The two men looked at each other. I watched both of them.

Stockwood licked his lips. He smelled sweaty and nervous. As far as I know the man has no family. His only apparent allegiance is to a criminal.'

Stockwood hesitated, then spoke his next words in a rush. 'We could just bury him in the grounds.'

Royston smiled. 'That's immoral.'

Stockwood began to pace. 'I know, James. Oh, Lord, I know But thirty years, James. Thirty years. And now I'm so close. So close to finding out. finding out. I have the money. A ship is booked. If the police are involved now... it'll mean cancellations... delays... I cannot possibly countenance that, James. You must understand!' I have the money. A ship is booked. If the police are involved now... it'll mean cancellations... delays... I cannot possibly countenance that, James. You must understand!'

Royston stopped smiling. He moved to the French windows and stared thoughtfully into the gardens, stepping over the dead butler to do so.

'Horace, your obsession has always been a mystery to me. To return to Rapa Nui seems such a trivial matter when placed against the pressing matters extant in our own time and place.' He paused. 'But then this never seemed like your time and place...' Abruptly he straightened. 'We are friends and as such I am prepared to indulge your head of steam.' He turned. 'I only wish you would put this much effort into maintaining the diets I prescribe for you.'

Stockwood seemed to collapse inwardly with relief. His sweat dried quickly.

I was getting impatient. I could smell the corpse already. It would not be long before the rest of the land could smell it. I glared at Stockwood.

'Bury him, eat him, it does not matter. But do it quickly! The gun made a noise a child of the Sevateem would have heard half the land away.'

Royston glanced at me. For the first time I noted surprise in his body language. 'Your tribe eat their dead?'

I answered quickly, impatiently. 'Only our friends and family. The honoured among us. Their spirit nurtures and strengthens our own.'

Stockwood said, 'You mustn't be surprised, James. She's not from England.'

Royston pursed his lips. 'Manifestly.' To me he added, 'If you eat your friends what do you do with your enemies?'

I laughed. 'A child knows that. If it's winter we skin them and wear them. If it's summer we use their bodies to feed the animals. Animals are much better to eat than enemies. Animals do not hate you.' Before Royston could react, I pointed at the dead butler. 'Now help me take this one into the gardens. We will need to bury him deep to prevent the smell of decay reaching those who would stop us.'

Royston and Stockwood exchanged glances. Stockwood put down his gun. 'I'll get some shovels,' he said.

I took hold of the corpse and began to drag it across the room. 'He is big.

You will have many good crops this season.'

9.

Rage of Ice

The storm lasted three days. At the end of it one boat was missing, swept overboard in the storm; both the remaining boats were stove in; the planking of the bulwarks was gone, burst outwards by the weight of water on the deck; the p.o.o.p was ruined and the cabin gutted by the wind.

The galley had collapsed and lay bottom up in the scuppers. A few boards and bits of a pie which the cook had been preparing floated there, together with a few rather dazed chickens. We searched for the cook, fearing he had been carried away, and found him unconscious in the galley wreckage, thick fingers still tightly clutching the leg of pig he had been preparing when the wind struck us.

I managed to get Jack below decks. He'd broken an arm, which Royston set. He was the only casualty. There were no deaths. Captain Stuart thought it was a miracle and said so by leading the men in a prayer, before taking apart the remaining boats to repair the bulwark planking.

While the damage was being a.s.sessed and the repairs begun, the Captain began to work out our position. It turned out we had been blown several hundred miles off course to the south during the storm. The weather here was much colder - the decks were invariably sc.u.mmed with ice and a sharp, continuous lookout was kept for bergs.

The worst news of all was that the ship's supplies of fresh water were gone, drained into the sea when the galley collapsed.

Tweed limped like a wounded animal across the sea for two days before we saw the first berg. The sun was low in the sky, and cast a clear, cold light across the drifting ma.s.s. The berg was big - half again as high as the ship and twice as big. It was a jagged blue-white ma.s.s, capped with snow and mottled with deep indigo and aquamarine streaks. limped like a wounded animal across the sea for two days before we saw the first berg. The sun was low in the sky, and cast a clear, cold light across the drifting ma.s.s. The berg was big - half again as high as the ship and twice as big. It was a jagged blue-white ma.s.s, capped with snow and mottled with deep indigo and aquamarine streaks.

Waves pounded against it as we drew closer, and the wind whipped a thin drizzle of sleet from the upper slopes.

The Captain ordered us close in by the lee of the berg, using the protection from the biting wind to carry out repairs, and at the same time place a number of men on the berg to chip off ice to melt for water.

I took this opportunity to slip below decks and investigate the cabin that I had seen Royston go to and from so many times. I thought that if there was someone in the cabin, someone who had been injured and needed medical treatment, then surely the door would have been unlocked in the storm. Surely n.o.body would have let themselves be locked in during a time when they may have needed to escape on to deck at a moment's notice?

I moved silently through the companionway to the port mid-cabin. I listened outside the door. I could hear nothing. But that did not mean there was n.o.body inside.

I tried to decide what to do. I had waited for many days for this opportunity: Royston was busy setting Jack's arm and the men were busy making running repairs to the ship. I would not get a better chance to look inside the cabin.

I tried the door. It was locked.

I uttered a hunter's curse. How could I get inside now? I could break the lock easily - but that would get me noticed. Then I remembered the keys I had seen hanging on a peg in the Captain's cabin while Stuart had been explaining about sailing around the world. There had been many keys on the great ring hanging from that peg. One of them must surely fit the cabin lock.

Quickly I moved down the companionway, past the main mast and the mizzenmast, towards the stern of the ship and the Captain's cabin.

The door was closed but not locked. Of course. Who would steal anything while at sea? Where would they run to?

Inside the cabin I looked around for the keys. They had fallen from the peg and lay, along with many loose items, scattered across the cabin floor. I scooped them up, checked at the door to make sure no one was outside, and left the cabin.

Back along the main companionway I crept. My heart was pounding now, an unfamiliar sensation. I felt like I was on the hunt again for the first time in many nine-days.

I stopped outside the cabin. I listened. Still no noise from inside.

Wait - was that breathing I heard? The sound of a breath deliberately held in check?

Was someone hiding in there?

I put the key in the lock. Waited. Nothing. No breathing. No sound at all except those made by the ship itself. I turned the key. Still nothing.

Removing the key I reached for the handle.

I heard the shot and felt the bullet graze my shoulder at the same time.

I turned. It was her. The woman. Richards. She was covering me with a pistol similar to the one Stump had injured me with as we left Portsmouth.

I cursed.

'The next shot will be the last thing you hear.' Her voice was quiet.

Everything about her was quiet. But I should have heard her approaching. I should have heard the gun being c.o.c.ked.

'I am old and stupid and deserve to die. You should kill me now.'

'Make no mistake. I will kill you if you open that door.'

'Then you will have to kill me.' I began to turn the handle. 'No, Leela!'

A new voice. Stockwood. He was in the companionway, the other end from the woman.

'Do you agree with her?' her?'

'No. But I do not want to see you killed.' He waited for me to take my hand off the door handle. I did not. 'You are my best friend. Who will look after me if you are dead?'

I felt anger surge up within me. I was caught between these two, as I was caught between a desire to kill and a desire to protect. But for now I was helpless. My own desire had allowed me to become trapped.

'Royston knows who is in here,' I said. I saw him come out. Many times. Once with b.l.o.o.d.y bandages.'

'James Royston is my oldest friend. I trust him implicitly. You should too.' I listened to Stockwood's tone, not his words. He believed them.

Fool. He did not know what I knew. How could I convince him that we must overpower the woman together and then see what was inside the cabin?

I was not to get the opportunity. A new voice said, 'Leela, I brought you to Earth to learn about your ancestors not to steal things from their cabins.

Now put the keys back and let's go on deck and help with the repairs.'

I scowled at the Doctor. 'Are you on her side as well?'

'I'm on the side of the angels, Leela. The side of the angels. Miss Richards, if you would be so kind?'

The woman lowered her pistol. I glared at the Doctor. He said nothing. I relocked the door. Then I threw down the keys and pushed past Richards, heading towards the mid-deck hatch leading to the orlop. 'I do not understand any of you. If you want me I will be with the pigs. They have not yet tried to kill or betray me.'

I had my hand on the hatch cover when the ship rocked. At the same moment the cries of several men lifted on deck. The bell clanged madly.

'Ice! Ice away off the port bow!'

'She's cleaving!'

'Make sail - and jump to it or we're all food for the fishes!'

The Doctor jumped on to deck as fast as any man aboard. Richards followed. After a moment Stockwood took the keys from me and joined them. I did not move. I was alone in the companionway. I looked at the cabin door, now safely locked again.

Then I smashed the palm of my hand against the lock plate and the door burst open.

I meant to move into the cabin slowly, blade at the ready. But the ship lurched again at that moment, and a terrible screech like all the demons from the Beyond made me shudder. I stumbled into the cabin and sprawled on the deck, just managing to s.n.a.t.c.h a glimpse of my surroundings as I fell.

The cabin was in darkness, the small porthole blocked by a cloth. It was small, barely large enough to contain a chest, a bunk and a rail for hanging clothes. I smelled medicine. Antiseptic. Antiseptic. I smelled clean linen and traces of food. But underneath were smells impossible to remove, or ignore. Sweat. Blood. Sickness. I smelled clean linen and traces of food. But underneath were smells impossible to remove, or ignore. Sweat. Blood. Sickness.

As I got up a shape rose from the darkness on the top bunk. I heard a cry, whirled to meet the shape. Two pistol shots cracked in the gloom. I slashed upwards, dagger searching for flesh, felt myself enfolded in a blanket. To anyone else it would have been clean. To me it stank of infection. By the time I had disentangled myself and retrieved my knife the figure -whoever had thrown the blanket - was gone.

I moved out of the cabin fast and low, rolling across the companionway. I was just in time to see a pair of heavy work boots vanish up the ladder leading to the mid-deck.

I followed warily. On deck the light dazzled me for a moment - long enough for whoever was fleeing to try to slam the hatch cover down on my head. I ducked, waited a heartbeat, pushed the hatch cover up and leapt out on to deck.

I recognised the man in a heartbeat. Stump. He was loading a pistol. The berg loomed behind him, directly off the port side. Wreathed in fog, it loomed above the topsail booms. And it seemed to be shaking.

I reversed my blade and threw it - just as the ship shuddered again.

Stump slipped on the deck and fell. My dagger flashed over his shoulder and embedded itself in the main mast. I was moving in an instant, no thought for words. The promise I had made not to kill did not apply to one who had shot me twice. I ducked to avoid a pistol shot, then reached for my dagger. By the time I had freed it from the mast Stump had ducked beneath the boom and was making for the port deck rail.

I drew back my arm to throw and then stopped. If I missed my blade would be lost overboard. It had been the one my mother used on the horda when they had attacked my sister. I did not want to lose it now, no matter how much I wanted to kill Stump.

I ran after Stump, just in time to see him vault the deck rail and vanish into a foggy gloom. I listened for a splash. Instead I heard a thud and a man's voice cursing. Without thought I stepped over the deck rail and lowered myself off the ship.

Behind me I was aware of voices shouting, running footsteps, but I was not in the mood to listen. I ignored them, let go of the deck rail, and fell feet first into the fog.

I landed on ice, packed hard and freezing to my skin. The surface was wet and slippery. Everything was wreathed in white. My breath hung in clouds around me. My skin was white with frost and already turning numb. I blinked away tears - only to find my eyelids wanted to remain stuck together. I unglued them, listening. Ice rose around me in smooth, irregular clumps. Fog rolled between them. The ice beneath my feet was shaking steadily. I listened for footsteps, breathing, a voice, anything.

I heard a scuffling sound, then a fall of snow and another curse.

Stump. I moved after the sound. In moments I found Stump. He had slipped and fallen, fetching up against a spar of ice with one leg twisted beneath him. His face, already coated with frost, was also twisted with pain.

I approached. He saw me and began to crawl even harder, dragging himself through the snow, still trying to escape.

'Demons. Oh, demons. I hear y' coming fer me in the white darkness. I hear y' but y'll no get me today. No, fer the demon here'll get me first, this demon shaped like a woman, but no woman this, she'll gut me and leave old Stump's innards to glaze on this chunk o' white h.e.l.l like ropes o'

window gla.s.s stained red wi' me life blood now, will she not?'

I took three steps and drew level with the man. His voice was a continuous drone, the words, interrupted only by shuddering breaths, unbroken in the fog. I knew that sound. The sound of sickness. Of delirium. When he breathed his lungs spoke to me. They spoke of sickness and approaching death.

'It is fit that you will die here. The servant of Cryuni killed by his master's hand at his master's Place.'

At once Stump began to crawl even faster. I do not know where he found the strength. His limbs blurred in the snow but he moved hardly any distance from me. I paced him easily.

'Let me die, no, no, I don' wanna die, not here on this wretched stretch o' h.e.l.l's white sh.o.r.e, lemme die at home in the sun, no I don'

wanna die, I don' wanna, not here, not slow like this, I wanna die quick, make it quick, demon, or I'll haunt y'till me bones melt come day o'

judgement.' And then, incredibly, he began to laugh. 'I'll haunt y'. Me, a man and a dead 'un at that, I'll haunt y', demon. Y'll never escape from the Stump.'