curious dancing light that now appeared to convulse
around the floor. Head bowed, the figure passed through
the doorway. This time Elsa didn’t hesitate. She followed.
And instantly she wished she hadn’t.
She found herself in a stone chamber, like a lofty
cell, with walls glistening beneath centuries of green and
yellow fungus. A high, round window set at what must
have been the outside ground level briefly revealed sheet
lightning through a festoon of cobwebs, and the raging
wind and storm-driven sea sounded louder, more
threatening. Elsa saw immediately the source of those
dancing shapes she’d glimpsed from the steps outside: logs
were blazing with peculiar intensity in a wide fireplace,
their reflected light flickering in demon tongues against the
walls and bolting in the way of startled lizards seeking
shelter. Elsa sensed at a primeval level that she ought not
to have been lured to this place.
The hooded figure had halted by a granite slab, still
with its back to her. Elsa advanced no more than two
paces before swinging half around, startled by the presence
of two other figures. Denis Proctor and Roland Sadler had
been positioned behind deep lintels on either side of the
doorway. They were watching her, unsmiling. Denis
heaved the door shut, turned a massive iron key and
pocketed it.
‘What the fuck’s all this about?’ Elsa demanded.
Her heart lurched and she hoped the tremor in her voice
couldn’t be detected above the thunder.
58