured off the walls around them.

'Go home right now. If I catch you anywhere near here when we come back I'll have you locked up.'

### Chapter 4

He gestured to the Warden standing in the wheelhouse and the engines roared back into life. The Patrol boat surged away, leaving Emily and Sam bobbing up and down in the choppy water.

Sam stared after the departing boat. 'What was his problem?'

As soon as they were out of sight Emily dug her paddle into the water and turned the kayak around again.

'Did you think he sounded scared? I did.'

Sam shrugged. 'He sounded angry.'

'Did you see what was behind him, on the deck?'

'No. What was it?'

'Fishing nets. Really big fishing nets.'

Sam's eyes widened. 'They are after the Beast! Told you.'

'I'll believe it when I see it.'

Sam looked anxious. 'What do we do if the Wardens come back? I'm not that keen on being locked up.'

'Keep any eye out for hiding places as we go. It's nearly dark now anyway, as long as we switch the light off as soon as we hear them, they'll never see us.' Emily sounded more confident than she felt. But her dad was out there and she wanted to know that he was safe.

Sam nodded. 'Right.'

They turned the kayak around again and followed the slick trail of the Patrol boat, keeping close to the bank where pilings and jetties would provide refuge if they needed to hide suddenly. The canal continued to curve inwards, then split into two. They took the left fork.

The buildings around them began to change, the functional brick warehouses being replaced by grand, marble-clad civic buildings. The white stone glowed eerily when their light struck it.

Strange echoes from up ahead began to clatter off the walls around them. Nervously, Sam leaned forward and switched the light off. Hugging the bank, they paddled the kayak cautiously towards the junction that came into view around the curve of the canal. Occasional flashes of light from the left lit up the buildings in front of them. The clamour of shouts and engines grew louder. A launch roared across the junction in front of them, searchlight pointed forward. When it had passed they edged up to the corner and Sam leaned forward onto the prow of the kayak and peered around. After a moment he beckoned Emily to paddle forward. They slid the kayak around the corner under the lee of the wall and stopped, astonished by the chaotic scene taking place before them.

There were three patrol boats crowding the canal and a couple of smaller speedboats circling them in a spray of white foam. All the patrol boats were shining searchlights down into the water, the beams criss-crossing the choppy surface. Just beyond the boats a high bridge crossed the canal, lit with streetlamps.

Several Wardens were leaning over the parapet to look into the water. One had a megaphone and was shouting terse orders to the boats below, barely audible over the revving engines and general clamour.

'Ready the nets! Keep the searchlights right there! Bring the dredger in closer.'

On the bridge near the Warden Emily noticed three people standing huddled together, talking. Unlike the Wardens they didn't seem afraid, but relaxed and at ease. One of them stepped away from the others and held a spidery object out in front of him at about waist height and swung it gently from side to side.

'Hey, Em, isn't that your dad? What's he doing?'

Emily stared, puzzled. 'Looks like he's...dowsing? You know, like for water. That stick thing is what he got from the house when he came home.'

'If it's water he's after he'll have a shock when he looks over the side of the bridge.'

'He must be dowsing for something else, tadbrain.'

'Isn't he supposed to be journalising?'

'That's what he said he was doing.'

Sam raised his eyebrows.

'Hmph.'

Even from as far away as they were they could tell that Eric was excited. He spoke to his companions and then rushed off the bridge Abbeyside holding the dowsing rod in front of him, then disappeared down a stoneway between two buildings.

'That's weird.' Sam was peering at the two people Eric had left on the bridge. 'Those people your dad was with. Isn't that Mrs Harrow? And Sir Harald?'

'Mrs Harrow from school?'

Sam nodded. 'That's the one. Didn't expect to see her before we went back on Monday.'

Emily scowled. Mrs Harrow was their hated headteacher. She was the sort of person who paid eagle-eyed attention to important matters like what colour socks you wore and how quickly you stood up when she entered the classroom, but was completely blind to minor details like bullying.

Emily's enquiring mind was also not on Mrs Harrow's agenda. By only her second year at the school Emily had been made to sit on the hard chair in the corner just outside Mrs Harrow's office for more times than some of the kids in the school could count. The fact that her dad had even been talking to Mrs Harrow, never mind talking to her enthusiastically, was a serious enough offence for Emily to not talk to him for a week.

`Sir HH is your dad's boss, isn't he?'

Oh, right. Emily felt guilty about thinking badly about her dad. Sir Harald owned the newspaper her dad worked for. Obviously whatever it was that Eric was doing, it was to do with work. But then, why was Mrs Harrow there?

Emily noticed a big, casually-dressed man carrying a heavy holdall over his shoulder walk swiftly up the bridge to talk to Mrs Harrow. They spoke briefly and Mrs Harrow pointed up to the top of one of the buildings overlooking the canal. The man nodded and walked quickly away in the direction of the building she had indicated.

She was about to point out the man to Sam when they were caught in the blinding beam of a powerful spotlight.

### Chapter 5

Emily's heart thudded. Had they been spotted?

To her relief the light flicked off them again immediately and focused on the scene under the bridge.

Then she heard another patrol boat behind them and realised with a jolt that whilst she and Sam had been absorbed in the chaotic scene before them the Linnet had drifted into the middle of the channel. They were now directly in the patrol boat's path. She flicked the torch beam around frantically along the banks, looking for somewhere to hide.

'Quick, over there, to the right. See? Under that arch.'

They paddled furiously towards it, hearts pounding, the noise of the boat behind them coming ever closer, the searchlight shining on the water to their left. Skimming under the arch, they paddled to a stop just as the boat thundered past, its wash flooding in around them and bucking the kayak as if they were running rapids, the breakers echoing off the stonework surrounding them.

Sam let out a held breath in relief. 'I thought they would run us over.' He looked pale. 'I think I've had enough excitement for one night already.'

The choppy water began to settle and soon they were on calm water again. White-blue light from the streetlamps on the bridge made the marble around them glow faintly. They were inside a covered landing-bay, with an arched roof overhead supported on marble columns either side. Wide steps led up to an ornately decorated portico fronting a marble-clad civic building. They were closer now to the circle of patrol boats.

Emily could see the Warden on the bridge leaning over the parapet having a conversation with an important-looking man on the newly arrived patrol boat. Emily couldn't see the man on the boat clearly but she thought he might be the Mayor.

The Warden was trying to convince him about something, but he seemed unconvinced. After a couple of minutes the Harrows went over and joined in the argument, Mrs Harrow waving her arms and looking agitated. The man on the boat shrugged and shook his head. Finally the Warden raised the megaphone and angrily ordered the patrol boats to cut their engines.

'False alarm, people. Time to wrap up and go home.'

'What's happening?' Asked Sam, whose view was blocked by the corner of the building.

`Some high-up bloke on that boat that nearly ran us over isn't impressed. I think he's calling off the search for whatever it is they think is in the water.'

'That's a shame.' Sam didn't sound convinced. 'Let's go home. There's nothing to see here and we can't follow your dad through the stoneways.'

'But...' she started to argue, then sighed. He was right. Whatever story her dad was following, it wasn't out there in the canal. She hefted her paddle. 'Let's get going before those patrol boats start to leave. We don't want to be caught near here.'

'But if it was a false alarm,' said Sam, 'what scared all the fish?'

Emily shrugged. 'Maybe it was that dog in the photo.'

She turned to look behind her so she could navigate the Linnet out of the landing bay.

She dipped her paddle in the black water and was about to start a backwards stroke when, without warning an overwhelming, choking fear swept over her like a wave of molten rock, suffocating and paralysing her.

The paddle dropped from her frozen fingers into the water.

Her thoughts were flooded with terrible images of huge yellow teeth and ancient scaly skin and cold reptilian eyes and she suddenly saw Sam and herself as small, soft, vulnerable animals floating in an eggshell on the dark water. She had a horrifying vision of something rising up through the water towards them, huge, hungry and unstoppable. Something that saw them as prey.

A blast of foul, damp breath that smelled of rotting fish and meat mixed with the bitter odour of something long-dead filled her mouth and nose like poison. Her sight cleared and her heart quailed as she saw that her vision was real.

### Chapter 6

Blocking their exit from the landing bay was an enormous, primeval-looking head, almost as long as the kayak. Its skin was night-black but the light from the streetlamps on the bridge picked out the ridges and protuberances on its scales, outlining its form in spectral detail. The head was crocodilian, but with the blunt, half-formed look that prehistoric creatures often have.

Its mouth was open slightly, the wet, crooked nostrils raised as high as the prow of the kayak. Emily could have reached out and touched them. The deep, rasping noise of the creature's breathing seemed to fill the landing bay. The uncanny fear that had preceded it, that filled Emily's thoughts and overwhelmed her reason, continued to batter against her like a hurricane.

She stared hypnotised into the creature's open mouth, saw the rows of yellowed, back-curving teeth streaked with dark, bloody stains, felt its nauseating, reeking breath slowly suffocating her.

She forced herself, trembling with horror, to look away from the looming jaws to its eyes. They were shiny black, but within them a green flame roiled madly, an eerie light that made her think of the spirit-lights that lured travellers to a watery death in fog-sodden marshes.

A small part of her brain registered that she was now on her knees, leaning towards the creature, reaching out to it as if offering herself was the only way to bring the awful fear to an end.

She began to slip helplessly forward over the prow of the kayak into the waiting jaws. But as she did, she saw her father's face again, wearing that strange expression he'd had as he came down the stairs, and her heart turned over and she was engulfed instead by a terrible fear that without her something dreadful would happen to him.

It was a fear so sharp and painful that it brought tears to her eyes, and it so utterly banished her previous fear of the creature that she gasped as if she had suddenly seen daylight after a lifetime of darkness.

And, even more strange, she suddenly became aware that the anxious feeling that had been in her mind all evening had also gone.

She blinked away the tears, breathing hard, and steadied herself in the kayak.

When she looked again into the water, the creature had gone.

For a few moments she stared at the spot where it had been, shivering with cold, hardly able to believe that she had survived.

'Frog me,' Sam swore behind her, his voice trembling. 'That was the scariest thing. It was going to eat us, wasn't it? And all I could think of was that it would be wonderful if it did because then the fear would stop.'

He shuddered.

Emily nodded. 'Same for me.'

'Why didn't it attack? We were sitting ducks.'

Emily leaned over the side of the kayak and fished her dropped paddle out of the water. 'I don't know,' she said. She couldn't believe that the creature's departure had anything to do with her thoughts about her dad. 'Maybe it decided that a couple of kids weren't worth the effort.'

'If that's true then I've never been happier to be ignored,' said Sam with feeling. 'I felt like a chicken in a bear cage with my chicken feet glued to the floor and a sign round my neck saying 'eat me' in bear language.'

Emily sniggered. 'So you're clucky to still be here then.'

Sam snorted and flicked water at her. 'Ha ha. What was it anyway? I mean, it looked like some kind of ancient crocodile but that fear thing was really nasty.'

Emily shook her head. 'I have no idea. Did you see its eyes? It was like there was green fire burning in them. I've never seen anything like it.'

'It has gone, hasn't it?' said Sam. 'I mean, I don't feel scared any more. At least,' he added wryly, 'not as scared as I was.'

A violent crashing like the noise of a rockfall smashing through a wooden house echoed around the canal. Voices were raised in alarm and fear. Emily spun round to see the creature attacking one of the patrol boats in the middle of the canal.

A speedboat was already in pieces, its prow jutting up at a crazy angle, its stern under water. White foam glittered in the darkness where people struggled in the water. The creature was half out of the water on the patrol boat's deck, thrashing wildly, its huge weight crushing the middle of the boat until with a hissing plume of steam the boat caved in. Several people were flung from the cabin into the water. Emily thought that one of them was the important man who had stopped the search earlier.

The creature freed itself from the wreckage and disappeared under the water. Emily watched in horror as, one by one, the patches of white water that marked someone in the water went black as the creature struck from below.

### Chapter 7

Wardens on another patrol boat tried to rescue the remaining swimmers. Several wardens on it were reaching down to pull one of them up out of the water onto the deck when the creature launched itself out of the water beside the boat and slammed down on them with the force of a falling tree, smashing the boat instantly and causing it to capsize. Water churned and boiled as the creature struggled in the wreckage.

One of the two remaining patrol boats pulled up alongside and there was a sharp crack and a puff of glowing smoke as the wardens on it fired a rocket-propelled net at the creature. The net tore into the water and wrapped itself tightly around both the creature and the remaining parts of the shattered boat. A ragged cheer went up.

The second patrol boat arrived and fired a second net which also bound itself tightly around the creature. Chains ran from the nets back to the boats and prevented the creature from retreating into the deeps. It struggled furiously in the water, its huge body sending up plumes of spray.

'Bring in the dredger and get that the thing aboard,' shouted the warden with the megaphone. 'Take it straight back to the Abbey. See how those wyrm-loving monks like a taste of their own medicine.'

The dredger, a long roofless barge with a large empty hold and a low crane with a claw-like grab attached at one end, started to edge out from under the bridge past the first of the two patrol boats, pale smoke drifting up from its engines.

The chains holding the nets had been tightened and the creature was held securely between the boats, its struggles for the moment having subsided. The front of the dredger with the crane drew level with the creature and the crane was swivelled out over the creature and the grab dropped.

The heavy metal claw caught in the heavy net and chains and, the whole mechanism screeching and groaning, started to rise, pulling the creature up with it. The dredger started to list heavily with the weight of the creature but fortunately didn't seem in any danger of capsizing.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thank Fri. I don't think I could ever go on the water again if I knew that thing was still in there.'

'Why d'you think they're taking it back to the Abbey?' Emily was puzzled.

'Maybe they think it escaped from there or something.' Sam shrugged. 'Who knows what those monks get up to in there. I mean, no-one's seen inside the Abbey for years.'

Emily frowned. 'It almost sounded like they thought the monks had released it on purpose. Why would they do something like that?'

'Maybe it's a religion thing.'

'That thing terrified people and then ate them. What's religious about that?'

Sam suddenly pointed towards the bridge. 'Look. What's that? On the bridge? Is that a person?'

Something moved on the bridge. It was a person, slender, dressed all in black, hooded, its face covered by a plain, almost featureless black mask. It jumped athletically up onto the parapet above where the creature was being loaded onto the dredger.

'What's he holding?' Sam strained to see in the dark. It looked like a long thin pole with a tip that glittered in the light from the streetlamps.

'Is that a spear?'

With a swift, elegant movement the black-clad figure threw the weapon at the creature. The spear flew true and plunged deep into the creature's back. The creature roared and started to thrash about in agony. Without pausing the warrior leapt lightly down from the bridge down onto the deck of the dredger, a drop of nearly twenty feet, then ran up the dredger and then made a huge leap from its side onto the writhing creature's back.

Emily and Sam could barely believe what they were seeing. Almost dancing to counter the creature's erratic movements, the warrior ran up the creature's back to the embedded spear and wrenched it out. The creature bellowed in pain and fury. The warrior steadied on the creature's back and then raised the spear to deliver the killer blow.

But as the warrior drove the spear down into the back of the creature's neck there was a loud, sharp crack from one of the overlooking roofs and the warrior staggered to one side as if punched violently in the shoulder. Before the echoes of the first shot had died away a second shot rang out but the warrior was already falling limply and soundlessly into the water, leaving the spear embedded in the creature's flesh.

The creature redoubled its struggles, clawing at the nets in desperation, severing the tough cord with tooth and claw and sharp-ridged scale until with a final violent wrench it burst out of its bonds and sank into the water and disappeared.

Emily and Sam stared, dumbfounded. There was no trace of either the warrior or the creature. Wreckage floated in the water. A strange silence fell.

Emily shook herself to break the trance. 'We've got to get out of here.'

'They shot that man with the spear,' said Sam, wonderingly. 'He was only trying to kill that creature. Why would they shoot him? That's crazy.'

'If they catch us here who knows what they'll do,' said Emily. 'We shouldn't have seen any of this.' Her hands were shaking. 'We've got to go,' she repeated.

They were clumsy with adrenaline and it was difficult to do even the simple task of manoeuvring the kayak out of the landing bay.

'Gobber!' Sam swore.

'What?'

'I've dropped my paddle in the water.'

'Fish it out then.'

'It's not the fish I'm worried about.'

'Pick up your paddle. Now. We're leaving.'

'Yes, Captain.'

They slowly paddled back across the canal and into the side canal they had come down earlier, barely able to see where they were going in the darkness. As soon as the scene was behind them and out of sight they felt better. Sam switched the headlamp back on. Its warm light was reassuring.

'Let's go home,' he said. His voice was calm again. Emily smiled to herself. If the kids at school who thought Sam was soft had gone through what he just had, she didn't think they would have coped so well. Sam was a strange kid, but a good and brave one.

Something bumped the bottom of the kayak.

'What was that? Did you feel it?' Sam's voice was not calm now.

Water broke in a ribbon of white foam to her right. Emily nervously took a torch from her pocket and shone it on the water. The water swirled as if something had just dived beneath the surface. A stream of bubbles rose and burst.

'Sam...' she started.

'Em,' Sam said flatly.

His voice sounded strange. She turned away from the water to look at him, and saw with horror the enormous, black, scaly head of the creature rising up out of the water beyond him, illuminated in the beam of the headlight, green flame guttering around its open jaws.

She felt the pressure-wave of fear burst against her as the creature launched itself with a mighty thrash of its tail out of the water. As it fell towards them, feeling already the cold spray of water that preceded it, she realised that this time there would be no escape.

### Chapter 8

All Emily had time to do was to dig her paddle desperately into the water and sweep it back hard to spin the kayak so when the creature crashed down onto the kayak it fell between her and Sam rather than on top of them.

The monster's huge dark bulk smashed through the middle of the kayak is if it wasn't even there, the impact throwing Emily and Sam into the water almost on top of its scaly back. The water was shockingly cold. Emily was underwater with only a half-taken breath and the blackness swirled dizzyingly around her. Which way was up? She thrashed about in panic.

Then her flailing hands felt floating wood and she knew where the surface was and drove towards it fast, breaking into the cool air with a gasp.

Somehow the front of the Linnet was still floating, the headlamp on its prow knocked askew and pointing crazily down into the water. It illuminated a pale object that Emily suddenly realised, sickeningly, was the top of Sam's head as he sank slowly down into the depths, as limp as wet paper. Emily took in a couple of deep breaths and then dove down, the cold water stinging her open eyes as she kept them fixed on that pale blob that soon resolved itself into Sam's white, emotionless face.

She grabbed a handful of wet clothing and started to swim upwards but was shocked by how heavy he was, a deadweight, she was barely keeping him from sinking any further, never mind pulling him to the surface. Frantic and already running out of air, she reached out and with her thumb and forefinger pulled his nose, hard. Almost immediately Sam shuddered and then shook his head, regaining consciousness. Holding onto to his clothing Emily began to swim upwards again.

Sam struggled for a moment and then started jerkily to swim and within moments they broke the surface and Sam was coughing and retching gobs of canal water and saliva whilst Emily held his head out of the water, breathing in deep gulps of night air with relief.

Emily looked around hurriedly. They had to get out of the water, right now. She still felt the psychic pressure of terror that the creature generated but it no longer incapacitated her; it was as if there was now a wall around it in her mind that kept it contained and ineffective.

Awkwardly she dragged Sam over to the remains of the Linnet and twisted the headlamp around to illuminate the canal banks. Her heart leapt when the light picked out a flight of steps leading out of the water not twenty yards away.

'Sam,' she said, struggling to talk at the same time as treading water in her own heavy, waterlogged clothes and keeping Sam afloat, 'we have to get out of the water. Can you swim?'

Sam tried to answer but failed, his face pale in the torchlight. A dark trickle of blood was smeared down one side of his face where his head must have been hit when the creature struck. Emily realised that although she had gained some kind of immunity from the creature's fear-storm, Sam had not and was almost incapacitated by its overwhelming pressure.

Despite this he started to move his arms stiffly and to kick out, trying to swim. Emily felt a sudden, choking rush of emotion at his dogged determination to carry on even in such a terrible situation.

She picked out the flight of steps on the bank with the torch. 'Swim to there,' she said. 'I'll be right beside you all the way.'

Sam started swimming, breathing hoarsely, starting weakly but picking up speed. Emily swam wearily alongside, already tiring as she struggled against her heavy clothing and the cold water sucked the strength out of her. The steps were getting closer. They were going to make it. Only five metres to go.

Then Sam moaned and stopped swimming and Emily felt the creature's fear-storm redouble in force and knew that it was behind them, right behind them. It took every fibre of will that Emily possessed not to just give up and accept that this was the end. She grabbed Sam's arm and swam on, pulling him forwards towards the steps that were now so close.

She could sense the creature rising up out of the water behind them, huge and horrible. There was a faint green glow on the water around them and she realised that it was from the uncanny flames that burned in its jaws and eyes.

As she kicked out, trying to get her and Sam to shore, her legs felt naked and vulnerable and her skin crawled, anticipating at every moment to have them crushed and torn by the creature's black teeth.

Sam was still trying to swim but his movements were feeble and uncoordinated. Then she felt a gale of hot, moist breath on the back of her head and knew that they weren't going to make it. This was the end after all.

Even so she made one last, huge effort, trying to drag Sam forward, trying to save them both, then looked back and saw nothing but a vast pair of jaws opening, Sam's feet already within its grasp, green flames illuminating the terrible sight with a ghastly glow.

And then, above them, a dark shape flew over their heads from the bank, leaping over the creature's jaws and landing on its back. The monster turned immediately away from Emily and Sam to focus on this new and unexpected threat. Emily let out a ragged sob in relief. The warrior had returned. Black-gloved hands plucked out the spear from the creature's back, releasing a gout of green flame that lit up the night. The monster started to roll, trying to dislodge its attacker, but the warrior simply leapt up into the air, higher than Emily had ever seen anyone jump or believe that they could, and came down spear first, straight into the creature's exposed throat, so forcefully that it ran the creature through, splitting its spine as it did and ending up jutting out from between the monster's shoulder blades.

A shockwave seemed to pulse through the water as the creature died. Immediately the warrior pulled out the spear, hurled it to the bank and then dived off the creature's body and swam swiftly over to where Emily and Sam were still struggling to reach the bank. Moments later the three of them were climbing wearily up the dark steps, on dry land at last.

Emily looked back. The water boiled and bubbled violently around the creature's body as the green fire that had burned in its eyes and jaws began to consume it from the inside out, lighting up its bones and organs so fiercely that they shone through the black skin.

Its blazing heart began to spin rapidly, creating a shimmering gyre of flame that pulled the other flames towards it. A rushing sound filled the night. Emily felt a tugging within herself and felt that horrible fear somehow leave her and be sucked instantly into the gyre.

Astonished, she looked around and saw faint movements, like wisps of darkest night, streaming through the air from all directions, all being sucked into the creature's fiery heart, as if the same fears were being stripped from every person in the town and drawn back to their originator to be consumed. She heard Sam sigh as he was freed of the burden of fear.

It was only moments before the night was clear again and all the wisps had been sucked into the gyre and destroyed. The fire within the creature became more and more intense until it was almost blinding bright, then with a cracking sound the creature's heart broke into a thousand pieces to reveal a droplet of soft green light within it, the green of sunlight reflected off new spring leaves into deep, still water.

The shining droplet expanded and as its growing surface touched first the glowing shards of the creature's heart and then swept through the rest of the creature, the monster was simply erased, washed away like a wave sweeping over a design in the sand, as if it had never been there at all.
Chapter 9

'We're still alive,' said Sam, astonished. 'That's amazing.'

Emily laughed weakly. It was amazing.

There was a soft thud beside them and she turned to see the black-clad warrior slumped against the wall, clutching a shoulder. Of course, thought Emily, that's where the bullet hit. She knelt beside the warrior, who was smaller and more slender than she'd first thought; the black leather body-armour bulking out the athletic figure it protected. She wondered if he was only a young man.

A dark, bloody stain spread slowly on the stone path.

'We need to get you to the hospital,' Emily said.

'No.' The voice was weak, almost inaudible, muffled and distorted beneath the mask.

'Not hospital...take me to the Abbey.'

Even distorted the voice was soft. A young man's voice, Emily decided.

There was a thin stone bridge a little further up the canal. The warrior gestured weakly towards it.

'That way.'

Sam picked up the warrior's spear, still covered in gore and broken scales from the dead creature, and came to help. Emily and Sam took an arm each over their shoulders. Despite the wet clothing the warrior was surprisingly light between them.

They hadn't got very far when they heard shouts in the distance. Emily had wondered if the Wardens or whoever had shot the warrior would be drawn by the creature's fiery death. Now she knew the answer.

The warrior stiffened and tried to break away from them.

'Go,' the muffled voice said urgently. 'Leave me. If the people who tried to kill me return and find you here then you won't be safe.'

Emily looked at Sam, who shook his head. She agreed. They would not leave the wounded warrior.

'You must go! I can't put you in danger. Not after...' The sentence trailed off into a wet, painful-sounding cough.

The dark water shimmered with the reflections of torchlights in the distance.

'We're taking you to the Abbey,' said Emily decisively. 'We owe you. Sam, hurry.'

The warrior tried to struggle but was too weak to put up much of a resistance. Emily and Sam broke into a half-run, the warrior stumbling between them. They had almost crossed the bridge when a torch beam found them and there was a cry of triumph behind them.

'Faster,' Emily panted.

'Go left, down the alleyway,' gasped the warrior.

The alleyway was narrow between high walls and their footsteps echoed loudly back at them as they ran down it. The shouting behind them was getting closer. The torch light threw their huge, swaying shadows across a high wall in front of them.

To the right was an ornate, arched iron gate.

'Through the gate.'

Emily unlatched the gate and flung it open with a screech of rusty metal. They stumbled inside. Emily pushed it shut again. The complaining metal would give them warning of their pursuers.

Ahead of them, silhouetted against the stars, was a temple. All around them were graves, many marked with a miller's cross. Skeins of night mist drifted up from the damp ground. Emily shivered, suddenly feeling the chill of the night and her wet clothes.

They threaded their way through the gravestones, as much feeling their way in the darkness as seeing by the dim starlight. Too soon they heard the metal screech as the gate opened. Torch beams stabbed out into the graveyard. Fortunately the corner of the temple was close and in moments they were around it and out of sight.

At the back of the graveyard were a number of mausoleums, some small and barely large enough to hold a couple of coffins, others large and long enough to hold a longboat.

Emily was struck by a horrible thought. 'I can't see a way out.' she whispered. 'Where are we going? We're trapped.'

The black-hooded head rose wearily. 'One of the tombs will be marked with the the Upwelling sign, the sign of water. Find it and we are saved.'

Emily saw Sam's eyes flash white in the darkness as he looked at her in panic. They'd trusted that this young warrior would help them escape, but now it seemed that the warrior's idea of salvation might in fact be spiritual rather than practical.

'Keep going,' she hissed to Sam. 'Look for the sign of water.' If that was all they had, then it was still better than nothing. But what did a sign of water look like, this Upwelling? As they passed between the tombs Emily saw carvings of miller's crosses, trees, fire, ravens, anvils; all the usual graveyard decorations; but nothing that seemed to fit the description.

Emily heard crunching on gravel behind them and a torch beam flicked across the tombs to their left, then a sixth sense warned her and she dropped to the ground, pulling the warrior and Sam with her as the beam swept over where they had been standing a moment before.

The warrior grunted in pain, landing awkwardly on the grass. Immediately the torch beam swept back and lingered above them, lighting up the tomb behind them. They lay in the shadow beneath, hardly daring to breath.

'Hey, Taverner,' called a voice, seemingly only a few metres away. 'Come up here. I heard something.'

Another voice, more distant, replied slightly nervously, 'Something like a person? Or something like a corpse clawing its way out of the earth to feast on human flesh?'

'Like a person, idiot. Come on. Who'd want to eat your chicken flesh anyway? Even if they were dead.'

'This is stupid,' grumbled Taverner, his whiny voice carrying in the damp air. 'What did these people do anyway, Ferriby? I'm sure two of them were only kids.'

'The Chief told us to catch them and that's what we'll do. Anything else is not our problem.'

Emily lay on the damp ground looking blindly up at the torchlit tomb above her, trying to think of a way for them to escape. She couldn't think of one.

Ferriby spoke again. His voice sounded even closer. 'Isn't the Cup-and-Ring near here? We could go there afterwards.'

Taverner suddenly sounded more enthusiastic. 'Right. I know the one. I think they do that Adderblood beer there. I'd like to try a pint or two of that.'

Emily's thoughts finally caught up with what her eyes were seeing and with a jolt she realised that along the top of the tomb a few feet behind them was a scrolled carving that seemed to spring up in the middle and then flow away on either side in two waves. Was that the sign of water?

She nudged the warrior and gestured up towards the carving. The warrior nodded, and started crawling under the torchlight towards the tomb, followed by Sam. Emily followed on behind. A second torch beam cut across from a different angle, almost catching Sam as he wriggled across towards the tomb.

Now they were closer to the tomb Emily could see that its stone doorway was set back several feet under a shallow portico, leaving it in darkness. Sam followed the warrior into the dark portico and disappeared. When Emily got there she realised that they had regained their feet.

The warrior was leaning motionless against the stone door. Sam was pressed against the portico wall behind him. Keeping to the shadows, Emily carefully stood up.

Their pursuers had gone quiet. Emily bent and found a stone on the ground, and, careful not to reveal herself, threw it hard across the graveyard. It landed with a clatter some distance away. Immediately the two torch beams left the tomb and stabbed away across the graveyard towards the noise. Emily leaned out from behind the cover of the stone portico and risked a glimpse outside to see how close the men were.

As she did so, one of the torch beams flicked back and caught her full in the face, blinding her.

'There they are!'

### Chapter 10

Furious with herself, Emily ducked back into the shadows. Now they were certain to be caught. She turned in panic to warn Sam and the warrior about what she'd done.

But neither of them were paying any attention to her. The warrior reached up weakly, searching the underside of the stone doorframe with a black-gloved hand. Suddenly there was a click and the faint scraping sound of stone against stone, and a damp, sour breath of air blew out at them.

Emily's heart leapt. A way out! The door to the tomb had opened inwards, revealing a darkness greater even than the shadows they huddled in. Exhausted, the warrior simply leaned into the gap and fell limply into the blackness. Sam quickly squeezed through and was gone. Emily took a deep breath and followed him.

The stone door was cold and rough against her fingers. She could see nothing in the darkness beyond. A clinging strand of cobweb wrapped against her face and mouth, she brushed it off hurriedly. Once inside she turned and quickly pushed the heavy door shut. It clicked into place. She could hear Sam breathing loudly in the dark. She put her ear to the cold stone of the door. There were voices outside.

'I saw someone right here!' Even muffled by the stone she could hear Taverner's whine. 'A girl.'

Emily jumped as someone on the other side kicked the door.

'Just disappeared into thin air, did she?' Ferriby was scathing. 'Or did she float through solid stone like a ghostie?'

'Look at the inscriptions on the tomb.' Taverner's voice sounded shaky. 'Third one down.'

Ferriby grunted.

'Lady Rosamund Hawker, Aged 15.' Taverner sounded terrified. 'That's her, I'm telling you. That's who I saw.'

'Well, she ain't here now. Gone back to her ghostie friends, no doubt. And taken those people that the Chief wanted us to catch with her.'

'Do you think so?' Taverner sounded horrified.

'Don't be so frogging stupid. They'll have headed off in the opposite direction as soon as they saw you start chasing shadows. They'll be long gone now.'

'I need a drink.' Taverner decided.

'You're buying,' said Ferriby. 'I don't get paid enough for this nonsense.'

To Emily's relief the voices started to recede.

'What do we tell the Chief?'

'Let's worry about that after the second pint.'

'I did see her, you know. She was pretty, but kind of fierce looking.'

'Maybe it's best not to tell the Chief that...'

The voices faded out of range.

Emily let out a long breath. 'They're gone,' she said.

'Do you think there are dead bodies in here with us?' asked Sam nervously.

Emily fumbled around in her pocket and found the pocket torch she'd picked up when she left the house, seemingly days ago. She flicked it on and lit up Sam's pale, anxious face.

'Hey! Not in my eyes.'

'Sorry.' She shone it around the inside of the tomb. It was bare, except for a flight of steps leading downwards. She shone the torch down the steps and saw the warrior's motionless, black-clad body lying sprawled half-way down.

They rushed down the stairs. The warrior's breathing was ragged. Fresh blood showed up bright red in the torchlight. Emily shone the torch down to the bottom of the stairs. It was a long way down, but at the end she could just make out the beginning of a narrow canal with a rectangular, flattish boat floating on it.

She started to lift the warrior's upper body so she could get an arm over her shoulder. 'Help me, then,' she said to Sam.

They carried the unconscious warrior down the steps as gently as they could and hoisted the limp body with some difficulty into the boat.

Sam looked down the low tunnel. The torchlight didn't reach far and whatever was beyond was lost in darkness. 'I suppose we just have to see where it takes us.'

'I wonder if there are other tunnels like this one,' said Emily. 'Secret ways under the town.'

Sam looked at the boat. The wood was rotten and already there was an ominous dark patch on the floor at one end. 'Maybe. But it doesn't look like this one has been used in years.' He spotted a box under one of the low seats and fished it out. 'There's a lantern in here, and some weird looking matches.'

He opened the lantern glass and struck one of the matches, which flared up with an unexpectedly large flame and an acrid smelling cloud of black smoke, almost making Sam drop it in surprise.

Coughing, he hurriedly put it in the lantern and lit the wick, then threw the blazing match into the water where it floated on the water, still burning and throwing out quantities of black smoke, before eventually extinguishing.

The lantern cast a warm yellow light across the damp, green stained stones in the tunnel's walls and arched roof. From the front of the boat rose a thin iron rod a couple of feet tall, with a hooked end. Sam hung the lantern from it and stood in the boat. The warrior was at his feet, still unconscious. Sam considered the black cloth and mask that wrapped and concealed the warrior's face.

'Do you think he can breathe properly with that stuff covering his mouth?'

'You're not unwrapping him to see who he is,' said Emily firmly. 'I'm sure he has a very good reason for not showing his face. If he's from the Abbey, maybe he's not supposed to kill things and if the others found out who he was he'd be expelled or something. Or maybe if people knew who he is, he'd put other people who know him in danger.'

'Or maybe he was in a fight with one of those creatures before and got horribly mauled and his face is so disfigured that he can't bear to show it.' Sam shivered.

'Stop scaring yourself and let's get this boat moving. We need to get him to the Abbey.'

### Chapter 11

An old, tarred rope ran through iron rings attached to the ceiling. By reaching forward and pulling on it they moved the boat forwards.

To begin with this was surprisingly difficult, and several times Sam, who was at the front of the boat, accidentally pushed the boat backwards rather than forwards and nearly ended up falling headfirst into the water.

Fortunately Emily was able to grab the rope and steady the boat each time before he took a bath. They quickly found that the best approach was for one of them to pull ten times whilst the other rested, then the other took over and did ten pulls, as their arms rapidly became tired and painful reaching up to the rope.

The tunnel twisted and turned. Several times they passed the dark mouths of other tunnels. All they could hear from them was the lonely sound of dripping water.

Twice they went through areas where water ran from the tunnel roof, making a glittering veil of golden droplets in the lantern light. The second time, Sam looked up at the wet ceiling, where glistening dark green algae tendrils hung down like stalactites.

'I wonder if there's a canal up there.' He looked nervous. 'How solid do you think that ceiling is?' He had visions of the ceiling collapsing and the water from the whole of Wormwell's canal system pouring down through it on top of them.

'It'll collapse at any moment,' said Emily heartlessly. 'Better get moving.'

Sam pulled the boat forward with renewed vigour.

The tunnel seemed endless. Their arms ached with the effort and their hands were sore and stained black from the rough, tarred rope. The warrior was now lying in an inch of water at the bottom of the boat, but there was no way of emptying it to make the journey more comfortable. Occasionally a grating, pain-filled groan issued from behind the mask.

After what seemed like hours Sam said, 'There's a platform up ahead. I think we're there.' He thought for a moment and then added, 'Wherever there is.'

They hauled the boat tiredly up the last few lengths to a stone platform that marked the end of the canal. The boat bumped against the terminal wall. The children lowered their burning arms with relief and shook them to try and get the blood flowing again.

They looked around. Stone steps ran up from the platform to a stout, wooden, arched door reinforced with dark iron bands. There was a small, closed hatch in the door at about head-height for an adult. There was no door handle. It appeared that it could only be opened from the inside.

Emily felt a growing sense of nervousness. If the canal had led them to the Abbey then they could hardly expect a warm welcome. Although it was an open secret that the monks worked with a few chosen traders in the town to exchange the spirits they made for supplies, the monks otherwise kept themselves completely isolated from the rest of the town.

The prospect of even talking to a monk face to face gave her butterflies. It would be like talking to someone from another country. Would they even speak the same language?

She climbed the steps with trepidation, took a deep breath and then rapped hard on the door, harder than she'd anticipated. She flinched as echoes clattered off the walls around her.

There was no response. She knocked again.

Again no response.

'Let me try,' suggested Sam, hefting a lump of rock he'd picked up. 'If it's like the canal, the door won't have been used for years. And it's probably the middle of the night as well. We may have to wake someone up.'

He stepped past Emily and hammered violently on the door with it.

Before he'd finished the grille slammed open and an angry male voice shouted roughly, 'Oy! Stop knackering my door. You know I'll get here as quick as I can.'

Sam dropped the rock guiltily.

A pair of bloodshot eyes under bushy white eyebrows stared at them in surprise through the grille. The children obviously weren't who he'd been expecting to see.

'Who the hell are you? Go away.'

The grille slammed shut again, with a clang that sounded as final as the door closing on a tomb.

### Chapter 12

Sam picked up the rock again. But before he had chance to use it the grille thrust open again.

'Where's the Wyrmwulf?'

Sam looked puzzled.

'Dressed in black. Carries a spear. The Wyrmwulf.'

'We brought him back, he's been shot,' Emily said, her words tumbling out. 'He's terribly injured. You've got to help him. He's down in the boat, unconscious, I think.'

There were a series of metallic clunking sounds from the door and it started to swing outwards. Emily and Sam stepped back. The door opened to reveal a stout, short monk wearing a dark brown habit. He had a bald head, a big white beard and craggy features. A large bunch of keys hung heavily from a cord around his waist. His expression was grim. Another, taller, monk stood behind him, his old face stern.

The Gatekeeper muttered to himself as they went down the stairs to the boat. 'That's bad news. Who would shoot the Wyrmwulf? Only doing God's work.' He helped the taller monk lift the warrior carefully out of the boat.

A third monk appeared at the doorway with an old stretcher. He carried it down the steps and together they lifted the warrior gently onto it.

'Take the Wyrmwulf to the infirmary. Old Trewick will know what to do. Quickly now.'

The two monks carried the laden stretcher up the steps and disappeared through the doorway, leaving the Gatekeeper shaking his head and Emily and Sam looking at each other nervously.

'You kids helped the Wyrmwulf, did you?' The Gatekeeper turned to them. 'Well done. That's good work.' He frowned and glanced at his watch, then looked at Emily and Sam with concern. 'Do your parents know you're out? It's very late.'

With a sudden shock Emily remembered that her father expected her to be at home. Was he already there, wondering where she was? She remembered the horrible anxiety she had felt when he'd not returned home on time earlier that evening. Was that what her dad was feeling for her at this very moment? Or was he still heading back home, and there was still time for her to get there before him?

'I have to get home,' she blurted out. 'Right now.'

The old Gatekeeper considered her gravely. 'Where do you live, miss?'

'Eel Way. We both live there.'

'Next door neighbours,' said Sam.

'Eel Way...that's out towards the Oxbow? Near the Library.'

They nodded.

'Good. Follow me.'

He led them up the steps and through the old door which he shut and locked behind them.

Beyond the door was a narrow tunnel which opened out onto a large, semicircular hallway. It was stone-built and had a low, vaulted roof. Lanterns cast a warm glow across the tiled floor and lit up the faces of carvings at the top of the pillars that supported the vaults. Heavy wooden doors were set all along the inside of the curve. In the middle of the opposite wall was a much larger iron door, dark with age. Emily guessed that beyond it lay the Abbey itself.

They followed him across the tiled floor. Sam cast hopeful looks at the large door opposite that led to the Abbey but the Gatekeeper ignored him and led them to a door near the middle of the curve. As soon as he unlocked and opened it they were surrounded by the white noise of rushing water and the hollow rumble of heavy wooden machinery. They went down a short tunnel which opened out into a small, dimly lit space beyond.

On the left a huge waterwheel turned, driven by water tumbling from a wide lead pipe above. The noise was deafening and they could feel the floor vibrating as the waterwheel revolved. Ancient-looking wooden cogs and shafts ran off it towards a mechanism at the far end of the room. On the right the platform dropped down to a pair of iron rails that led into a tunnel. Between the rails was a third, toothed rail.

A strange vehicle sat on the rails next to the platform. It looked like a couple of long church pews bolted together back to back and mounted lengthways on a metal-wheeled trolley.

Emily and Sam stared at it apprehensively. They were supposed to ride on that thing? It looked spectacularly dangerous.

'Hop on, then,' urged the old Gatekeeper. 'Time don't wait for no man, or child.'

Emily and Sam climbed on board nervously. There were no seatbelts, just iron rings set into the armrests. Sam sat at the front. The Gatekeeper pointed to a lever by Sam's right hand.

'When you hear the sixth bell, pull this here lever, hard,' he said. 'You'll stop near some stairs. Go up the stairs and follow the tunnel. When you come to the door, look through the spyhole. If there's no-one around then go through. You'll be as close to your home as I can get you.'

Then his expression changed and he looked at them fiercely under his bushy eyebrows. 'Don't tell anyone about what you saw here tonight. And don't try to find your way back down here, d'you understand? We're thankful for your helping the Wyrmwulf but it is only through our tunnels remaining secret that we can continue our holy work. You must swear not to tell anyone about them.'

He took out an old prayer book from his pocket and held it out to them. It had a pale cover and was stamped in gold with the same Upwelling symbol that had been on the new Linnet's paddles.

'Swear on the Book of Water that you will keep our secrets.'

They duly put their hands on the book and swore. It felt very odd to Emily, swearing on the holy book of a religion she knew nothing about and didn't believe in, but even so the solemnity of the moment, with the noise from the waterwheel crashing in her ears, was powerful.

The Gatekeeper nodded in satisfaction. He put away the book and went over to a clutch of levers sticking up out of the floor. He grasped one and pulled it forward. There was a series of clunks as various cogs and gears shifted into position.

'One last thing,' he shouted. 'After you've got off, turn the brake handle around and then release it so I can get my trolley back. Now hold fast!'

And with that he yanked a second lever hard towards him.
Chapter 13

The trolley instantly shot off up the track into the tunnel, nearly spilling Emily and Sam from their precarious seats. The tunnel was unlit except for the occasional dim glow of streetlight that filtered down a shaft from a dusty skylight high above. They clung on desperately to the iron handholds, unable to see ahead in the darkness and constantly being thrown back and forth by unexpected shifts in direction.

A couple of times they felt the stomach-churning sensation of weightlessness and even lifted momentarily out of their seats as the trolley took a sudden dip downwards, making Emily afraid that if she happened to let go she would fly up into the air like and be splattered against the tunnel roof like a rotten apple.

The musty, damp air rushed past their faces and left them breathless. The only blessing was that they had left the noise of the waterwheel behind and apart from the rhythmic metallic clattering of the wheels on the rails and a strange, high-speed tocking noise that Emily guessed was a cog on the trolley engaging with the toothed rail in the middle of the track, their journey was relatively silent. A flickering light up ahead warned them that they were approaching the first bell. As they hurtled past it the bell rang with a low, clear sound that Emily found somehow reassuring. They saw the second bell coming up soon afterwards. The third and fourth bells rang unexpectedly in the darkness; obviously their lights had failed.

'Five!' shouted Sam as the fifth approached, his words immediately snatched away by the rushing wind. Emily was surprised to see that he was grinning, exhilarated by their wild ride.

She braced herself as they hurtled towards a patch of light that signalled the sixth bell. Sam threw the brake lever as the bell rang and the trolley slowed and then came rapidly to a stop.

There was the strong smell of burning from beneath the trolley. It had halted alongside a narrow platform and they jumped off hastily. Pale smoke started to drift from under the trolley. There was a bucket half-full of slimy water on the platform. Emily picked it up and flung the water as best she could under the trolley. There was a hissing noise and the smoke turned to steam and died out.

'Stand back,' warned Sam. He leaned over, turned the brake handle on the trolley around as the Gatekeeper had instructed, and released it. Instantly the trolley clattered off back down the tunnel into the darkness.

They ran up the steps that led up from the platform and into a tunnel. Emily fished out her torch again as they soon left the light from the platform behind. At the end of the tunnel a spiral staircase led upwards. They climbed quickly and by the time they emerged into another, very narrow corridor at the top Emily felt quite dizzy. Sam was panting after the steep ascent.

'I hate climbing,' he muttered. 'I'm sticking to the flat from now on.'

The corridor was so narrow that several times they had to turn sideways and squeeze crabwise between the mould-stained walls, an unnerving experience in the semi-darkness. Finally, however, the corridor opened out a little and they reached an rusty iron door. A tiny peephole was set into the door. Emily stood on her tiptoes and peered through it. It was utterly dark outside and she could see absolutely nothing.

She shone the torch on the door. No handle. She tried the wall to the right. It was blank. So how were they supposed get the door open? Sam tried pushing on it but it remained stubbornly closed. After a couple of minutes of frantic searching Emily spotted an iron lever sticking out of the wall above the door, just below the ceiling, and pulled it down.

The door slid silently open. Cold night air flooded in around them and for a moment they breathed in the first fresh air they'd tasted in what seemed like days.

Eagerly, Sam stepped through the doorway first and then yelped as he lost his footing and only just managed to grab the doorframe to save himself from falling forward. Chastened, he stepped back and let Emily use the torch to see where they were. The doorway opened out a few feet above a small blind backwater off a larger canal. A thin ledge ran along the wall at their feet to the mouth of the backwater.

'Hurry,' said Sam anxiously. 'The door's closing.'

Emily put the torch in her pocket, turned her back to the opening and put her left foot on the thin ledge, feeling the wall above her head for a handhold. To her relief her searching fingers soon found a thick groove in the brickwork that ran along parallel to the ledge below, and hanging on tightly she quickly moved her other foot onto the ledge and shuffled sideways so that Sam could do the same.

Behind him the door swung shut silently. Emily worked her way along the wall until she came to the corner, and peeked around.

'What can you see?' whispered Sam.

'We're on Eel Way,' Emily whispered back, amazed. 'Just a few houses up from where we live. How many times have we passed this backwater and not noticed it?'

A narrow stoneway ran up the side of the buildings around the corner, leading up to a thin footbridge. Emily jumped from the ledge down onto the stoneway, quickly followed by Sam.

She looked back down the canal to her house. She could just make out that the landing stage outside their house was empty, and felt a wave of relief as she realised that her father had not yet returned home.

'We've got back in time!' she whispered. Now all she had to do was cross the footbridge, follow the stoneway round the back of the houses and run down past the gardens to her back door.

They ran up the stoneway to the footbridge and were just starting to climb the steep steps when Sam, who was ahead, suddenly dropped to the floor and frantically motioned to Emily to do the same.

'What?'

'Listen,' he whispered.

In the distance she heard the steady throb of a motor. It rapidly drew closer, and lit up the handrails above them with its headlights. Emily felt sick as she recognised the engine noise.

There was no doubt. It was the Merlin, her father's boat.

The boat passed under the bridge and as soon as the light was off them Emily raised her head and stole a glance down at the passing boat. Her heart sank even further.

Her father wasn't alone. Someone else was on the boat with him.

'Frog it,' swore Sam quietly. 'That's Mrs Harrow. What's she doing with your dad?'

'Come on,' said Emily desperately, 'I can still make it home in time.'

She fled up the bridge and down the other side. Sam ran behind her, trying to keep up. Emily sprinted around the corner and down the stoneway to her house.

Thank Fri. It was still in darkness.

She scrabbled in her pocket for her keys.

'Quickly, quickly,' urged Sam.

She tried her other pockets.

No keys.

She tried again.

No keys.

She stared at Sam in horror. 'I must have lost them in the canal when that creature attacked us.'

As she said it, a light went on inside her house. Her father had arrived home.

And she was locked outside.
Chapter 14.

Sam had already fished a key to his house out from under a pot of herbs by his doorstep. He threw open the door.

'Upstairs, quickly!' he whispered.

Emily ran past him and up the stairs. Sam's house was a mirror image of her own; where her stairs were on the right if the house, his were on the left. Ahead was his bedroom.

'Please tell me you left your window open.' Sam had shut the back door and was close behind her.

Emily jumped on the bed and looked cautiously out of the window. Down below, Mrs Harrow was just following her father into her house.

As soon as they had disappeared inside Emily pushed the sash window up and leaned out. Her bedroom window was a few feet to the right.

Thank Fri! There was a hand-sized gap at the bottom where she'd left it open. She wriggled out of the window until she could stand on the sill, holding on to the top of the frame for support.

Her window was no more than a running jump away. Unfortunately there was nowhere to run from and almost nothing to jump onto. But between the two windows, a couple of feet higher than her head, the long metal spike of a sundial stuck out of the wall.

She ducked back in and looked around Sam's messy bedroom. She grabbed a thick cotton shirt.

She glanced at Sam, who nodded.

'Go for it.'

She quickly tied a knot at the end of each sleeve, then leaned back out of the window. She threw one arm up over the protruding sundial spike. It flew over and then hung down the other side, where she was just able to lean out and grab it with her left hand. She pulled on the improvised swing to test its strength.

It seemed solid enough. She stood up precariously on the window sill, holding the improvised rope in one hand and gripping the side of the window frame with the other.

'Good luck,' Sam whispered.

Emily took a deep breath and let go of the window frame. She began to fall sideways but as she did she twisted around and grabbed the shirt sleeves with her other hand.

Her feet scrabbled precariously on the edge of her window sill. She could feel the sundial spike above her bending. The shirt started to make an ominous tearing sound.

She reached desperately out with her left hand and managed to catch hold of the side of her window frame. She pull herself to safety.

Breathing hard, she pulled the shirt down from the spike and then pulled the sash window up with her foot far enough for her to be able to wriggle down through it and into her dark bedroom.

She heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Frantically she pulled the window down and closed the curtains, then dived for her bed, throwing Sam's shirt under it as she did so.

The footsteps were outside her bedroom door.

All she had time to do was pull the duvet over her body to hide her clothes and assume what she hoped was a natural-looking sleeping position before the door opened.

'Crotilda Harrow!' protested Emily's dad from out on the landing. 'There's no need for this. My daughter has been at home all evening. There she is in bed. Now leave her alone and let her sleep.'

Mrs Harrow sniffed. Even with her eyes closed Emily could feel her headmistress searching the room suspiciously with her malicious little eyes. Emily concentrated on breathing slowly and looking relaxed.

'Hmph,' said Mrs Harrow in a low voice. 'Your daughter has a canoe, I believe. I've seen her come to school in it.'

'Yes, she has.' Eric sounded puzzled. 'It's called the Linnet. What about it?'

'If your daughter has been at home all evening, shouldn't it be tied up outside?'

'It is, isn't it?' Eric walked quietly across the bedroom and looked through the window down at the landing stage outside. 'Oh, it isn't.'
Chapter 15

'The Wardens tell me that a smashed–up canoe called the Linnet was found close to where the water-wyrm was killed. And two children were seen running away. If your daughter happened to follow you, Eric, then who knows what she will have seen?'

'Don't be stupid,' said Eric, but his voice sounded uncertain. 'Anybody could have stolen the Linnet. It's just a coincidence.'

'If your daughter has become involved, Eric, she will be the enemy of both the monks and the wyrms, as we are. We must know if she was there tonight, for her own safety.'

Emily didn't know whether her father believed what Mrs Harrow was saying, but she recognised the tone from school.

Mrs Harrow always sounded like that when she lied.

'If your daughter was in the canoe when it was destroyed then she'll have been for a little swim, won't she?' Mrs Harrow continued, relentlessly.

Emily heard heavy footsteps coming into the room and heard the woman's hoarse breathing. For a moment she thought she could even smell the sour bitterness of the woman's breath and struggled not to retch.

'Stop it!' protested Eric, feebly.

'So her hair will be wet.'

Emily's heart sank as she felt a heavy hand come roughly down on her head. Of course her hair would be wet. She'd spent the entire evening getting wet.

'It's dry!' Mrs Harrow hissed. 'How can it be dry?'

Emily was wondering the same thing. Then, with a little thrill of triumph, she remembered her and Sam's wild trolley ride. The rushing wind must have dried her hair.

Crotilda's hand remained roughly on her head. Emily shifted in her bed and pretended to groan in her sleep.

'Crotilda! That's enough. Obviously my daughter has indeed been at home all night, as I told you. Now leave her alone.'

To Emily's relief the hand was removed and the heavy footsteps receded.

'I had to check,' said Mrs Harrow. 'I would be failing in my duty if she were to be put in any kind of danger.'

She sounded so falsely pious that Emily felt sick.

She and Eric went downstairs.

Very carefully, Emily crept out of bed and went to her bedroom door and listened.

'Happy now, Crotilda?' Eric's voice floated upstairs.

'It's been a long night,' said Mrs Harrow, 'perhaps I am overtired. But our mission is too important to jeopardise.'

'The Calix is definitely in the Abbey,' said Eric. His voice was low and strained. 'As I predicted, the presence of the water-wyrm tonight excited its power. The dowsing rod led me directly to the Abbey walls.'

'Well, find a way in there and get it,' demanded Mrs Harrow. 'And what about the location of the Wyrmwell itself? Have you found it?'

'It's said to be in Father Aire's Church,' said Eric. 'Through a door within a door.'

'Sounds like nonsense,' snorted Mrs Harrow. 'And Father Aire's church has been lost for centuries. You have a lot to do, Eric, and time is short. Very short. We know that the monks are conspiring to send more and more wyrms out into the town to terrorise people into returning to their churches.'

'I understand that.'

'It'll be a massacre. And it's up to you to stop it.'

'I will,' promised Eric. 'I'll do anything keep my daughter safe.'

Emily felt a tug of emotion when she heard that. Whatever her father was involved in, it was because he loved her.

And because she loved him, she would do everything in her power to help him.

The voices drifted into the kitchen. Emily heard a motorboat pull up outside and sound its horn. The front door opened and through a gap in the curtain Emily saw Mrs Harrow get onto the boat, which then roared away. The front door below shut quietly.

Emily sat on her bed and felt the exhaustion of the last few hours break over her. All she could do was pull her damp clothes off and wriggle under the duvet before she fell unstoppably into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chapter 16

Emily woke up late to sunlight streaming through her window. She felt warm and safe under her duvet. The events of the previous night seemed distant. She yawned and stretched and jumped out of bed. Thank Fri it was Saturday. She wouldn't have to face Mrs Harrow until Monday morning. She'd have all weekend to practice her best innocent face.

She pulled on a loose khaki trousers, a black t and a tough jacket. A good pair of deck shoes on her feet. She went downstairs, put the radio on and made two cups of tea. She ate a couple of flapjacks whist listening to the local news.

There was nothing about last night's events, except a brief comment on a surprise trip that the Mayor had apparently taken out of town. He wouldn't be back for a few days.

He wouldn't be back ever, thought Emily. Clearly someone was keeping a tight lid on the events of last night. And given that Sir Harald Harrow owned both the local paper and the local radio station, it wasn't hard to guess who.

Then she remembered what Mrs Harrow had said the previous night, about time being short. So what was going to happen between now and when the Mayor was supposed to return that would make his disappearance seem acceptable? A sense of unease began to form at the back of her mind.

It wasn't long before she heard her father make the long journey down the stairs from his study at the top of the house. She smiled at him when he came into the kitchen and handed him his tea.

'Morning, Em,' he said. 'Sleep well?'

'Like a mountain,' she answered. She remembered that she was supposed to have been at home all last night. 'Oh, did you get your story? I didn't hear you come in last night.'

Eric suddenly found the contents of his mug of tea extremely interesting. He drank a mouthful and then choked as the hot tea burned his mouth. 'Nothing much going on in the end. It was a bit disappointing, really.' He didn't look at her.

Emily sincerely hoped that her own acting skills were better than his.

Eric cautiously drank some more tea and stared out of the window, then he turned to look at her. 'I do have some bad news to tell you, I'm afraid.'

Emily looked alarmed. What had he done now? Invited Mrs Harrow to dinner with them?

'Your Linnet was stolen last night, and got smashed up. One of those backwater gangs, I suppose. I'm really sorry, I know you loved that old boat.'

Suddenly all of last night's dramatic events rushed back to her and Emily felt tears fill her eyes. Her poor Linnet! Crushed by that foul creature. She felt her dad's arms circle and hug her tightly.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'We'll go out later and see if we can find you a new one.'

She hugged him back, then, wanting a moment to think, she left him and went outside into the sunlight. She breathed in deeply, smelling the sun-warmed fragrance of the pots of rosemary and lavender by the front door.

When she opened her eyes she was, for a moment, totally disoriented. For in front of her, tied up to the landing stage, was a kayak that looked just like the Linnet. In fact, as she stared at this remarkable apparition, she realised that it even had Linnet painted on its prow.

'Er, dad...' she called.

Eric emerged from the kitchen and stopped short in astonishment.

'What the heck?' He peered at the kayak, his brow furrowed like the folds in a fat dog's neck.

'I thought you said...'

'That is very, very strange,' said Eric.

Emily studied the new Linnet with excitement, her tears forgotten. It wasn't her old Linnet, of course, now she looked carefully. Though she had loved her old one, she had to admit that this new Linnet was a thing of beauty. It was old and well used, no doubt, as her old one had been.

But where her old one had been something of a heavyweight, made of cheaper wood, this one was crafted from a light, glowing wood that had subtle patterns running through it like ripples on water. She couldn't wait to try it out on the water.

She glanced at her father and tried to work out whether he also realised that this was a different craft from her old Linnet. Despite his profession, like most adults he could be remarkably unobservant. Right now he just looked puzzled.

'Very strange,' he mumbled to himself. Then he scratched his head and his eyes lost focus for a moment, as if he'd suddenly moved on to other things. 'Well, lots to do today. See you at six for dinner?'

'Sorry, dad, got plans. It is the weekend, you know, not a school night.'

'Fine, fine. Just remember to be back before...'

'...9:30. Don't worry. I will be. And don't forget to eat something, dad.'

Her dad smiled at her, still looking slightly bewildered. 'You're a good girl, Emily.' He tipped the dregs of his tea into the water and went off back into the house. She heard him mount the stairs, whistling tunelessly.

'Morning, Em.' Sam leaned out of his bedroom window and yawned.

'Morning, crew.'

Sam grinned. 'Sleep well, then?' He was aware that Eric might be able to hear them from upstairs.

'Like a baby.'

'Linnet's looking good,' he raised his eyebrows at the magically resurrected craft.

'Hurry up, then. We've got work to do.'

'Already on my way, Captain.' He disappeared back inside.

Emily took her tea mug back into the kitchen and washed it up, then grabbed a couple of apples and put them in her jacket pockets. She liberated a ten-crown note from the kitty and marked it up on the accounts blackboard, then went back outside into the sunshine.

Sam was already out there, sitting on the edge of the landing stage with his feet dangling over the water, throwing scraps of bread for Tiddler and Whale. The huge catfish drifted just below the surface, watching him lazily and occasionally rose slowly to suck in the floating scraps with a watery slurp.

Emily was thrilled to see that her catfish were back. She felt that somehow their return meant that everything was now back to normal after the crazy events of the night before.

She stepped gingerly down into the new Linnet. Lighter kayaks were often a lot less stable than heavier ones, and she was wary of being tipped unceremoniously into the canal. She was amazed to discover that it was rock-solid in the water, barely seeming to notice her weight. She settled herself on the back seat.

The wood was sun-warmed and she felt a sudden thrill of happiness. She grinned at Sam.

'So we have mysteries to solve. And where do we go to solve them?'

'A secret temple? An oracle? A forgotten soothsayer in a lost city?'

'Don't be daft. We're going to the library.'

Chapter 17

Sam untied the kayak and threw the rope to Emily, who caught it deftly and stowed it under her seat. Sam stepped carefully down into the front of the kayak, then settled himself with more confidence when he realised as Emily had that it was surprisingly forgiving of movement.

They dug their paddles into the cool, clear water and the Linnet skimmed away from the landing stage as smoothly and easily as a skater on ice. As soon as they were out of earshot Sam stopped paddling and turned to Emily.

'What happened last night? Did they catch you? Was that really Mrs Harrow? What was she doing with your dad? Isn't this a great canoe? Where did it come from? Look!' he said, pointing to a small backwater leading off to the right, 'that's where we came out last night.'

It was strange seeing the door in the daylight. There were bricked-up windows on the wall higher up and with the door that opened out straight onto the water the building had had the appearance of something that had been useful once but which was now without purpose and abandoned. Emily had to admit that she would never in a million years guessed that in fact the door was the way to a secret tunnel that led straight to the mysterious Abbey.

'Remember that symbol that was on the Gatekeeper's book?'

Sam nodded.

'Look on the end of your paddle'.

The same symbol was burned faintly into the wood, as it was on Emily's paddle.

'It's from the Abbey! Someone was pleased that we brought their Wyrmwulf home.'

'I think so.'

'So tell me about last night,' demanded Sam. 'What happened?'

Emily filled him in. Sam was appalled at the thought of Mrs Harrow barging into Emily's bedroom to feel if her hair was wet, but fascinated by what Emily had overheard about the wyrms.

'The thing is,' said Emily, 'I think my dad believed what she was saying. But she was lying. At least about some of it.'

Sam shrugged. 'Maybe. Mrs Harrow sounds like she's lying even when she's telling the truth. But in the end your dad is doing something good, right? Stopping those monks from sending more of those creatures...'

'Wyrms,' interjected Emily.

'...wyrms out into the town to terrify people, by destroying the Well that the wyrms come from?'

Emily frowned, trying to spot an inconsistency in Mrs Harrow's story to prove she was lying. 'But wasn't the Wyrmwulf sent by the monks to kill the wyrm last night?

'That wyrm last night was killing everything in sight. Didn't you say the monks only want to scare people back to their ways? Maybe when a wyrm gets to a certain size it gets too dangerous, then they have to send the Wyrmwulf out to kill it. It won't do the monks any good at all the people they're trying to convert are eaten first.'

Emily nodded. That made sense.

'We've got to help my dad,' she said. 'I don't think he can find this Calix thing on his own.'

'And it's in the Abbey?'

'So my dad said.'

'So we need to find a way in.'

Sam pondered. 'What if we don't find anything in the library. What do we do then?'

Emily shrugged. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

They paddled the kayak up the canal between stone houses the colour of cream.

'We'd never get past that old Gatekeeper,' Sam said. 'Not without heavy weaponry, anyway. And there's no point in asking Cutthroat Suzy.'

'Why would we ask her?'

'You don't know about Cutthroat Suzy?'

'I know that she's the leader of one of the water-rat crews.'

'But you don't know that she's the only person alive who's supposed to have been inside the Abbey? Other than the monks, of course.'

'I didn't know that.' Emily considered that for a moment. 'But you're right. There's no way she'd tell us how she got into the Abbey. If she did get in at all, which I doubt.'

The library wasn't far, just off Main Canal, on Sheepmoore Square. Visiting the library on a Saturday morning wouldn't normally have been Emily's preferred option, but as a self-confessed bookworm Sam spent what Emily considered to be an unhealthy amount of time there, and he hummed happily under his breath as they paddled up to Main Canal. It was already busy with shoppers making their way towards the floating market further up on Market Crescent.

Sheepmoore Square was a wide, pleasant public square planted with a border of hawthorn trees which in the springtime cast fine white blossoms like snow across the blue slate flagstones.

Emily and Sam tied up on one of the many wooden jetties along the canalside and walked towards the library. Cafes and restaurants lined the square and in the summer spilled out onto the walkways in a jumble of chairs and tables. Small groups of old men and larger groups of young, fashionable women sat outside and drank tea in the morning sunlight. At the back of the square was the library, a large, stately building with columns, carvings and various inscriptions from Sturluson carved around in a band beneath the eaves.

From the busy brightness of the square, walking into the library was like entering a temple. Even thoughts seemed loud in the silence that hung thick in the dimly-lit halls.

'Morning, Miss Fairchild,' said Sam loudly and cheerily to the librarian behind the counter.
Chapter 18

A long-haired, bearded old man studying timetables with a reverence normally accorded the sagas looked up from a nearby table and glared at them.

Emily smiled sweetly at him and he sniffed and returned to his books. Miss Fairchild, a tall woman with plaited fair hair and small, round, gold-rimmed glasses looked up and smiled at them.

'Good morning, Sam. You haven't finished the Seventh Edda already, surely?'

Sam shook his head. 'Still halfway through it. It's good, though.'

Miss Fairchild turned her attention to Emily. ' And this must be your friend Emily?' She put her hand out.

Inexplicably, Emily felt herself flush. She nodded and shook Miss Fairchild's hand. What had Sam told Miss Fairchild about her? She would find out from him later. She'd use force if necessary.

'So if it's not a new book, how can I help? Just browsing?

'Well,' said Sam. 'We've got a school assignment to do on the history of Wormwell. But we already know all the obvious stuff like how old whatsisname, Brimhame is supposed to have founded the town back in the dark ages when he discovered a freshwater spring here. We're looking for something more interesting to write about.'

Emily looked at him in astonishment. Obvious? She hadn't known that was how Wormwell got its name. Maybe she did need to spend more time in the library.

Miss Fairchild nodded. 'I understand. There are certainly more colourful stories about the origins of our town.' She leaned closer to them, and said in a lower voice, 'But I don't want to get you into trouble. Your headteacher might not like you writing about things that she might consider to be too ... alternative. She has requested in the past that we only allow students to look at the authoritative works on local history.'

Sam nodded knowingly and lowered his voice to match hers. 'Well, my thinking is that if we're given a research project then we should do the research properly. But what we choose to write in our reports might well be a little more ... selective. Right, Em?'

Emily was in such shock at seeing Sam being so charming that she barely managed to nod in agreement.

'Well,' said Miss Fairchild, smiling, 'in that case I think I can help.' A second librarian was returning to the counter having just shelved a stack of returned books. He was a middle aged man with thinning brown hair and a long, sad face.

'Can you watch the counter for me for a few minutes, Egil?'

The man nodded and trudged over.

'Thanks. This way, children.'

Emily smiled at Egil as she went past. He looked surprised, as if all people ever normally did was frown at him. He didn't smile back.

Emily and Sam followed Miss Fairchild across the main hall and up a dark flight of stairs at the back. At the top of the stairs was a circular mezzanine floor with more bookcases interspersed with a few wood-panelled doors. They could see down into the main hall from the balcony. Egil was still at the desk with a tall pile of books which he was stamping very slowly and loudly.

Miss Fairchild led them half-way round to a door which had a large brass plaque fixed to it that said 'No Entry'.

Miss Fairchild produced a key and unlocked it, then ushered them inside.

'Welcome to the Cotman room,' she said grandly.

Emily and Sam stopped in amazement.

Chapter 19

The room was large and crammed full of cabinets and free-standing bookcases laden with ancient-looking books and pamphlets. There was also a scattering of display cases in which stuffed animals lurked, as well as collections of old weapons stacked in a corner and various strange, dusty-looking objects hanging from the ceiling.

'Fantastic, isn't it?' Miss Fairchild enthused. 'It's Lord Cotman's local history collection. Lord Cotman was the one who endowed the library nearly a century and a half ago, on the condition that the trustees accommodated his collection.

Unfortunately his rather eccentric views on the history of Wormwell were deemed rather out of keeping with the general view at the time.'

'Which was...?'

'The trustees believed that a library should be dedicated only to the simple truth, suitable for the simple Wormwell townspeople. Consequently Lord Cotman's collection has been locked away and mostly forgotten ever since.'

Sam nodded. 'Sounds like our Headmistress Harrow still agrees with that view.'

Miss Fairchild shrugged. 'She's not the only one. Wormwell is a small town and in small towns people generally don't like ideas that upset what they've already decided.'

She sounded as if she'd learned this from bitter experience.

'Did you see the quotations carved into the top of the building when you came in?' They nodded, puzzled.

'They're from Sturluson, aren't they?' asked Sam.

Miss Fairchild nodded in approval. 'Well spotted, Sam. But there is one section that isn't.' She raised her eyebrows. 'If you want to start your report with a mystery, start right there. Your headteacher can hardly have a go at you for writing about something that's in full view on the front of the town library.'

'What does it say?'

Miss Fairchild grinned. 'Look for yourself when you leave. It's the last two phrases on the far right hand side. I suspect that Cotman thought that he'd sneak it in there because he thought no-one official would ever read that far.'

Sam looked excited. 'So what was the mystery?'

'Cotman found the words hidden on the inside of the cover of an obscure medieval text on folklore.'

'Why would he think they were important?'

'They were written in blood.'

'Ah.'

'Cotman believed that the words were directions to something, but to what he never discovered. So in the end he had them carved into the front of the library in the hope that someone else could solve the mystery.'

'And no-one has in a hundred and fifty years?'

'Not plausibly, no.'

Emily was getting impatient. 'So what kind of eccentric views did Lord Cotman have?'

'That's a good question, Emily.' Miss Fairchild smiled. 'I suppose that the most obvious one is that Lord Cotman was obsessed by the belief that our town was not named after the Well that Sigard Brimhame found at all, but that the name is in fact a literal description of a 'Wyrm Well'.

A Well from which wyrms came and spread fear and disaster for miles around. Wyrms being, in the general view, dragons, but I understand that the word also applies to any kind of evil or fell creature.'

'That's really exciting,' said Sam.

'That's a wyrm right there,' said Miss Fairchild, pointing across the room.

Emily and Sam looked around in alarm. After last night's encounter they fully expected a terrifying, primeval creature to burst through the wall and attack them.

Miss Fairchild laughed. 'Don't look so worried. It's only a baby one.'

Emily finally realised that the librarian was pointing at a strange, dessicated-looking object hanging from the ceiling at the end of the room. It was barely two feet long and had the darkened look of something long deceased.

'That dead thing hanging from the ceiling,' she murmured to Sam.

Sam said, 'Oh, right.' He looked highly relieved.

They walked over and studied it from underneath. It seemed like a strange mix of all kinds of creatures, with a blunt-looking lizard's head and a long, scaly body to which were attached both webbed, clawed feet and spiky fins. A pair of large batlike wings protruded from between its shoulder blades, and its back end terminated in leathery-looking flippers.

'This was the pride of Lord Cotman's collection,' explained Miss Fairchild. 'He was convinced that was a genuine example of a young wyrm. Certainly it seemed monstrous enough. But a young doctor called Sophus Pilgrim examined it and exposed it as a hoax, nothing more than a clever stitching together of ordinary animal parts. Unfortunately Lord Cotman refused to accept this and was discredited as a result. I believe he died still insisting that it was the real thing.''And he thought that wyrms like this were coming out of the Well?' asked Emily.

'Not to start with,' said Miss Fairchild. 'Cotman believed that in the early days the wyrms were not real physical creatures at all, but bodiless spirits contained in the Well. The first people who lived here blamed them for every bad thing that happened, and lived in fear of them. So to appease the wyrms, people threw sacrifices into the Well. First precious objects, then animals and then...'

She tailed off.

'Then what?' demanded Sam.

Miss Fairchild grimaced. 'Lord Cotman had the unpleasant idea that eventually people were sacrificed to the wyrms too. Even children.'
Chapter 20

'Human sacrifice?' Emily was appalled. 'They made human sacrifices here in Wormwell?'

'Obviously it's not true, Emily, it's just what Lord Cotman believed,' said Miss Fairchild, a little impatiently.

'No wonder he wasn't popular,' said Sam. 'No one likes to think their ancestors were child-killers.'

'Then the monks came along,' said Miss Fairchild. 'led by a holy man called Father Aire. They opposed the wyrm-cult and declared that rather than appeasing the wyrms, the sacrifices were making them more powerful. Aire prophesied that one day the wyrms would be so powerful that they would rise up and enslave all people. So to defend the people from the wyrms, the monks hid the Well and built the Abbey, the canals and the town walls.'

'But weren't the wyrms just spirits?' asked Emily. 'Why did they need physical defences?'

'Because Cotman believed that soon after the monks arrived, real wyrms did appear in the town,' said Miss Fairchild. 'Huge, terrible creatures that caused much death and destruction.'

Sam frowned. 'It was as if the monks knew that they would.'

'Exactly,' agreed Miss Fairchild. 'The three leaders of the wyrm-cult accused the monks of summoning the wyrms themselves, to terrify people into converting to the monks' religion.'

Emily and Sam glanced at each other knowingly.

'In anger the townspeople marched against the monks and attacked them and their churches in the town. The surviving monks retreated into the Abbey and that was pretty much the last anyone saw of them.'

'What happened to the wyrms?' asked Sam.

Miss Fairchild shrugged. 'They just disappeared. Soon people stopped believing in the wyrms, and the wyrm-cult just died out, as did the practice of human sacrifice.'

'What?' exclaimed Sam. 'The wyrms just disappeared? Wasn't there a big battle to kill them or anything?'

'Apparently not,' said Miss Fairchild, smiling at Sam's outrage. 'They just disappeared.'

'It should have ended with a battle,' grumbled Sam.

'Thanks, Miss Fairchild,' said Emily. 'You've been really helpful.'

Miss Fairchild smiled at her. 'Just give me a call when you've finished in here. Enjoy your research.' And with that she left the room, leaving the two children staring at each other.

'So the monks are doing the same thing again,' said Sam. 'Summoning wyrms to terrify people into joining their faith.'

Emily nodded slowly. 'And if we can find out how to get into the Abbey and steal the Calix for my dad, then we can help stop them.'

Sam looked around the room at the thousands of books that filled it. 'Where do we start?'
Chapter 21

Emily shrugged. 'You're the bookworm. Worm some books.'

Sam grinned. He went to the bookshelves and picked out books at random. He piled them on the dark oak table in the centre of the room. When the stack was high enough to wobble alarmingly, he settled down in one of the big carved chairs and started to flick through them one by one.

Emily wandered through the room peering into cabinets and display cases, poking in boxes and scanning the bookshelves for interesting-looking titles. She picked one out: Secrets Revealed by Dredging, by Lars Palerson, and flicked through it. It was full of black and white line engravings of broken bits of pottery. One page was written on in brown ink.

The illustration showed a couple of rough pottery figures with skull-like heads. The text read simply 'Unknown figures from Moot Canal dredge. Bronze-age.' Someone, probably Lord Cotman, Emily thought, had scribbled next to them, 'Probable early votive offerings to the god Blótan Coeli, from a household well-temple.' The clay figures looked vaguely sinister and Emily replaced the book with a shudder.

The room was bigger than it looked, as it was so crammed with ceiling-high cabinets and free-standing bookcases that it was impossible to see how far it went back. She wound her way through the maze and finally came to what appeared to be the end wall lined with shelves laden with books, only to discover that it was in fact another huge free-standing bookcase. There was a narrow gap at the end between it and the side wall.

Emily fished out her torch and squeezed through, hoping to find a treasure trove of forgotten wyrm-lore, but her torch beam only picked out a dusty, cobwebby space a couple of feet wide, occupied by a few stacks of ragged old encyclopaedias and dull-looking novels and a couple of huge oil paintings at the end leaning up against the back wall.

Disappointed, she wriggled back out of the space and dusted herself off.

'Hey, Em. Look at this.' Sam sounded excited.

Emily made her way back to the table. Sam was poring over a large leather-bound book printed in an antique gothic-style text. A finely-engraved picture filled one of the pages, showing part of a large rock carved with three sets of strange, circular markings. Emily leaned over Sam's shoulder and read the caption, 'Cuppe-and-Ring Stone, North Cliffe.'

'I came across this,' said Sam. 'The name rang a bell, so I read around a bit. And you know what the stone is also called?'

Emily shook her head. 'What?' She went over to the window and looked out. Looming above the slate tiled-roof of the building opposite was the dark mass of North Cliff.

'The Wyrmestone,' said Sam.

'Sounds promising. So what else does it say?' she asked. Bisecting the dark rock of North Cliff in the distance was a thin white line, starting off narrow at the top and gently widening as it fell. The river Forge ended its journey across Addermoor there to cascade hundreds of feet down North Cliff into the deep pool at its base, then wound its way around the town walls to the west and south before entering Lake Orme. The sight of the waterfall never failed to fill Emily with wonder.

'The Cuppe-and-Ring stone positioned on Addermoor above the ancient towne of Wormeswell is of primitive design and ancient appearance,' read Sam. He looked at Emily. 'I'm saying it like it's written. He's a bit full of himself, the bloke who wrote this.'

Emily nodded. 'Carry on.'

Sam continued, 'The origins and purpose of this and similar stones found scattered across the moors of the North Country are lost in antiquity. It should raise little surprise then that rustic, untutored minds have fomented their own explanations for these mysterious circular carvings. Folk stories abound. The unique positioning of this particular stone, placed as it is at the very brink of the Snaefall cascade, has excited much superstitious tongue-wagging.'

'Wait. Where did you say it was?'

'He says on the brink of the Snaefall cascade.'

'Really?' Emily strained to see the top of the waterfall, but it was too distant to see clearly. She looked around the room and her eye was caught by the golden gleam of brass in a corner. She hauled it out; an old brass-cased telescope on a wooden tripod. She set it up in front of the window and with a bit of fiddling about focused it on the top of the waterfall.

'I can see it,' she said with excitement. 'It sticks out right in the middle of where the water goes over. It looks kind of like a diving platform.'

Sam looked perturbed. 'Bit of a long way down,' he said. 'Personally I get wobbly just standing on the edge of the swimming pool. Anyway,' he continued, 'he goes on to say that local names for the stone include both Kingstone and Wyrmestone.'

He took a deep breath. 'Regarding the name Kingstone, some say that the early tribal Kings were crowned standing on the stone whilst their subjects stood in the valley below; the King literally lord of all he surveyed. A folktale, however, tells how a young man found a hidden cave somewhere in Wormwell. The young man entered the cave in the hope of finding treasure, but instead found devils, who possessed him. A poor shepherd grazing his sheep on the moor saw the young man in a frenzy carve the markings in the Kingstone, apparently to warn the townsfolk of the location of the devils' cave. The shepherd said the young man then flung himself from the stone to his death.'
Chapter 22

Emily shuddered. 'Possessed by devils? No wonder he threw himself off the cliff.'

Sam shrugged. 'He probably just slipped. Anyway, overcome by the tragedy of what he'd witnessed, the shepherd spent the rest of his days wandering the town aimlessly, and when he died years later he just kept repeating one phrase, over and over. Something that the young man had screamed as he fell from the rock.'

'Which was?'

'Stone eyes see the hidden horde of kings.'

'Do you think that's the phrase that Lord Cotman had written on the side of the library?'

'Could be. We'll have a look when we leave.'

'What does he have to say about the name Wyrmestone?'

'The meaning of Wyrmestone seems plain, for not only does the shape of the stone resemble crudely the undulations of a serpent, with the carvings being the eyes, but the stone stands at the head of the falls, with the white water forming a simulcrum of the wyrm's body. Educated minds will also recall that alongside the falls climbs a vertical flight of rock-carved steps, colloquially named the Serpent's Backbone.'

'There are stairs all the way up to the top of the cliff?'

Sam nodded. 'I knew that. But they've been closed off for years. Too many people who tried to climb them fell off.'

Emily looked disappointed. 'But the Wyrmestone has nothing to do with our wyrms, does it? It's just called that because it looks a bit like a snake. It's not going to help us get into the Abbey.'

Sam shrugged. 'Seems like it.' He put the book down on the table and pushed it away. 'I'll see what else I can dig up.'

Silence descended once more, interrupted only by the dry rustle of old pages being turned. Emily stared out of the window, her thoughts wandering.

Something tugged at her attention, like a flag waving at the edge of her sight. She frowned. What was it? Something had changed. She'd been aware of the slow, occasional thump of Egil at the desk stamping books. But now what she heard was a rapid thud thud thud. What had got into him? Feeling uneasy, she walked to the door and looked down through the balcony railings to the counter below.

She was appalled to see Mrs Harrow and her husband Sir Harald following a flustered-looking Miss Fairchild across the hall towards the stairs at the back. Mrs Harrow wore a dark jacket over a dark, patterned dress. From where she stood it looked to Emily like the pattern on the dress was of coils of barbed wire.

Sir Harald wore a military-looking khaki-coloured jacket and sharply creased navy blue trousers. His short white hair shone in the dim light.

Egil was still pounding away with his rubber stamp, then looked up and caught her eye.

Emily mouthed, 'Coming up here?'

Egil nodded.

Silently: 'Thank you!' She dashed back into the Cotman room. Sam looked up from his books in alarm.

'Leave them! The Harrows are coming!'

'Here?'

'Yes. Right now!'

Sam looked panic-stricken. 'If they catch us here they'll know for sure it was us last night.'

'Hurry!'

Emily peeked through the door. A red-faced Miss Fairchild was just appearing at the top of the stairs. It was too late to escape that way.

Emily hastily shut the door. 'This way.' Sam followed her through the maze of cabinets and bookcases to the back of the room. They squeezed through the gap at the end of the final bookcase and into the dark, dusty space beyond. Just as Sam wriggled through, the door crashed open and Mrs Harrow stormed in.
Chapter 23

Sir Harald followed her and Miss Fairchild brought up the rear.

Emily watched them through a gap between the books, her heart beating so heavily that when she looked down she could see her hands trembling with each pulse. She was disturbed to see that even now she was closer the pattern on Mrs Harrow's dress still looked like barbed wire.

'There's no one here,' said Mrs Harrow to Miss Fairchild, accusingly. 'You said that the room was occupied.'

'Perhaps the students went out for a break,' suggested Miss Fairchild. 'They could be back at any minute.'

'Well, seeing as they're not here Sir Harald and I will use the room. If you see them return, tell them that they will have to wait until we have finished.'

Miss Fairchild frowned. Emily could see her glancing around the room, trying to understand where she and Sam has disappeared to.

Mrs Harrow's face changed from haughty to suspicious. 'Who did you say these students were?'

Emily's heart was in her mouth, willing Miss Fairchild to not tell Mrs Harrow their names.

Miss Fairchild smiled brightly. 'They're just students. If I see them I'll make sure that they don't come up and disturb your important work.'

She left the room, shutting the door behind her.

'Impertinent madam,' said Sir Harald. His small mouth pursed. 'She won't be feeling so clever soon.'

Emily was startled to see him take a box of matches from his jacket pocket and look around the room.

Where do you think I should start it?'

'Find a pile of loose papers at the bottom of a bookcase,' his wife suggested. 'We need to make sure that it takes hold and destroys the place. After last night we can't afford to have people poking around in here looking for answers. I told you we should have burned it years ago.'

'So when it's good and hot we go downstairs and tell the library people that their missing students must have been messing around and started a fire. Silly children.' Sir Harald nodded. 'Excellent.'

He grabbed a pile of old pamphlets from a shelf and dropped them in a pile at the base of a bookcase.

'Wait a minute, Harald,' said Mrs Harrow, sounding concerned. She was standing at the table looking through Sam's pile of books.

'Someone's been a busy beaver,' said Sir Harald. 'Do you think it's Eric Bright's girl?'

'Her hair was dry when I tested it last night,' said Mrs Harrow. 'It can't be her.'

'Maybe she had more time to get home than you think,' said Sir Harald. 'My gut tells me it's her. Who knows what Bright might have told her? I don't trust him.'

'At the moment he's necessary,' said Mrs Harrow. 'With his knowledge of the buildings in the town, if anyone can find a way into the Abbey it'll be him. He told me last night that based on some ancient plans he's found he suspects that there is a secret network of underground tunnels that link the Abbey to the rest of Wormwell.'

Emily glanced at Sam. He raised his eyebrows.

'Hmph,' Sir Harald. 'Well I suppose he's our best bet right now. The Wardens aren't shadow-bound enough yet to go for a full scale attack on the Abbey and take the Calix by force.'

Emily frowned, trying to understand what she was hearing. Shadow-bound? Full-scale attack?

'Anyway,' said Harald. 'All we need to do is to keep those kids out of the way for the time being. We don't need to do anything ... drastic to them, agreed?'

'Agree...' started Mrs Harrow. But as she said it, her tone had suddenly turned hard and grim. She had picked up the book that Sam had been reading from earlier. 'No, Harald. They know too much. Far too much.'

'What is it, Crotilda?' Sir Harald sounded anxious. 'What have they found?'

She showed him the engraving. 'They know about the Kingstone.'

Even from the far end of the room Emily heard the hiss of Sir Harald's intaken breath as he saw the expression on his wife's face.

'Look, we can't be sure,' he said plaintively. 'Maybe it's just a coincidence that the book was open at that page.'

Mrs Harrow noticed the telescope that Emily had set up by the window. 'You think so, Harald?'

She bent and looked through the eyepiece. 'So it's also a coincidence that they also just happened to be looking at the Wyrmestone through this?' she said sarcastically.

Sir Harald looked pensive. 'Do you think they know about the Old King?'

'If they do, then they could ruin everything.' Mrs Harrow crossed her arms and looked at her husband expectantly. 'Everything.'

'We can't have that.'

'No. We must be decisive, Harald. Our future depends on it.'

'Yes. They must be found,' said Sir Harald, reluctantly. He sighed. 'And silenced.'

'Excellent decision, Harald.' Mrs Harrow sounded pleased.

Silenced? Emily thought. Her brain struggled to understand what she'd just heard. Realisation came like a hammer blow. They're talking about killing us?

At that moment, Sam sneezed.
Chapter 24

The sound seemed to echo around the room like a gunshot.

Sam looked distraught, his eyes wide in the gloom. Emily stopped breathing.

'What was that?' Sir Harald said loudly. 'Is someone there?'

Mrs Harrow glared at him. 'You fool,' she hissed. 'You didn't search the room when we came in.'

Sir Harald started to say something in reply, then stopped himself. His face reddened under his white hair.

Mrs Harrow started to make her way through the maze of cabinets and bookcases towards the back of the room.

'You may have to act decisively sooner then we thought,' she said coldly.

'Perhaps it was just a cat,' suggested Sir Harald.

Emily started breathing again and looked around frantically. Where could they go? It was only a matter of moments before Mrs Harrow found their hiding place.

Sam mimed pushing on the bookcase.

Yes! thought Emily. Push it over onto the Harrows and then escape over the top. That might work. It had to. It was their only option.

They braced themselves against the back wall and pushed against the bookcase with all their strength. To their despair it was like pushing against a house. It didn't move at all.

'Or maybe it was something breaking,' Sir Harald continued hopefully. 'These bookshelves are very old.'

'Get a backbone, Harald,' his wife said. 'Silencing these two will be the beginning of something glorious.'

Not for us, thought Emily angrily.

Sam kept pushing against the bookcase, his face scarlet with the effort, but Emily knew that it was hopeless. She leaned back against the wall. Through the gap in the books she could see that the Harrows had reached the other side of bookcase that she and Sam were hidden behind. Mrs Harrow looked frustrated.

'There's no-one here,' said Sir Harrow, his face pink with relief. 'It must have been what I said, something breaking. Wild goose chase.'

Emily's heart leapt. They'd got away with it, after all.

Sam stopped pushing at the bookcase and grinned at her.

'I don't think so,' growled Mrs Harrow. 'See if there's a way around this bookcase. There might be a space behind it.'

Sam's face fell. He looked at Emily in desperation. Emily shook her head. Sam grimly picked up a heavy book and hefted it in his hand.

There was a tiny creaking sound behind Emily and she felt a draft of air on her skin.

She turned in surprise. A vertical line of light had appeared behind the huge oil paintings leaning against the wall to her right.

Framed in the light was Miss Fairchild's anxious face. She'd opened another door out of the room!

'You know, there is a gap here at the end, between the bookcase and the wall,' said Sir Harald. 'Big enough for a child to get through.'

'Can you see them?' said Mrs Harrow impatiently. 'I know they're there. I can feel it.'
Chapter 25

As quickly and quietly as they could, Emily and Sam squirmed behind the oil paintings. Miss Fairchild couldn't push the door open far because the paintings pressed against it at the top, but desperation spurred the children on and they wriggled through the narrow gap into the room in moments. Miss Fairchild quietly closed the door behind them.

Sam almost hugged Miss Fairchild, he was so relieved.

Emily quickly put her ear to the door. She could imagine Sir Harald squeezing his head through the gap to look behind the bookcase.

'No-one here,' she heard him say. He sounded relieved too.

'Impossible,' barked Mrs Harrow. 'They must be there. Let me see.'

Emily was sure that she could hear Mrs Harrow's harsh breathing.

'These old buildings play tricks with sound,' said Sir Harald.

'Hmph, I'm seeing and hearing those children everywhere,' Mrs Harrow grumbled. 'The sooner we get them out of the way the better. Adults I can handle. They do what they're told. But children just think they can do whatever they frogging want.'

Emily glanced behind her to see whether Miss Fairchild could hear any of this, but she was at the other end of the room peering outside to see whether the Harrows had left yet.

Mrs Harrow's voice started to get fainter. They were obviously moving away from the door.

'Harald,' she said thoughtfully, 'I think I know where we can catch them...'

Emily pressed her ear hard against the door but, frustratingly, Mrs Harrow had moved out of hearing range. She gave up and went to join Sam who was hovering about near Miss Fairchild at the door.

Miss Fairchild quietly closed the door. 'Wait another few minutes. They've not left yet.'

'Thanks for saving us,' said Sam.

'I couldn't bear to get you into trouble with your headteacher,' said Miss Fairchild. 'I knew that you hadn't gone out because I hadn't seen you go past the counter, but it took me a few minutes to think of where you might be hiding, and remember that connecting door between the rooms.'

'We're very glad you did,' said Sam, 'because they were planning to...'

Emily interrupted him. 'When I was listening at the door,' she said loudly, 'I'm sure that I heard Mrs Harrow say something about smelling smoke. Do you think you should check that everything's all right in there?'

Miss Fairchild looked concerned. 'Smoke? Are you sure?'

Emily nodded.

Miss Fairchild frowned. 'They haven't left the room. What on earth are they doing in there?' She went to the door and opened it. 'Wait here.'

She marched straight to the Cotman room, knocked loudly twice and then went straight in.

Emily and Sam kept the door open a crack so they could listen.

'Hello,' they heard her say. 'Do you need any help...' Her voice trailed off. There was some unidentifiable mutterings from the Harrows, then Miss Fairchild appeared wide-eyed at the door and yelled 'Fire!' at the top of her lungs, then she ran to the balcony edge and shouted down into the hallway, 'Fire! Everybody out into the square immediately. Egil, make sure everyone leaves and check the toilets.' Egil nodded and started to round people up.

Behind her, the Harrows appeared in the doorway to the Cotman room, looking red-faced and angry. They started to sidle off towards the stairs.

Miss Fairchild turned and looked at them fiercely. 'Haven't you any idea at all? For Fri's sake!'

She ran to a fire extinguisher nearby, detached it and ran back into the Cotman room. In the meantime the Harrows escaped down the stairs and out through the hall.

Once the Harrows had left, Emily and Sam followed Miss Fairchild into the Cotman room. There was a cloud of choking smoke inside. Miss Fairchild had just finished blasting an area at the base of one of the bookcases with the extinguisher. She stepped back and wiped her forehead.

'Got it in time,' she said. 'Thanks Emily, I have no idea what those stupid people thought they were doing. When I came into the room they were just standing watching the fire. Another couple of minutes and it would have been unstoppable.'

'Some people just freeze in a crisis,' suggested Sam helpfully. 'I've read about it.'

Miss Fairchild nodded. 'That is true, Sam. Anyway, you children need to leave the building until the fireboats get here.'

'Thanks for all your help, Miss Fairchild,' said Emily.

Miss Fairchild smiled. 'Next time you come, Emily, I hope it's a little less... exciting.'

'Me too,' replied Emily sincerely. 'Me too.'
Chapter 26

When they left through the main doors, Emily and Sam stayed in the shadows until they were sure that the Harrows were nowhere to be seen in the square outside.

'If I were them I'd be well away by now too,' said Sam. 'Imagine being caught setting fire to the library by the librarian. How embarrassing.' He laughed.

'They're horrible people,' said Emily. 'Thank Fri they still don't know who we are. I think if they did they'd send Wardens around to our houses to kidnap us.'

They walked along the front of the library, looking up at the inscriptions carved along the top.

'What is their problem anyway?' said Sam. 'Don't we all want the same thing? To stop those monks from letting more of those things out to terrorise everyone?'

'I don't know,' admitted Emily. 'But they seem to think that we know more about what's going on than we really do.'

'What more is there to know?'

Emily shrugged. 'That's what we need to find out.'

Sam pointed up at the end of the building. 'Look, there it is. Cotman's mystery inscription. Maybe that will help.'

Emily sighed. 'You'll have to translate,' she said. 'My runic was never very good.'

'Yes, Cap'n.' Sam studied the text.

'And?'

'It's a bit cryptic.'

'That's why it's still a mystery. What does it say?'

'Join the third circle. Follow the star.'

'That's it?'

'It is.'

Emily scratched her head. 'Join the third circle. Follow the star. So what does that mean?'

'Dunno. That's why it's a mystery.'

'Ha ha. Something to do with a secret society, maybe? Perhaps when you join the third circle in their society they tell you some secret knowledge. About following a star somewhere.'

'Or not a secret society. A religious order. Like the monks.'

Emily nodded. 'It has to be something to do with the Abbey. That'd explain why Cotman never managed to find out what it meant.'

'That would be the Abbey which we just utterly failed to find any useful information about how to break into,' noted Sam.

Emily grimaced. 'We still have one option.'

'Your dad!' said Sam excitedly. 'Didn't Mrs Harrow say that he knows how to get in?'

Emily shook her head. 'No. She said he suspected there were underground tunnels leading to the Abbey. But we knew that already, because we were in them last night.'

'And they lead directly to the Gatekeeper,' sighed Sam. 'And unfortunately we still don't have any heavy weaponry.'

'Correct. So that leaves us with your friend.'

Sam frowned.

'Cutthroat Suzy.'

'But you said...'

'That was before. You've just given me an idea about how to get her to listen to us.'

'I did?' Sam looked pleased, then confused. 'Did I?'

'Where do you think we might find her?'

Sam thought for a moment. 'Well, if you're leading a backwater crew and you're looking for crowds of unwary, distracted townsfolk to thieve from, I guess there's only one place to be on a Saturday.'

Emily grinned. 'The floating market.'

'Exactly.'

They walked back to the jetty where they'd left the Linnet. They could see the north end of Market Crescent from where they were, just across the Main Canal.

Once they'd settled themselves in the kayak and started paddling cautiously across to avoid the dense traffic of water-taxis, launches, freight barges and other craft, Sam said, 'So what's the plan?'

'That story about the young man and the shepherd. I think there's a different way to look at it.'

They skirted a laden waterbus.

'There is?'

'Imagine that the young man did in fact find a cave full of treasure. He draws a map to it on the Kingstone so he will always remember where it is, but in such a way that no-one else can read it.'

'With you so far.'

'A poor shepherd sees him up here with the map. He's heard rumours about the treasure. He tried to get the young man to explain the secret of the map but he refuses. There's a struggle and somehow the young man ends up falling off the cliff to his death. So the shepherd makes up the story about the young man being possessed by devils, to explain away the young man's death and to stop anyone else looking for the treasure. Then the shepherd spends the rest of his life looking for it himself.'

'But he never found it,' said Sam.

An expensive-looking speedboat shot past them at close quarters, and if they hadn't been in the new Linnet Emily was convinced that the wash from it would have capsized them. She gestured rudely at the speedboat as it roared away.

'Think about what the shepherd said on his deathbed,' said Emily. 'But not in relation to devils. In relation to treasure.'

She could see Sam repeating the phrase under his breath. Then his eyes widened in realisation. 'Stone eyes don't see the hidden horde of kings,' he said in excitement. 'Stone eyes see the hidden hoard of kings.'

'The Kingstone is a secret map to a hoard of buried treasure,' said Sam, grinning broadly. 'We're going to be rich!'

Emily shook her head. 'No, we're not.'

Sam looked nonplussed. 'Why not?'

'Because we're going to offer it to Cutthroat Suzy.'
Chapter 27

'We are?' said Sam, crestfallen.

'We are,' said Emily firmly. 'We'll trade it for what she knows about how to get into the Abbey.'

Sam eyes widened as a thought struck him. 'I wonder if that's what the Harrows are after,' he said. 'The hoard.'

Emily looked at him in surprise, then had to backpaddle swiftly to avoid the Linnet colliding with a freight barge. The barge belatedly blew its horn in warning.

'I hadn't thought of that,' she admitted.

'What did she say, that dreadful woman? Something about a king, and a glorious future.' Sam slapped his paddle on the water. 'It must be the treasure they're after. They think we know about it!'

Emily nodded slowly. 'That's it,' she said. 'So we are on the same side in trying to stop the monks' plot. And until we found out about the Kingstone they were happy just to keep us out of the way.' She grimaced. 'But when they realised that we know about that too, they decided they had to take more drastic action.'

Sam said miserably, 'Sorry, Em. I've got us into serious trouble this time.'

Emily flicked water at him. 'Don't be daft, Sam. It's not your fault that our headteacher is trying to kill us. She's the frogsucker, not you.'

Sam looked more cheerful. 'Anyway, here we are,' he said.

They had safely crossed the last stretch of the Main Canal and entered the beginning of Market Crescent. It was a wide canal with stoneways on either bank and flanked by curving terraces of tall, attractively white-washed Frederikian-style buildings. Lines of small family boats were tied up on either bank.

'So if we tell Cutthroat Suzy about the treasure, do we also tell her about the Harrows?'

Emily considered this. 'Well, if she plays fair then we will. If not, then...' She shrugged.

Sam nodded. 'It's up to her, then.'

'So what does she look like? How are we going to recognise her?'

'I've only seen her once. A friend pointed her out to me when we were at the Miller's Parade last year, and even then she was in the distance. She's tall, wore a leather jacket, had her hair under a black scarf. Siggy told me that was because she has red hair which really stands out in a crowd. Not so good for a thief. She's quite old, maybe eighteen or nineteen.'

'Anything else?'

'I think that she and her crew use pinwheels to get around.' Pinwheels were small, one or two-man water scooters with an upright steering column and a small foot deck above a single paddle-ball. Although they were fast and manoeverable, they required considerable skill to use as they were unstable and prone to dunking their pilots unceremoniously into the water.

Sam scratched his temple thoughtfully. 'Oh, and apparently she's good with throwing knives.'

Emily sighed. 'Do you think this is going to work? She sounds terrifying.'

Sam shrugged. 'If you want to help your dad out, she's the one we need to talk to.'

'Let's get finding her then.'

As they paddled around the curve of the crescent, the floating market itself came into view. Floating shops, restaurants, stalls and fast –food skiffs lined both sides of the canal, as well as in a strip down the centre of the waterway, leaving two clear lanes either side for boat-borne shoppers and other water traffic. Shoppers on foot crowded the stoneways and bought from the boats tied up against the banks. It was a noisy, bright, chaotic scene, frantic with hustle and bustle and general clamour. Smoke and steam rose into the sky from the restaurant and fast-food boats. Sam sniffed the air.

'I can smell smoked sausages,' he sighed. 'And eel and chips. And pie and mash.'

Emily rolled her eyes. 'I'm sure we can get something to eat soon.'

'I'm starving.'

'Tell you what. If you spot Cutthroat Suzy first, I'll buy you eel and chips.'

'You're on.'

They paddled on slowly, keeping to the far left to be out of the way of the main flow of water-traffic. It was nearly midday, and the sun cast sharp shadows down between the larger boats that were ideal hiding places.

'You know what,' mused Emily, 'when I came here last week it was really quiet, and most of the shoppers were on the stoneways.' She looked around. Today the market was fuller then she'd ever seen it, as if people had been let out of their houses for the first time in months and were determined to make the most of it.

'It was that creature,' said Sam suddenly. 'That's what people were afraid of. Now it's gone, they've all come out again.'

Emily looked at the crowds of smiling, excited shoppers, then up at the sunlit sky. 'It's like a shadow has been lifted from them.' She watched a balding, middle-aged man wearing smart-casual clothes trying to manoeuvre his expensive six-seater launch into a too-narrow mooring between a fast-food skiff and a greengrocer's boat.

Oblivious of the other boats, he poured on the power, churning up the water behind him into a boiling white plume and forcing his way in, his bumper tyres squeaking along the hulls of the other boats. The fast-food skiff rocked violently and coals from a charcoal grill spilled onto its deck and started smoking. Having successfully barged his way in, smart-casual man turned off the power and he and his wife surveyed their achievement with pride.

'Em,' said Sam urgently. 'Wardens!'
Chapter 28

A patrol boat cruised down the opposite channel. Two wardens stood on the deck, scanning the crowd.

'Do you think they're looking for us?' Sam looked anxious. 'I wouldn't put it past Mrs Harrow to set the wardens on us.'

'Us or Cutthroat Suzy's crew.'

Emily looked around for a hiding place. There was a dark cave under a nearby jetty that looked ideal. 'Quick, under there.'

They skimmed the Linnet into the deep shadows under the gangplank, and watched nervously as the wardens motored slowly past.

'We'll have to keep our eyes peeled,' said Sam. 'We don't want to be caught.'

There was a blur of motion and the Linnet rocked gently as someone leapt down into it, right between them.

'Too late for that, my dear.' The tone was halfway between a smile and a threat.

Sam found himself grabbed by the scruff of the neck and pulled backwards into the bottom of the kayak, with one knee on his chest and a long, sharp, evil-looking knife near his throat.

Emily looked at their attacker in astonishment. She was a tall, thin girl with glittering green eyes and a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was wearing loose, fog-grey combat trousers, boot-like deck shoes and a long, dark grey cotton jacket over a dark green t. Her hair was hidden under a faded khaki headscarf and she wore another light scarf around her neck.

'Hey...' said Sam, looking at the knife.

'Stay where you are, love,' said the girl. She had a clear, low voice that Emily found slightly hypnotic.

'What do you want?' Emily demanded, then added, 'Who are you?' even though she knew already, because she wanted to know what this fierce-looking girl called herself.

The girl looked at her with narrowed eyes. 'I'm Susan Longlost,' she said. 'You may call me Miss Longlost.'

Someone further back in the shadows snickered.

'What do you want, Miss Longlost?' Emily glared at her. 'Leave Sam alone.'

Strangely, she didn't feel that, despite holding a knife to Sam's throat, this girl was a genuine threat to them. Perhaps her recent experiences with the Harrows had taught her what real menace looked and sounded like.

Suzy Longlost looked down briefly at the prostrate Sam. 'If you want your boyfriend back in one piece,' she said, tapping Sam lightly on his chest with the tip of the knife, 'you have to do a little job for me.'

'He's not my boyfriend,' said Emily.

Sam nodded. Suzy Longlost frowned.

'Best friend,' said Emily.

Sam smiled.

Longlost looked at her, her expression unreadable.

'So what do you want me to do?'

Whatever the job was, Emily thought it couldn't get her into any more trouble than she was already in. And if she was successful, then perhaps they'd have the opportunity to talk to Miss Longlost on more equal terms.

'Good question,' said Suzy Longlost. 'My crew would like to go shopping, but there seems to be a much heavier warden presence here today than usual.'

She studied Emily. 'I wonder why that is?'

Emily shrugged.

'So I need someone to cause a distraction for us. Keep the wardens occupied.'

She raised her eyebrows at Emily. 'Do you think you can do that for us, love?'

Emily nodded.

'If you do then you get your boyfriend back in one piece.'

'She's not...' started Sam.

Suzy Longlost jabbed him lightly with the knife, making him yelp.

'Best not to talk back to the lady with the knife, dear,' she said.

Chapter 29

Suzy Longlost looked at Emily. 'We'll keep the boy and the kayak,' she said, 'until you get back. Arran will ferry you to the west stoneway. The wardens seem to have set up some kind of command centre on a patrol boat over there.'

There was an odd, rhythmic splashing noise from behind in the darkness and a boy on a pinwheel emerged and drove up beside the Linnet.

''Op on,' he said. He was about fifteen years old, dressed in jeans and a faded, well-worn hooded top. He had the kind of blunt face that looked like the only expression it was designed for was scowling.

There was a space on the foot board behind him. Emily stood up carefully in the Linnet and reached out. Arran took her hand and steadied her as she leapt onto the back of the pinwheel. The whine of its engine increased but the foot board was surprisingly stable. Emily held onto Arran's waist.

Suzy Longlost nodded to her. 'We'll be watching.'

Sam smiled encouragingly.

Arran revved up the pinwheel, checked that they were unobserved, and accelerated the pinwheel out into the channel. Keeping the speed low so as not to attract attention, he took the pinwheel out along the near side of the row of floating stalls in the centre of the canal, looking for a gap. When one came up, he steered the pinwheel through it and skilfully wove a path through the oncoming traffic to a landing bay and a short flight of steps up to the stoneway. Emily jumped off and ran up the stairs. Arran was already steering the pinwheel away.

She drifted down the stoneway with the crowd, trying to look as relaxed and carefree as any other shopper, and trying to suppress the horrible feeling that everyone else was secretly watching her. Further around the curve she caught sight of the wardens' patrol boat tied up on the bank between a floating restaurant and a greengrocer's.

She tagged along behind a group of older girls she didn't recognise, and edged closer to the patrol boat. There were wardens on the deck and in the wheelhouse, several with binoculars which they were using to scan the crowd. Emily kept to the shadows under the carefully pruned and tended trees that stood like sentinels outside many of the grand houses.

When she was just a few boats up from the wardens she stopped and, from the shadowy safety of an awning on the stoneway outside a fast-food skiff, studied the patrol boat.

If she'd had to set up a command centre, she decided, she certainly wouldn't have set it up there. Although they had a clear view up the canal to the north, their view south was blocked by a large floating pie-and-mash restaurant, smoke and steam rising from vents and funnels on its tin roof.

What had Sir Harald meant about the wardens being shadow-bound? Perhaps, whatever it was, it somehow affected the wardens' judgement. Certainly they looked edgier and more wound-up than usual.

Emily studied the restaurant looming over the patrol boat. The top two decks were packed with tables full of hungry diners. Below them were the kitchens, judging by the white uniforms of the people she could see through the half-open portholes and the clouds of steam that periodically billowed out. The kitchen portholes were nearly on a level with the deck of the patrol boat. The first threads of a plan began to form in her mind.

Carefully keeping people between herself and the watching wardens, Emily made her way swiftly down the stoneway past the patrol boat to the gangplank of the restaurant. It was busy, thronging with families and children celebrating the start of the weekend with a fat pie and a steaming pile of buttery mash and gravy or a beer-battered plait of eels with thick, goose-fat fried chips and vivid green mushy peas. The delicious smells suddenly made her feel like she hadn't eaten for days.

A large, chaotic family were heading up the gangplank to eat. Emily tagged along, chatting to one of the smaller children as if she were an older sister, and using the opportunity to keeping her head down and away from the wardens on the patrol boat alongside. Once aboard she looked for the sign for the toilets and marched purposefully in the direction indicated, muttering a quick thank-you to Fri when she saw that they were down below.

She clattered down the metal steps, the smells of cooking getting even more intense and making her stomach rumble. At the bottom of the steps she was faced with three doors. The ones ahead and to the right were marked with male and female toilet signs. The door to the left said STAFF ONLY. NO ENTRY.

Emily opened this door a crack and peered through. On the other side there was a narrow, dark corridor with a number of doors leading off. The sounds of pans being clattered and orders being shouted came from the up the corridor to the right. There was no-one in sight.

Emily took a deep breath and quietly slipped inside.
Chapter 30

She ran up the corridor to the left. The door of the first room was ajar. It was a storeroom, packed high with sacks of potatoes and dried peas, drums of oil and fat, bins of flour, and shelves full of large jars of pickled eggs, vinegar, ketchup and the like.

Emily went in and took a quick peek through the grubby porthole. The deck of the patrol boat was just below; to the right were the heavy black boots of the wardens. The nearest one was within touching distance.

She glanced around the storeroom again, looking for inspiration. Her eyes alighted on the oil drums, and she felt a small grin bubble up inside her. If she poured oil on the deck of the patrol boat...

She tried lifting one of the drums and her plan crumbled. The drum was far too heavy. Hmm. Then what about a smaller container? She picked up a half-empty jar of pickled eggs. She could empty it and fil it with oil. That might do it.

She was so focused on her task that she almost failed to notice that the voices from the kitchen had suddenly got louder, as if a door had opened nearby.

'Get us another sack a spuds, an' more lard,' she heard a muffled shout from the kitchen, and heard the heavy tread of footsteps up the corridor outside. 'Oh, an' grab a couple more pounds a tripe from the meatlocker. There's a run on it today. Must be some farmers in from up valley.'

'Aye, one thing at a time,' grunted a voice sourly from the corridor. 'I ent got six arms.'

Panicking, Emily looked around for an escape route. There was a connecting door in the left wall, a metal one with condensation beaded on its surface. She dashed through it, wincing as the cold metal stung her fingers, and pulled it closed before she could be spotted. The chilly air immediately started her shivering. There were blocks of ice piled up in the corners and a couple of frozen sides of beef hanging from the ceiling. Most of the meat was in deep metal buckets lined up against the walls.

She looked in the first and screwed up her face in disgust. It was a bucket of brains, the mingled pink and yellow organs looking like vegetables gone horribly wrong. Other buckets were filled with brownish kidneys, the pale frilly lengths of tripe, and one full of white fatty lumps that she couldn't, and didn't want to, identify.

The last bucket, nearest the porthole, was filled with a mass of black tubes covered in thick slime. She peered more closely, trying to work out what part of the body they might belong to, and had to clap her hand to her mouth to muffle a scream when several of them suddenly moved, sliding over each other and rousing the others until the whole mass was alive and wriggling.

Eels! she thought, irritated at her own faint-heartedness.

She could hear the kitchen worker hauling something heavy down the corridor. He'd got his spuds, then. She hadn't got long; he'd be back soon for his tripe.

The porthole was closed. She eased it open. The wardens had moved further away across the deck, and were looking away from her. Perfect.

With some difficulty she hoisted up the bucket of eels. The eels watched her curiously with their tiny, gold-edged eyes. The bucket was heavy but she managed to get it to the level of the porthole and paused for a moment, gathering her strength.

Then in a single quick movement she half-threw, half-tipped the bucket of eels onto the deck of the patrol boat, pulled the bucket back inside and gently closed the porthole. She risked a quick glance through it.

The eels, overjoyed with their unexpected freedom, were already wriggling across the deck in all directions, spreading their viscous slime as they went. The wardens, preoccupied with watching the crowd, hadn't noticed yet.

Emily blew the eels a good-luck kiss, particularly to a thick-bodied three-footer who was heading determinedly towards the nearest warden's boots.
Chapter 31

Emily went to the door and peeked out. No-one about. She skipped up the corridor and yelped as she collided with the kitchen worker leaving the storeroom with an armful of lard.

'Sorry!' she said brightly. 'Where are the toilets? I can't find them.'

'First door on the right,' grunted the man, 'and learn to read.'

'Thanks!' She escaped through the door and back upstairs, her heart racing. Moments later she was down the gangplank and back onto the stoneway.

Already there was a crowd of people gathering on the waterfront to watch as the three wardens on the deck, swearing dreadfully, slipped and skidded on the writhing eels. One warden was trying to catch them to throw them overboard, but Emily knew from experience that eels were almost impossible to hold on to, covered as they were with thick, slick slime and able to coil and distort into the most extraordinary shapes.

Several in the crowd were offering helpful advice.

'Throw sand on 'em, that dries 'em up!'

'Let 'em bite you, that's the best way to keep hold of 'em.'

One little girl near to Emily said happily to her mother, 'Look, mummy, the wardens are dancing.'

Emily moved through the crowd towards the stoneway where the boy Arran had dropped her off earlier. She felt a guilty but genuine pleasure at the success of her mission. She scanned the waterway for any sign of Longlost, her crew or of Sam. She couldn't see any of them.

She was so intent on trying to catch a glimpse of them that she walked straight into a man who had stopped suddenly in front of her. She stepped back, apologising profusely.

'Sorry, sir, I wasn't looking. Are you alright?'

The man was carrying a cardboard tray with four paper cups of tea and four breakfast rolls. He was wearing a warden's uniform and was staring in bewilderment at the chaos on the patrol boat and the crowd that had gathered to watch it. The radio on his belt crackled angrily.

'Uh,' he said, unable to keep his eyes from the bizarre scene.

Emily backed away.

The warden looked down to check his tea and rolls. 'No harm done,' he said.

He looked at Emily. A look of appalled recognition came into his face and he went white, as if he'd seen a ghost.

'You!' he said in a strangled voice. 'Lady Rosamund.'

Then Emily recognised his voice.

It was Taverner.

'The girl from the churchyard!'

Taverner's face changed and became grim. Before Emily could move he leapt forward and grabbed her fiercely on her shoulder.

Emily cried out in pain.

'Ghost or not, missy, I've got you now.'

Chapter 32

Emily twisted frantically under the warden's painful grip, trying to break free. Her flailing arm caught the tray that he held and knocked it flying against his chest, the paper cups of tea bursting in an explosion of hot liquid all over him.

Taverner bellowed in anger and pain and loosened his grip. With a desperate effort Emily writhed free and ran past him up the stoneway, dodging through the crowd frantically, expecting to feel a heavy hand on her shoulder at any moment.

A restaurant awning ahead offered the hope of shade and concealment and she darted under it and looked back for signs of pursuit, breathing heavily.

The crowds milled past as if nothing had happened. Taverner hadn't followed her. She peered down the stoneway and caught glimpses of him in the distance running in the opposite direction, down towards the patrol boat, his radio in hand.

A helpful restaurant worker was leaning over the railing with a hose, directing a jet of high-pressure water down onto the patrol boat's slimy deck. Wriggling eels were being blasted off into the canal below. The three wardens who had been on the patrol boat were standing arguing on the stoneway whilst he cleaned up. Taverner joined then and started to gesticulate furiously, pointing up the stoneway in Emily's direction.

That didn't look good.

Impatiently, Taverner boarded the patrol boat before the restaurant worker had finished and made his way towards the wheelhouse. Unfortunately as he changed course to avoid the jet of water he slipped on a patch of slime and ended up waving his arms wildly and skidding directly into it, receiving the full force of the water on his chest.

The watching crowd cheered and applauded in appreciation.

Emily winced.

Taverner shook his fist and swore at the restaurant worker who shrugged and switched his hose off. Two of the remaining wardens cast off the mooring ropes, boarded the patrol boat and cautiously took their positions on the deck as Taverner started the boat's engine with a roar and a puff of blue smoke. The remaining warden started to make his way up the stoneway in Emily's direction. Taverner reversed the patrol boat roughly out into the channel, bumping against the floating restaurant heedlessly. Once out on open water he handed the wheel over to one of the other wardens and grabbed a pair of binoculars.

Emily shrank into the darkest corner of the awning as the lenses pointed directly at her and the patrol boat surged up the canal in her direction. This had all gone wrong. Escaping from sleepy wardens under the cover of darkness was one thing, fleeing from a boat full of furious, wet, slime-covered wardens in broad daylight was something else entirely. What would her dad say when she was caught?

Her mouth went dry. If she was locked up in a cell on her own, she had no doubts that with the wardens acting as they were it would be very easy for Mrs Harrow to arrange some kind of unfortunate, life-ending accident to befall her.

Starting to panic and with her heart pounding, she left the concealment of the awning and, keeping her head down, started to walk quickly up the stoneway, looking for a way through the whitewashed houses away from the canal. The roar of the patrol coming up the canal behind and to the right of her was becoming louder. Suddenly there were shouts ahead of her and she looked up and her heart sank as she saw another patrol boat, presumably the one that she and Sam had hidden from earlier, had come up the channel from the opposite direction and was bumping up to the bank just a stone's throw ahead of her. A couple of wardens jumped off onto the stoneway and started to run towards her.

Emily started to back away, then remembered and looked behind her and saw the warden who had stayed on the stoneway rapidly approaching, his face thunderous. Taverner was bringing the patrol boat in towards the bank. She was surrounded and in moments would be captured.

She took a deep breath and raised her chin defiantly.
Chapter 33

'Emily!' screamed a familiar voice from the water. 'Stop daydreaming!'

It was Sam, on the back of a pinwheel, weaving in towards her through the water traffic. Ahead of him, just skimming up to the bank on her pinwheel, was Suzy Longlost. She'd pulled her headscarf off and her red hair blazed in the sunlight like a beacon. Her expression was furious but her eyes shone with excitement.

'Jump!' she commanded, as the wardens on the stoneway closed in on Emily. Emily didn't have time for subtlety and simply ran to the edge and leapt desperately into the air towards the pinwheel, the nearest warden's hand just brushing her jacket.

She landed heavily on the footboard, clutching hold of Longlost for support, the force of her landing dipping the pinwheel down into the water so that the water swirled up to their ankles, but then Longlost twisted the throttle and with a watery roar the pinwheel bounced up again out of the water like a cork and they surged forward past the prow of the oncoming patrol boat. Emily glanced up and saw Taverner glaring down at her. Exhilarated by her rescue, she couldn't resist winking at him.

'Hold on tight and do what I do,' yelled Longlost over the high-pitched whine of the motor and the whirring splash of the pinwheel beneath their feet. Emily clutched Longlost's waist tighter as they leant into a turn to avoid a passing water taxi. Emily glanced back and saw Sam behind her on Arran's pinwheel. Two more of Longlost's crew, a skinny boy and a fair-haired girl were waiting for them on pinwheels in the main channel.

'Split up!' Longlost shouted to them as they whirred up. 'Make your own way back. And don't get caught!' They nodded and weaved rapidly away in opposite directions.

A siren started to wail behind them and Emily glanced back to see Taverner's patrol boat surging up the channel not far behind. The second patrol boat was turning and would soon pick up the pursuit as well.

Emily looked ahead and was horrified to see a cargo barge blocking the channel ahead of them as it manoeuvered into mooring bay between a floating emporium and a laundry boat. In moments the patrol boats would catch up with them and they would be trapped.

There was a rapidly narrowing gap on the left between the prow of the barge and the stern of the emporium. Emily gasped as Longlost directed the pinwheel straight towards it and picked up speed. Sam's pinwheel shot past them and took the gap first with an arm's length of clearance on either side.

By the time Longlost and Emily reached the gap, the clearance left and right was hardly more than a hand's breadth. The closeness of the wooden hulls as they shot through took Emily's breath away.

'Hard right!' screamed Longlost as they powered into the mooring bay, the brightly-painted hull of the emporium on one side and the rusting iron of the laundry boat on the other seemingly as high and solid as cliffs.

Emily threw her weight to the right as Longlost twisted the steering column hard and the pinwheel seemed to shudder as it changed direction and flung up a huge wash of spray against the rusting hull of the laundry boat in front of them, then it righted itself and, having almost totally reversed direction in a matter of seconds, they shot back out through the gap on the other side of the barge. This time Emily felt the rough wood of the oncoming barge brush her shoulder as they went through.

'Lean in!' shouted Longlost as she took the pinwheel in a tight arc around the far side of the barge, heading for the stern. Emily held on for dear life, her heart pounding. Ahead of them, the pinwheel carrying Sam completed the turn and passed out of sight beyond the barge's stern.

As they followed in its wake and rounded the stern, passing between it and another barge moored in the middle of the channel, they almost collided with the first of the two patrol boats on the other side as the wardens waited impatiently to come through.

As soon as they saw the pinwheels pass between them, having cut back on themselves, there was frantic shouting and the patrol boats began to turn to follow. Emily saw that Taverner was shouting furiously into his radio.

'Thanks for coming back,' she shouted to Longlost.

'What in Hel's name have you done to upset the wardens so much?' Longlost shouted back, weaving the pinwheel expertly through the oncoming traffic. 'They've gone crazy.'

'It's difficult to explain,' yelled Emily.

'Try me. Your boyfriend's already tried to convince me that the whole town's under attack from mythological creatures.'

'He's right,' Emily shouted back.

'You're crazy. Both of you.'

'It's the monks,' shouted Emily. She didn't hold out any hope of Longlost believing her, but just saying the words helped untangle the confusion in her head. 'They're summoning the wyrms. They want to scare everyone into joining their religion.'

Longlost shook her head. 'So why are the wardens crazy?'

'The wyrms cast a shadow over people,' yelled Emily. 'It fills them with fear and makes them behave weird.'

Longlost shook her head again. 'But your friend Sam said that this wyrm thing was killed.'

Emily gasped as they brushed past an oncoming water taxi. Its passengers stared at them with open mouths as they shot past.

'There must be another wyrm,' she shouted. 'One that's doing this to the wardens.' She threw caution to the winds. 'Me and Sam are trying to stop the monks and stop all this happening,' she screamed, 'but we need your help to get into the Abbey!'

She felt Longlost's waist tense suddenly beneath her hands and the red-haired girl swore violently.

'Pikeboats,' Longlost shouted. 'Now we're really in trouble.'
Chapter 34.

Emily didn't understand until she looked ahead, past Longlost's shoulder, and saw the sharp prows of two small, sleek high-speed pursuit boats edging out from the moored boats on the right hand bank. Longlost put on a burst of acceleration and caught up with Arran's pinwheel as they passed the pikeboats.

Emily looked behind and saw the sleek craft pull out into the channel behind them and start to close the gap. Close behind them were the two patrol boats.

'Follow me,' Longlost shouted to Arran. He nodded. Sam's face was pale and he looked seasick, but he managed to give Emily a weak smile. Longlost had been navigating up the channel as close as she dared to the line of floating stalls that ran down the middle of the canal, to avoid the oncoming traffic.

Now, however, there were several sirens wailing behind them and the water taxis and family launches were pulling over in the face of the oncoming armada of wardens, so she took to the open water down the middle of the channel and opened the throttle.

Ahead Emily could see a crossway where another canal cut across Market Crescent. Traffic lights strung between wires attached to the buildings on either side were currently on red and a stream of boats were crossing in front of them. To Emily's increasing anxiety, Longlost gave no sign that she was going to slow down as they neared the oncoming traffic and they continued to head towards it at full speed. Glancing behind, Emily realised that the pursuing wardens didn't seem prepared to slow down either.

They were ten seconds away from the crossway and what appeared to be an inevitable collision. Through the traffic Emily saw more pikeboats amongst the traffic waiting at the lights across the way, and a patrol boat lurking in the channel to the right.

Five seconds away and Longlost twitched the pinwheel slightly to the right and Emily saw the tiny, moving gap between a waterbus and a cargo barge crossing in front of them that she was aiming for. She gripped Longlost tightly and held her breath.

As they shot between the stern of the waterbus and the prow of the barge they hit the high, uprolling wake of the waterbus as if it was a ramp and with a wild whoop from Suzy Longlost and to Emily's eternal astonishment the pinwheel bit deep into the swell and then bounced up clean out of the water. It was a moment that she would never, ever forget, that extraordinary leap into the air.

Time seemed to stop.

The widening eyes of the child watching them out of the back window of the waterbus. The weightlessness in the pit of her stomach. The feeling of savage joy that in the midst of pursuit and in the face of certain disaster such a marvellous thing could happen.

The dawning realisation that they were coming down directly into the path of an oncoming patrol boat. For a moment it looked as if it would ram them but then the wheelman began to turn the craft away and they hit the water with a bone-shaking splash and passed under its jutting prow so close that Longlost had to duck to avoid hitting her head.

'Hard left,' screamed Longlost, and they leaned together and the pinwheel skidded through the choppy water in a tight arc and finally they straightened up and Longlost slowed the pinwheel for a moment alongside the high blank wall of the building that edged the eastern arm of the crossway.

Emily looked behind and was relieved to see that Arran and Sam were not far behind, having taken a less dramatic route that had taken them into the centre of the channel rather than crossing both streams of traffic.

Behind them was a mess of snarled traffic with boats at all angles as the patrol boats tried to force their way through. A cacophony of horns and sirens filled the air. One of the pikeboats were already through and weaving its way towards them.

'Go. Go!' cried Emily.

Longlost throttled up and they roared off once again. Not far ahead there was another set of lights as the side canal crossed Main Canal, but this time they were in the fugitives' favour and they made it across without any difficulty. Siren wailing, another patrol boat peeled off from the waiting traffic to the right and took up the chase.

Once they had left Main Canal behind the traffic on their side canal dropped to almost nothing. The high buildings on either side left them in shadow and Emily felt a sudden chill. Arran brought his pinwheel up alongside and Sam grinned at her. Behind them she could see several pikeboats just ahead of the leading patrol boat, its flashing red light illuminating the walls around them like a warning.

Emily was puzzled by the fact that the pikeboats behind them seemed to be matching their speed to the patrol boat. Surely they were able to go faster? Why were they holding back? A suspicion began to form in her mind.

As they rounded a bend in the canal the suspicion became a certainty. Ahead of them, stretched across the canal, was a blockade of patrol boats. There was only one way out; a narrow canal leading off to the left.

'It's a trap!' Emily screamed to Longlost.'We're being herded!'

'No choice!' yelled back Longlost. 'Hold on!'

The two pinwheels curved left and entered the dark mouth of the side canal. It twisted and turned, making it impossible to see what was up ahead. Several pikeboats followed close behind, the canal being too narrow for the patrol boats to navigate.

Suddenly the canal opened up into a straight and they saw what awaited them. The wardens had been busy. A large net was stretched completely across the water ahead, attached to old gateposts either side, reaching up from the surface of the canal to high above their heads.

The pikeboats were closing in behind, forcing them into the nets. Emily closed her eyes.

There was nowhere to go.

Chapter 35

To Emily's amazement, Suzy Longlost increased their speed towards the net.

'Turn turtle!' Longlost shouted to Arran on the other pinwheel. The young man looked startled, then nodded.

They were nearly at the net. Emily could see that beyond the net the canal bank opened up into a stoneway on either side. It was thronged with expectant wardens.

'Take a deep breath and hold on!' screamed Longlost to Emily.

The net was yards away. Surely they were going to crash straight into it. Emily didn't think that it would break even if they hit it at full speed. She felt Longlost tense herself.

Then they were falling sideways towards the water and tearing into it with a huge stinging splash. Just before they went under Emily caught a glimpse of Arran and Sam doing the same thing, their pinwheel capsizing but still moving forward, then her vision was filled with bubbles and she blinked them away, her eyes smarting in the cold water. Still they turned until they were completely upside down with the pinwheel spinning above them, and Emily looked up at her feet which were drifting off the footboard and beyond them and saw through the dancing surface of the water, silhouetted against the bright sky the dark web of the net as they passed under it.

As Emily watched, her eyes wide, a thin black shape, veering wildly, smashed into the net above them and clung there, its propeller churning up the water fruitlessly in a cloud of white bubbles. The leading pikeboat, distracted by the fugitives' unexpected manoeuvre, had failed to stop in time and rammed the net.

She held tightly onto Longlost, the water dragging at her as they moved through it, the net past them now, the dark silhouettes of the watching wardens on the bank gesticulating wildly in astonishment.

She felt a twisting surge and the pinwheel began to turn upright again and felt herself being pulled to the surface, her lungs gasping for air.

Longlost had managed to keep her feet on the footboard but as the pinwheel righted itself Emily found herself hanging off her, still half in the water. As she struggled to regain her footing, hampered by her water-heavy clothing, several of the wardens dived in off the bank and started to swim towards them, their faces grim.

'Go!' she cried to Longlost. The pinwheel started to move forward as Emily climbed to her feet, the wardens clutching vainly at her as they moved away. Arran and Sam surged past them, water streaming off them as they picked up speed.

Emily looked back and saw the wardens struggling to unhook the net to let the other pikeboats through to continue the pursuit, but the pikeboat that had rammed the net was hampering the operation, not least because its driver was hanging limply over the top of the net.

In moments they turned a corner and the wardens were out of sight.

'How did you do that?' yelled Emily.

'Gyro cut out,' Longlost shouted back. 'Thought it was worth a try.'

There was a note of satisfaction in the older girl's voice.

She picked up speed and overtook the other pinwheel, then led them through a bewildering succession of backwaters and side canals until Emily was dizzy with all the twists and turns they had made.

Finally they began to slow. The backwater they were in was narrowing sharply, the high, blank walls of the buildings either side crowding in around them. Soon they were almost scraping through the green bricks. Ahead of them a high brick wall closed off the end of the backwater.

As they neared it, however, Emily realised that there was a tunnel into it, guarded by a padlocked black iron gate. Longlost unlocked the gate and they squeezed through, crouching under the low roof, the way ahead in darkness.

Before long Emily saw light ahead and suddenly they came out into a wide, circular chamber, flooded in its centre, above them a high dome made from stained glass, sunlight streaming down through it and lighting up the clear water with beams of multi-coloured light. After the darkness of the tunnel it was like suddenly walking into the middle of a firework display.

'It's beautiful,' she said in wonder.

'It's our home,' said Suzy Longlost.
Chapter 36

Longlost piloted the pinwheel to the edge of the water where a rough wooden jetty had been built and they disembarked. Emily looked around, drinking in the beauty of the place. A huge mosaic covered the floor beneath the pool and ancient, smoke-blackened paintings in reds and ochres covered the walls.

In the centre of the pool what seemed to be a simple stone statue of a fountain rose up. Looking more closely, Emily realised that there were steps leading up to the top of the statue and that it was designed as a pedestal on which someone could stand and speak.

Stone pillars around the edge of the chamber supported a balcony that looked down over the pool, and Emily could see doorways leading off it. To either side of them the chamber opened up into two smaller chambers, and behind them was a long hall with a vaulted roof and two lines of pillars either side of the central aisle.

'It's a church!' Emily had only seen pictures of them in books. The temple that she and her father attended on holy days had a similar atmosphere but was more straightforward in design. In the temples the focus of attention was always the long table down the centre that everyone congregated around for the tale-telling. Here the focus was the fountain-pedestal in the middle of the pool at the end of the hall.

Longlost nodded. 'The monks built it before they retreated into the Abbey. It's been deserted for centuries. Now it's completely surrounded by other buildings, warehouses mostly. The way we came in is the only entrance. All the others are walled off.'

Sam stepped off the other pinwheel and stared around him. 'This place is amazing.'

The fair-haired girl that they'd seen earlier came out of a side door and stopped, looking at Emily and Sam in confusion.

Longlost saw her expression. 'You seen Joney?'

Emily guessed that was the skinny boy.

The fair-haired girl shook her head. 'Ent back yet.'

Longlost frowned, then shrugged. 'He'll be back,' she said. 'He's probably checking the eel traps.' She turned to Emily and Sam. 'This is Maeve,' she said. Maeve nodded to them briefly and then glanced at Arran, who gave a small shrug. Her expression was blank, but Emily could tell that Maeve was not happy about their presence. Maeve turned her back and left through the side door.

Longlost studied Emily and Sam, who stood there silently, clothes dripping.

'My crew are upset that I brought you here,' she said finally. She had a slight frown as if she too was puzzled as to why she had done it. 'I can understand why. For a start you're both crazy. Worse than that, you've stirred the wardens up worse than a bear in a beehouse. So,' she looked at them challengingly, 'tell me why it was worth my while.'

Emily couldn't fail to notice that Longlost had placed her hand on one of the knives hanging from her belt at her side.

'We'll tell you about the hidden treasure,' said Sam quickly.

Arran's face lit up but Longlost looked sceptical. She shook her head.

'First mythological creatures, and now hidden treasure,' she said. 'I really, really don't like being made a fool of.' She pulled the knife from its scabbard and toyed with it. Sam watched it, hypnotised.

Longlost looked at Emily sharply. 'So what's the real story? Fallen out with daddy and come looking for some excitement at my expense?'

Emily felt a flush of anger and stepped forward towards Longlost, looking the red-haired girl in the eyes.

'Why are you here?' she demanded.

Longlost looked startled. 'What?'

Emily waved at the building surrounding them. 'Living here, in this forgotten church. Why is that?' She was furious.

Longlost's knuckles whitened on the hilt of the knife. 'What's it to do with you?'

Sam was looking at Emily as if she'd gone mad.

'Why aren't you out there, doing what everyone else does, fitting in, toeing the line?' Emily demanded.

Longlost's face darkened and she stepped forward towards Emily. Now they were just a couple of steps apart. Emily had to tilt her head upwards to look the taller Longlost in the eyes.

'You don't, because you don't like the way they live. You don't like the way they think.' Emily glared at her. 'They live dull lives and think dull thoughts. That's right, isn't it?'

Longlost stared at her, her expression unchanging.

'But then here you are, on the edge of something so...' she searched for the word.

'...terrifying' supplied Sam.

'...amazing,' said Emily firmly, 'that it changes everything we think we know, and actually all you can do is to be just like everyone else.'

Longlost's movement was so swift that Emily had no time to move. The knife tip pricked her under her chin and forced her head back.

'That's right,' said Emily, her voice strained but accusatory. 'And this makes you so different from the wardens.'

Longlost's face was bright red.

The knife tip twisted in Emily's skin as Longlost shook with anger.

Emily felt a thin, warm trickle of blood spill down her throat.

Chapter 37

With a growl Longlost flung the knife across the room and stalked away across the chamber. Emily felt suddenly faint and would have fallen if Sam hadn't stepped forward to support her.

Arran looked at the two of them in bewilderment, then busied himself tying up the pinwheels to the makeshift jetty.

'Now what?' asked Sam quietly.

'Stay here,' Emily whispered shakily. 'I'll go after her.'

'Is that wise?'

'I need her to tell me how to get into the Abbey. Otherwise how else can I help my dad?'

'Things don't seem to be going too well.'

'I still have to try.'

Sam nodded. 'Take care.'

He wandered over to Arran. 'Let me tell you about the treasure,' he said. 'No-one else seems interested.'

Arran looked at him blankly, then he raised his eyebrows. 'Go ahead.'

Emily watched as they started a hesitant conversation. Then she followed Longlost's path across the chamber to a wide flight of stone steps leading upwards to the balcony. She wiped the blood from under her chin and started up the stairs, still a little shaky but determined to face Longlost and try and get the information she needed. The fact that Longlost had thrown the knife away and not carried out her threat gave Emily some faint hope that all was not lost between them.

At the top of the stairs the balcony ran around the bottom of the stained-glass dome. One of the doors leading off it was ajar. Emily was surprised to find that behind it a set of spiral stairs led upwards. She headed up, guessing that it led up some kind of tower.

She climbed for several minutes before the stairs led up into a small domed room with a curious metallic green roof that curved down to the wooden floor. Suzy Longlost was standing with her back to Emily, looking down through a small window set into the roof, her body tense. Emily could feel the anger emanating from her like a solid force.

Emily stood quietly in the opposite corner, oppressed by Longlost's mood and unable to break it.

Suddenly Longlost turned around and faced her, her eyes glittering and her face fierce.

'You know why they call me Cutthroat?' she demanded.

Emily stared at Longlost. Her hand went involuntarily up to the wet spot of blood under her chin. 'Because of what you do to people?'

Longlost tore the scarf away from around her throat and threw it to the floor. 'Because of this.'

A ragged line of scar tissue ran completely across Longlost's throat. Emily couldn't take her eyes off it. How had Longlost survived that? She shuddered.

'My mother did that to me when I was four,' said Longlost. 'She did the same to my kid brother and to herself. I'm the only one she did a bad job on.'

Emily struggled to take that in. Longlost's own mother...

'She left a note saying that everything was bad and we all needed a fresh start.' Longlost laughed bitterly. 'A fresh start.'

Emily feel like someone had twisted a knife in her chest.

'My mother left me too,' she said. She felt a well of grief begin to tear open inside her. 'I didn't even get a note. She just left. I can barely remember her.'

Longlost looked at her. 'You too?'

'And Sam's mum left him.'

Longlost put her fingers on the scar on her throat.

'You're a brave girl,' she said to Emily.

Emily shook her head. 'I just want to help my dad.'

'And you need to find a way into the Abbey to do that?'

Emily nodded.

'And these things, these wyrms, they really exist?' Longlost looked at her searchingly.

'They do. I'm going to stop them.'

Longlost stared at her, then her eyes started to smile. 'You might at that. You're determined little thing.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'Why do you want to get into the Abbey?'

'The monks have some kind of holy object that I need to use to destroy the Wyrmwell,' Emily explained. 'They keep it in the Abbey.'

Longlost suddenly looked furious again. 'I don't believe you!'

Emily wondered what she'd said wrong this time.

'The monks are good people. They can't be doing what you say.' Longlost pointed her finger at Emily accusingly. 'You're wrong.'

'How do you know? About the monks, I mean.' Emily suddenly put two and two together. 'Oh. You didn't just get into the Abbey, did you? You actually met one of them.'

She saw the faint blush spread across Longlost's face and added in a moment of inspiration, 'You met a boy.'

Longlost's face crumpled in misery.
Chapter 38

Her arms dropped to her sides and she sat down heavily on the floor, her back against a support pillar, her hands clutching at her wet hair.

Emily was becoming used to Longlost's lightning changes of mood. She walked over to the crumpled girl and tentatively put a hand on her shoulder, then sat down on a crossbeam nearby.

'I didn't meet him in the Abbey,' said Longlost sadly. 'I met him here, in this church. That's how I found the place. I was angry and depressed and looking for somewhere dark and horrid to hide in. I was in the backwater we came down earlier and I heard this voice, singing. A beautiful voice. I followed it and found the tunnel into the church.'

Emily nodded.

'He came to the church to sing and pray. I just watched him at first, I didn't want to scare him away. He was young, only a couple of years older than me. He came to the church quite frequently. I'd hide and wait for him. Eventually he guessed that someone was watching him and demanded that I show myself.'

Longlost gave a small smile. 'His face when he saw me! I've never seen eyes so wide.' She grinned. 'I told him to frog off and find somewhere else to sing. That this was my church.'

Emily laughed.

'His name was Stephen Pilgrim. He was eighteen, two years older than me. I'm not sure he'd ever met a woman before. He seemed terrified of me! But at the same time he was so at peace. Being with him was like being on a rock whilst all around a flood tore the world apart. So once I'd agreed that he could come back to my church, we got on quite well.'

Emily raised an eyebrow.

Longlost blushed again. 'Very well. We talked a lot. He was nervous about kissing to begin with, but he got the hang of it.'

'How did he get out of the Abbey?'

'After a few months I asked him. He didn't want to tell me, which made me upset. He didn't know what to do about that.'

I bet, thought Emily. If you'd spent your life quietly locked up in an Abbey, having Suzy Longlost suddenly land in the middle of it would be like being caught in a thunderstorm, a blizzard and a wildfire all at the same time.

'I think he had one way out of the Abbey and another way back. I wanted to see what it was like in the Abbey, to see where he came from. But he refused to let me go back with him. That made me angry, like I wasn't as important to him as his life back there. One day I kept asking him and finally I made him angry too and he just left.'

'And you followed him.'

Longlost nodded. She pointed across the room to a loose panel in the roof. 'There's a way through there, across the rooftops. I followed him. It's not an easy route and at the end, even though I saw him do it first, the way to cross the Abbey moat and into the Abbey itself is just madness. But I did it.'

'You got in.'

'I did. I followed him to his room.' She laughed sharply. 'You've never seen an expression like the one he had when he saw me there. Angry, terrified, but pleased as well, all at the same time.'

She stopped and looked unutterably sad. 'I never knew why he was pleased, though, because a few minutes later he betrayed me.'

'He did what?' Emily was appalled.

'He betrayed me,' Longlost said softly. 'When I got to his room we argued. I got angry and told him that he had a decision to make. Me or the Abbey. He seemed confused. He was shaking. Eventually he just ran out of the door.'

'And he didn't come back?'

'Like a fool I waited for him. But a few minutes later a group of old monks came and kicked me out of the Abbey. They told me that Stephen said he didn't want to see me ever again.'

Her face was desolate.

Emily knew of no words that would be of any use in comforting her.

Longlost wiped her face in her sleeve and stood up shakily. 'Well,' she said, her voice thick. 'You've got what you came for. He marked the route to the Abbey with the sign of Upwelling. You can't miss it.'

She glanced at something on the floor and then started down the stairs, her face expressionless.

Emily picked up the thin piece of cloth that Longlost had left lying on the floor. It was her neck-scarf. Emily dropped it in her pocket, then followed Longlost down the spiral stair, her emotions churning.

In the pool chamber Sam and Arran were still talking. Although Arran still looked sullen, his eyes were bright with excitement.

'He says they've found a map to a hoard of buried treasure,' Arran said to Longlost eagerly. 'It's...'

Longlost frowned and shook her head.

'It's...'

She held up her hand for silence. She seemed to be listening to something.

No-one spoke.

In the quiet Emily strained to identify what it was Longlost had heard. The scratching sound from high above them on the roof? The distant sound of a barge horn? The faint sounds of Maeve in the backroom?

Then she heard it. Strange echoes coming from the entrance tunnel across the pool, like the rhythmic splashing of a pinwheel, but intermittent and jerky, as if the engine kept cutting out. Faint at first, but quickly becoming louder.

Emily gasped as a pinwheel spluttered out of the tunnel carrying the skinny boy, Joney. He was clutching the steering column desperately with one hand, his other arm cradled protectively across his stomach. His nose bloody and an eye was swollen and bruised. His breathing was ragged and hoarse.

They all looked at him in horror.

'Run!' he cried. 'They're coming. Run!'

But before they could even move shadows fell across them and the glass dome above them exploded into a rain of multi-coloured splinters as black-clad wardens smashed through it and started to abseil down towards them.

'Don't move. We have you surrounded. Stay exactly where you are!'

Chapter 39

Longlost burst into action. 'Go back up!' she shouted to Emily. 'Go!'

Joney crashed his pinwheel into the jetty and half jumped, half fell onto it. Longlost ran over to him and dragged him to his feet.

Sam was standing looking up in shock at the fast-descending wardens, heedless of the razor-sharp glass shards falling around him. Emily grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the stairs. She looked back and saw Longlost and Joney disappearing into a side door. Longlost looked back and caught Emily's eye.

Emily mouthed thank you.

Longlost winked and was gone.

The wardens were splashing down into the pool, shouting at them to stop where they were.

Emily and Sam ignored them and ran up the stairs, then along the balcony to the door to the tower. The angry shouts from the wardens were close behind. The narrow stairway started with a short straight flight up to a landing on which there was an old oak bookcase full of mildewed prayer books.

'Quick! Pull it over!' Pushing furiously they managed to slide the bookcase out from against the wall and get behind it.

The pounding footsteps arrived at the door and it slammed open. The angry faces that appeared rapidly turned to alarm as the bookcase teetered at the top of the stairs and then crashed down towards them, scattering prayer books everywhere. The wardens jumped back as the bookcase smashed into the doorway and stopped, blocking the stairway. The wardens immediately started to heave at it to get it out of the way.

Emily and Sam fled upstairs. The last part of the spiral was constructed out of old wooden beams and it creaked and groaned as they thundered up it to the cupola room at the top. Emily shut and locked the door behind them, though she knew that it wouldn't hold the wardens for more than a few seconds.

'Now what?' asked Sam, looking around the tiny, hemispherical room.

Emily pointed to the loose panel that Longlost had indicated earlier.

'Through there,' she said.

Sam crawled through the beams that criss-crossed the room and squirmed through to the panel. He tugged at the panel and it came easily away in his hands, leaving a gap large enough for them to wriggle through. He looked through it.

'Oh gods,' he said faintly, his face turning pale. He backed away from the gap.

Emily had a look. They were right at the top of one of two towers that rose either side of the dome. A few yards away, a little above her head, was the roof of the warehouse opposite. Directly below her, a thin metal supporting beam ran from the tower to the warehouse. Below that was empty space for perhaps a couple of hundred feet. In the dark shadow between the buildings it was difficult to see what was at the bottom. Whatever it was, though Emily, it wouldn't be a good thing to fall onto from that height.

'Look,' she said to Sam brightly. 'There is a rope to hold onto.'

Someone had tied a rope at about head-height above the metal beam from the tower to the opposite wall.

'That's great,' said Sam, looking sick.

There was a thudding sound from down the stairs.

'They're coming,' said Emily. 'Do you want to go first or shall I?'

Sam shuddered. 'You first,' he said.

Emily wormed her way through the gap feet first so that she could sit on the edge and gently ease her feet down onto the metal bar. She reached up and tugged on the rope. It seemed firm enough. She stamped on the rusty bar and a few flakes of rust dropped off and tumbled down into the dark void, but otherwise it felt solid.

She took a deep breath and, holding tightly onto the rope to steady herself, she shuffled sideways across the bar, as quickly as she dared. When she reached the other side she realised that someone had chipped or kicked footholds in the old brickwork, so she was able to grab hold of the lightning rod that sat at the end of the roof gable and scramble up so that she was sitting on the apex of the roof, holding the lightning rod for support.

Sam's pale face peered at her anxiously from the gap in the green-stained roof. With a flush of guilt she realised that she should have made him go first so that she could help him along, and started to climb down again.

'What are you doing?' he called.

'Coming to help you.'

'Stay where you are. I'll be all right.' He looked behind him nervously.

Even from the opposite roof Emily could now hear a pounding noise that said that the wardens had made it up the stairs and were breaking down the door.

'You've got to come across right now,' she urged. 'You can do it! Put your feet out first.'

Sam's face disappeared from the gap and for a horrible moment she thought that he'd given up and allowed himself to be captured, rather than have to go across the dreadful void, but then his feet appeared and he eased himself down onto the metal bar, holding the rope desperately.

There was a crash from behind him and shouting. The wardens had made it through the door.

Sam held onto the rope and shuffled away from the gap just as a black-gloved hand reached out of it and tried to grab him.

'You're doing great, Sam,' Emily called encouragingly. 'Just a little further.'

He looked dreadful. She could see the sweat on his pale face and the white knuckles on his fists as he clutched the rope. He was halfway across, but had slowed almost to a halt.

'Hey, kid,' said a rough, grim voice. A black-clad warden was leaning out of the gap in the roof. 'Time to come back, hey?' He reached up and grabbed the rope and gave it a little shake.

Sam yelped and struggled to stay on the bar.

'Stop that!' screamed Emily at the warden. 'You'll kill him!'

The warden shrugged. 'So?'

Chapter 40

The warden wobbled the rope again, more vigorously.

'Come back here, kid. Or start flapping those scrawny little arms.'

Sam almost lost his footing and had to contort his body violently to remain upright and on the bar. He looked down at the void beneath his feet and moaned softly.

'Sam,' called Emily. 'Look at me.'

Sam dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

'Stop messing around,' she demanded. 'We've got stuff to do.'

Sam's eyes widened.

'Last chance,' said the warden. He grabbed the rope again.

Sam looked back at the warden, and then at Emily.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

Then Sam did an extraordinary thing.

He let go of the rope.

Emily heard the warden grunt in surprise.

Sam swayed there for a moment, then stretched his arms out either side and stepped lightly forward along the bar as if it were as wide as a stoneway.

He reached the far end in moments and grabbed the lightning rod for support. He looked stunned at what he'd just done. Emily grabbed his wrist and helped him scramble, trembling, up onto the roof. She hugged him in relief.

The warden was watching Sam, his mouth open in surprise. Then he swore and started to climb out of the gap onto the metal bar.

Sam quickly dug around in his pocket.

The warden started to shuffle across the bar. He looked nervous.

Sam called out to the warden. 'Hey, you. Time to go back.'

The warden looked at him and said, 'Shut up, kid.' Then he noticed the penknife that Sam was holding to the rope and shouted 'Don't do that!' in alarm.

'Go back,' warned Sam.

The warden continued to edge towards them.

Sam sawed through the rope. It went limp and the long end fell past the teetering warden.

The warden balanced in the middle of the bar, arms outstretched to steady himself.

'Think you're clever, hey kid?' the warden sneered. 'Ent so difficult. I'll show you.'

He stepped forward confidently and immediately his front foot slipped off the bar. His arms flailed uselessly as his heavy body fell slowly sideways into space, and with a wail he dropped into the void. A few seconds later they heard a distant splash.

'You showed us,' said Sam with satisfaction, 'that you can't fly.'

Another angry face appeared in the gap in the green roof, looking down into the void at the fallen warden and then up at Emily and Sam.

'Stay where you are!'

'No chance,' muttered Sam. 'Let's go.'

They cautiously started to make their way along the rooftop.

'I thought you were afraid of heights,' said Emily.

'I am,' said Sam, still looking a bit pale. Then he grinned. 'I'm just afraid of you more.'

Emily picked a lump of moss up from between the tiles and threw it at him.

Muffled shouting from the church tower made them hurry along.

At the end of the roof was a low wall and beyond that a flat roof punctuated by groups of tall ceramic chimney pots. The children scrambled over the wall and ran across the roof.

'Did she tell you how to get into the Abbey?' panted Sam.

Emily nodded. She told him about Longlost and Stephen Pilgrim.

Sam grimaced. 'No wonder she's angry. You did well to get her to talk.'

'Hmm,' said Emily. 'I think perhaps she thought there was something I might do in return.'

Sam looked at her but Emily didn't elaborate.

He sighed. 'How do we find the way?'

'Look for the Upwelling signs,' said Emily.

'Like the ones on the Linnet's paddles?'

She nodded.

Sam looked around, then looked nervously back towards the church tower. The top of the green cupola was just visible.

'How long do you think we have before they find a way to get across?'

'Just look for the first sign, Sam.'

They found it scratched on a brick on the east wall, the three streams of the fountain pointing forward like an arrowhead. It seemed to be pointing directly towards the Abbey itself. Just a couple of rooftops away its sheer walls rose up before them, towering over the other buildings like cliffs.

Steep blue-slate roofs crowned pale golden stone shimmering in the sunlight. Multitudes of small arched stained-glass windows were set into the walls like jewels.

'It's huge,' marvelled Sam. 'I never really looked at it properly before.'

He was right, thought Emily. Despite its size and location at the very centre of Wormwell, from canal level it could rarely be seen, and because it played so little part in the life of the town the Abbey there was no cause to seek it out. Only from up here, on the rooftops, could its immensity and beauty be truly appreciated.

'It's like a fortress,' said Sam.

Emily remembered what crazy Lord Cotman had said about the monks building the Abbey as a defence against the wyrms.

She shuddered. Given the size and solidity of the Abbey walls, the wyrms the monks thought they were defending themselves against must have been absolute monsters.

She prayed to Oden that Cotman was truly crazy. That no wyrms as big as that had ever existed.

But she couldn't shake the nagging doubt that Lord Cotman had been right all along.
Chapter 41

Emily shook the thought out of her head and peered over the wall. There was a drainpipe on the other side, down to an adjoining sloped roof that ran left to right. They climbed down the drainpipe and then up the roof slates to the apex. On the far side the roof sloped down to empty space; a wide canal separated the building they stood on from the remaining buildings between them and the Abbey.

'Left or right?'

They searched the apex tiles for another sign.

'Left.' Emily spotted it scratched on a tile.

'Look, there's a covered walkway not far up the canal. The route must be over that.'

They climbed and jumped and crawled their way across the intervening roofs until they were standing on a roof directly above the walkway. It looked old, with a shallow sloping roof covered in lichen-spotted tiles ending in low stone parapets with medieval-looking slits and crenellations. Round-topped stone arches lined the corridor beneath, leaving it open to the elements.

They were three stories up and Emily noticed that Sam looked a little pale again as he saw the long drop down to the canal.

'You'll be fine,' she said reassuringly.

'It's not the height,' he said, 'it's what's down there. Look at the boats.'

There were a surprisingly large number of boats moored along the far edge of the canal. Emily took in a sharp breath as she saw what they were.

'Patrol boats! What are they all doing?'

Sam grimaced and indicated the building opposite. 'I think they live there.'

'Is that Vigilance House?' Emily frowned. 'Where the Wardens are based?'

Sam nodded. 'Not the best place for us to be right now. Is this definitely the way?'

'There's a sign scratched on one of the tiles down there.'

Sam scratched his jaw thoughtfully. 'Well, if that monk managed to get across without being seen, then I suppose we should be able to.'

There were some lights on in the lower windows but Emily could see little movement in the building.

'We might be in luck,' she said. 'I think most of the Wardens are out looking for us. Let's get down onto the roof.'

They dropped down onto the shallow roof of the walkway, lay flat in the cover of the low parapet and started to wriggle forward.

'Wait,' hissed Emily. The familiar throb of a motor engine rose up from the canal. She eased forward until she could see through one of the narrow slits in the wall. A patrol boat was powering down the canal towards them. On the deck a warden looked up, seemingly straight at her. Emily ducked down behind the wall in panic.

'Did you catch those frogging children?' boomed a voice from the walkway just beneath them. Sam's eyebrows shot up.

The warden on the boat motioned to the wheelman to slow the boat down. 'Sorry, Sir Harald. They got away over the roofs. One of our men was injured trying to follow them, broke a couple of bones.'

'I don't care,' said Sir Harald rudely. 'What about the other ones, that backwater crew they met up with. Tell me you got them at least.'

'Sorry, Sir Harald. We couldn't catch them either. We think they got out through a window in one of the back rooms.'

Emily breathed a silent sigh of relief. Longlost and the others had managed to get away.

'You people are completely incompetent!' thundered Sir Harald. 'How difficult can it be to stop a few kids?'

'Sir, I did warn you that we hadn't had the time to plan the operation properly.'

'I don't care,' shouted Sir Harald furiously. 'As Acting Mayor I ordered you to find and arrest them. So do it. They must be stopped. Do you understand?'

Underlying his anger Emily could clearly hear a current of deep and genuine fear. What was he so scared of? What did he think that she and Sam knew that terrified him so much?

'Yes sir. We will redouble our efforts.'

The warden pulled the radio from his belt and spoke into it at length. As the wheelman turned the patrol boat around, other wardens began to stream from the building out into the courtyard and into the moored patrol boats.

Emily and Sam watched as the exodus took place. After a few minutes the courtyard was empty and the last of the patrol boats were disappearing up the canal.

'Idiots,' fumed Sir Harald. 'When the Old King returns I'll personally teach you the penalty of such incompetence.'

His heavy footsteps slowly disappeared up the walkway.

Emily and Sam waited a few minutes until they were sure he was gone, then crawled along the remainder of the roof to the far wall. Sticking out from the wall were several finger-thick iron nails, brown and pockmarked with age, which they used as footholds. Emily peered cautiously over the top of the wall at the flat roof of Vigilance House.

'All clear,' she whispered. 'If there was anyone up here, they must have been called away.'

Sam grinned. 'They had to leave to go and catch us. Rather ironic, really.'

They scrambled up onto the roof and ran across it. On the far side a wall stretched up in front of them. The brickwork was crumbling and they easily found hand and footholds to help them climb it. They sat on the top of the wall and considered their next move.

On the other side the apex of a roof angled down left and right. On the right hand side the roof ended in a narrow walkway and beyond that another similar roof began.

Opposite them the Abbey wall rose perhaps another hundred feet higher than the wall they sat on. It looked immense and impenetrable.

'Down there.' Emily pointed at the walkway between the two roofs.

Sam looked at the walkway and then at the vast Abbey wall. He shook his head. 'How on earth did he get into the Abbey from here? I can't see a way in.'

'You were hoping for a big sign that said Secret entrance here and an arrow to a big open door?'

'Not quite, but I thought when we got close it would be more obvious what to do.'

'Longlost did say that the way to get into the Abbey itself was madness,' admitted Emily.

'Did she really. Let's get down there and have a look.'

They jumped down onto the roof and slid down the slope to the walkway. At the far end was a low iron railing. They looked over it.

'I'd forgotten that the Abbey had a moat,' said Emily glumly.

Between the building where they stood and the Abbey wall there was a narrow canal, about eight feet wide.

'What now?' asked Sam.

Set into the Abbey wall directly across from them was a shuttered window. It was larger than many of the Abbey windows, about six feet high and four wide.

'That has to be the way in,' said Emily.

'But how?'

'There must be some way to open the window.'

They hunted around.

'This'll do it,' said Emily. She had found a long boathook. 'I think I can hook this onto the latches and pull it open. I don't see how we're going to get across, though.

'I think I do,' said Sam. He sounded appalled.

He pointed to a sheet of what looked like rubberised canvas tied to the top of the railing and stretched down to the floor at a shallow angle.

'I think we're supposed to use that.'

Emily looked in horror at the improvised springboard and the window on the other side of the canal.

'You've got to be joking.'

Chapter 42

Sam put his foot against the springboard and pressed it experimentally. It was surprisingly resistant but with a strong kickback.

'Well,' he said, 'if that monk and Cutthroat Suzy can do it then I'm sure we can. How difficult can it be?'

Emily winced. 'Don't call her Cutthroat. It really isn't a good name for her.' She told him Longlost's story.

Sam grimaced. 'We don't do too well with our mothers, do we? You, me, her...and I bet those other kids in her crew aren't overstocked in the parent department either.'

'That's why we have to look out for each other,' said Emily, fiercely. But she felt the deep sadness within her rising like the first surge of a flood tide.

She changed the subject quickly. 'I've been thinking,' she said, 'You know that Wyrmwulf person we saved the other night? That was someone from the Abbey. Someone young and athletic.'

Sam nodded, 'I'd say. Never seen anyone able to move like that.'

'My thinking is that the Wyrmwulf is someone who wouldn't think twice about doing this sort of thing.' She prodded the springboard with her foot.

Realisation dawned on Sam's face. 'You think Longlost's boyfriend is the Wyrmwulf?'

Emily shrugged. 'Could be.'

Sam looked at the springboard with less confidence. 'Maybe this won't be as easy as I thought.'

'Longlost made it across,' she reminded him.

He nodded slowly. 'She did that. Give us that boathook, then. Let's get on with it.'

It took the two of them to hold the extended boathook steady enough to hook onto the shutter latches and pull them open. There was no window behind them, just a dark space.

'I hope the monks don't store all their glass bottles in there,' said Sam, only half joking.

'I'll go first,' said Emily. She grinned. 'If I'm still alive after I land, I'll tell you.'

'I don't think so,' said Sam. 'It's my turn. You went first last time.'

Emily looked at him. He grinned back at her.

'Can't have you being all brave all the time,' he said. 'You've got to give us normal folk a chance occasionally.'

She stuck her tongue out at him. 'Get on with it then. We don't have all day.'

'Just preparing for takeoff, miss,' he said, backing down the walkway.

'Do you think you should practice first?'

'Nope. I'm relying on beginner's luck. If I practice the luck elf may think I'm not a beginner anymore and take my luck away.'

'You're crazy.'

'Watch me.'

He backed all the way to the end of the walkway and took a few deep breaths, staring at the springboard and then the window. Then he started to run.

A couple of feet away from the springboard he jumped, hit the rubber surface with a thump and launched himself forward into space, trailing a yelp as he started to turn head-over-heels in mid-air, arms and legs flailing. He looked so ridiculous that despite everything Emily had to stifle a giggle. He disappeared through the dark gap between the open shutters and she could hear a soft thump as he landed.

A few moments later his tousled head appeared, his eyes bright.

'That was so much fun!' he cried. He grinned across at her. 'Come on then. We don't have all day.'

He disappeared from the window, then a moment later reappeared to call up to the sky, 'Hey, luck elf! Em's a beginner too. You know what to do.'

He winked at her and disappeared again.

Emily backed up the walkway trying not to think about what would happen if she got it wrong. Various images flashed across her mind's eye. Emily hitting the wall with a splat. Emily hitting the shutters with a splat. Emily not hitting anything and just falling like a brick down to the canal far below.

Before she was even aware of it she'd started running. Time seemed to speed up. Feet on the springboard. Bent knees. Straighten out. Leap.

Fly.
Chapter 43

Weightless, a glimpse of the canal rushing past below, the dark window speeding forward to swallow her. Into cool air and darkness and landing on her back with a whoof on a pile of soft mattresses.

Sam holding out his hand, smiling, to help her up.

'Hoorah for the luck elf.'

'Hoorah for the luck elf,' she agreed solemnly.

'You know you missed the lintel by about a hair.'

Emily shuddered. 'I really don't want to know.'

She went to the door and listened. She couldn't hear anything on the other side so she opened it a crack and peeked through. There was a narrow, dark corridor outside. There was no-one in sight. They ran softly down the stone flags past more closed doors.

The silence was overwhelming. The corridor had a musty, unused feel and the long trails of old spiderwebs hung across the ceilings. The background noises of the town; the distant sound of boat engines, the hooting of barge horns, the lap of water against stone; all these were absent, blocked by the massive stone outer wall.

They came to another corridor leading off to the right. At the far end they could see daylight and made their way towards it.

'This place feels deserted,' whispered Sam. 'No wonder they're desperate to get people to join them.'

The end of the corridor opened out onto a wide balcony that curved around the inside of the wall either side of them. They stepped out onto the balcony and saw the full majesty of Urmeaux Abbey for the first time.

'My gods,' exclaimed Sam. 'It's huge. It's absolutely vast.'

It was an incredible sight. From their high vantage point at the west end of the Abbey enclosure they could see right across the grounds. The outside walls, towering five stories high, formed a rough lozenge shape perhaps half a mile long and a third wide. Doors and windows set into the walls suggested that these were the living quarters.

Plants hung down from the balconies in green profusion. In some areas they were obviously well-tended and pruned. In other areas, however, the plants had taken over and smothered the walls and rooms beneath them like huge emerald waves frozen in the act of breaking over the golden stone.

Within the outer walls was a second ring of buildings, from their high angle a tumble of roofs of different shapes and angles, most of the buildings no more than one or two storeys high. Chimneys and vents rising up from many of the roofs suggested that these buildings housed workshops, kitchens and laundries. Between the outer ring and this second ring of buildings were courtyards, gardens and allotments. Again, whilst many of them were well tended and carefully maintained, others had run to seed and were a riot of brambles, willowherb and other opportunistic invaders.

Beyond the second ring were more gardens; all of these well-tended; and rising up in the centre of them the magnificent Abbey Church itself, an enormous but delicate-looking building laid out in the shape of the Upwelling symbol. A single, green-roofed hall at the west end split into three; two halls curving off to north and south, the largest pointing east. Each hall terminated in a high tower; the two highest being at the east and west ends. Where the four halls met there was a dome, brilliant with stained glass. Fine stone tracery glowed in the afternoon sunshine, as delicate as frost patterns.

'I would never have guessed,' breathed Sam.

Emily agreed. Having spent so long only being able to see the blank outer walls of the Abbey, to discover that within them lay a building of such beauty was like opening a shoebox to find a golden jewel-encrusted crown inside.

'Do you think the Calix will be guarded?' Sam had already moved on to more practical matters.

'Let's worry about finding it first.'

Sam nodded. 'So where do we start?' He looked out across the vast Abbey enclosure. 'It's a big place.'

'I thought we'd ask someone.' She leaned over the balcony, studying the windows.

Sam stared at her. 'Oh, hello brother monk. Can you tell us where the Calix is? Only we want to steal it, destroy the Wyrmwell and spoil your fiendish little plan. Thanks!' He raised his eyebrows. 'That sort of thing?'

'Don't be a gnatwit, Sam,' Emily replied impatiently. 'See that?' She pointed to a window a little way around the curve and a storey below. That side of the building was in deep shadow and a flickering point of light shone brightly in the window she indicated. All the other windows were dark.

'Yes?' His tone was puzzled.

'If you were a young man who'd done wrong to the girl you loved...'

Sam blushed at the thought of loving a girl.

'...but you still hoped she would come back even so, you'd leave a sign to her, right?'

Sam considered it. 'Actually I think I'd go and find her,' he said, 'and apologise.'

Emily laughed. 'You might at that. But I think the saying sorry approach is too much for most boys. They'd rather feel sorry for themselves.'

Sam regarded the light in the window. 'So you think that's Stephen Pilgrim's room? And he'll help us find the Calix?'

'Let's go and find out.'

They made their way around the balcony, watching out for monks as they went, but they saw no-one. The room with the candle in the window was on the next level down. Unlike the balcony they were on, which stretched around the side of the building, the rooms below had small, individual balconies outside a single glassed door.

'We'll have to climb down,' said Emily.

One of the supporting struts for the top balcony rose up from the wall just above and to the side of the balcony below. Emily started to climb over to the outside of the wooden railing.

Sam looked over the railing at the two-storey drop below, and sighed.

'Next time I go anywhere with you, Em,' he muttered as much to himself as to her, 'I'm wearing a parachute.'

Chapter 44

Emily grinned up at him as she climbed down to the wooden strut, agile as a squirrel. 'Cheer up,' she whispered, 'you've not fallen off anything yet.'

He followed her reluctantly down the outside of the balcony onto the strut below.

Emily leaned down and looked cautiously through the window. Inside was a small room with plain plaster walls and a stone-flag floor. On the near side of the room was a single wooden-framed bed. On the other side was a desk and chair. A young man was sitting writing at the desk, his back to her. He had short fair hair and, as far as she could tell beneath his loose, light-blue monk's habit, he had a slender, wiry physique.

There was a pile of old books on his desk and more on a bookshelf on the wall. Several crumpled sheets lay on the floor where they had been thrown.

Emily looked at Sam and nodded. She swung down from the strut and landed neatly on the balcony, the sound of her landing making the young man turn to the window in surprise.

He had a gentle, strong face with gold-rimmed glasses over widely-set grey eyes. His expression was at once desperately hopeful and dreadfully guilty. He stood up sharply, the chair falling backwards to crash on the floor unheeded.

His mouth silently shaped the question: Susan?

Emily realised that he couldn't see much more of her than a dark silhouette against the bright daylight behind her.

Then Sam dropped to the balcony beside her and the young man's expression turned to panic. He backed away from them.

'No! Wait!' cried Emily desperately, seeing her one hope of finding the Calix preparing to flee and raise the alarm.

The young man paused for a moment.

In that moment Emily remembered something that had been given to her earlier, and pulled it from her pocket to hold up for him to see.

He recognised it instantly and came to the window, opening it, his face hopeful again.

'You've come from Susan?'

'We've seen her, yes. Less than an hour ago. You're Stephen Pilgrim.'

He nodded, looking confused. 'Who are you?'

Emily gestured at herself and Sam. 'Emily, Sam.'

Pilgrim stepped back into his room, beckoning them in.

'Susan sent you?' he asked again.

Emily nodded.

Stephen looked thrilled.

Emily looked him in the eye and frowned. 'She's very, very angry with you, Stephen,' she said. She paused and added: 'I mean, really, really angry.'

Stephen's face fell and he stepped back as if she had threatened him.

'Still,' he mumbled. 'She's still angry.'

Emily stared at him. 'Of course she is, after what you did.'

Stephen backed away again. 'She made me angry,' he said. He sounded regretful.

He looked at the object in Emily's hands and said, 'Susan's scarf.' He held out a hand. As she handed the scarf to him Emily noticed that his hand was trembling.

He held the scarf in his hands gently but as if he never wanted to let it go.

Sam had been looking around the room. He nudged Emily and nodded at the desk. Emily drew in a sharp breath as she recognised it. On the desk was a gnarled scale from the wyrm that had attacked them last night.

She looked at Pilgrim with narrowed eyes. Perhaps his confusion at seeing them was from more than simply seeing two strangers appear on his balcony. Maybe it was because he recognised them from last night, and was trying to hide that knowledge.

She didn't trust him. He'd betrayed Longlost and seemed more sorry for himself than for what he'd done to her. And if he was the Wyrmwulf, then the destruction of the Wyrmwell would be the last thing he'd want. They'd have to be careful.

'We will take a message back to Susan,' said Emily.

Pilgrim looked up at her hopefully.

'If you do something for us.'

He frowned. 'What kind of thing?'

'Take us to see the Calix.'

He looked puzzled. 'Why?'

Emily lifted her chin and said, 'No questions, or no message.'

'We're just kids,' said Sam innocently. 'What harm can we do?'

Pilgrim looked at them for a moment, and then at the scarf in his hands, and his face softened.

'I will,' he said. 'But we must wait until nightfall. If anyone sees me take you there I will be in as much trouble as you.'

Emily nodded. 'We'll wait.'

'Good,' said Sam brightly. 'Do you have anything to eat in the meantime? I'm starving.' He sat down on the bed and looked at Stephen hopefully.

Pilgrim nodded. 'I can fetch you something from the kitchens,' he said, turning to the door.

'Don't leave the room,' said Emily sharply. 'Stay here.' She remembered what had happened to Longlost when he'd left the room.

Pilgrim looked confused again, them shrugged. 'I'll see what I have here.'

He found biscuits, and dried fruit, and breadsticks. Emily guessed that eating alone in his room was not an uncommon event for him. He offered them watered-down wine to drink and, despite her wariness, Emily accepted. Sam didn't need any encouragement.

Once they had eaten and drunk, Emily and Sam sat on the bed, their backs against the roughly plastered wall. Pilgrim had watched them, but not eaten himself.

'You don't mind if I continue with my work?' His tone was mildly acerbic.

Emily shook her head, and found herself stifling a yawn.

Pilgrim bent over his writing once again.

Emily stared at the candle flame. All she could hear was Sam's even breathing and the scratch of Pilgrim's pen on the paper. She realised that Sam had already fallen into an exhausted sleep, and within moments, despite her mistrust of Pilgrim, she was asleep too.
Chapter 45

Emily awoke to see the fading silver-grey of twilight outside the window and Pilgrim still sitting at his desk, giving every impression of not having moved from his seat during the time she had been asleep.

Her head felt woolly and her neck stiff from leaning against the cold wall. She yawned and stretched to work out the kinks in her muscles. Her eyes drifted onto the bookshelf above Pilgrim's desk. As well as religious texts there were also several on self-defence and acrobatics.

Sam was still asleep so she poked him in the ribs with her elbow and he grumbled something and then opened his eyes, blinking.

Pilgrim turned to look at them, pushing his chair back. 'Ready?'

Emily nodded, watching him carefully as he got up to see whether he showed any signs of injury. He winced as he straightened his back and rolled his neck.

He noticed her looking and, smiling, said: 'I've been bent over my books too long. Makes me feel like an old man.'

So does being shot, thought Emily.

Sam bounced up off the bed and pointed at Pilgrim's blue habit. 'Have you got any smaller versions of that? Just in case.'

Pilgrim frowned and then raised his eyebrows. 'A disguise? I'll have a look.'

He scrabbled through the old wardrobe at the back of the room and produced two worn-looking, light blue habits.

'Try these. Mine when I was younger.'

They put the habits on over their clothes, and examined each other critically.

'Not bad.'

'Brother Sam.'

Emily turned to Pilgrim. 'What's your message?'

Pilgrim blushed and picked up a folded, sealed letter from the desk. 'Could you give her this?'

Emily nodded. 'But if anything goes wrong,' she warned, slipping it into her jacket pocket, 'I'll drop it in the nearest canal.'

Pilgrim went pale. 'It won't. I do know how to get through the Abbey without being seen.' He picked up a lantern from the floor and lit it, then took a deep breath and went to the door. He checked outside and then beckoned them to follow him.

He took them through dark, windowless passageways, twisting and turning, the pale light from the candle barely lighting their way. After a while Emily took out her torch but Pilgrim told her to put it away again.

'If someone sees you with that,' he explained, 'they'll know that you're not one of us. We use only candlelight.'

'Why's that?' asked Sam, curious.

Pilgrim shrugged. 'Candlelight encourages meditation. Electric light does not.'

They reached an archway that led out into a wildly overgrown garden.

'Stay close,' said Pilgrim. 'The path is narrow.' They followed him through the towering brakes of wild brambles, trying to avoid the wiry, thorn-heavy branches that reached out to snag them and tear their skin. In several places they had to duck into low tunnels under particularly large bushes, the musty-sweet smell of blackberry leaves surrounding them as they wriggled past spiky trunks as thick as their arms.

Eventually they emerged into a narrow alleyway between two low, ancient-looking buildings. Sam ruefully rubbed the scratches on his arm where the inch-long thorns on a particularly aggressive bramble had drawn blood.

Emily realised that they had crossed the outer circle of gardens and had reached the second circle of buildings they'd seen from up on the balcony. There were few lights on and Pilgrim led them confidently through a maze of alleys, small courtyards and covered passageways, skirting any buildings that were strongly illuminated.

Just as Emily was thinking that they hadn't seen any other monks at all yet, Pilgrim hurried them into a dark, recessed doorway and covered the lantern as moments later two old, white-haired monks came through an archway to their right and headed slowly across the courtyard, talking in low voices. Emily strained to hear what they said.

'Do not say that!' The taller of the two monks shook his head angrily.

'We all feel the King's shadow deepening. He may try for the Well.' The smaller monk's tone was mild.

'Impossible. The barrier holds strong.'

'No. The Wyrmwulf said that the last wyrm was closer than any other had ever been. It is no secret that Father Aire longs for release. Perhaps its power fades as he does.'

They reached a doorway across the courtyard. As he opened the door, the taller monk raised a trembling finger to the other.

'Nonsense. You will keep these wild fancies to yourself, Brother Beech, when we speak to the Council. We are all safe as long...'

The door closed firmly behind them.

Emily felt a flush of anger at the monks' selfishness. How dare they care only about their own safety whilst the wyrms they summoned caused havoc and destruction out in the town!

The sooner she and Sam used the Calix to destroy the Wyrmwell, the sooner everyone would be safe, and the monks' conspiracy exposed for the deceit that it was.

'Let's move on,' she muttered impatiently.

Two corners later and they stood in the darkness of an alleyway looking up in awe at the immensity of the Abbey Church. The last grey of twilight had given way to the black of night, and the light pouring from the hundreds of stained-glass windows that pierced the walls and the glowing glass dome on the roof was breathtakingly beautiful.

They waited whilst a group of monks had exited the Abbey Church from the main door at the western end and slowly made their way through a distant archway, then one by one made a dash across the open space, feeling terribly exposed and vulnerable to any watching eyes as they did.

They re-grouped, panting, in an alcove set into the church wall, then followed Pilgrim to the right along the outside of the church. Ahead of them the south transept of the church curved out. They turned along it and about half-way down Pilgrim stopped at a small, round-arched door.

'Wait a moment,' he whispered, then before Emily could stop him he opened the door and slipped in.

As the door opened a surprisingly warm, damp draft of air escaped from within, carrying with it the rich smell of growing vegetation.

'Did you hear what those monks were saying?' muttered Sam. 'Do you think the King they were talking about is the wyrm that's making all the wardens crazy?'

Before Emily had time to answer, the door opened again and Pilgrim motioned them inside, putting his finger to his lips to warn them to keep quiet.

Emily felt a mounting sense of anxiety as she entered. Had Pilgrim sneaked out of his room earlier whilst they'd been asleep and warned the other monks of their presence? Were they walking into a trap?

She clenched her fists as she passed the threshold, bolstering her courage to face down whoever waited for them on the other side, determined not to fail her father.

The sight that greeted her was so unexpected that she immediately forgot all thoughts of suspicion and betrayal.

Inside the church where she'd expected to see nothing more than a bare stone vault with an altar at one end and plain wooden pews, a verdant green forest filled the transept like a vision of some lush primeval jungle. The floor and walls were covered in deep green moss and huge tree ferns and club-mosses filled the aisles like giants. A grove of horsetails as thick as saplings obscured the far wall.

'That way.' Pilgrim pointed to the right, towards the south end of the transept, where the greenery became even thicker and overgrown.

The moss underfoot was deep and springy and their feet sank into it as they as they started to make their way towards the far end of the transept. The high arching fronds of tree ferns hung over their heads and filtered the light from the huge suspended candelabra into a green haze. The rich smell of rotting humus filled their lungs with every breath.

Emily watched out for monks as they went but was keenly aware that an army of them could have been hiding in the massed vegetation without being seen. Ahead of them was the altar at the end of the transept, a moss-covered block on which a tall, thin Upwelling symbol made of gold stood shining in the candlelight.

Where the three arms met there was a circular hole and what appeared to be an old pebble balanced within it.

'Behold the holy Calix,' whispered Stephen Pilgrim.
Chapter 46

They crept up the mossy steps and stood before the altar. The Calix nested within the elegant, rich gold of the Upwelling symbol. At first glance the rough piece of crystal seemed unexceptional.

But as they looked, Emily and Sam became aware that it contained locked within it a small quantity of what looked like water, but water that shone with a faint spring green light, light that seemed to cast no shadow but shone through them as if they were no more solid than phantoms.

A phrase passed through her mind.

Join the third circle. Follow the star.

Was this what Cotman's mystery words referred to, this glowing crystal? Was this the star? And could they somehow follow it to the Wyrmwell?

Emily reached out towards it.

'What are you doing?' hissed Pilgrim, outraged. 'The Calix is a most holy object! It is not to be touched.'

He looked at them with wide eyes. 'I brought you here to see the Calix, as you asked. Now you must leave.'

Emily shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Stephen.'

Pilgrim shook his head uncomprehendingly. 'You can't take it. It's not yours.'

He looked around the transept, as if searching for support.

Emily felt a stab of suspicion and anger.

'Someone's here!' she said furiously. 'You've betrayed us like you did Susan!' She looked around frantically, but there was no-one in sight.

Pilgrim looked at her with complete bafflement, then an expression of guilt crossed his face. 'I have not been here for months. Not since...'

A voice came from somewhere to their right, from behind a stand of tall club mosses. A thin, frail voice that sounded older than any voice Emily had ever heard.

'Old...King...Cole...' it sang.

Without hesitating Emily grabbed the Calix. As she removed it from the Upwelling symbol she felt a strange sensation as if something had just been switched off, or a noise that had until that moment been undetectable had suddenly stopped.

She flung herself after Sam into a mass of huge ferns that grew at the side of the altar, leaving Stephen standing alone and bewildered at the stop of the steps.

'Is a...thirsty...old soul...' warbled the voice reedily.

Emily peered out from under the cover of the ferns, trying to spot the singer. After a few moments she saw a movement from behind the club mosses and saw an old, old man step out slowly.

'And a...thirsty...old soul...is he.'

He was wearing a faded, threadbare habit green with leaf stains. His head was bald and his skin was the lined translucent yellow of crumpled parchment held up to candlelight. He was bent over, his knobbly hands raised to clutch the top of a pale, knot-ended stick that was nearly as tall as he was. His eyes were milky.

He peered towards the altar as if he knew someone was there but unable to see clearly who.

'So...he calls...for his bowl...'

Leaning heavily on his stick, he made his way slowly towards Stephen Pilgrim, who seemed frozen to the spot.

'The old man's as mad as a frog cake,' whispered Sam. 'He's singing nursery rhymes.'

'And he...calls for...his blade...'

He reached the bottom of the altar steps and looked up at Pilgrim.

'And...he calls for...his servants...three.'

He slowly raised a bony finger as gnarled as an old tree root towards Pilgrim.

Pilgrim watched it with horrified fascination.

The finger lifted, trembling, until it pointed, not at Pilgrim, but at the empty space in the Upwelling symbol where the Calix had been.

Emily felt herself blushing hotly. She had never stolen anything in her life. And any moment now Pilgrim would tell this old man what she had done and the whole Abbey full of monks would descend on her and denounce her as a common criminal.

A look of joy spread slowly across the old man's face.

Emily was certain that the look of astonishment that crossed Pilgrim's face was mirrored on her own.

The old man started to laugh, wheezily and thinly, like rustling paper. He laughed until tears ran down his old, wrinkled cheeks.
Chapter 47

Emily was sure that if the monk's bent old body had been capable of it, he would have danced.

'Told you,' muttered Sam. 'He's totally lost it.'

Slowly the ancient man regained his composure, though a merry smile remained on his face. He beckoned to Pilgrim to come towards him.

Pilgrim hesitantly made his way down the steps to stand by the old man, his expression strained.

The old man patted Pilgrim on the arm and looked up at him, smiling.

'Old King Cole will come now,' he said happily. 'I will meet him at the Well. Tell the Wyrmwulf.'

Then, with as great a spring in his step as his old bones would allow, he started to make his way up the aisle towards the main body of the church.

'He's going to the Well!' whispered Sam. 'We have to follow him!'

Emily jumped to her feet and went over to where Stephen Pilgrim was standing watching the old man disappear up the aisle, a bewildered expression on his face.

'So you didn't warn them,' she said. 'That we were coming here.'

Pilgrim looked at her and shook his head. 'No, I didn't,' he said. 'I want you to take my message to Susan.'

'I will, I promise.'

'Why have you stolen the Calix?'

Emily lifted her chin defiantly. 'To help my dad,' she said.

Pilgrim frowned, considering her words.

'To help your dad,' he repeated softly. A strange expression crossed his face.

'Is that what you do, when you have a father?'

Emily heard the sadness and loneliness in his voice. For a moment she caught a glimpse of a different person to the one she'd thought he was. Impulsively she put her arms around him and hugged him.

Pilgrim blushed and looked surprised.

'The old coot's getting away.' Sam warned.

The ancient monk seemed to have been given a new lease on life and was heading rapidly out of sight around the curve of the transept. They hurried after him up the moss-carpeted aisle, using thick clumps of tree ferns for cover.

'There may be more brothers in the nave,' warned Pilgrim in a low voice, 'we will have to be careful.'

He showed no sign of leaving them and Emily wondered whether it was because he wanted to make sure that they left the Abbey without being seen, or because he needed to go with them to the Well anyway.

Tell the Wyrmwulf, the old man had said.

If Pilgrim was the Wyrmwulf, then he knew already.

As they made their way up the transept the greenery became less and less profuse until it was nothing more than the occasional patch of moss on the stone floor. Ahead of them the old man had left the transept and entered the Crossing under the dome.

The tapping of his stick, which had been muffled by the moss, was now loud against the hard stone flagstones and decorated tiles laid into the floor.

Stephen took the lead, edging along the wall towards the Crossing. The children followed him, watching closely for monks, but the way seemed clear.

The old monk left the Crossing and entered the nave. He passed through an avenue of stone pillars, heading towards a small chapel in the far wall. There was little cover and it was clear that to follow him they would have to cross under the dome in full view of anyone who happened to enter. There was no time to do anything other than pull their hoods up to hide their faces and start across.

Stephen went first, Emily and Sam followed closely behind.

Emily felt acutely vulnerable as they passed through the vast space under the dome. If we can just make it to the nave, she thought. It was darker there and the pillars offered more hope of concealment.

It took them thirty seconds to cross and every second felt like an hour, Emily's skin crawling as if covered in leeches.

Finally they crossed into the comparative darkness of the nave and Emily could breathe again.

'Who's this then?' demanded a stern voice.

Their path had taken them almost directly past a pew in which a monk who had been praying, unseen, on his knees. Now he was rising to his feet and stepping out in front of them, blocking their way.

Emily looked past him and watched in frustration as the ancient monk disappeared into the chapel.

The monk in front of them had a kind face and bright blue eyes beneath bushy white eyebrows.

'Who is this, stealing past me?' he cried.

The Calix weighed heavily in Emily's pocket and she felt a hot flush of guilt.

'Show yourself!'

Chapter 48

At the monk's command Stephen pulled back his hood. His face was red.

'Brother Abbot,' he said, his voice trembling.

`Stephen!' cried the Abbot joyfully. 'It gladdens my heart to see you back here in church! We have long missed you.'

'Thank you, Brother Abbot,' Stephen stammered. 'I...I felt it was, er...time.'

The Abbot raised his bushy eyebrows pointedly at the two children standing behind Stephen, still hooded and trying very hard not to be noticed.

Stephen blushed and gestured at Emily and Sam, his hand shaking.

'I was teaching the children about...about the, er, three streams of the Upwelling.'

'A commendable pursuit,' said the Abbot smiling, 'but if they miss their evening meal their thoughts may not be on the Upwelling, but on uprising, yes?'

He chuckled at his own joke.

Stephen laughed politely, and waved a hand dismissively at Emily and Sam, though Emily noticed that his hand was shaking. 'Children, go and eat. We will, er, continue the lesson in the morning.'

'Thank you, Brother Stephen,' chirped Sam.

Emily had to stifle a giggle.

With relief the two children started slowly up the aisle.

'Let us pray together,' said the Abbot to Stephen. 'The First Prayer.'

The two monks knelt and bowed their heads, saying together:

' _When the shadow falls_

And fear and hatred

All men oppress

Our prayer calls

The water sacred

To make the spirit flesh.'

As soon as she was certain that the monks were fully absorbed in their prayer, Emily grabbed Sam's arm and they ran silently through the pews towards the chapel where they had seen the old monk disappear.

There was no-one in the chapel but there was only one exit, a round-arched doorway at one end. On the wall beside the door were several hooks, on one of which was a lantern. Emily opened the door quietly, to reveal a flight of stone steps curving down out of sight into darkness. The faint echoes of the old monk's stick tap-tapped up to them.

They made their way cautiously down the stairs. At the bottom was a dark crypt with a low, vaulted ceiling and forested with round stone pillars. It was huge, stretching away under the church, filled with long, chest-high tombs topped with carved stone and wood figures of monks in repose.

In the distance they could see the warm glow of candle-light; the old monk must have picked up a lantern as he passed. They followed him through the crypt, just enough light coming from the lantern for them to see and avoid the silhouettes of tombs in front of them, making good time and finally closing in on him as he reached the far wall, almost to their cost when he suddenly stopped and swung the lantern around and they had to duck hastily behind a tomb.

He wasn't looking for them, though, instead training the lantern on a series of large, rectangular tombstones set into the wall. Finally he seemed to recognise one of the tombstones and poked with a gnarled old finger at various letters in the inscription, then put his bony shoulder to the stone and pushed.

With a grinding of stone on stone and a thin cloud of dust the tombstone pivoted inwards, revealing a dark hole. The old monk shone the lantern into the hole, nodded to himself and bent and climbed in.

Emily and Sam crept out from their hiding place and edged towards the hole, fearing that that the old man might reappear at any moment. They were relieved to see the glow of the lantern bobbing away up what appeared to be a narrow, roughly-carved tunnel.

Emily put her finger to her lips and Sam nodded. If they made a noise in the tunnel, in the confined space the sound would carry easily to the old monk.

The stone was cold and gritty under Emily's legs as she climbed through the hole into the tunnel beyond. Sam followed and together they crept up the tunnel in pursuit. The old monk had started singing his nursery rhyme again and the garbled echoes drifted back to them like the half-heard mutterings of ghosts.

Emily's heart pounded as the tunnel suddenly went utterly dark.

The old monk ahead of them had turned a sharp corner and lantern light they had been relying on was cut off. She felt the darkness close in around them and as she reached out to touch the stone to feel her way forward, the chill of the cold stone made them shiver. She didn't dare use a torch in case the stronger light was seen by the old monk.

We are in a tomb, she kept thinking. We are in a tomb.

The more she tried to push the thought away, the more insistent it became, until by the time they rounded the corner and saw the lantern light again she nearly cried out in relief.

Sam's pale, drawn face suggested that he'd felt the same, and she smiled at him reassuringly. He smiled back weakly.

They had followed the old monk through the tunnel for perhaps ten minutes when Emily felt the movement of air on her cheek and realised that there were a series of small holes in the wall to her right. She put her eye to one of them and was astonished to see on the other side of the wall, the Gatehall that they had seen the previous night.

'I thought the Well was in the Abbey,' whispered Sam in her ear, 'but the tunnel is leading us out under the town. Do you think the old coot knows where he's going?'

It was a good point, Emily thought. The ancient monk hardly seemed to be of sound mind.

'Let's hope he does,' she said. 'It's not like we have a choice.'

Sam nodded assent. 'I wish he'd stop singing that nursery rhyme, though,' he muttered. 'It's giving me the creeps. I'm sure that Old King Cole was a merry old soul when we learned it at school.'

'Maybe the words were different when he was a kid,' Emily whispered. 'He's pretty old.'

Sam grimaced. 'Am I right in thinking that a blade means a knife?'

'It's just a nursery rhyme, Sam.'

'What do you think the Wyrmwell will be like?' he asked nervously. 'I mean, if that creature we saw last night is anything to go by.'

'I'm thinking a boiling vat of flesh-stripping acid in an impenetrable bog of leech-infested quickmud, lit by soul-burning fires of marsh-gas.'

'Oh.'

'Or it might be a lot worse than that.'

Sam looked appalled.

Emily punched him on the arm and said gently, 'Or maybe it's better not to worry about it and to take it as it comes?'

Sam nodded and gave her a weak smile.

'Come on,' said Emily. 'We don't want to lose him. He seems to be getting faster.'

They padded down the tunnel after the speck of light that was the old monk's lantern.

Then, abruptly, it cut off, leaving them in darkness again. They had no choice but to feel their way forward, in silence, not knowing what lay ahead of them or even whether the old monk had spotted them and was waiting, hidden in the dark, to catch them as they walked into his trap.

Chapter 49

Lacking sight, Emily's other senses became hypersensitive.

The cold stone under her fingertips felt as craggy as a mountainscape. Every tiny shuffle of her and Sam's feet like the sharp strike of a match against sandpaper.

Then, as they inched forwards, Emily heard something in front of them, a whispery sound like breathing, becoming louder.

She swiftly put a hand out to stop Sam from going forwards, her ears straining to catch every sound. Were there two people in front of them? She held her breath to listen more closely. No, only one...

She couldn't help but giggle in relief, the sudden noise making Sam squawk in surprise.

'What's up with you?' he whispered.

'I thought there was someone in front of us,' she whispered back, 'but we must be in front of a wall. It was the echoes of our own breathing I could hear.' She giggled again, feeling slightly hysterical.

Stepping forwards, hands outstretched, her fingers soon touched the hard surface of the end wall. She walked her hands across the wall and found the corner of the tunnel, then a different surface, colder even than the stone and smoother...metal.

'There's a door here,' she said. Found the handle and turned it. Outside there was another tunnel, broader, with tracks down the middle. A light a long way up cast a dim light. A hundred yards away to the left, the old monk's lantern was a spark in the near-darkness.

They walked alongside the track, which was rusty and thick with dust. The steady drip and trickle of water from the ceiling masked their footsteps and they began to catch up with the old monk. In several places they had to walk on the raised trackway itself to avoid deep puddles either side that had formed from water running freely down stalactites of black algae hanging from the ceiling.

Emily noticed that the old monk just trudged through the puddles, uncaring, the water coming up to his knees in places.

'Em,' whispered Sam, nudging her. He passed her a small greaseproof packet which she opened to find a block of slightly squashed flapjack. 'I'd forgotten I'd picked these up this morning before we left.'

Which seemed like a lifetime ago, thought Emily. She bit into the flapjack, which was syrupy and dense and delicious, like chewy treacle.

'Hmmmbubs,' she said, her mouth full, smiling at him.

He grinned back. 'Hmmmbubs. Right.'

She punched him on the arm, not too gently.

He stifled a yelp, still grinning.

Ahead, the old monk had stopped and they had to duck hastily into the cover of an alcove. The lantern light swayed and then, weirdly, lifted off the ground and rose up and disappeared into the ceiling.

'He's learned to fly,' observed Sam.

'Or climbed a ladder, newtbrain.'

They ran to catch up and discovered as they neared where the old man had disappeared an old iron ladder rising up into a dark, vertical shaft. They could hear the clanging of the old monk's feet on the rungs as he climbed. Emily pulled Sam back from the shaft mouth so that their voices wouldn't travel upwards.

'He'll hear us if we start climbing now,' said Sam.

Emily frowned. 'We can't wait. We'll lose him at the top.'

They listened to the faint clanging rhythm as feet struck iron.

'He's making a lot of noise,' said Sam thoughtfully. 'If we climb in step with him, maybe he won't realise we're following him.'

Emily punched him on the arm again. 'Good thinking, crew.'

Sam went first, matching the rhythm of his climbing to the old monk's footsteps. Emily followed on behind. The old man was moving more slowly now and stopped occasionally for a rest, and the children had to concentrate hard to avoid being caught out by the sudden pauses in the footsteps above them.

Emily had counted one hundred and seventy three rungs when the old man stopped again and they heard the grinding noise of stone on stone and the laboured breathing of the old monk echo down the shaft towards them. In the faint glow of the lantern they saw the old man's legs disappear sideways through a hole leading off the shaft.

As soon as he'd disappeared they climbed rapidly up the shaft, their muscles burning by the time they reached the hole at the top.

The old man was nowhere to be seen. They wriggled through the gap to find themselves in a small stone built room with a row of empty shelves on one wall and old moth-eaten vestments hanging from hooks on another. A faint silvery light leaked through the window. Emily peered up through the dusty glass and saw that a full moon had risen in a clear starry sky.

Emily went to the door and looked out. Stared in astonishment and shut the door again. 'Do you know where we are?'

Sam shook his head.

'Suzy Longlost's church.'

Sam looked at her in surprise. 'You're joking. Why would the old coot come here?'

'Maybe there's way through to the Well from here. The monks did build it, after all.'

Sam thought of their hasty escape from the church a few hours earlier. 'Did you see any wardens?'

Emily shook her head. 'I didn't see anyone.'

'I don't suppose they were expecting us to pop up again so soon.'

Sam pushed the door open and they crept cautiously out onto the balcony. Bright moonlight shone through the shattered dome above them and glittered on the water and broken glass below. A cold draught blew around them and Emily shivered. The church looked different in the moonlight, the bright colours were washed out to an eerie silver glow and strange, dense black shadows had gathered in the corners.

Sam caught her eye and pointed over the balcony. The old monk had emerged from the bottom of the steps down from the balcony. His old, pale skin seemed almost luminescent in the moonlight as he tapped his way down the main aisle, the lantern lighting his way.

The children ran softly along the balcony to the steps. At the bottom they paused to check that the old monk was still heading down the aisle towards the large doors at the back of the church, then skirted along the side wall, keeping pillars between themselves and him for cover.

The main entrance to the church was a pair of huge, ancient wooden doors strapped with heavy iron bands. In the glow of the lantern Emily could see that there were two smaller, normal-sized doors set into the larger ones. She guessed that the larger doors would only be used for ceremonial occasions. The old monk went to the left hand door, opened it and slipped through. The door clicked quietly shut behind him.

Emily and Sam ran between the pews to the door. Sam pulled on the iron doorknob but the door remained stubbornly shut.

'It's locked,' he whispered.

'Try the other door,' whispered Emily urgently, 'we'll catch up with him on the other side.'

They ran to the other door and Emily grabbed the doorknob and the door flew open.

They both jumped back in shock as it revealed a dark, tall figure frozen in the act of reaching for the doorknob on the other side.

The figure stepped back hurriedly and Emily and Sam grimaced as a torch shone in their faces.

'Emily!' said an astounded voice. 'Sam! What in Oden's name are you doing here?'

Emily squinted past the torchlight at the figure.

'Dad?'

Chapter 50

'Emily?'

Despite her shock at seeing him there, Emily leapt forward and hugged her dad fiercely. After a moment he hugged her back, then stepped back and looked at her and Sam.

'What on earth are you wearing? Are those monk's habits? Are you in a play?'

'Did you see an old monk come outside, through the other door?'

Eric looked puzzled. 'No.'

'You must have!' burst out Sam. 'We saw him go through it just now!'

Eric shook his head. 'There's nowhere to go out there anyway. It's all blocked off.'

Emily took her torch out and shone it past him, the light picking up stone walls either side and another door a few feet beyond. She'd assumed that the door they'd opened would lead straight outside but now saw that it opened into a small vestibule. Pushing past Eric, Emily and Sam ran to the outside door. Eric followed on behind, looking confused.

Outside the church the moonlight revealed a shallow run of stairs terminating abruptly in the looming back wall of a building that had been built almost right up to the front doors. Other buildings blocked off any exit to the left and right.

'Impossible!' cried Sam. 'Where did he go?'

Emily shook her head. She looked back at the two huge church doors, their old wood dark in the moonlight. Eric was just following them through the smaller door set into the one on the left.

She noticed that his face looked pale and lined, and the white scar by his left eye seemed to glow against his skin. He didn't look well. She remembered how he'd seemed when he'd come home last night, overexcited and almost feverish.

'Are you all right, dad?' She asked. 'What were you doing here anyway?'

He smiled at her weakly. 'I'm fine.' He looked up at the carvings that decorated the front of the church and his face became more animated. 'Isn't it amazing? Father Aire's Church was presumed to have been destroyed centuries ago. To find it again is incredible. Historic.'

'How did you find it?' Emily tried to make her voice sound unconcerned.

'Oh, a friend, your headmistress in fact, told me about it. She said I might be interested.'

Emily nodded. After the wardens had discovered and stormed the church earlier in an attempt to catch them and Longlost's crew, they must have told the Harrows about the church. Mrs Harrow had passed the information on to Eric to help him in his quest to find and destroy the Well.

'Father Aire was in Lord Cotman's story,' muttered Sam to Emily. 'He was the one who led the monks and hid the Well.'

'And what about you two?' said Eric. He tried to sound jovial but his voice sounded strained.

Emily took a deep breath. 'We're here to help you, dad.'

He couldn't have looked more surprised. 'What....? What do you mean...?' he spluttered.

Emily folded her arms. 'We know about the Well,' she said firmly. 'And about the monks' conspiracy to use the wyrms to scare people into turning to their religion.'

Eric's face went even paler and he swayed and sat down heavily on the top step.

'You know about the Well?' he muttered. 'And the wyrms?'

'Do we know about wyrms!' exclaimed Sam. 'One almost...' he trailed off as Emily cut him dead with a glare.

'And the monks? You know about them? How do you know all this?' Eric sounded utterly bewildered.

'That old monk we told you about,' Emily explained, 'we think he was going to the Well. We were following him.'

Eric rubbed his eyes and looked at her in astonishment. 'You were following a monk to the Wyrmwell.' He shook his head, unable to get a grip on what he was hearing.

'We thought that there was a way through to the Well from the church,' said Sam. 'But then the old monk left the church and disappeared. Then we met you.'

Eric looked back at the church, struggling to think. 'You're right,' he said. 'The church does contain references to the Well. That's what I was looking at before you two appeared.' He pointed to a symbol and some worn writing carved into the arch above the right hand door, the letters picked out in sharp black moon shadow.

'That's the Upwelling symbol,' exclaimed Emily.

Eric stared at his daughter as if he'd never seen her properly before. 'That's right,' he said. 'The symbol of the Well.'

'All paths lead to water,' read out Sam. 'The long, sought. The short, bought.'

He looked puzzled. 'What does that mean?'

Eric shrugged. 'I have no idea. What's important is that it refers to the path to the Well.'

'So we must be in the right place,' said Sam. 'But where did the old monk go?'

Emily, who had been thinking hard about that, walked up the steps to the church doors. She rapped her knuckles on the left hand door, the one they had come through, and listened. Then she went to the right hand door, which the old monk was supposed to have come out of, and did the same there.

She turned to the others excitedly. 'I think I know.' She went back to the left hand door. 'Listen.'

She rapped on the door again. The sound was deep and resonant. Then went to the right hand door and rapped on that. The sound was different: flat and dull.

'That one must be blocked up,' exclaimed Sam. 'It sounds like there's a solid wall behind there.' He frowned. 'But there can't be. We saw the old coot go through it.'

'No we didn't,' said Emily. 'We saw him go through the inside door. Remember there's a short passageway between the inner and outer doors? What if the passageway doesn't lead outside like we thought, but somewhere else?'

'Like to the Well.'

'Exactly.'

They ran back into the church, Eric following behind.

Sam reached the door that they'd seen the monk go through earlier and tugged again at the doorknob, but the door resisted solidly. Emily shone her torch on the door below the knob.

'There's no keyhole,' she said in surprise. 'How can it be locked?'

Sam pulled at the doorknob again, fruitlessly. 'Well, it is.'

'Maybe you're just not doing it right.' Emily reached out and pulled the doorknob.

The door opened soundlessly.

'See?'

Sam stared at her, and then at the door. He shook his head.

'Don't worry,' said Emily. 'I'll do some door opening practice with you when all this is over.'

Sam snorted. 'Thanks, o mistress of the doors.'

Emily kicked him on the shin.

'Ow!' Sam rubbed his leg and looked through the open door. 'Sneaky,' he said. 'You were right, Em.'

Immediately beyond the door a flight of stone steps spiralled downwards. A stone wall blocked the doorway opposite.

'The door within a door,' whispered Eric. 'This is the way.'

That was what he'd told Mrs Harrow the previous night, Emily remembered.

Eric's face grew sad. 'Em,' he said. 'I can't come with you. I have something else to do first. Something important. I have to find something.'

Emily looked at him. In the reflected light from the torch his face was lined and weary. His eyes looked dark and sunken and he seemed bent as if a great pressure was weighing on him.

Emily felt a great surge of affection and anxiety for him. Whatever it was that was driving him on, the sooner they destroyed the Wyrmwell, the sooner he would be relieved of it.

'The Calix?' she said.

She reached into her jacket and pulled out the relic and held it out to him.

'We already found it for you,' she said.

Chapter 51

Eric's face went grey. He reached out with a trembling hand and touched the crystal unbelievingly.

'The Calix,' he whispered.

'Take it, dad.'

He took it shakily from her hand and looked at it, a strange light in his eyes. 'How did you get it?' he whispered.

'Long story,' said Emily. 'I'll tell you later.'

'So we're ready to go?' asked Sam.

Eric shook his head. 'You can't come with me,' he said. 'It may be dangerous. You have to go home.'

For a moment Emily thought about how nice it would be to leave things in the safe hands of the adults and to go home and cosy up on the sofa and read a book. No, she thought.

'No,' said Sam. 'We're coming with you.' He looked at Emily, who smiled back at him. Parents can't be trusted. Absolutely right.

Before Eric could protest, Sam grabbed Emily's torch and started down the stairs and in moments had disappeared around the curve of the first spiral.

'Come on, dad,' said Emily, following Sam. 'We don't have all night.'

Down and round, they went, round and down until they were dizzy. The steps seemed never ending. After a while Emily fell into a rhythm, hardly needing the dim light from Sam's torch ahead and Eric's torch behind. Her right hand skimmed the cold stone of the inner pillar, her feet picked up the small variations in each individual step some slightly lower, some higher, some angled slightly left or right. One in particular was very high and it jarred her foot as it connected sooner than expected.

Small, small, bigger, left, small, small, bigger, ouch...

How deep did they have to go? Down and round, round and down, not talking, just feeling their muscles ache and the breath hoarse in their throats.

Bigger, left, small, small, bigger, ouch...

Round and down.

Small, bigger, ouch...

She stopped so suddenly that Eric almost cannoned into her from behind.

'Sam,' she called down the stairs. 'Stop. We're going round in circles.'

Sam made his way back up to where she and Eric were standing.

'Of course we are,' he said. 'It's a spiral staircase.'

'No, I mean yes, I know that, but it's not that.' Her head was spinning. 'We're going around the same spiral again and again.'

Sam looked at her sceptically. 'The same steps. Again and again?'

'Impossible,' said Eric, roughly. 'If we just keep going down, we'll reach the bottom. That's how steps work.'

Emily looked up at him. He was frowning, his face red with anger, his scar glowing white. She had a sudden insight into why, after apparently years of searching for them, he had made so little progress in finding the Calix or the Well.

His mind was closed. It was as if, even though he was obsessed with them, he didn't actually believe in them. As if their existence was somehow an insult to him.

'If we just keep going down,' Eric repeated angrily.

'After you, then,' said Emily. She stepped aside as Eric pushed past her and then Sam and carried on down the stairs. Emily watched him go, feeling a sense of sadness. She and Sam stayed where they were.

'What's wrong with him?' whispered Sam. 'He's very, er, keyed up.'

Emily shrugged. 'Whatever it is, hopefully he'll calm down when the job's done.'

'Are you sure about this spiral thing?'

Emily nodded. 'Listen.'

They could hear the faint echoes of Eric's footsteps below them. Then, amazingly, the echoes started to come from above them too, becoming louder and louder until Eric came into view above them, panting heavily.

His eyes bulged when he saw them.

'How did you...?' he spluttered.

'Been here all the time, Mr Bright,' said Sam. 'I think Em's right.'

Eric sat down heavily on a step, his face even redder, his eyes cast down. Emily felt deeply sorry for him, but part of her also saw that being proved wrong was something that might be good for him. It might help break whatever way of thinking it was that kept him locked up in himself, obsessing futilely.

Then a thought came into her mind, a question, one she had never considered before because up until then she had always somehow thought of her dad as beyond any real criticism or reproach:

I wonder if this is why mum left him?
Chapter 52

Emily immediately felt flustered and in some way that she had betrayed her dad by thinking such a thing.

Fortunately Sam broke in on her upsetting thoughts and said, 'How did you know? About us going round in circles?'

She showed him. They left Eric sitting where he was and went down together, Emily saying the names of the steps as they went.

'Right, small, small, left, bigger, left, small, small...'

Soon Sam was able to join in with the refrain.

'Small, small, bigger, right, right...'

Eric's hunched figure came into sight below them.

'Left, small, small, bigger, ouch!' Emily and Sam said together and laughed.

'The pattern repeats,' she said, 'and the ouch stone is the marker.'

'So what's it marking?' asked Sam. 'The way out?'

Emily nodded. 'Look for some way to open it.'

It was Emily who found it in the end, a carved symbol near the top of the outside wall adjoining the step. It looked like the three fingers of a mason's mark, or as Sam pointed out, an Upwelling symbol without the vertical stroke at the bottom.

Sam reached up and pressed it.

Nothing happened. He sighed.

'Why don't you try, o mistress of the doors?' he said, bowing to Emily.

Emily shrugged and tried pressing the mark herself.

Instantly there was a strange cracking, rumbling sound from somewhere below and a heavy wave of warm, humid air rose up the stairs past them.

'Smells like it did in that place where we got the Calix,' observed Sam.

'Come on, dad,' said Emily. 'I think we've done it.'

Eric got shakily to his feet. His face was still red and sweaty, and his eyes had a strange, glazed light in them. He stumbled down the steps behind them.

As they descended, a greenish-yellow light began to filter up the stairs beneath them which reminded Emily of the light of morning sunshine on spring green leaves. Then her heart thumped as she realised that the light also seemed to contain the colour of the flame that she'd seen in the wyrm's eyes. Whatever lay beneath them could well be the birthplace of such monsters. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as they rounded the last spiral and came to a straight flight of stairs that led down through a low tunnel and down to a narrow stone archway through which the spring-green light shone like daylight.

Emily went through the archway first, coming out onto a high platform above the largest cavern she had ever seen.

Spread below her, in a bewildering array of levels and angles, was a maze of white stone stairs, descending and ascending, looping, crossing, curving, all supported on slender stone arches that sprouted up from the cavern floor like a grove of silver birches.

Also rising from the mossy floor were the huge limbs of a red-barked, red-leaved tree, reaching up between the stairways like spread fingers, not a single trunk but many, the ones in the centre hundreds of feet high, the branch ends grasping sideways like roots at the stone stairways, the nearest anchoring itself to the low wall of the platform just to the left of the astonished trio.

Between the white arches and the red tree trunks the shaggy green heads of hundreds of tree ferns sprouted, so numerous that in some areas they completely obscured the cavern floor itself, their long fronds waving gently in the warm breeze that circulated around the cavern, soaking up the drops of condensation that fell constantly from the cavern roof like a fine rain.

Where the cavern floor was exposed, patches of flowers glowed like distant jewels, yellow, sky-blue and splashes of crimson. Shimmering-winged butterflies drifted in small clouds through the treetops, and brightly-coloured birds flitted between the arches.

'This is it,' breathed Eric, his voice trembling. 'The Wyrmwell.'

'And all we have to do is find the way to it,' said Sam, looking helplessly at the maze of stairways.

Emily looked for the old monk but there was no sign of him anywhere.

'All paths lead to water, remember?' said Eric. His face looked flushed and his eyes were bright. He rushed over to where the branch of the red tree grasped the low stone wall and leaned precariously over to have a better look.

'Dad!' cried Emily. 'Be careful.' His behaviour seemed to be becoming increasingly erratic. Something tugged at the back of her mind. All paths lead to water...

Eric ignored her and stepped up onto the low wall above the branch.

'Look!' he said excitedly. 'The trunk is wide enough to climb down, and it'll take us all the way to the cavern floor. Then we can just walk to the Well.'

Water sought, water bought. The words spiralled in Emily's mind.

'I don't think that's a good idea, dad,' she said slowly.

He looked towards her, his expression twisted and petulant, as if he were the child and she his mother, having just refused him something he wanted greedily.

He shook his head. 'It's a great idea.'

'Can't we just go down the steps?' said Sam, edging towards Eric. 'I can't stand heights.'

Eric shook his head. 'I'm going this way,' he said, his voice brittle. 'It's quicker.'

Water bought, thought Emily. Bought with what?

Eric turned his back on them and stepped out onto the branch.

Only it wasn't there anymore. It had uncoiled and pulled back from the wall as if stung, and now there was nothing but hundreds of feet of empty space beneath Eric's descending foot.

Eric teetered on the wall for a moment, his arms windmilling, but there was nothing he could do to stop his forward motion.

'Dad!' Emily screamed.

He fell.
Chapter 53

Sam leapt forward as Eric fell and grabbed at him desperately, just managing to snag his collar.

Eric's weight jerked Sam forward and smashed him against the low wall and would have pulled him over into the void as well had not Emily flung herself at Sam and held onto him.

Sam simply wasn't strong enough to hold on to Eric, though, and the rough cloth of Eric's collar pulled through Sam's fingers with such speed that his fingers burned and he cried out in pain and despair at not being able to save him.

But he had done enough, pulling Eric back in to the side of the stairway so Eric was able to grab frantically at the tangle of old ivy roots that clung to the stone and save himself, bouncing hard against the stairway and knocking his breath out but still holding on. Sam collapsed against the wall, clutching his chest where it had been crushed against the stone, whilst Emily leaned over it desperately to try and help her father.

The first thing she saw was that the ivy roots that he was holding onto were pulling away from the wall under his weight.

'Dad,' she shouted. 'You've got to climb up. I can't reach you.'

His eyes were closed, she saw, and his face white with the strain of holding on.He didn't move.

'Dad, you've got to climb up right now!'

He still didn't move.

Emily was frantic. She had to make him respond. He was running out of time.

'Why did mum leave us?' she screamed down at him, hardly aware of what she was saying until the words were out of her mouth, and astonished to hear herself say them. It was a question she had never asked, had never wanted to ask, half afraid that if she upset him than he would leave her too.

Eric twitched as if given an electric shock and his blue eyes snapped wide open and he looked up at her, and for a moment the expression on his face made her fear that he would rather just let go and take the long tumbling fall down to the cavern floor rather than face her and answer that question.

Then that expression was replaced by another; the strange, obsessed stare that seemed to look through her rather than at her. He ignored her question but to her relief reached up and grabbed more secure handholds in the ivy roots and slowly hauled himself up to the top of the wall.

She tried to help him over but he averted his eyes and refused to take her hand, and so she stepped back sadly and watched as he pulled himself to safety and then stumbled a few feet away and stood at the edge of the platform staring out across the cavern.

Sam had got back to his feet. He rubbed his chest ruefully.

'You worked it out before I did,' Emily said to him. 'Thank you.'

Sam grimaced. 'Only just, I think. The water sought was easy: it's the Well. So I guessed that the short path must lead to some other kind of water.'

He traced the sign of Upwelling in the air with his finger. 'Then I realised that to the monks, water is their god. So I wondered: how do you get to meet god?'

He pointed over the wall towards the cavern floor hundreds of feet below. 'Simple. By dying.'

'The short path to god, bought with your life.'

'Exactly. It's kind of a religious joke.'

Emily shuddered. 'It's not funny.'

Sam turned and studied the maze of stairways, shaking his head. 'But which is the longest path? There are hundreds. Where do we even start?'

Emily had wandered off to look at a patch of moss that covered part of the platform near where they had exited the tunnel.

'Look at this,' she called to Sam.

She pointed out several dark green trails across the moss.

'Footprints,' she said with satisfaction. 'We can follow where the old monk went by following his footprints.'

Sam studied the tracks, looking puzzled. 'Which are his?' he asked. 'It looks like there's only three sets here. Yours, mine and your dad's.'

Emily frowned. Surely the old man left footprints. She looked across the platform. There were three stairways leading off it in different directions.

'What about in the moss patches where we haven't been yet?' she said. She pointed to the stairway leading off to the left. 'You look for his footprints on that one, I'll try the other two.'

Much to Emily's disappointment, however, there were no signs of the old monk's footprints in any of the moss patches that she examined. Perhaps he was just too light to leave a visible trail.

'Em,' called Sam. He beckoned her over. He was looking at a patch of moss on the stairway at his feet.

Emily went over in excitement but as soon as she saw the moss her heart sank. No footprints. She looked at him questioningly.

'Tap tap tap,' said Sam, grinning.
Chapter 54

She stared at him. Had he gone mad? What was he talking about?

Then with a laugh she understood, and looked more carefully at the moss. Yes, there they were. Small, round, dark patches a few feet apart. Where the old man's stick had pressed. He was too light on his feet to leave footprints, but he leaned heavily enough on his stick to leave stickprints.

'Well spotted, crew.'

'Shipshape, Cap'n.' He grinned.

'Dad!' called Emily. 'It's this way.'

Although he didn't reply Eric began to trudge over towards them, his head down. They didn't wait for him but started down the stairs, keeping an eye on the stickprints in the moss to stay on track.

'How did the old coot get so far ahead?' grumbled Sam.

'He's got faster the closer we've got to the Well,' said Emily. 'By the time he got here he may well have been running.'

They laughed at the thought of the old man sprinting along, his stick tap tapping along the floor as rapidly as a woodpecker drumming a tree.

'Who is he, though?' asked Sam. 'I mean, why did he want to come here as soon as he discovered the Calix was gone?'

Emily shrugged. 'Some religious thing, I suppose. As long as he doesn't try to stop us, does it matter?'

Sam looked anxious. 'What if he does try and stop us? What if he's summoning a wyrm right now to kill us when we get there?'

Emily stopped dead and stared at him with wide eyes. 'I hadn't thought of that. Do you think that's what he'll do?'

'He told Stephen Pilgrim that he was going to the Well to wait for the old king. But what if he meant summon and wait?'

'Then we have to get to the Well as quickly as possible,' said Emily decisively. 'If the old monk has to wait for the wyrm to come once it's been summoned, then if we can get there before it does we can destroy the Well and the wyrm with it.'

Sam nodded. 'Then what are we waiting for?'

They picked up the pace, Eric trailing behind but still keeping up. The trail of dots in the moss led them down stairways, up stairways, across junctions, down left and right turns, following a seemingly random route around the edge of the cavern.

Occasionally Emily's heart lifted when they took a stairway that led them inwards and downwards towards the centre of the cavern, and she hoped that this time the path would end at the Well, but always the path curved back and up and they ended up as far away as ever.

The fast pace they had adopted soon began to tell, their legs tiring and aching with every set of stairs they had to climb. Despite the humid air the breath was dry in their throats. The path they were on clung to the very edge of the cavern wall, still hundreds of feet up in the air.

Trailing beards of moss and ferns dangled down from the overhanging walls above their heads, and a flock of handsomely-marked birds, a little like goldfinches but with long, crossed bills, fluttered up from the path in front of them, chirping in protest.

Despite her fatigue Emily had to admit that at another time when they were not caught up in such a threatening, desperate situation, she would be enjoying herself. It was how she imagined it would be like to walk through a jungle; warm, humid, the vegetation lush and exotic, with colourful birds and butterflies flittering around. A childhood dream come true.

She tried not to think about what would happen when they destroyed the Well, if all this exuberant life was bound to it.

Up ahead, Sam gave a joyful cry. 'Water!'

A thin stream of water ran down from the overhang above, splashing onto the pathway ahead of them and then disappearing into a mossy hole in the stone. Thank Fri, thought Emily, her throat parched.

Sam held his cupped hands under the waterfall and drank deeply, emerged for a gasp of air and then drank some more.

'Dad,' said Emily to Eric, who had caught up with them and was looking out towards the centre of the cavern. She put a tentative hand on his arm and felt him flinch.

'Dad, you need to drink something,' she urged.

He shook his head sullenly.

'If you don't drink, dad, then I won't.'

A frown briefly creased his forehead and he sighed and walked tiredly over to the waterfall. Sam had already drunk his fill and was sitting on a block of mossy stone nearby, yawning.

Eric cupped his hands and drank a few sips.

'More,' demanded Emily fiercely.

He drank again, more thirstily, then stepped aside for her.

She sucked in the cold water eagerly, feeling it soothe her burning throat and begin to take the hot ache from her muscles. She gasped for air and then drank again, revelling in the chill that seemed to be spreading from her stomach outwards to the rest of her body, intoxicated by the wonderful liquid.

There was a strange, soft thump behind her and she turned to see her father on his knees looking at her with an odd, unfocused expression. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped sideways onto the mossy floor.

Emily yawned hugely, thinking absently that it was strange that her father had fallen over like that, and wondered what Sam was doing.

Oh, Sam was lying down too, his eyes closed. Emily yawned again, feeling a great wave of tiredness sweep irresistably through her.

Yes, lying down was a marvellous idea. The moss at her feet looked cosy and soft, like a deep green bed, and then as it rose to meet her with soft, springy arms her eyes closed and her thoughts spiralled down into darkness, and she knew no more.

Chapter 55

The first thing Emily saw when she opened her eyes was light. It was almost tangible, a flickering glow in the air, the colour of sunlight filtered through spring green leaves and reflected on slowly rippling water.

It reminded her of summer mornings when the sun shone early and bright through her bedroom curtains and called her outside to explore the world.

She was lying on thick moss in a circular clearing bounded by three huge grey standing stones. At the centre of the clearing the light seemed to concentrate in a fountain of light, a constant stream of tiny flecks and sparkles of gold rising up in a shimmering column and then cascading down in a circle onto the mossy ground.

The Well!

Emily sat bolt upright and looked for her father and Sam. They were lying nearby, just stirring. Her dad looked vulnerable and forlorn, his skin pale and lined. She loved him so much. Silently she begged Fri with all her heart that when Eric had destroyed the Well he would be free of the obsession that seemed to be twisting and damaging him so.

Soon she would know. Astonishingly, they had managed to bring the Calix to the Wyrmwell. Now only the old monk stood between them and success.

With a jolt she remembered Sam's warning about the old monk summoning a wyrm to stop them. Where was he? She looked around frantically, at first failing to see him because he was so still, then finally spotted him sitting crosslegged in a hollow at the base of one of the standing stones.

His eyes were closed and he radiated a sense of calm and peacefulness. He did not look like any kind of threat.

Reassured for a moment she stood up, feeling wobbly but also somehow invigorated after her enforced sleep, and stepped carefully over the mossy ground towards the centre of the circle.

The surface of the Well was a perfect circle perhaps ten feet across. Emily dropped to her knees at its edge and leaned over and looked down into it. For a moment she thought that there was no water in it at all and it was just a mossy hole sunk in the ground, but then she realised that the water was so pure that it was almost invisible. The only sign of its presence was that, like the best and purest glass, it added a depth and clarity to what lay beyond it.

The sight took her breath away. She would never forget that first glimpse into the Well. It was as if she was not looking down into the earth, but up through the surface of a pool into the sky.

It was almost a mirror image of the vast cavern she knelt in, but inverted and painted in different colours. She could see the tips of three stones like those around her, but in the Well-world they were white, not grey.

The immense trunks of the red tree rising above her in the cavern were replicated beneath the water in vast limbs of transparent glittering crystal, around which shoals of brightly-coloured fish swam like the birds and butterflies overhead. And deep in the distance other, billowing formations of white crystal seemed to float like shining clouds as the water deepened to blue. There seemed to be no bottom to the underwater cavern that she could see. It just kept going, as vast as the sky.

She'd thought that the Wyrmwell would be a place of slime and horror. She was completely unprepared for it to be beautiful. It felt holy, a sacred place.

No matter. She had a job to do. Her father was ill, and she would do anything to help him.

She turned from the Well and made her way over to her father, who was now sitting up on the moss with his head in his hands. She became aware of a quiet sound like the susurration of a breeze through dry reeds and realised that the old monk had started to recite his rhyme again:

'So he calls for his bowl,

And he calls for his blade,

And he calls for his servants three.'

She was relieved to see that he showed no signs of realising that there was anyone other than himself in the circle.

She helped her dad struggle to his feet.

'We're here, dad,' she whispered. 'At the Well.'

He slowly raised his hollow-looking eyes to look around, finally focusing on the fountain of light in the middle of the circle. His hands automatically went into his jacket and he pulled out the Calix. It was now glowing brightly with a shifting, shimmering light, as if in answer to the light from the Well.

'Do it, dad,' she urged.

With difficulty she helped him closer to the Well. He seemed to be operating at half-speed, his movements as slow as if he were underwater.

Emily became distantly aware that the words of the old monk's rhyme had changed:

' _Chop, chop, chop go the servants three,_

Red, red, red fills the bowl.

That's the way it has to be

To keep King Cole a merry old soul!'

Those certainly weren't words for the second verse that she remembered from school. Why was the old monk so obsessed with that horrible rhyme?

What did it mean to him?

Beside her, Eric mumbled something, his voice thick and unintelligible. They were now close enough to be able to see into the Well. Eric's face was beaded with sweat and a nerve twitched under his eye. Under Emily's hand his tense arm felt as hard as wood. He stopped moving forward.

'Throw it in now, dad,' cried Emily.

Eric pulled back his arm slowly, the Calix clenched in his white-knuckled fist, readying to throw.

But he seemed unable to complete the action and stood paralysed, his face reddening, eyes bulging, backswept arm trembling as if one part of him wanted to complete the throw and another part was holding back, and the two were in such a finely poised struggle that it looked to a horrified Emily that her father might tear himself apart with the strain.

She reached up and desperately started to prise the Calix out of her father's clenched hand. His face was going purple, the swollen veins standing out horribly on his temples and neck. If she didn't do something, she knew, he would die.

The Calix dropped from his hand and she grabbed it, ready to throw.

'No!' screamed a voice from across the Well.

A blur of dark motion leaping down from one of the red tree's trunks. The Wyrmwulf, running into the circle towards her.

'Don't throw it in!'

'My dad will die!' screamed back Emily.

Saving him outweighed everything else.

She threw the Calix in the Well.
Chapter 56

The Wyrmwulf leapt into the air and dived over the Well, hands outstretched, to catch the Calix. It was an incredible leap, full of grace and skill.

It wasn't enough.

The Calix dropped into the Well and disappeared without a ripple.

The Wyrmwulf completed the dive, having leapt completely over the Well, in a forward roll over the mossy ground and in the same motion stood up again.

Eric gave a small groan and collapsed beside Emily.

Emily stared at the Well. She'd done it. Thrown the Calix in. Destroyed the Well.

She waited for something to happen. Waited for the light to dim, the plants to die, the water to bubble and seethe and dry up.

She glanced across at Sam. He too was staring at the Well, waiting.

She waited for the red tree to split apart, for the cavern roof to fall in, for the mossy ground to parch and catch fire and burn.

Nothing happened.

If anything, the light from the Well seemed brighter.

But, thought Emily in bewilderment, Mrs Harrow had told her father that if he threw the Calix in, the Well would be destroyed.

A bird flew overhead, chirping.

But Mrs Harrow had said...

A dreadful, appalling thought began to gather in Emily's mind.

She tried to ignore it. Her father was lying on the ground beside her, his face grey and his breathing fast and laboured like that of a dog left too long in the sun.

She knelt down beside him and stroked his forehead. It was cold and wet.

'Dad,' she said. 'Dad, don't die.' She felt tears running down her cheeks.

Then the Wyrmwulf was there, kneeling beside her, helping her lift Eric's head and pouring some water from a small flask into his mouth.

'You fought him,' said the Wyrmwulf to Eric. Emily was startled to hear, even through the distortion of the mask, amazement in the Wyrmwulf's tone. 'After all this time, Eric, you fought.'

Eric coughed slightly as the water ran down his throat, then relaxed. His breathing became calmer. They laid his head back down onto the moss.

'If only you could have fought from the start,' said the Wyrmwulf.

'Listen,' said Emily, her voice shaking. 'I had to do it. It was killing him.' She looked at Sam for support. He nodded.

'The shadow of the Old King was on him.' The Wyrmwulf's distorted voice sounded sad. 'He fought back and refused to throw the Calix into the Well as the Old King wanted . The struggle was killing him, yes.'

Emily's head was spinning. 'What are you saying?' she asked wildly. 'I thought that throwing the Calix into the Well would destroy it. That it would stop the monks being able to summon the wyrms?'

Strangely, she felt hot tears running down her cheeks again. The pit of her stomach seemed to be filled with a tangle of writhing vipers, as if she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

The Wyrmwulf stood up suddenly, looming over Emily. 'Eric said that?'

Emily shook her head. 'No. Mrs Harrow did.'

'The Headteacher...?' the Wyrmwulf paused. 'And her husband is the acting mayor now.' The masked head nodded slowly. 'Yes. They will be the other two servants.'

Emily frowned. 'Servants?'

'The Old King always chooses three servants to lead his worship. They are the ones who will be rewarded when his shadow falls again on Wormwell.'

The words from Father Aire's nursery rhyme echoed loud in Emily's mind. Chop, chop, chop go the servants three...

She suddenly remembered what kind of worship Lord Cotman had described taking place in Wormwell when the wyrms reigned.

Blood sacrifice. Human blood sacrifice.

She felt sick.

And the Old King's three servants were the ones who would carry out them out. They were the ones who would wield the blades and cut throats to fill the bowls with red, red blood.

'You said the other two servants,' she said slowly, looked down at Eric with a dreadful, heart-stopping suspicion.

'You mean my dad...?'

The Wyrmwulf nodded impassively.

'Yes. Eric is the Old King's third servant.'

Chapter 57

Emily stepped back from her father's unconscious body as if stung.

'He can't be!' she pleaded. 'He's my dad!'

It sounded stupid even as she said it, but whatever the Old King had made him, she just couldn't imagine her dad holding a knife and sacrificing someone.

The Wyrmwulf considered her. 'The shadow fell on him before you were born. Lightly at first, but unmistakeable. He was never a man to enjoy power, though, and perhaps the old wyrm has had less success with him than with the Harrows. In the end Eric resisted.'

Emily looked at her father as if he were a stranger. 'He resisted...'

A glimmer of hope. 'So if...when he wakes up, will he still be...?' she whispered.

'A servant?' The Wyrmwulf paused, then the black-clad head shook. 'No, the Old King prefers his servants willing, I think, and Eric fought him almost to the death. I think that when your father awakes, he will be free from the shadow.' There was a strange tone in the Wyrmwulf's voice, a lightness that had not been there before.

Relief surged through Emily, making her dizzy with happiness. Her father was, after all, who she'd always thought he was.

The Wyrmwulf looked down at Eric's prone body. 'But he may find the knowledge that he was under the Old King's shadow for so long,' the Wyrmwulf paused again, '...difficult. He always denied that such a thing could happen.'

Emily was barely listening. The relief she had felt in helping her father free himself from the shadow of the wyrm had quickly been replaced by anxiety. She looked up at the Wyrmwulf.

'So what Mrs Harrow said about the Calix,' she said hesitantly, 'was a lie?'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'She must have seen that Eric was fighting against the shadow, and she told him that to keep him doing what they wanted.'

Emily felt angry and stupid. Why had she ever believed Mrs Harrow in the first place? She hated the woman.

Then she looked down at her father, seeing with relief that his face was more peaceful now, less tense and lined, and his breathing more normal, and she realised why. She's believed Mrs Harrow because her father had. She'd trusted his judgement, not knowing that he'd been under the shadow of the Old King all the time...

'He wanted to keep me safe,' said Emily fiercely. 'He wanted to keep us all safe.'

The Wyrmwulf sighed. 'That's what parents do, Emily. Fathers and mothers. We try to keep our children safe. Whatever the cost.'

'So if the Calix didn't destroy the Well, what did it do?'

'When the Calix was twinned with the Upwelling symbol in the Abbey Church,' said the Wyrmwulf, 'it formed an impenetrable barrier. It stopped the wyrms from returning to the Well. Now that barrier has been broken.'

'The Old King is a wyrm,' said Emily slowly, putting the pieces together and finally beginning to see the bitter truth. 'And now he can return to the Well.'

At the mention of the Old King, the ancient monk started up his rhyme again: 'Old King Cole is a thirsty old soul...'

'That's enough, Aire,' said the Wyrmwulf sharply.

The old man lapsed into surprised silence.

'Yes,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'The first people to settle in Wormwell called him Blótan Coeli. It means, literally, sacrifice to heaven. Blótan Coeli lives only to be worshipped, and thirsts for human sacrifice.'

'Old King Coeli,' said Emily. 'Old King Cole'.

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'Father Aire wrote the original words to the nursery rhyme. He wanted to people to remember that the Old King still lived, and that one day Coeli would rise again and cast his shadow. But as time passed, the original words were changed to less...sinister ones.'

'Yes, it's best that children aren't told the truth,' said Emily bitterly. 'Then when the worst does happen it can all come as a wonderful surprise.'
Chapter 58

The Wyrmwulf ignored her. 'The Old King was trapped in a mortal body a thousand years ago by its summoner, Father Aire...'

Emily turned to look at the frail old monk sitting passively on his seat in the stone, stunned at what the Wyrmwulf had just implied.

'He's Father Aire? And he's a thousand years old?'

'He is bound to the wyrm that he summoned. Whilst the Old King lives, he lives.'

'So the monks do summon the wyrms,' interrupted Sam loudly. 'Just like we thought.' He looked at the Wyrmwulf defiantly.

'As spirits,' said the Wyrmwulf flatly, 'the wyrms are immortal and unstoppable. Once their shadow falls, it is almost impossible to escape it.'

The Wyrmwulf looked down at Eric's unconscious body. 'As you can see, fighting the shadow comes at a cost.'

Then a black-gloved hand indicated the glowing Well. 'But the power of the holy Well is such that, through prayer, the monks can summon the wyrm spirits through it and trap them in a mortal body.'

'A mortal body...' repeated Sam, chastened. 'Kill the body, kill the spirit?'

'Yes. That is my task, and has been that of the many Wyrmwulf that have come before me.'

'So that water-wyrm last night,' said Sam frowning. 'That started as a spirit, then? And the monks made it real so you could kill it.'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'There are many spirits like it that haunt waterways and lakes, raising peoples' fears of what might lurk in the deeps. Usually they have little power, but in this case the Wormwell Inquirer had stirred up so much fear of a monster in the water that people were already abandoning the waterways in terror.'

Emily looked down at her father. 'It was him again,' she whispered. 'He kept running the story to make people scared.' She felt a great sadness.

'Remember that Eric was under the shadow of the Old King,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'He was not himself. But yes, I think the Old King's plan was to force the monks into summoning the wyrm so that I would have to go out and kill it.'

Sam's eyes were wide. 'They set you up. They waited for you to appear and then tried to assassinate you!'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'That way, when Eric had done his job and broken the barrier, the Old King could return to the Well knowing that the Wyrmwulf was dead and unable to fight him. Fortunately, the plan failed.'

'But they did injure you,' said Emily. 'Will you be able to fight?'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'I will. Because if I do not, and the Old King can kill his summoner and return to the Well, then he will become immortal again. And his shadow will fall on Wormwell, and his servants will become his high priests, and they will make blood sacrifices to him willingly until there is no-one left to make them with.' The Wyrmwulf's black mask stared at them. 'Until no-one is left.'

Emily shuddered, appalled. The Harrows would sacrifice everyone in Wormwell to the wyrm. Everyone.

She felt a moment of great despair and shame at what she had done. She had released the Old King and doomed them all, all her friends and their friends and family and all the people she'd seen in the market, happy and excited, and Miss Fairchild at the library, and Egil miserably stamping his books, and everyone else in Wormwell, perhaps even her mother if she was out there somewhere, leading her own life...she'd doomed them all to a horrible, bloody death.
Chapter 59

'No,' Emily said firmly, looking beyond herself and fixing on what she might do, yet, to stop this dreadful future.

'The Old King hasn't risen yet,' she said, and suddenly felt excitement and hope rising inside her. 'He has been hidden underground for a thousand years. He'll be weak and disoriented. If you can find him first, then he will be easier to kill.'

The black-masked head shook slowly. 'That is true, but I do not know where he is hidden. No-one does.'

Emily looked at Sam, her eyes bright. 'Sam, the Kingstone!' she said. 'What if the hoard of kings was not his treasure, but the king himself? Old King Cole.'

Sam nodded in agreement, then winced. 'This is going to involve more climbing, isn't it?'

The Wyrmwulf looked at the two children. 'The Kingstone is a map to the hiding place of the Old King?'

'I think so,' said Emily. 'You must stay here, in case I'm wrong. If I'm right, we'll return here and tell you where the Old King is hidden. Then you can go and kill him.'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'It will be better for you to be elsewhere if the Old King comes here. But if you are to find him, you must hurry.'

Sam was looking up hopelessly at the maze of stairways winding through the cavern. 'It will take us a million years just to find our way out.'

The Wyrmwulf walked over to the Well, beckoning to the children to follow, and knelt at the edge. A gloved finger dipped into the Well and lifted to place a single shining drop of Well-water onto each of their tongues.

As the cold liquid hit her tongue Emily felt a wave of bright, thrilling energy wash through her and fill her every muscle and sinew. All her tiredness and aches were gone. She felt as fresh and wild as a mountain stream.

Sam clearly felt the same; he was bouncing up and down as if the stresses and strains of the last couple of days had never happened.

'I feel fantastic,' he announced with a wide grin. 'Ready for anything.'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'The water from the holy Well is a blessing. Now you have drunk it, the red tree will also allow you passage.'

The black-masked face looked at them in turn. 'If you think you can find the hiding place of the Old King before he rises, then you must move fast. Now the barrier is broken, he will be summoning his strength to return here.' The muffled voice became grim. 'And it may be that the Old King requires blood sacrifice to give him strength, so lives will be spared if we can stop him quickly.'

Emily nodded. Energy rushed through her veins, spurring her on.

'Come on, Sam.' She ran over to where her father lay. He was still unconscious, but his face was a better colour than it had been, and his expression more peaceful. She hoped that when he did wake up he would not remember what the wyrm had done to him. She kissed him on the forehead.

'Love you dad,' she murmured.

She caught the Wyrmwulf watching her.

'Even after everything he's done?' The Wyrmwulf's tone was flat and expressionless.

Emily nodded. She stood up and looked for which of the trunks of the red tree would take them up to the spiral stairway most quickly.

The Wyrmwulf pointed with a gloved finger at a trunk a little way away rising from the ground at a low angle.

'That one.'

Emily started towards it with Sam, then stopped and looked back at the Wyrmwulf. 'Whatever he did, he did it to keep me safe,' she said. 'How can I not forgive him?'

'Emily...' said the Wyrmwulf, in voice that, even muffled by the mask, sounded strained. A black-gloved hand drifted up towards the mask, then was lowered again. 'Take care.'

Emily nodded, thinking that the Wyrmwulf had intended to say something else, something important.

She was about to ask what it was when she realised that Sam was already ahead of her, half-climbing, half running up the red trunk, and she ran after him, bounding up the wide tree trunk, feeling energy flowing through her, feeling that she could do anything.

In moments they were above the canopy of great fountain-headed tree ferns and the scene behind them was obscured.

Chapter 60

They climbed quickly, the bark of the red tree slightly rough under foot and offering good grip despite the constant soft drizzle, the trunk rising at such a low angle that they were able to run up it freely.

The wide red path wound upwards through high arches supporting lofty stairways, leading them ever higher until they reached the stone platform at the top of cavern.

Emily looked back as they entered the tunnel, drinking in one last glimpse of the cavern's wonders to take with her, hoping that when they returned it would be with news of the Old King's hiding place, but all too aware that if they failed, or were too late, the wyrm would be here first.

With only the injured Wyrmwulf standing between it and the doom it brought to the people of Wormwell.

'Faster,' she urged Sam as they charged up the tunnel towards the spiral stair. 'We have to get to the Kingstone. We have to find the Old King!'

'How did we get it so wrong?' panted Sam. 'About the Calix? And the monks? Why were we so stupid!' His face reddened as he ran.

Emily was shaking her head. 'Don't be daft. How could we have known? We didn't tell the monks to lock themselves up in the Abbey and not to tell anyone what they were doing. And even the warning that was in the nursery rhyme was lost.'

'That's right.' Sam sounded less upset. 'We were just trying to help your dad.' He paused. 'I hope he'll be all right.'

'If we succeed,' said Emily, 'then at least he'll be free from the Old King's shadow. And if we fail...' she grimaced, 'he won't be any worse off than anyone else.'

The light from the cavern below was fading and Emily fished the torch out of her pocket to lead the way. The spiral stair seemed to take forever to climb, even in their refreshed state, but eventually they reached the door at the top, which pulled open at Emily's touch.

They ran through the empty church, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls around them eerily, the torch lighting up their path in the darkness.

The moonlight that had illuminated the church earlier had gone, and Emily wondered how long they had been asleep after they had drunk from the waterfall. A few hours at least, she guessed, if the moon had had time to set.

They retraced their steps up the stairs and into the back room with the secret door, then made the long climb back down the iron ladder. This time, though, because they didn't have to disguise the sound of their footsteps from the old monk, they were able to clamber down it at speed, and were soon splashing through the puddles down the trackway back towards the Abbey.

Rather than returning through the iron door that led to the tunnel to the crypt under the Abbey, however, Emily led them down to the end of the track itself. They followed a short passageway up from the platform to a thick wooden door veiled with grimy cobwebs.

Sam hammered on the door with a lump of masonry that he'd picked up in the tunnel, causing spiders to scatter in panic to the safety of the rock walls either side. He kept pounding doggedly on the door, the deep thuds echoing around them, until they heard, after a couple of minutes, a muffled shout on the other side.

The grille slammed open. 'What in the Miller's name are you doing?'

The Gatekeeper's eyes bulged as he saw them. 'You again. What you got against my poor doors?'

'The Wyrmwulf sent us,' shouted Emily. 'The Old King is coming. We have to stop him!'

The Gatekeeper stared at her and the blood drained from his craggy face, leaving it almost as white as his beard. 'The Old King?'

He unbolted the door and swung it open, 'You must come and tell the Council what you know. Immediately.'

'There's no time for that,' cried Sam. 'We have to get to Snaefall as quickly as possible.'

'Can you help us?' asked Emily. She looked at him pleadingly.

The old Gatekeeper considered them for a moment, his blue eyes sharp and searching, then he nodded slowly. 'Follow me.'

He led them through the Gatehall to another doorway, which he unlocked with a jangle of iron keys, then down a passageway to a platform where one of the strange, sideways trolleys was waiting, dusty with neglect.

'This will take you all the way out to the North Wall,' said the old Gatekeeper gruffly. 'Then follow the tunnel. It will take you to the old Pilgrim Station. From there, the way to Snaefall is plain.'

'Thank you,' said Emily as she and Sam seated themselves securely on the trolley. 'Thank you for trusting us.'

The Gatekeeper looked at her from under his bushy eyebrows.

'Faith flows first from the hearts of children,' he said gravely. 'The Book tells us this.'

Emily felt a sudden upwelling of emotion as she looked at the old monk. She jumped off the trolley, ran and hugged him quickly.

He went red and patted her on the back awkwardly. 'Thought you were in a hurry?'

She nodded and dashed back to the trolley as the old monk busied himself with levers.

'Godwell, godspeed' he said, and then they were off, rushing into the tunnel, the track clattering beneath them, the wind blowing in their faces like a gale. The tunnel was infrequently lit, and as she clung onto the juddering trolley looking into the darkness Emily saw images flashing before her mind's eye: her father lying unconscious on the moss by the Well; a butterfly rising from a crimson flower; the crystal tree in the Well.

Strangely, the image that she saw most clearly was not that of her father's face, or the sight of the strange world through the surface of the Well, or even the wonders of the cavern, but the memory of the Wyrmwulf raising a black-gloved hand, reaching tentatively towards the mask, as if about to reveal the face beneath.
Chapter 61

Emily puzzled over that. She was sure that the Wyrmwulf was Stephen Pilgrim, despite all the talk of parents and children, so why would that image tease her curiosity? She stared into the darkness, hoping for enlightenment. None came. Irritated, she thrust the memory aside and concentrated on the challenge she and Sam faced at the end of the tunnel.

Normally the climb up the Serpent's Backbone; the vertical stairs that led up the side of Snaefall; would be a terrifying prospect, but awash with wellwater energy as they were it seemed less daunting.

What worried her was the Kingstone itself. If the shepherd's son had spent his whole life trying to discover the key to the map and had failed, what chance did she have? So what was the key? That was the question.

Something niggled at the back of her mind, something about a question...

With a jerk the trolley began to decelerate rapidly and Emily gripped the arms tightly until they came to a shuddering halt alongside a dimly-lit platform thick with the musty, watery smell of long disuse. They leapt off and followed a flight of stairs upwards to a long, dark, stone-built tunnel that twisted and turned; Emily's torch revealing damp walls and a floor thick with slime as they squelched along.

Finally , at the top of a zig-zagging flight of stairs they came to a narrow stone door, and then had to endure the unpleasant task of scraping the black slime off the walls to find the Upwelling symbol that opened it.

'Great,' said Sam, his hands dripping with black goo, 'not only do we get to try and save everyone in Wormwell from a horrible fate, we get to do the cleaning too.'

'Found it,' said Emily with satisfaction. There was a faint click and a familiar grinding of stone on stone, and the door swung open slowly.

Emily shone the torch through the gap and they peered out. Beyond the door was a long stone chamber with a gravel floor and a narrow flight of steps at the far end leading upwards. The torchlight picked out a small plaque attached to the wall to their left.

'Infirmary,' Emily read out. 'Second century A.S.'

'I've been here before,' said Sam, looking around. 'It's part of the old ruins outside the North Wall. My mum and dad dragged me here once when they were still pretending to be a family. We had a picnic on the benches outside. It rained and my dad refused to get under cover and my sandwich got soggy.'

He picked up a stone from the floor and jammed it in the doorway to stop the door from closing.

'Are we close to Snaefall?'

'There's a path straight to it. I'll show you.'

They ran up the worn stone stairs and emerged into a sprawl of ruined walls, gravel paths and close-cropped grass barely visible in the first light of dawn. Banks of mist lay in the hollows. They both shivered as the chilly, damp air started to soak into the exposed skin of their hands and faces.

The unending roar of Snaefall came from somewhere away to their right. Looking up, Emily could just distinguish the darkness of North Cliff against the lightening sky, and the pale ribbon of Snaefall bisecting it.

Sam led them through the ruins past a small visitors' centre, to a fence and gate bordering a small wood. A well-worn path ran from the gate into the trees. The gate was locked but they soon scaled it and dropped down onto the path on the far side.

Looking up through the trees they could see the top of the waterfall as it plunged over the edge of North Cliff down into the valley. The dark tooth of the Kingstone was clearly visible in the middle of the white flow.

Sam looked up at the cliff and sighed.

'Why did it have to be so high?'

'Look at it this way. If you fell off a thirty foot wall you'd probably die. So it doesn't matter if that cliff's three hundred feet high. It's not as if you'll die any worse if you fall off it, is it?'

'Thanks. That really doesn't help at all.'
Chapter 62

Emily grinned. 'You'll be fine.'

The path through the woods soon met up with the river Forge that ran down from the base of Snaefall and followed its course up towards the waterfall. The trees that overhung the path dripped icy water onto their heads and as the path ran over outcrops of slippery bare rock they had to move frustratingly slowly and cautiously.

Thick mist lay deep over the river and spilled over their path, muffling even the sound of the waterfall and making it seem that they were walking through a soft, quiet grey world without substance or permanence.

Finally they climbed a low rise of gravel and stood on the lip of the wide bank that circled the plunge pool itself.

The mist was so thick that they could barely make out Snaefall itself, although this close the roar of the water hammering down into the pool was deafening and they could feel the cold spray flung up from the impact raining down on them. Within moments they were drenched to the skin.

Emily suddenly felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl and looked around sharply. The mist crowded in around her, obscuring everything more than a few feet away.

'Someone's watching us,' she hissed to Sam.

He nodded, looking nervous. 'I feel it too. Let's get to those stairs quick. No-one in their right mind would follow us up there.'

They skirted the edge of the pool as fast as they dared, feeling naked and exposed, eyes jumping to every movement in the swirling mist.

As they came around the east side of the pool, right under the sheer black rock of the cliff, the drifting mist cleared slightly to reveal the top of a high chain-link fence at its base.

'That's it,' cried Sam. 'That's where they've closed off the stairs.'

The damp greyness thinned as they ran towards the fence, revealing a heavy, padlocked gate.

Someone was standing in front of it.

Emily heard herself make a short, shuddering cry of fear.

It was Crotilda Harrow.

Bedraggled, wild-eyed, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. Clothes sodden and clinging to her like a shroud. She held a long, ancient-looking black knife in her hand.

The children skidded to a stop and spun around to flee, only to shrink back as a large figure loomed up out of the mist in front of them. With a numb feeling Emily recognised him. It was the casually-dressed man that she'd seen talking to Mrs Harrow on the bridge the night before.

He was carrying a large, dark-grey gun in one hand.

With horror Emily realised that he must have been the one who had shot the Wyrmwulf.

'Thank you for coming,' said Mrs Harrow. She bared her yellow teeth in a dreadful smile.

Emily and Sam looked at her in despair.

'I thought you would come here,' she said. Her thin voice sounded like the metallic scrape of a blade being sharpened on a whetstone. 'I knew it was you two who had been in the library and found out about the Kingstone. Couldn't resist coming to see it for yourselves, could you?'

'Curiosity killed the cat, you know,' said the man behind them. He sounded hopeful.

Mrs Harrow shrugged. 'I only need one of them,' she said.

She nodded towards Sam.

'Kill the boy.'
Chapter 63

'Wait!' shouted Emily desperately.

'Silence!' barked Mrs Harrow, as if they were back in the school hall.

The casually-dressed man raised the gun and pointed it at Sam, his finger tightening on the trigger.

It was happening too quickly. In despair Emily knew that there was nothing she could do to save him.

There was a soft thud and the casually-dressed man's face turned pale. His arm jerked violently and the gun fired harmlessly into the sky and flew from his hand to disappear with a splash in the pool.

Emily stared at him in astonishment.

The man moaned and clutched at the back of his arm. He whirled in panic to look behind him and the children were amazed to see the hilt of a throwing knife sticking out of the back of his arm. Blood was seeping through the sleeve of the man's jacket.

'Emily, Sam, are you alright?'

The voice was familiar. Out of the mist strode the fierce, red-headed figure of Susan Longlost, wielding another knife, followed by Arran.

'Suzy!'

'We're fine.'

'I've been watching these two for some time,' said Longlost grimly. 'After the raid on the church we hid up for a while, then Arran convinced me that you'd come out to here to look for the treasure.

When we got here we heard them talking about you, so we hid and waited to see what they'd do. Sorry we took so long, I lost you in the mist there for a few minutes.'

'Never been happier to see anyone in my life,' said Sam, still pale with the horror of having come so close to being executed.

Crotilda Harrow screamed with rage and ran towards them, waving her knife. At the same time the casually-dressed man reached around his arm and with a groan of pain pulled the knife from his arm. He hefted the knife in his hand and started to advance towards Longlost, waving it in front of him.

Desperately, Emily dived to the ground in front of Crotilda's feet and the woman tripped headlong over her and with a scream rolled down the bank into the pool.

'Run!' shouted Longlost as she and Arran backed away into the mist, pursued by the casually-dressed man. Within moments all three had disappeared utterly into the pale fog.

Sam dragged Emily up onto her feet and they ran to the fence that closed off the steps that ran up the side of Snaefall. Swearing horribly, Crotilda Harrow struggled out of the water, bleeding from cuts on her temple and cheek, and started towards them, still brandishing her black knife.

The children scrambled up the fence, using the links as finger and toe holds. They had barely reached the top when Crotilda crashed into it, shaking it so violently that they almost fell off on top of her. They flung themselves desperately over the other side and dropped to the ground in a heap.

They stood up shakily. Crotilda was screaming at them incoherently on the other side of the fence, her fingers gripped like claws in the links, shaking it manaically. Emily had never seen anyone so out of control. Crotilda looked possessed.

Then Emily realised. Crotilda was possessed. The Old King's shadow was on her, driving her to extremes to carry out the old wyrm's plan, as he had driven Eric to near madness.

And what had the Wyrmwulf said? 'It may be that the Old King requires blood sacrifice to give him strength.'

Now Emily understood what Crotilda's black knife was for.

It was for her.

Crotilda intended to sacrifice her to the Old King. Her blood would give the Old King the strength to rise from his lair.

Now Crotilda was starting to scale the fence.

'Up!' Emily shouted to Sam. A faint hope that perhaps Crotilda wouldn't follow them up the cliff.

The steps of the Serpent's Backbone were barely more than hand- and foot-holds scooped out of the rock, a thin track of dark hollows leading upwards into the mist. Sam went first, scrambling upwards. Emily followed him immediately, gripping the handholds above her tightly and shoving her feet firmly into the pits below as fast as she could.

Fortunately the handholds were more useful than they had looked at first sight as they each had a rounded lip at its base that made it easier to hold on to. Within moments she was high enough for the ground below her to have disappeared into the mist. She could no longer see Crotilda Harrow and prayed that the terrifying woman would balk at following them up the precipitous stairway.

Sam was just a couple of handholds ahead of Emily. They climbed as quickly as they dared on the wet rock, ever conscious that a slip could mean a tumbling fall onto the rocky ground that was now a long way beneath them. Their muscles still fizzed with wellwater energy and they seemed to be able to climb without tiring.

It was getting lighter. The sun had not yet risen but the clear sky above them was silver and flushing with a golden glow. Emily realised that the mist was thinning: they were climbing up out of it.

She looked to her left at the white torrent of water and then looked away again hurriedly. The plunging water made her feel dizzy and vertiginous, as if it were calling her to join it as it leapt into the pool far below.

She looked down and saw with a sinking heart the dark figure of Crotilda Harrow climbing jerkily up out of the mist below her, still some distance behind them but moving rapidly, like a predatory insect closing in on its prey, gripping the black knife between her bared teeth.

Chapter 64

'Climb faster!' Emily called up to Sam. He nodded, his face set and determined.

Right hand up, right foot up, left foot up, left hand up...they repeated the same pattern again and again, breathing fast, the air catching in their dry throats painfully, their fingers cramping on the handholds, tensely aware of Crotilda closing in on them from below, climbing with inhuman speed. Right hand up, right foot up...the three figures tiny against the huge dark cliff.

Emily heard Sam swear and a handful of stone chips clattered down and impacted painfully on the top of her head and shoulders.

'Sorry,' Sam called down. 'Handhold broke up here on the right. Watch out for it.'

'Climb faster!' Emily urged Sam again. She knew he was climbing as fast as he could but Crotilda was close now, her silver-grey hair straggly with the damp, her hands and feet almost punching into the hollows as she climbed. Now they were high above the plunge pool they had left behind the deep rumble of water hitting water, and Emily could clearly hear Crotilda's harsh, laboured breathing below her.

Emily was right at Sam's heels now, grabbing the handholds as soon as his feet left them. Crotilda had almost caught up. Emily looked up in panic. The top of the cliff was not far away. Would they make it? And if they did, would they be any better off?

Right hand up, right foot up...Emily cried out as something grabbed at her left foot and kicked out instinctively, dislodging Crotilda's hand and causing her to snarl angrily.

Emily looked down and saw Crotilda staring up at her with wild, reddened eyes. Blood ran down Crotilda's chin from where she had cut her lip on the knife between her teeth. She exuded a sense of almost animal ferocity and purpose. Emily had a sudden awful sense of looking at something that was no longer human.

Frantically she reached up for the next handhold and gasped as her hand closed on empty air. At the same time Crotilda grabbed her heel again, pulling her viciously downwards, and to her horror Emily felt herself falling backwards, away from the rockface, backwards into empty space...

...then a hand grabbed her wrist with wiry strength and pulled her upwards and back towards the cliff, and she managed to kick off Crotilda's grasping hand and desperately scrambled up over the lip of the top step to join Sam in a small gully that led up sharply to the top of the cliff, sucking in great shuddering breaths and shaking with the trauma of having nearly fallen.

There was no time for thanks. Crotilda's head appeared almost instantly at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide and staring, the pupils like black holes that seemed to suck in light and hope.

A small rock hit the side of her forehead with a hollow thunk and spiralled down into the void below. Crotilda cried out and ducked beneath the lip of the cliff again. Sam already had another rock ready. His face was pale but determined.

Moments later the head popped up again, to be met by two rocks, one thrown by each of the desperate children, which Crotilda narrowly avoided by ducking again. Emily frantically cast around for a larger rock; one that might give Crotilda more than a moment's pause, but apart from a few handfuls of soil and gravel their supply of ammunition was already almost exhausted.

Rather than waiting for Crotilda to show her face again, they fled up the gully to the cliff top.

They emerged into a blast of freezing wind that swept across the Addermoor from the mountains to the North. The plateau was covered in purple heather and studded with small rocky outcrops that looked from a distance like huddled groups of trolls.

Small clouds hurried across the moor towards them, nearly at ground level. Above them the dawn sky was brightening. Emily glanced behind them. The purple heather faded out to dark, bare rock which ended in a jagged line that ran as far as they could see east and west. Beyond the line was a thin grey mist that occasionally allowed Emily to catch a glimpse of the shadowy rooftops of Wormwell and to the southeast the flat expanse of Orme Lake.

To their left ran Addermoor Force, the river that ran down from the northern mountains and took the high leap off the cliff to drop as Snaefall into the plunge pool far below. They ran over to it. The dark water flooded past, its surface smooth but undulating with an inner turbulence, like skin over flexing muscle. Emily shivered, feeling a childlike sense of anxiety that the water would suck her in malevolently from where she stood on the bank and spit her tumbling, drowned body out over the falls.

In the centre of the channel was the Kingstone, a long, flattish rock that was perhaps two dozen paces in length. One end jutted out over the void, slightly higher and more rounded than the rest of the rock, and Emily could just make out the round cup-and-ring markings that were cut into it like eyes.

At some point in the past the Kingstone must have been used as a viewpoint by intrepid sightseers, for a thin iron railing ran around the head of the Kingstone. It was bent in several places and one section, over the void itself, was entirely missing.

At the other end of the Kingstone a spidery iron bridge had once linked it to the bank. But harsh winters and floods had done their work and although the two ends of the bridge remained in place, the middle section had been twisted and torn away, the broken metal struts cutting a white scar in the swiftly flowing water.

There was a triumphant cry from behind them. Crotilda emerged from the gully that led up from the top of the stairs and lumbered towards them, clutching the black knife, her eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

Chapter 65

There was only one place for them to go. They didn't have time to think about the danger of what they were about to do, or the consequences if they failed.

They just ran, ran onto the iron bridge, feeling it shake and rattle under their feet, and jumped. Emily went first, leaping over the dark water, the cold air catching in her throat, then clanged down on the other side, making the stub of bridge shudder alarmingly, grabbing onto the thin handrail with desperate force and scrambling forward.

A heavy clang right behind her indicated, to her relief, that Sam had completed the jump too, then she heard a cry and spun to see him teetering on the edge over the racing water, a panicked look on his face, then she grabbed his flailing arm and pulled him forward and he was safe.

They staggered with relief onto the solid rock of the Kingstone and then looked back across the water. Crotilda Harrow was on the bank, looking venomously across at them.

'Two little birds,' she said, her voice mean, 'sitting on a stone. Scared to death with no way home. Can't you fly away, little birds?'

'Why doesn't she jump over?' whispered Sam to Emily, ignoring Crotilda's spiteful rhyme.

Crotilda kept poking her foot onto the iron bridge and then pulling it back sharply as if it burned her.

Emily shook her head. After the frightening climb up the cliff, the jump across the broken bridge onto the Kingstone was, particularly for an adult, relatively simple. So what was stopping her?

'I'm going to chop, chop, chop you up!' shouted Crotilda, but Emily noticed that her deranged headteacher kept eyeing the bridge and the water as if they were about to leap up and savage her.

'I think the old witch is scared to cross the bridge,' Emily whispered back to Sam. 'Will you keep an eye on her whilst I go and look at the cup-and-ring carvings?'

Sam nodded.

'And try to think of a way of stopping her when she does pluck up enough courage to make the jump.'

With one eye on Crotilda, who was still standing on the opposite bank glaring at them, Sam started to look around for some way to defend themselves.

Emily left him and walked quickly up the middle of the Kingstone to the 'head' end that jutted out over the plunge pool hundreds of feet below. Emily had never felt so vulnerable as when she stepped out onto it. On three sides; hardly more than a few hesitant steps away from where she stood in the middle, her legs quaking, the rock dropped off into nothing.

Behind her the torrent of Addermoor Force split either side over the rock and plunged over the fall. Directly in front of her was the missing section of the railing, like a lost tooth.

Through the thinning mist she could now clearly see the rooftops of Wyrmwell far below, and even the top of the Abbey Church inside the Abbey walls.

Hurry, she urged herself. It was so difficult to concentrate when so much was happening. When her possessed headteacher was standing no more than a stone's throw away having threatened to sacrifice her. When an inadvertent slip on the rock would send her over the edge and tumbling down to her death.

But if she failed, the Old King would rise and return to the Wyrmwell, and then death would come to them all anyway.

Shaking, she knelt by the cup-and-ring markings. The rock had been dampened by dew but was now drying out in the wind, turning it a light grey colour. Moisture remained in the grooves of the rings and in the hollow of the cup and made the stone darker. The carvings seemed rough and unskilled, as if made in a hurry.

Emily tried to remember the folk tale about the young man and the cave of devils.

At first she'd dismissed the story, thinking that it was a tale invented by the poor shepherd to dissuade other people from looking for the treasure cave.

But now the idea that the young man had, somehow, happened across the hiding place of the Old King seemed all too plausible.

She imagined the Old King trying to possess the young man in the same way that the old wyrm had cast his shadow over her father. In a desperate attempt to warn people of the danger, the young man had carved these markings in the Kingstone to point the way to the cave of the Old King, and then had fallen to his death.

She studied the crude cup-and-ring markings and as she did she had a sudden insight into why the map was so obscure. It wasn't the young man who had made it obscure at all; it had been the shadow of the Old King pounding at his mind, trying to prevent him from revealing the wyrm's hiding place.

No wonder the young man had gone mad and flung himself off the side when his task was completed. His struggle against the wyrm to make any kind of map at all must have taken a staggering effort.

Humbled, she closed her eyes momentarily and sent a prayer of thanks to the young man's spirit to thank him.

'Em,' called Sam. She looked back and he pointed over to where Crotilda was pacing on the bank. Crotilda seemed to be having a conversation with someone invisible. She was ranting and slashing the knife at thin air.

'No,' screamed Crotilda, 'I don't want to. I won't.' She had managed to walk a few paces away from the bridge, but Emily could see that she was, against her will, being drawn back towards it.

Towards them.
Chapter 66

Emily quickly turned back to the cup-and-ring markings. There were two larger cups surrounded by two rings each, aligned almost north-south, a few handbreadths apart. Partially within the southerly one was a smaller cup-and-ring, offset towards the north west, its cup sited between the two rings of the larger carving, the rings overlapping.

She looked beyond the stone, down at the blue slate rooftops of Wormwell far below, taking colour in the dawn light, and imagined what the scene might have been like when the young man was alive.

Wormwell was an old town; the Abbey, town walls and canals had been constructed by the monks in the second and third centuries A.S; the other buildings had slowly accumulated in the succeeding years, with a significant rebuild in the tenth century after an oil spill on High Canal had set alight and destroyed many of the wooden buildings.

Emily guessed that many of the major landmarks that she could see would be the same as the ones that the young man would have seen. So did the 'eyes' of the Kingstone match up to any of the landmarks? It seemed immediately obvious that the large southerly eye was the Abbey itself. So what would the smaller circle slightly to the north west of the Abbey be?

A flash of green amongst the civic buildings in that area caught her eye and she almost laughed as she recognised the green-roofed cupolas that topped the high towers of Longlost's church. Of course the church would have been there when the young man looked at this scene; it was sited over the Wyrmwell itself.

The third eye proved much more difficult to place. There seemed to be nothing in the town that exactly matched its size and position, now that she could work out relative distances using the Abbey and church eyes as a guide. The third eye seemed to be pointing at something actually outside the town walls...then she realised. The third eye was the Kingstone itself, exactly where she was standing.

So far, so good. She felt confident that the landmarks she had identified matched up to the three eyes marked on the Kingstone.

But how did they point towards a location? At school they had done simple triangulations, using three points to identify a position at the centre of them. She did a quick calculation and worked out that using that method, the hidden cave would be somewhere under the northern loop of the High Canal. Not very likely.

And anyway, if that was the method used here, why had the young man also carved the rings around the central hollows? The effort required, whilst he was fighting the shadow of the wyrm, would have been tremendous. So the rings had to mean something. But what? What was the key?

Searching for inspiration, she looked down at the plunge pool far below. The mist had almost cleared entirely now and although she couldn't see Snaefall entering the water, she could see the ripples spreading out from it towards the banks. Where there was a rock protruding from the water's surface, the ripples reflected off it and created a curious cross-hatched pattern.

She looked back at the cup-and-ring markings. Where the smaller of the three carvings overlapped the southerly one, it formed a similar pattern

'Sam,' she called suddenly, 'what was it that Lord Cotman had written on the outside of the library?'

Sam thought for a moment. 'Join the third circle. Follow the star,' he said. 'But you'd better hurry.' Crotilda was drawing ever closer to the bridge. Sam had found a large stick washed up against the rock and was in the process of breaking off a couple of smaller twigs to make it into a useable weapon.

Emily waved her thanks.

Join the third circle. Overlapping ripples...

She dipped her finger into the dew that had collected in one of the cups and carefully drew a third circle around the carved second ring of each eye. The water darkened the grey stone and showed up clearly.

Now all the rings joined. In many, many places. Too many.

Her heart sank. This wasn't helping at all.

Then she looked more closely.

Although the third circles did join in many places, where they did they formed crosses, because in each case it was only two circles overlapping. Except in one place. To the west, there was one place where the third circle from all three eyes intersected. And formed a star shape.

Her heart pounded. She'd done it. She'd joined the three circles and found a star to follow.

Filled with excitement, she looked out over Wormwell for a landmark that matched the position of the star.

There it was. Not far in from the north-west wall. And, in fact, not far from her school. She'd even been there on a school trip.

It was the old watchtower, on Tower Hill. It was now a ruin, the walls barely higher than Emily herself, but the old man who had shown them around on their school trip had told them that it had originally been built during the Redhead wars that had continued for centuries after settlement, to provide a vantage point from which to watch the western end of the valley for invaders.

They shouldn't have been looking west, thought Emily. They should have been looking down. Because beneath the watchtower was the lair of the Old King, hidden for almost a millennium as he plotted to return to the Wyrmwell and destroy them all.

'I've got it!' she shouted to Sam. 'I know where he is. He's under Tower Hill!'

She turned to witness the dreadful sight of Crotilda Harrow leaping from the bankside part of the bridge like a ghastly, overstuffed, wailing scarecrow to land with a crash squarely on the Kingstone side. The bridge end shuddered and rocked but stood firm.

Emily frantically looked around for a weapon to defend herself. There was nothing.

Crotilda charged onto the rock. Sam stood between her and Emily, swinging his stick, looking terrified.

Crotilda didn't stop. She stormed towards Sam as if he presented no more threat than a falling leaf.

As she reached him, Sam screamed and swung the stick at her. It smashed solidly against her arm and broke in two. Crotilda didn't seem to even notice. She punched him heavily in the side of the head with her fist and he spun around and fell motionless at the edge of the Kingstone, his leg and arm dragging in the water. Emily cried out. More quickly than Emily could think, Crotilda was there, in front of her.

Fingers hard as naked bone gripped Emily's neck and pulled her head roughly forward to stare into Crotilda's bloodshot eyes.

'You failed, Emily Bright' hissed her deranged headteacher. 'Not feeling too clever now, are you?'

Out of the corner of her eye Emily could see the strong current tugging at Sam's body. She realised that it would not be long before he was pulled into the water and hurled over the waterfall.

Emily struggled to free herself but the woman was far, far too strong.

'You know what keeps King Cole a merry old soul?'

Emily stared at her dumbly.

'The three R's,' grinned Crotilda maniacally. 'Red. Red. Red.'

She put the point of the knife to Emily's chest, over her heart.

'Let's begin the lesson.'

Chapter 67

'Why are you doing this?' It was an effort for Emily to speak with Crotilda's hand around her throat. But she desperately needed to stall Crotilda until she found a way to escape. 'Why do you want everyone in Wormwell to die?'

The knife hesitated.

'King Blótan Coeli called me,' said Crotilda, her eyes blazing. 'The Sky King called me to be His servant.'

'Why you? And why my father?'

Crotilda pushed the tip of the knife through Emily's clothing and pricked her skin. She smiled when Emily drew breath sharply and shuddered.

'The King chooses those who are willing.'

Tears of anger and frustration welled up in Emily's eyes. She was helpless. She could do nothing to stop Sam's death or her own up here on the cold, cloudswept Kingstone. She had failed, and everyone in Wormwell was going to die.

'My father was not willing.' Emily croaked. 'At least, not in the end. He refused to do what the Old King wanted.'

Crotilda's eyes narrowed. 'He refused to serve?'

With difficulty, Emily nodded. 'You don't have to serve the wyrm either.'

Crotilda stared back, then smiled horribly.

'But I serve Him willingly,' she said. 'When He becomes a spirit once more, I will wield the knife in His name. For His glory! For He is mighty and majestic beyond measure.'

Emily listened in despair. Crotilda was never going to listen to reason. She was possessed, but not only by the wyrm. It was her own lust for power that compelled her.

When Crotilda spoke about serving the wyrm, Emily could hear in her voice that it was not the wyrm she was talking about at all. It was herself. It was Crotilda who wanted to be mighty and majestic. She would sacrifice Emily, and Sam, and everyone in Wormwell to her own glory.

Emily couldn't comprehend such utter selfishness. Such complete disregard for other people, and the willingness to use them for her benefit. She wondered if Crotilda was unusual, or whether many other people would behave in the same way if given the same opportunity.

'How did it start?' she whispered. 'You and the Old King?'

Crotilda frowned. 'I was at school, about your age. A clever kid. Not popular. The bigger kids would pick on me and some of the others. We'd escape down to the park after school. One day someone found the entrance to a hidden cave.'

Emily grimaced. She'd decoded the Kingstone too late to help anyone. 'A cave under Tower Hill,' she said.

Crotilda sneered at her. 'Correct. The cave didn't go far; there was a rockfall that blocked it up. But it had an atmosphere. A presence. When we were in it, we felt protected. Anything seemed possible.'

Emily had a sudden thought. 'My father was one of the kids with you,' she blurted. 'He was in the cave, wasn't he?'

Crotilda sniffed. 'And your mother. She hated it. Refused to go in after that first time.'

Emily's head spun. Her mother had been in the cave with Eric and Crotilda?

Crotilda 'Despite the fact they eventually got married, that cave was always something that Eric and Tess argued about.'

Emily shuddered. She remembered the arguments as thunderstorms of emotion that had filled the house with tension and electricity. She'd been too young to understand anything other than the fact that she wanted the arguments to stop. Then they did, because her mother wasn't there any more to argue with.

Emily had a sudden flashing vision of a woman with dark curly hair and a strong, stern, beautiful face picking her up and hugging her fiercely. The woman said something that Emily was too young to understand, then Emily was put down again and the woman walked away.

Emily felt herself crying. Her mother had walked away and left her.

Crotilda was smiling at her. Emily had never seen a smile so empty of human warmth.

'After your mother left,' said Crotilda, 'she disappeared so completely that Harald and I knew that there could be only one explanation.'

Emily stared at her dumbly.

'That your father had murdered her.'

The words filled Emily's mind like a siren. A black cloud obscured her vision. She shook her head, desperately trying not to hear.

Crotilda was nodding. 'That was the only thing that made sense. He killed her and hid the body.'

'No,' cried Emily. 'No.' Surely this was another of Crotilda's lies. But her mother had disappeared...

Crotilda shrugged. 'Maybe the Old King wanted to get rid of her...I don't know. It doesn't matter.'

Tears ran down Emily's face, and blackness was within her. Of course it mattered. Was she the daughter of a murderer? Eric had been under the wyrm's shadow. Maybe he had...

She felt the grip around her neck tighten.

Crotilda closed her eyes and screamed into the wind, 'Hear me, Blótan Coeli, King. Bear witness.'

Horrified, Emily felt a presence begin to form around her.
Chapter 68

It was far worse than the simple fear that the wyrm in the canal had radiated. This was something intelligent and purposeful. It had an unquenchable thirst for worship, and it demanded total sacrifice from its worshippers. The sacrifice of human lives.

And it was Emily's blood that would give it the strength to rise from the place in which it had hidden for a millennium.

The shadow grew around them, circling, huge and dark. They were in the eye of a tornado. Emily thought she saw the hint of an eye in the shadow, and mottled white flesh, and red-stained teeth.

The pressure of the wyrm's shadow on her mind was intense, but somehow Emily felt herself slipping under it, as if she were a smooth stone on the bed of a raging torrent, all the fury and power passing harmlessly over her head.

She struggled violently, trying to catch Crotilda by surprise, kicking out. Crotilda ignored her blows except to tighten her grip on Emily's neck even further. A red mist formed at the periphery of Emily's vision.

'Bear witness, King,' screamed Crotilda again. 'I make sacrifice to you.'

She drew the blade back for a killing thrust.

This is the end, thought Emily. She felt a great sadness. Looking beyond Crotilda, she could see Sam's unconscious body on the verge of being sucked into the torrent and flung over the falls. She drew what breath she could and raised her head and looked Crotilda in the eyes.

But then, before Crotilda could finish the final blow to her heart, before all hope ended, Emily felt a curious change come over the shadow. A sudden anger and rejection. She heard no words, but the sense was plain.

WHERE IS THE SACRIFICE?

In a heartbeat Crotilda's face changed from exultation to horror.

'She's right here!' screamed Crotilda. 'Eric Bright's girl. I'm holding her!'

The shadow spun around them, faster and faster. Emily felt its disbelief and frustration beating down on Crotilda like immense waves breaking onto a reef. Felt the Old King's anger at being summoned to bear witness to nothing.

I SEE NO SACRIFICE.

He can't see me, thought Emily in disbelief. He can't see me. He thinks that Crotilda is lying to him. That she has summoned him for no reason.

She had a sudden memory of facing the wyrm in the canal the night before, and how she had overcome her fear. And a moment later that wyrm had just disappeared back into the water, as if she didn't exist. Then, later, it had targeted Sam, not her.

The wyrms can't see me anymore, she thought in amazement.

The grip on her neck broke and she sank to her knees, gasping for breath, as Crotilda stepped back in panic, her hands raised in supplication.

'Why can't you see her?' screamed Crotilda.

Emily felt the wyrm's mood change again. Now its thirst raged.

GIVE ME SACRIFICE!

Crotilda's eyes bulged as her knife-hand started to move slowly and inexorably towards her throat. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand but could not stop its progress.

Deprived of the sacrifice he had been promised, the Old King was forcing Crotilda to sacrifice herself instead.

'No!' screamed Crotilda hoarsely. 'I serve you! Have mercy!'

GIVE ME SACRIFICE!

The tip of the blade was touching the pale, wrinkled skin of Crotilda's throat.

'Not me!' she sobbed. 'Take Harald! I know he's with you! Take him!'

For a moment the wyrm's attention was diverted. Emily could feel its focus shift away from the Kingstone back to Wormwell.

In that moment Crotilda regained control and opened her fingers. The knife dropped to the ground with a ringing sound. Crotilda laughed, a horrible joyless sound like the sound of rocks sliding down a cliff face into an abyss.

Instantly the wyrm's attention snapped back to her. Crotilda staggered as if struck, teetering forwards towards the edge of the Kingstone. Emily scrambled to get out of the way. Crotilda spun around and hissed at her, teetering on the edge of the rock in the gap in the broken barrier rail, her hands outstretched towards Emily like claws.

Then, with a look of surprise, Crotilda fell backwards into space, and was gone.
Chapter 69

Emily stared at the empty place where Crotilda had just been standing. It was as if she had just disappeared, erased from the world.

Emily crawled to the edge and cautiously looked down. Crotilda was not hanging onto the rock by her fingernails. She had disappeared utterly. Far below was the seething white of the plunge pool into which Crotilda had fallen. There was no sign of a body.

Emily crawled back away from the edge, breathing hard, her neck sore and painful where Crotilda had gripped it. She was astonished to be still alive, but her heart was sick with the evil thought that Crotilda had planted there. Your father murdered...

There was no time to think of such dreadful things. Emily staggered to her feet and stumbled over to where Sam lay, half immersed in the river, slipping slowly deeper and deeper into the flow.

Desperately, she pulled at his arm, trying to drag him out of the water. He was terribly heavy, his clothes weighed down with water. She could barely move him. She kept pulling, trying to stop him being dragged away.

'Sam!' she shouted. 'Sam! You've got to help me!'

She stopped pulling for a moment and splashed water from the cold river onto his face. His face twitched and he groaned.

'Sam!'

She pulled at his arm again, feeling the flow of water dragging him away from her. She dug her heels in, determined not to let him go.

'Sam!' she screamed.

His eyes fluttered, then opened. He looked dazed.

'Get out of the water!' shouted Emily. 'It's pulling you in!'

Feebly at first, then with more strength, and with Emily's help, Sam crawled up out of the water onto the Kingstone. He lay there, breathing heavily. Emily sat down heavily beside him, exhausted.

After a few minutes Sam said, 'What happened to Crotilda?'

'Took the short path.'

Sam nodded.

'She said my dad murdered my mum,' said Emily despairingly.

Sam's eyes widened and he crawled over to Emily.

'That's not true,' he said. 'She lied.'

'Did she?'

Sam had never seen her look so unhappy.

'Of course she lied.'

'We have to get back to the Well,' said Emily tonelessly. 'That's where my father is.'

They both stood, unsteadily, leaning on each other for support.

Emily was never more aware than at that moment how she and Sam were just children, a girl and a boy each just twelve years old, exhausted, beaten up, the foundations of their lives torn from under them.

'Look,' said Sam. He sounded anguished. 'Look at Tower Hill.'

Emily turned and looked down from the Kingstone to where the first light of sunrise was touching the high roofs of Wormwell and the ruined Watchtower with gold.

The whole of Tower Hill was shuddering as if caught in an earthquake. The tower was shaking itself apart, stones tumbling and bouncing down the hill. Cracks were opening up in the earth, right across the hill, and the whole mound was rising up like a volcano about to be blow itself apart.

Tower and hill crumbled apart as a huge, white, monstrous creature burst up through the rock and earth into the light. Debris scattered across the park as if the hill had exploded.

The white monster squatted in the rubble for a moment, shaking its head from side to side. Although it was lizard-like, with an enormous blunt head and small black eyes, it also had a strangely human appearance, as if it were either something that had either begun as a person but was now almost entirely lizard, or a lizard that was taking on human form.

Its skin was scaleless and pale and wrinkled like skin of an old, old man, and its claws had the long, jointed appearance of thick human fingers.

Then the wyrm unfurled its vast, white, batlike wings and leapt into the air, debris falling from its body and fat tail like sand, the downdraft beating clouds of dust away into the canals that surrounded the park. It flew upwards, rejoicing in its freedom after a millennium beneath ground, the morning light turning its pale skin gold.

The Sky King Blótan Coeli, Old King Cole, the ancient, violent spirit of human sacrifice, had risen again.
Chapter 70

The wyrm slowly circled the park, beating its wings clumsily, then sank back to earth and perched on the pile of rubble that had been Tower Hill. It stretched and flexed its wings whilst gnawing at something in its clawed fist. From time to time it would stop and sniff the air, as if trying to catch a particular scent.

'What do you think it's eating?' whispered Sam.

'I think that's Sir Harald,' said Emily, feeling slightly sick.

She stared at the huge, ancient creature down below and as she did so she felt a sudden, bizarre urge to go down there and fight and kill it. That's crazy, she thought. It's a hundred times my size. Then she thought; but if it can't see me, if I'm invisible to it, then perhaps I would have a chance...

She shook her head sharply to clear it of such suicidal thoughts, then said to Sam, 'That thing's been underground for centuries. It'll take time for its eyes to adjust to the light. There's still time to warn the Wyrmwulf.'

Sam nodded. Then he smiled ruefully. 'At least this time we'll be climbing down.'

He bent and picked up the black stone knife that Crotilda had dropped.

'What are you going to do with that?'

Sam shrugged. 'Hopefully, nothing. But it'd be nice not to be completely defenceless for a change.' He slipped the knife into one of the long pockets down the side of his cargo pants.

Without the pressure of Crotilda pursuing them, and in the full morning light, the jump back across the broken bridge seemed easier and less intimidating. Sam, however, paled when he stood at the top of the Serpent's Backbone and looked down the vertical cliff to the ground far below.

'I'll go first,' offered Emily.

Sam shook his head. 'No, it's better that I do. If I slip, there's no point in taking you with me.'

'Then you'd better not slip, then,' said Emily, and before Sam could stop her she started climbing down.

Sam took a deep breath and followed her, trying to keep his eyes averted from the long drop beneath his feet.

Fortunately, going down was a lot easier than climbing up had been, and it was only a few minutes before Sam stepped down with a sigh of relief onto the hard, solid ground beside Emily. The early morning mist had cleared and there was no-one in sight.

'I hope Suzy and Arran are all right,' said Emily.

'I'd bet on it,' said Sam. 'That man'll be a pincushion by now.'

Emily was looking at the plunge pool. There was no sign of Crotilda's body.

'Good riddance,' said Sam. 'She was an evil witch.'

Emily shivered. She couldn't escape the feeling that Crotilda was just a normal, selfish person given the opportunity to be even more selfish. How many other people were there like her in Wormwell? There were certainly girls at school who Emily suspected would behave similarly given the chance.

They climbed over the fence that surrounded the base of the Serpent's Backbone.

'You know how bad school is for bullying?' said Emily as they dropped down the other side.

Sam nodded.

'Well Mrs Harrow said that she was bullied at school when she was a kid. But when she became Headteacher she didn't do anything about it. She just let it continue. Why would someone do that?'

Sam shrugged. 'Because she was an evil witch.'

Emily sighed.

They started up the path towards the old ruins, alert for any sign of Suzy or the man in casual clothing, moving as quickly as they dared on the dew-damp rocks. They soon made it to the gate that led into the old pilgrim station, and dashed across the grass to the underground infirmary.

Emily was relieved to see that the door was still wedged open by the stone that Sam had jammed there. They forced the door open, kicked the stone away and slipped through into the waterlogged tunnel before the door slammed shut behind them.

Emily took out her torch and they ran down through the tunnels to the ladder, and down to the cart they had left on the track. Moments later they were speeding through the darkness towards the Abbey, the wind rushing past their faces, the cart shuddering and rumbling beneath them.

Emily closed her eyes for a moment. All they had to do was to warn the Wyrmwulf that the wyrm was coming. Then the Wyrmwulf would kill the wyrm and everything would be all right again.

But another part of her mind didn't believe that. Instead, it was saying something else, loudly and insistently. It was saying: you must kill the wyrm. The Wyrmwulf was injured and will be weak. You will have to kill the wyrm instead.

'That's impossible,' she shouted into the darkness, the rushing wind stealing the words from her mouth the moment she spoke them. 'I can't kill that monster. It's impossible.'
Chapter 71

But the new, warlike part of her mind was clear. Kill the wyrm, it whispered in the back of her mind. Kill the wyrm.

But the whispers didn't drown out Crotilda's awful accusation that still echoed in Emily's ears and brought tears of misery to her eyes and tightened her throat in panic. Your father murdered her.

It couldn't be true. Could it?

For a brief moment, sitting there helplessly in the dark, hopeless and in despair, bone-shaken and heart-rattled by the hurtling cart, Emily wished that the wyrm would succeed, would destroy everything, so that she would never have to find out whether her father had done this terrible thing.

Then she took a deep, deep breath and banished that thought, and instead looked inside herself and saw once again the mistake she had made two nights ago that had led to the breaking of the barrier around the Well and the wyrm's resurgence.

The mistake was that she had believed Crotilda. And as a consequence everyone she knew might die.

Emily gripped the wooden arms of the seat so fiercely she thought they might snap under her grip. She would not make the same mistake again. She would not believe Crotilda.

Her father was not a murderer. He had not killed her mother.

She suddenly felt a great leap of hope and resolve.

Yes, said the voice inside her. Kill the wyrm.

She stared into the darkness and nodded slowly. Yes. If it came to it, she would try. She would try to kill the wyrm.

The cart began to slow down and she and Sam hung on as they drew rapidly to a stop beside the platform at the end of the track. They leapt off and ran up the corridor to the door to the Gatehall. Sam was ready with a rock to hammer on it, but on an intuition Emily put her fingertips in the crack between the door and the frame and the door swung easily towards her.

There was no-one in the hall.

'Where is everyone? Where's the Gatekeeper?' Sam was wild-eyed.

'Look,' said Emily. The main doors to the Abbey, normally locked and bolted, were ajar. 'Let's get up there and see what's going on.'

But it could only be one thing.

They pushed open the doors and ran upstairs into the open air and stopped, horrified. In the centre of the compound the huge wyrm was perched on the top of the Abbey's south tower, tearing at the structure with its wide, blunt mouth, its vast batlike wings outstretched to keep it balanced.

Stones rained down on the Abbey rooftops and onto the gardens surrounding the tower. Monks stared up at the creature, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.

The wyrm stopped tearing at the tower and then raised its head, sniffing the air.

Then, with an excited growl, it launched itself up from the ruined tower into the air, beating its wings heavily. It flew upwards in a shallow spiral, gaining height, and when it was a couple of hundred feet above the Abbey, it folded its wings and dropped down like an enormous stone through the roof of the south transept, disappearing out of sight but hitting the ground with such a huge thump that Emily felt the ground shake under her feet.

'Why's it doing that?' Sam muttered. 'What was it trying to smell up there?'

Emily grabbed his sleeve. 'Sam,' she said urgently, 'that's where we were. In the south transept.'

Sam frowned. 'It's trying to get back to the Well. But it doesn't know where the Well is because the town has changed completely since it went underground. So do you think it's trying to smell where the Well is?'

'Maybe that's why the monks built the canals in the first place,' Emily suggested. 'So that all that water would mask the scent of the Well-water. But even then there was always one part of the Well that was still above ground.'

'The Calix,' said Sam suddenly. 'That's what he can smell, down in the south transept.'

Emily nodded. 'The thing is,' she said, 'if he can still smell the Calix in there even after we took it, then it left a scent trail.'

'A trail?' Sam looked at her in sudden horror. 'You mean it'll be able to track where we went?'

Emily started to back down the stairs, pulling Sam with her.

'Straight to the Well.'

'What about you?' Sam said anxiously. 'You carried the Calix. Won't it be able to smell you?'

Chapter 72

Emily's heart sank. If the wyrm could smell the Calix on her, then her apparent invisibility to the creature would be useless. She shivered and felt the dampness of her clothes against her skin.

Then she shook her head, suddenly heartened.

'We got soaked up by Snaefall,' she said. 'If water covers the scent of the Well, then there's no way it'll be able to smell the Calix on me.'

'Thank the Miller for that,' said Sam with relief.

The wall of the south transept seemed to explode as the wyrm tore through it and out into the gardens that surrounded the Abbey. There was a hollow rumbling sound as the wall collapsed behind it in a cloud of stone dust.

The creature sniffed the air and then the ground, then lifted its head and seemed to look straight at Emily and Sam. Then it started to charge towards them.

They fled down the stairs in panic. They barely had time to reach the Gatehall and push the main doors closed behind them when there was a horrific crash and the whole building shook. Dust and loose mortar fell from the ceiling. A sound like whole buildings collapsing came from the other side of the door. They had only seconds before the wyrm clawed its way into the Gatehall.

'You've got to get out of here!' shouted a gruff voice from behind them. They turned to see the Gatekeeper coming through a door at the far end of the hall. 'That monster's nearly in here!'

They could barely hear him over the appalling, head-ringing noise the wyrm was making as it clawed its way down towards the Gatehall.

'We need to get to the old church,' shouted Sam. 'We have to get back to the Well.'

The Gatekeeper ran through the hall towards them, the skirts of his habit swinging behind him, his face red with exertion.

'Quickly,' he shouted. They ran with him to a door at the far end of the Gatehall.

Behind them the main doors smashed open and part of the roof collapsed as a huge, pale snout thrust through into the Gatehall. Rubble bounced across the floor and struck the backs of their legs painfully. The air filled with a foul smell, thick and cloying. It caught in their throats and made them choke. The smell of old blood.

The stone doorway cracked and collapsed around the wyrm as it forced its huge white body into the Gatehall, sniffing the air like a hairless bloodhound.

The old Gatekeeper flung the door open and they ran down the short tunnel to the platform. There were bricks and pieces of mortar all over the floor.

'Thank Fri,' muttered Emily. There was a cart waiting at the platform.

She and Sam dashed over to it and leapt onboard. The old Gatekeeper ran over to the stand of control levers that bristled from the floor and pulled one.

Nothing happened.

'Is the brake off?' the Gatekeeper shouted over to them.

Sam nodded.

The Gatekeeper swore under his breath. He ran to the back of the platform to a maintenance door, yanked it open and disappeared inside.

Emily and Sam looked at each other in consternation.

The entire end wall of the platform seemed to collapse in an explosion of brick and stone as the wyrm burst through from the Gatehall. Emily and Sam screamed as rubble rained down on them. The monster's huge head swung from side to side as it sniffed the dusty air, hauling itself through the wreckage towards them. The Gatekeeper reappeared through the doorway, covered in dust and grime, his face grim.

The wyrm pulled itself steadily down the platform, shedding building stones and broken timber as it came. The Gatekeeper dashed across the platform in front of it. The wyrm swiped at him with a claw bigger than the monk's head, but only managed to tear the cloth of his trailing habit. The Gatekeeper grabbed a lever, glanced at the oncoming creature and then looked calmly at the two terrified children.

'Tell Pilgrim I'm sorry,' he shouted, to Emily's surprise. 'We let him think that the girl left him. That it was his fault. But it was us. We took her when he left the room and threw her out. Told her that he didn't want to see her again. We lied.'

The wyrm was just feet away from him now.

'Tell him I'm sorry. Tell them both.'

The wyrm slowly raised a huge claw and then, surprisingly quickly, brought it down with crushing force on the old Gatekeeper.

Chapter 73

As the wyrm's claw descended, the old Gatekeeper smiled fiercely and pulled the lever.

With a shudder the cart lurched into motion and carried Emily and Sam away up the dark tunnel.

But just as they left the platform behind Emily saw the wyrm's claw crush the Gatekeeper into the floor like child might squish an insect.

She shuddered and was thankful that she saw no more.

'Thank you,' she whispered into the darkness. The old man had given his life to save them. He'd trusted them and been kind to them. Her throat felt thick and choked. She felt Sam's hand squeeze hers for a moment.

And what the old man had said about Stephen Pilgrim and Suzy Longlost. Cutthroat Suzy had been so sure that Stephen had betrayed her. But she'd been wrong. The old monks had deceived them both.

Emily shook her head, trying to remember her conversations with Stephen. He'd always looked guilty, that was the problem. Even when they'd been in the south transept and she'd accused him of betraying them like he had Suzy, all he'd done is look confused, and then even guiltier. Only what he thought he was guilty of, and what she and Suzy thought he was guilty of, weren't the same.

If only the way things really were was clear and obvious! But instead it seemed like what was obvious was in fact often very wrong indeed.

At least she was certain that Stephen was the Wyrmwulf. It all fitted. The wyrm-scale on his desk. The excursions out into the town. The books on self-defence and acrobatics on his shelf. The stiffness of his back when he'd stood up. It was him, of course it was.

She wished, though, that he had finished that half-completed movement to remove his mask back in the Well cavern. Then there would be no doubt.

Because for the first time in her life, having already been proved wrong about several things that she had been absolutely certain about, Emily was having doubts about certain things that she previously assumed were true.

The cart shuddered and started to decelerate rapidly as Sam leaned on the brake. It screeched to a halt opposite the iron ladder that led up to the church. Emily and Sam leapt off.

'Wait,' said Emily. She looked back down the tunnel. There was no sign of the wyrm.

'Can't hear him,' said Sam.

'That's what I'm worried about,' said Emily. 'Now it knows the direction the tunnel leads in, it may have taken an easier route and try and pick up the scent from above.'

They climbed the ladder as quickly as they could. The enervating effects of the Well-water seemed to have mostly worn off and by the time they reached the top their arms were aching and they were panting with the exertion.

They wriggled out of the secret door into the church and ran across the balcony to the stairs. As they came out at the bottom the morning light streaming into the old church from the broken dome above seemed to dim.

'Run!' screamed Emily. And they ran, as fast as they could, around the pool and then up the central aisle as the church seemed to suddenly disintegrate behind them as the wyrm dropped from the sky through the dome and smashed into the pool like a meteorite, sending a blast of sound and a shockwave of displaced air and water that knocked them off their feet and hurled them up the aisle.

Chapter 74

Emily's ears rang and her forehead throbbed where it had taken a knock on the floor. Sam groaned as he lay on his back beside her. Part of the roof collapsed in on top of the wyrm with a crash and a cloud of dust.

Emily scrambled to her feet and dragged Sam upright. Behind them the wyrm stood up and shook itself clean of debris. The children staggered down the aisle to the door that led to the Well. As they went through, Emily looked back and saw the wyrm crawling up the aisle, its thick tail thrashing from side to side and smashing into columns and pews as it came.

She slammed the door shut and ran down the stairs after Sam. Above them there was a shattering crash as the wyrm broke through the door, followed by a ferocious thumping, scratching noise as it started to dig its way down through the stairwell. Small chunks of rubble bounced down the steps past them.

As they descended, Emily kept track of the pattern of steps. Right, small, small, left, bigger, left, small, small...

'Ouch!' shouted Sam with satisfaction, a few steps ahead of her.

After a moment's searching Emily found the Upwelling symbol on the wall above the step and pressed it, then they ran down through the wave of warm, humid air that rose up from below, round the final few spirals, into the low tunnel that led to the platform and out into the light-dappled vastness that was the Well cavern.

It was as they had left it. Sam jumped up onto the low wall that bordered the platform and cautiously put his foot onto the limb of the red tree. To his relief it didn't shift away from his foot and, as it had done with Eric earlier, cause him to plunge into the void.

They ran down the wide limb towards the Well, hearts beating wildly, overjoyed at having beaten the wyrm back to the cavern but full of the terrible news of its imminent arrival.

The first thing that Emily saw as they neared the Well was that her father was standing up, looking pale and tired, but also somehow younger than she remembered. He looked more like the father that she saw when she closed her eyes and thought of him than he had done for a long time.

'Dad!' she shouted. 'Dad!'

He turned and looked up at her and her heart leapt as he smiled.

'Em!'

She jumped down from the limb onto the mossy ground and ran over to him and he hugged her and kissed the top of her head through her hair. Hugged her properly, like he'd only just remembered how to and was determined to do it right. She felt tears welling up in her eyes.

She blinked them back and stepped back from him. The Wyrmwulf stood close by, watching them impassively.

Emily turned to the Wyrmwulf. 'It's coming,' she said. 'I decoded the stone but too late. Crotilda Harrow was waiting for us.'

The Wyrmwulf took an involuntary step forward, the black-gloved hands suddenly clenching into fists.

'She tried to sacrifice me to the wyrm, but she failed.'

The Wyrmwulf made a growling sound.

'Then the wyrm wanted her to sacrifice herself. She refused and the wyrm made Sir Harald do it instead. Then Crotilda fell off the Kingstone and died.'

Eric was looking at her open-mouthed.

'Then the wyrm came up from under Tower Hill and attacked the Abbey. Now it's coming here. It's already found the spiral stairs.'

She took a deep breath and looked at the Wyrmwulf beseechingly.

'You have to stop it before it reaches the well.'
Chapter 75

The Wyrmwulf raised its wicked-looking spear briefly in acknowledgement.

Eric looked stricken. 'It's coming here?'

'It will try to kill Brother Aire,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'If it succeeds, it will then try to return to the Well. If it does so, then it will escape its mortal body and return to its spirit form. And I will have failed and all hope will be lost.'

They all suddenly became aware of a low thunder coming from the tunnel leading up from the distant platform. The grating of tooth and claw on rock and stone.

'It's becoming stronger the closer it gets to the Well,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'It will be here soon.'

A gloved finger pointed at the three standing stones. 'Sam, join Brother Aire by the Smithstone. Emily, you will shelter under the Wolfstone with me. Eric, you take the third stone.'

They did as the Wyrmwulf said.

Emily looked at the thin figure of her father leaning against the tall grey stone on the far side of the Well.

'What is the third stone called?' she murmured to the Wyrmwulf.

'The third stone is the Foolstone,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'But do not think it is less important for that. The ancients used to say 'the smith forges, the wolf hunts, and the fool rocks the boat'. All three are part of the Upwelling. All are necessary.'

Emily looked to her right where Sam stood with Brother Aire. 'The old monk is the smith,' she said. 'He forges mortal bodies for the wyrms from the well.'

She turned to look up at the Wyrmwulf. 'You are the wolf that hunts the wyrms.'

The Wyrmwulf nodded.

Emily looked back at Eric. 'And he is the fool that causes things to change.'

The Wyrmwulf nodded. 'If things did not change, then the wyrm would still be waiting underground. It had to reveal itself at some time. Perhaps now is a better time than any other. At least we are forewarned.'

The clawing, tearing noise grew louder. Dust drifted down out of the tunnel mouth.

'How did you become the Wyrmwulf?' asked Emily. 'Were you born to it?'

The Wyrmwulf was silent for a moment, then said, 'No, it was a choice. People I loved needed protecting from the wyrms. I took the vows and underwent the ritual. Only those who have done so can fight the wyrms.'

'The ritual,' said Emily suddenly. 'Does it make you invisible to the wyrms?' She didn't know why she asked that.

The Wyrmwulf stepped back in surprise.

After a moment the flat voice said, 'It makes it possible.'

Emily's head spun. So much she didn't understand. But she felt on the edge of a great revelation, one that would change everything for her. She had a vision once more of the Wyrmwulf lifting a black-gloved hand to pull away the mask.

That was when the wyrm broke through the remains of the tunnel and burst into the cavern in a storm of broken rock and beating wings. The greenish-yellow light looked sickly on its mottled white skin. It hovered for a moment, looking around, its eyes black and expressionless. Flocks of birds scattered away from it up the cavern, calling frantically. Then the huge creature flew heavily upwards towards the cavern roof and made a slow, deliberate circuit of the perimeter of the whole cavern. Everyone except Brother Aire watched it. The air was thick with the electricity of imminent violence.

'Brother Aire,' said the Wyrmwulf urgently. 'Your creature has returned. Now is the time to pray.'

Pray? thought Emily. That didn't sound very helpful.

The old monk slowly raised his head and looked up. When he saw the wyrm, his face lit up with relief.

'Pray to the red tree,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'Pray for intervention.'

The old man nodded and then bent his head. He locked his hands together in his lap, palms up, so that the upraised fingers looked like fountain spouts, and began to speak calmly under his breath.

They watched the wyrm circle them, slowly and deliberately, unhurried.

'What's it waiting for?' said Emily, her voice strained with tension. 'Why doesn't it attack?'

'It's not sure of what will happen if it does,' said the Wyrmwulf. 'The old man looks defenceless.'

But he is defenceless, thought Emily despairingly. Any minute now the wyrm will just fly down and kill him and then go into the well. Then it all be over, for everyone.

She looked at the Wyrmwulf, who was standing calmly, holding the spear, watching the wyrm intently.

The attack happened without warning.

Chapter 76

The wyrm banked sharply and plummeted down towards them, its lipless mouth open to show its red-stained teeth, its wings swept back in a v-shape, its front claws stretched out towards the old monk.

Emily tried to stand firm in the face of the oncoming monster but it was so huge, so overwhelming, that she fell to her knees in terror. Nothing could stop it. It was going to kill them all.

There was a sudden blur of movement all across the cavern and a vast creaking, rushing noise like a forest caught in a hurricane, and the huge limbs of the red tree sprang into life and swept into the air around the Well like the tentacles of an enormous sea anemone.

The wyrm, caught by surprise, was unable to stop its descent and smashed into one of the upraised boughs with shattering force, breaking it in two and sending the wyrm spinning downwards in a hail of broken wood and red sap.

Two more of the red tree's limbs instantly snapped out at it and wrapped the wyrm's body in snakelike boughs, trapping its wings and leaving it struggling helplessly, biting at the boughs within its reach with its hooked teeth and sending chunks of wood and splinters raining down.

The Wyrmwulf was already climbing up the nearest trunk, jumping from branch to branch, climbing swiftly up towards where the red tree held the wyrm captive. The creature was still struggling, but more feebly now.

Emily got back to her feet, feeling a little foolish. Of course the old monk wasn't defenceless. Pray to the red tree for intervention, the Wyrmwulf had said. And the red tree had answered the prayer.

She watched the Wyrmwulf leap up towards a branch a few feet above the wyrm, which had given up struggling entirely now and hung quiet and still.

The Wyrmwulf reached the branch and prepared to leap down onto the creature, readying the spear for a downwards thrust into the creature's neck.

Emily held her breath.

Then she noticed that the wyrm's head. It was tilting, slightly, in small, birdlike movements, as if adjusting to see something clearly.

But the Wyrmwulf was invisible to it, thought Emily. Its eyes are useless.

Then she thought, but not its ears. The wyrm was listening for the Wyrmwulf. It knew that the warrior was coming to kill it, and was listening for the faintest sound that would give it away. That was why it had stopped struggling. So it could hear more clearly.

The Wyrmwulf leapt down from the branch towards the wyrm, holding the spear vertically to plunge the point into the creature's ancient flesh.

'Watch out!' screamed Emily. 'It can hear you!'

Too late. The wyrm was already moving, writhing violently and straining to open its wings with such power that the boughs holding them simply burst apart under the pressure and it twisted in mid-air and clubbed at the falling Wyrmwulf with its head.

The Wyrmwulf spun in mid-air, trying to avoid the blow, but was caught on the side and flung sideways, the spear falling uselessly to earth, then the wyrm lunged at the tumbling warrior and raked a trailing leg with its teeth, blood spattering across the wyrm's white flesh.

The Wyrmwulf cried out and spun helplessly down, falling to earth in a patch of club mosses, and was silent.
Chapter 77

Emily looked up at the wyrm dumbly. She could barely believe how quickly it had defeated the Wyrmwulf.

The old monk's praying fell quiet as he realised what had happened.

The wyrm slowly flew down towards them, smashing aside the branches of the red tree in its way. The reek of rotten blood preceded it, carried on the buffeting downdraft from the huge wings.

They watched it come, paralysed.

It was only a few feet above them when Eric suddenly dashed from beside the Foolstone and ran out of the circle into the jungle of ferns and mosses, leaving the children and the old monk to face the wyrm.

Emily watched him go, feeling sadness. Perhaps that's why he had accepted the wyrm's shadow for so long. Because without it he was just a coward.

When he had disappeared into the undergrowth she looked up at the wyrm again. It was right there, just above her, almost within reach, the white skin of its belly wrinkled and mottled with pale grey patches, swollen blue veins visible through it like the veins on the back of an old man's hand. The stench was appalling.

With the Wyrmwulf gone, Emily knew that their only hope of defeating it was her. And she knew that she had no chance. It was too immense, too powerful. An ancient spirit to whom Emily's own lifespan was the blink of an eye.

The wyrm hovered above them, beating its wings slowly. Its huge blunt head hung motionless in front of Brother Aire.

Aire looked up, slowly, into the creature's face. The two stared at each other. Neither moved.

It had been a thousand years since they had last met. The wyrm had been thinking of this moment, the moment when it had its imprisoner, the one who had trapped it in a mortal body, at its mercy, for a millennium.

The wyrm was growling, deep in its throat, a constant subterranean rumble like a battle-scarred tomcat facing a rival.

Sam was crouching, white-faced, beside the old man.

Astounded, Emily saw him tug at the monk's arm, trying to pull him away from under the wyrm's gaze. The old man refused to move. The wyrm didn't even seem to notice the boy. Eventually Sam gave up, and crawled away from the two ancient foes.

Then Eric staggered back into the circle, the Wyrmwulf's limp body in his arms. Blood dripped from the Wyrmwulf's torn leg. Eric was crying.

Emily's first thought was that his tears were because their defender had been defeated, leaving them open to attack, and for a moment she hated him, and his weakness.

Then she realised that in the Wyrmwulf's struggle with the wyrm, the mask had been stripped away and the pale face beneath revealed.

She saw the face, and her entire world spun, and she fell to her knees.

It wasn't Stephen Pilgrim's face.

She couldn't take in what she was seeing.

Eric staggered towards her and stood there before her, holding the Wyrmwulf gently in his arms.

As she looked at the unconscious face, she realised that Eric's tears weren't for himself.

She felt as if her heart was going to burst.

The revealed face looked like hers. An older version of her own face.

'Emily,' said Eric. His voice trembled. 'It's your mother.'

Chapter 78

Emily felt a sobbing cry escape from her throat. She was trembling all over, staring at the pale face in front of her.

'It's Tess,' said Eric. 'Your mother.'

Emily felt hot tears running down her face. She reached out and touched her mother's face, felt the warm skin under her fingertips, and experienced such an intense upwelling of emotion that it seemed that everything she was and had ever known suddenly cracked open and revealed a new and brighter world within.

Warm skin...

'She's alive,' said Emily frantically. 'We need to stop the blood.'

Eric nodded hurriedly. 'Lean her against the stone.'

Emily helped him to gently lower Tess to the mossy ground and prop her shoulders up against the Wolfstone. As her body touched the stone, the woman shuddered and she started to breathe easier.

'You'll have to help her,' Eric said to Emily.

He looked up at the vast wyrm hovering above them, still locked in communion with the old monk. 'I have to do something.'

He ran off, out of the circle.

Emily nodded. Her father wasn't weak. He wasn't a coward. He wasn't abandoning her.

Neither had her mother.

Sam arrived beside her, his breathing shaky. They looked at the bloody wounds on the torn leg.

'The Wyrmwulf is a woman?' said Sam. He took the canvas belt from around his waist and they strapped it around the top of the bleeding leg as a tourniquet.

'She's my mother.' Emily heard the words coming from her mouth and could hardly believe them.

Sam's mouth dropped open and he stared at her. 'What?'

'She's my mother.'

'No way.'

Emily nodded.

Sam looked from one to the other.

'She does look like you,' he admitted.

Tess coughed and her eyelids fluttered.

'Tess,' said Emily.

Then she said, awkwardly, 'Mum.'

Her mother's eyes opened. They were pale grey, like Emily's. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, then the eyes fluttered closed again.

Emily felt her mother's warm, strong hand close around hers and squeeze gently.

It felt like spring had welled up within Emily and was pouring out of her, down her cheeks, an unstoppable flood.

With a cry of mingled rage and ferocity, Eric charged out of the undergrowth straight at the hovering wyrm, holding the Wyrmwulf's spear above his head. Emily caught her breath as he stabbed the spear with all his strength at the wyrm's pale stomach.

The tip of the spear skidded off the wyrm's skin as if were made of paper, throwing Eric off balance and causing him to crash to the floor. The wyrm hissed.

Eric picked himself up and stabbed upwards again at the wyrm's belly, grunting with effort. The spear didn't even scratch the skin. The wyrm's hissing grew louder.

Emily heard a faint voice behind her. Her mother was trying to speak. Emily put her ear close to her mother's mouth.

'Wyrmwulf...' whispered Tess. 'Only.' Her face paled with the effort.

Emily nodded. She understood.

Tess was trying to speak again. 'Ritual,' she whispered.

Emily squeezed her mother's hand.

Tess's eyes flicked open and looked into Emily's.

'You were...' she struggled, as if she wanted to not say the words but had to. '...there.' Her hand moved weakly onto her stomach. 'Here.'

For a moment Emily didn't understand. How could she have been there when Tess undertook the ritual?

Then, with a gasp, she understood.

She'd been there because she'd been in her mother's belly. Tess had been pregnant with her at the time.

In that way they'd both undertaken the ritual.

That's why, once she had overcome her fear, she had become invisible to the wyrms. And why she'd always had that feeling that she had something important to do somewhere else.

Killing wyrms.

She was a Wyrmwulf, like her mother.

At that moment of revelation, the wyrm screamed and swept down a claw towards the Brother Aire, grabbing him with terrible force. The old man seemed to crumple and blood dribbled from his mouth.

The wyrm flew upwards, carrying the monk's body with him.

Emily watched, horrified, as the wyrm flew up, almost vertically, to the cavern roof. Then the monster simply dropped the old man from his claw.

Brother Aire fell through the air, his limp body rotating slightly, his blue habit fluttering in the wind of his descent.

Then he slammed into the ground with sickening force and lay as motionless as a weathered rock on a moor, his ancient face pointing up to the unseen sky above.

Sam cried out and ran over to the body. Amazingly, the old man's hand lifted slightly and Sam took it, trembling. Then a shudder ran through the old man's body and he lay still. Sam gently laid the hand down onto the monk's motionless chest, then stood and looked angrily up at the circling wyrm.

Eric staggered over to Tess and Emily. He shook his head.

Emily gently took the spear from him and looked up at the wyrm.

Now all Blótan Coeli had to do to return to his spirit form and regain his dominion was to dive down into the Well.

The only thing that could stop him was Emily. With the death of the monk, there was no-one left to pray to the red tree for intervention.

Emily knew that she could not succeed.

The wyrm simply folded its wings around its body and dropped like a huge white stone towards the well.

Emily lifted the spear, despairingly.

There was nothing she could do.

Chapter 79

The sound started quietly, like the faintest of breezes through dry grass.

It swelled, quickly, urgently, like a stormfront racing over a plain, and in seconds reached a pitch of deafening ferocity as the red tree came back to violent life to defend the Well.

Its thrashing limbs reached as one towards the falling wyrm and ensnared it in a thousand grasping tendrils and flung it tumbling across the cavern, smashing helplessly through the pillars and stairways in its path, to land in the distant clump of tree ferns with a ground-shaking thump and an explosion of splinters and torn leaves.

How...?

'Look!' said Sam, pointing towards the tunnel entrance at the top of the cavern.

There was movement up there, on the stony rubble that the wyrm had left in its wake as it had forced a passage down into the cavern. Figures, wearing blue. Monks.

Emily smiled when she saw who was leading the group.

Stephen Pilgrim.

The monks stood at the edge of the platform, heads bowed, praying. The red tree responded, its limbs waving gently, waiting for the wyrm's next assault.

Suddenly there was hope.

Emily looked at Sam.

He looked back at her. Looked at her holding the spear.

'Riiiight,' he said.

'I need your help,' she said.

He nodded.

She turned to her mother and father. Eric was holding Tess's hand, carefully, as if it might break.

'Love you,' she said.

Then, before either of them could stop her, she and Sam ran out of the circle into the undergrowth, in the direction of the fallen wyrm.

Within moments the stone circle was out of sight.

'We can't kill it, you know,' said Sam as they ran. 'Your dad already tried.'

'Yes we can,' said Emily. She explained what her mother had told her.

Sam was astonished. 'You have just the weirdest family,' he said.

Emily thought about that. Thought about the three of them: Eric, Tess and her, and how the wyrm had shaped their lives. Crotilda Harrow had told her that Eric and Tess had been with her when the cave under Tower Hill had been discovered. Both Eric and Crotilda had fallen under the wyrm's shadow.

But Tess had fought back. Clear-sighted, she must have found out the truth about the monks and the wyrms and offered herself to them as a Wyrmwulf. To defend her husband and her unborn daughter against the horror that she knew Blótan Coeli would one day try to bring to Wormwell.

And, in the process, starting Emily on the same path.

But once Emily was born, the wyrm could never know what Emily was, what she might be in the future. And as long as the Wyrmwulf's identity was secret, as long as the wyrm could not link the Wyrmwulf to Emily, then Emily was safe.

So Tess had disappeared from Emily's life, made that great sacrifice, leaving her with the shadow-bound Eric, literally under the enemy's nose but knowing also that Eric loved his daughter and would protect her at any cost.

As he had done at the Well, refusing to carry out the wyrm's command.

'Are you angry?' asked Sam as they skirted a large clump of club-mosses that towered over them like huge green fingers.

Emily shook her head, then sighed and nodded. 'Of course I am. I'm furious at them both. Absolutely furious. I'll probably never forgive either of them.'

She grimaced. 'But what they did was because of the wyrm. It started it. He started it. Old King Cole. They just tried to do what was seemed right.' She hefted the spear.

'Now he's going to pay for what he did to us.'

Sam looked anxious. 'And you have a plan?'

'Do you still have that knife?'

Sam nodded and pulled it out of his pocket. 'It won't work on him, you know. And why would he wait around for you to stab him, anyway?'

Emily gestured with the spear up at the limbs of the red tree that were swaying in the air high above them. 'My guess is that he'll stay on the ground now. Try to sneak under its defences.'

'So we're heading from the Well towards where he landed, and the wyrm...'

'Will be heading from where he landed back towards the Well.'

'Right. And we'll meet somewhere in the middle?'

'The Wyrmwulf...my mother...kills them by spearing them through the back of the neck. I'll do the same. So we need a place I'll be able to jump down onto his neck.'

'An ambush.'

Emily nodded.

'But how will we get him under there? It's not likely that the wyrm will just happen to wander into the right position.'

'That's why you'll need the knife.'
Chapter 80

They ran up a slight rise and at the top were able to look down across the cavern to where the wyrm had fallen. A dark trail of broken trees showed that it had already covered half the ground between where it had landed and where they stood. As they watched, another stand of tree ferns seemed to disintegrate into a cloud of splinters.

They didn't have much time. They ran down the other side of the rise and spread out, still within sight of each other, to look for a suitable ambush point.

After a couple of minutes a cry from Sam brought Emily hurrying over to where he stood. It was a small, open glade surrounded by tree ferns and tall stands of horsetails. To their right one of the old stone stairways led up from the ground, supported by slender pillars, to curve away above the treetops.

In front of them part of the red tree sprouted from the mossy ground, reaching perhaps thirty feet into the air, with several side limbs hanging over the ground below. It was ideal except for the fact that, as the other parts of the red tree were, this offshoot was swaying gently as it waited for the wyrm's next assault.

The crashing noise as the wyrm made its way through the trees and undergrowth was now worryingly close.

'Beggars can't be choosers,' said Emily. 'It'll have to do.'

She quickly climbed up the tree and wedged the spear against the trunk, its base in a knot in the outstretched limb, then jumped down again to join Sam.

They ran forward, across the glade, then stopped to listen again. The noise was still coming from in front of them, but slightly to their left.

'We only have once chance,' said Emily, as they ran into position.

Sam nodded. 'So now you're a Wyrmwulf, he can't see you?'

'He can only hear me.'

Sam sighed. 'It'd be nice to be invisible right now.'

Emily punched him on the arm. 'Come on,' she said. 'Notice that I didn't ask you to do any climbing this time.'

Sam grinned. 'Thanks, Cap'n.'

'Don't mention it.'

They waited for the wyrm to come, hearts pounding.

There was a tremendous crash and the wyrm was suddenly there, in front of them, tree-ferns toppling to the ground either side of it, vast and ancient and terrifying.

The wyrm scrambled across the ground towards them, its black eyes glancing at Sam incuriously, the boy no threat at all, even with that black knife that seemed somehow familiar.

It was going past the boy, towards the Well, when suddenly, astonishingly, there was a fierce fiery pain across its cheek and the wyrm looked and saw the boy staggering back, blood dripping from the knife, then he lunged forward again at a leg and the knife stabbing deep into the flesh and the wyrm felt a pain it had never known and it roared its anger and forgot about the Well and turned to crush the boy.

Emily let go of the knife that both she and Sam had held to stab the wyrm and she and Sam fled back towards the grove, the wyrm smashing its way through the trees behind them.

They had only moments. Emily ran ahead to the tree and swarmed up it, grabbing the spear. Sam slowed to make sure that the wyrm had seen him. It entered the glade, blood dripping from its cheek and leg, and started to stalk slowly forwards towards Sam.

He backed away from it, drawing it under the tree.

Emily stayed as still as she could, trying to keep her frantic breathing as quiet as she could.

The wyrm advanced, slowly.

Sam passed under Emily's feet.

The wyrm stopped. The tip of its nose was under Emily's feet. It had to come further under for her to be able to make the jump. She could do nothing, say nothing. Any sound or movement she made would alert the wyrm to her presence.

Realising that something was wrong, Sam stopped retreating.

Emily saw him take a deep breath and saw him step towards the wyrm, holding the knife up in front of him, as if he meant to stab the wyrm again.

Without her holding the knife, the blade would just bounce off the wyrm's skin. Sam's threat was just a bluff.

It was the bravest thing Emily had ever seen, a thin twelve year old boy facing down an ancient monster that could crush him in an instant.

The wyrm, provoked beyond endurance by this inexplicably dangerous child, charged forward to destroy him.

There was no time to think.

Emily leapt from the tree branch, spear held high, down towards the old wyrm's neck. The drop was further than she had thought, and she seemed to be falling for a lifetime before her feet thumped solidly into the flesh above the wyrm's shoulderblades and she bent her knees and at the same time rammed the spear with all her strength into the back of the monster's neck.

It sank deep into its old flesh and she felt it hit bone and stop, the spear shaft shivering with the impact.

The wyrm screamed and twisted in agony, hurling Emily from its back and then collapsing onto the ground, thrashing and beating its wings violently. Emily was thrown high into the air and as she fell a bony pinion in one of the wings smashed against her leg and she felt a sharp, nauseating pain and heard a dry, snapping noise. Then she fell tumbling into a clump of moss near the base of the stone stairway and lay there for a moment, the pain from her leg washing over her in sickening waves, almost making her black out.

Then the wyrm got back to its feet, howling and trembling, and she realised that she had failed.

The creature charged blindly around the glade, maddened with pain and fear, smashing into the red tree and reducing it to a pile of twisted firewood, then staggered briefly towards Emily and before lurching sideways into one of the pillars holding up the stone stairway, snapping the wooden shaft of the spear off just above the creature's flesh, and causing part of the stairs to collapse onto the creature's tail as it dragged itself away.

'Em,' shouted Sam. 'Call it back!'

He ran up the steps toward the broken section.

Call it back? Emily thought. She was dizzy with pain. It didn't make sense.

She dragged herself towards the pile of rubble that was the collapsed pillar. She tried to stand, but the pain from her broken leg was too great and she fell.

'Blótan Coeli,' she shouted. She would follow Sam's example. 'Blótan Coeli, I am the Wyrmwulf, and I will kill you.' She stopped, breathing heavily, the edges of her vision dark and shadowy.

An animal scream echoed across the cavern and through the gap between the pillars she saw the undergrowth shake and the wyrm appeared, crawling slowly back towards her. Blood dripped from its mouth and its body was shaken by uncontrollable tremors. Green flames flickered in its wounds and mouth. Emily realised that she had, in fact, very nearly killed it. She felt a moment of pity.

But even in this state, if the wyrm had the strength to return to the Well, it would be reborn as a spirit.

It had to die.

'I'm here, Old King Cole,' she screamed. She looked up at Sam, standing high above her on the edge of the broken stairway. He nodded.

The wyrm crawled towards her, twitching and drooling blood, spitting green fire.

She tried to crawl towards it, but jarred her leg in the process and cried out with pain.

At the sound, the wyrm seemed to move faster towards her.

It was a stone's throw away. Then a barge-length. Then the huge, white, blunt head was coming over the rubble in front of her, the terrible jaws widening to swallow her up, blood dripping from them, and just to make sure that the wyrm knew where she was and stayed on course she shouted, 'I'm here, I'm here!'

With her broken leg there was no chance to escape. Emily knew that this was the end, either for herself, or for the wyrm. She felt the wyrm's foul breath in her face, and she lifted her head and faced him.

And then Sam heaved the loose blocks from the top of the broken stairway to drop tumbling down onto the wyrm's neck, and the largest of them landed square and heavy on the broken spear shaft and drove it deeper, grinding straight through the bone that had stopped Emily's thrust, and the iron tip severed the wyrm's spinal cord in two and the wyrm knew nothing more than a strange wrenching feeling before it lost control of its limbs and wings and it collapsed to the floor.

Its huge head thumped into the rubble barely a foot away from Emily, and it breathed out one last time, spattering her with fiery blood, and then it died.

Chapter 81

'Emily!'

She came to, dizzily, to see Sam was kneeling anxiously beside her, holding her shoulder and shaking her gently. She had blacked out for a moment.

'I broke my leg,' she explained.

Then she smiled at him. 'Well done, crew. We got him.'

Sam smiled back. 'We did. Well done, Captain.'

He looked worriedly at the head of the dead wyrm lying in front of them.

'If I help you, will you be able to move further away from this thing?'

Emily suddenly remembered the fiery maelstrom that had consumed the first wyrm. She nodded. There was already a green flame flickering in Blótan Coeli's dead eyes.

Sam put his hand under her arms and helped her struggle to her feet. She cried out once, when her broken leg jarred agonisingly against the ground, but with Sam's help she was able to hop away from the wyrm's body towards the edge of the glade. When they were at what seemed like a safe distance they turned and looked back, Emily leaning on Sam's shoulder for support as she stood on one leg, the broken one raised slightly to keep it off the ground.

The green wildfire took hold within the wyrm's body quickly and ferociously. Its small, dark, shrivelled heart began to shine with shimmering green light, burning through the creature's white skin and revealing the structure of huge bones inside.

The heartlight began to spin, dragging towards it the flames that burned in the bones and organs, consuming the wyrm from the inside, then the tugging reached out beyond the body and began to pull the shadows it had cast back in to the fire.

Emily heard a sound like an exhaled breath from behind her, and turned to see a tattered shadow flit past like a dry leaf. It was pulled into the green flame and consumed. A moment later she saw in the distance her father walking towards them through the undergrowth, smiling, and she realised that the shadow had been the remnant of the one that the wyrm had cast over her father and now he was utterly free of it, and her heart leapt to see that beside him, limping along, but upright and strong, was her mother.

Her mother.

A whump of flame made her turn back to the wyrm, and she saw its bones collapsing inwards, and that other shadows trailing down through the roof to wind down into the spinning flames, feeding it and making it brighter and stronger.

The air itself seemed to become lighter and softer as the wyrm and its shadows were burned away from the world, and finally the creature's dark heart cracked like a white-hot log in a fire and the shell burned away to show the shining droplet of Well-water that lay within.

The droplet grew, expanding rapidly, washing away the charred remains of the wyrm so it was as if it had never existed, and growing further, washing past them and leaving them with the feeling of refreshing spring rain on their skin and a deep sense of peace and calm.

She heard Sam breathe a long sigh, heartfelt of relief.

'Emily,' said a soft voice behind her, a woman's voice, no longer distorted and flattened by the Wyrmwulf's mask. 'My wonderful daughter.'

Emily turned awkwardly and her mother was standing there, tears running down her face.

Emily's mother stepped forward, her arms outstretched, and hugged her daughter so hard that Emily thought that she might actually black out again, but at the same time she was so overjoyed, so overwhelmed by happiness, that she wanted that moment to last a lifetime. Given the chance, Brother Aire's lifetime.
Chapter 82

After a few minutes, her mother pulled back, still holding Emily tightly by her shoulders, and looked her up and down.

Instantly her forehead creased. 'What happened to your leg? Are you hurt?'

'It's broken,' said Emily.

'What?'

'I think it got broken by the wyrm's wing after I stabbed it with the neck with the spear.' She raised her eyebrows at her mother. 'I was only doing what I'd seen you do, mum.'

Despite the fact that her mother had been missing from her life for so long, Emily already felt that she knew her better than she knew anyone else in the world.

Her mother looked at her helplessly.

'We need to get you to a doctor.'

'And you, too,' said Emily, looking down at her mother's torn leg. 'How's the tourniquet?'

Tess ignored that and turned to Sam. 'Are you injured, Sam?'

Sam shook his head. 'Not really, Mrs Bright.' Then he winced and touched his jaw, where a big bruise was forming. 'Though this hurts a bit where Mrs Harrow hit me.'

Eric was looking open-mouthed at the two of them. 'I had no idea,' he said. Then he looked at Emily suspiciously. 'That night, when Crotilda came round, had you really been in bed all evening?'

Emily looked at him. 'Of course, dad.'

She looked at her mother, who winked at her.

Emily heard a distant shout and looked up to see Stephen Pilgrim standing on the edge of the platform waving down at them and pointing across the cavern. She turned to see what he was pointing at, and was astonished to see one of the largest branches of the red tree slowly curling down towards them. Stephen pointed at it and then at the platform. She waved back.

The end of the branch looped down and came to rest in the glade not far away. Still supported by Sam, Emily hopped her way slowly over to it and the two of them climbed on. Tess and Eric followed. Tess jumped up onto the red wood but Eric held back, looking anxious.

After a moment he tentatively put his foot onto the branch. This time it didn't move away from under him, and, looking relieved, he jumped on with the rest of them.

The branch slowly, gently lifted them up, up past the tree ferns and the horsetails, up past a flock of brightly coloured birds that swooped down past them, calling to each other in excitement about all the insects that the wyrm's destructive path through the forest had stirred up, all the way up to the platform at the end of the cavern where the blue-clad monks stood gravely watching their arrival.

Stephen was at the front of the group, looking worried.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'After that thing attacked the Abbey, I knew it would come here. We came to help.'

'Why are you sorry? You did exactly the right thing. If you hadn't prayed for the the red tree to intervene, we'd have failed.'

Pilgrim looked pleased, then worried. 'I don't know, bringing the others here, I didn't want you to think that I'd, you know...' He glanced at the other monks and fell silent.

'You did exactly the right thing,' Emily reassured him. He was worried that he'd betrayed them. Now she knew that he'd never betrayed anyone.

'Stephen,' she said quietly, so that only he and Sam could hear. 'Where did you get that wyrm scale from?'

Stephen looked guilty. 'I found it on the floor of the infirmary the other night,' he whispered. 'It must have fallen out of the Wyrmwulf's clothes when he was brought in.' He blushed again and then said, 'I always wanted to be like him.'

Then he looked at Tess with some confusion.

'Hey,' shouted a voice from above. 'What have you two done to my church?'

Emily looked up to see Suzy Longlost climbing down the rubble-strewn tunnel towards them, her red hair streaming out behind her. 'I leave it for a few hours and I come back and it has an enormous hole in the middle of it.'

Then she saw who was amongst the monks and she blushed fiercely and looked confused.

Stephen Pilgrim made a step towards her, his heart in his eyes.

'Suzy,' said Emily. 'He didn't betray you.'

Longlost couldn't keep her eyes off Pilgrim. 'He didn't?' she said, softly. 'So who did?'

Emily glanced at the group of monks and said, 'The Gatekeeper. Stephen knew nothing about it. He thought you had gone because he'd argued with you.'

Longlost frowned. 'How could you think that?' she said to Stephen Pilgrim. 'It was just an argument. It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean I didn't love you anymore.'

When she realised what she'd just said, she blushed again. Then she said fiercely, 'So where's this Gatekeeper?'

'He died,' said Emily quietly, 'saving our lives.'

Longlost nodded and glared at the monks.

'We're even, then.'

Then she stepped forward purposefully and kissed Stephen Pilgrim fiercely on the mouth.

He blushed. But that didn't stop him from kissing her back, just as passionately.

After a moment, the monks clapped politely.

Emily caught Sam's eye and glanced up the tunnel that led to the outside world and a new morning. 'I hope you can climb as well as help me,' she said.

Sam grinned. 'I'm an expert climber, me. No problem.'

She smiled and looked around before she started the climb. Longlost and Stephen Pilgrim were still kissing. Eric and Tess were talking quietly a little way away from the group. Eric's face was animated. Tess was frowning, but Emily could tell that it was mostly an act.

She smiled at the two of them, feeling as light and free as a breath of air. They had done it.

She couldn't stop smiling.

Then Sam said, 'Em?' quietly, so that the others couldn't hear. 'I've been thinking.'

She looked at him suspiciously. 'About what?'

'Something's been bothering me.'

'Go on.'

'It's about what that young man cried as he fell off the Kingstone.'

'Stone eyes see the hidden horde of kings,' said Emily.

'That's the one,' said Sam. 'So we saw one king come out of hiding.'

'Old King Cole.'

Sam nodded. 'So what about the others?'

'What others?'

'A horde is more than one, right? So what about all the other kings? Are they still under there?' Sam looked at her grimly. 'And are they all going to be like him?'

Emily looked at him in horror.

###

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