They were sharp, clear shadows, the shapes of men and women circling in pairs to a stately step, a minuet, maybe, or a sarabande. You could see every detail of their dress, the women’s immense hoopskirts and high-piled wigs billowing out as they danced, their fans fluttering as they curtsied to the men, whose flared sleeves and ribboned queues stuck out stiffly as they bowed in return. There was no sound of their music, nothing but the sudden rush and splashing of rain. Around us they circled, their shadows swelling and blurring as they neared a light which was not ours, diminishing as the dance swept them away again. It was a dance such as this hall must once have known; but for all that it was peculiarly terrible to see. Then I heard gasps; but I’d already seen it, the darker, solitary silhouette that passed among the dancers like a cloud, dressed like the men but holding a slender cane at an elegant angle. It bowed to them as it passed, elegant as a major-domo or dancing master; and they bowed back, but didn’t rise. The men, faltered, folded, collapsed; the women swayed in their courtesies and sank down. The dance swept round them oblivious; but it was a dance of death, for couple after couple dropped as they turned, hands clutching desperately at each other, at the air, futile. They sank and were gone. But behind the darker shadow another pair would fall in line, heads bent, hands fallen limp, dancing no more.
Only Mall had the nerve to speak. The worst in these things are but shadows!’ she laughed. ‘They’ve no power to harm us! Come!’ She plunged on into the hall, broadsword at the ready, towards the high arch at the rear; its great tapestry curtain had gone grey with the dust that pooled in its sagging folds. As her swordpoint touched it a good half tore and dropped with a thump in a cloud of dust and fat insect larvae. Through the archway we plunged, into a separate hall made less deep by the curving stairways at either end. To the left one of the great pictures, at least twelve feet tall, that hung above the stair had come away. Its gilded frame stood shattered across the ruined middle steps, and spiders were using it for their own delicate works. On the other side the frame still hung, but what it held had been eaten away, leaving only an obscene fungus stain on the wall behind. One look showed nobody had passed either way for centuries – at least no body material; both stairs were curtained thick with dust-caked webs. But between those stairs in the far wall were other doors. They were mostly warped shut, but the central one hung ajar from one hinge, and the splintered wood was recent.
When Mall and I peered in, we found it was a stair, wide but functional; and the darkness it led down into seemed to well up at us. We looked at each, shrugged, and waved the others after us. They obeyed, but not too eagerly – and that was the first time I’d noticed any real hesitation on this whole crazy voyage. Well, I couldn’t blame them. I’d no choice, and Mall and Jyp had made theirs for their own reasons. But even someone who loves gold and hates Wolves can be forgiven for not wanting to walk into such an obvious trap.
Yet walk they did, all the same, as cautiously as us, shuffling down with backs to the walls, pistols at the ready, never sure what the next step would bring, or whether it would be there at all. The air was still, but the lantern-flame cowered and trembled as if a slow breath played upon it; I somehow felt that if anyone but Mall carried it, it wouldn’t have stayed alight. Not that it was much help; but it made more difference than you could imagine. The atmosphere of the place was like a physical weight pressing down on our shoulders, and even when the light caught the edge of a tall vaulted stone arch and we felt the stairwell open out into a wider ambience, the claustrophobia didn’t let up. The storm was no more than a distant rumble. It was quiet as the grave – most graves, anyway; but no way were we alone.
Then, just at the edge of the lamplight there came a sudden flurry and rush of motion. Jyp’s pistol and mine went off together. There was a dazzling flash, and a single high-pitched scream that chilled my heart. That was no Wolf’s cry – who had my panicky shot hit? Then, as my sight cleared, I sagged with relief. On the steps below lay the gory remains of two fat black rats, one cut completely in two, the other, a foreleg blown away, kicking into death. Jyp and I exchanged shamefaced grins.
‘Nice shootin’, pal!’ he said.
‘Some shooting! There must have been a hundred there!’
‘That few?’
Mall held up the lantern, and as they caught the light her long curls flared golden and seemed to redouble it; her pale eyes flashed. Overhead a roughly vaulted ceiling appeared, and to left and right dim outlined alcoves, and the sense of oppression eased a little.
‘Where they stored their wines, maybe!’ whispered Jyp, when it became clear nothing was going to leap out at us just immediately. ‘Sure looks like –’
