The air was much cooler now, and no sounds, strange or otherwise, could be heard. And Susan felt that insistent tugging at her inmost heart that had brushed aside all promises and prudence when she stared at the mist from the bridge by the station.
“But Sue, didn’t you hear old Place say that it wasn’t safe to be in there? And if she’s afraid to stay it must be dangerous.”
“I don’t care: I’ve got to try. Are you coming? Because if not, I’m going by myself.”
“Oh … all right! But we’ll wish we’d stayed in here.”
They stepped out of the cloakroom and cautiously opened the left-hand door.
The dull light prevented them from seeing much at first, but they could make out the table and the reading-desk, and the black pillar in the centre of the floor.
“All clear!” whispered Susan.
They tiptoed into the room, closed the door, and stood quite still while their eyes grew accustomed to the light: and then they saw.
The pillar was alive. It climbed from out the circle that Selina Place had so laboriously made, a column of oily smoke; and in the smoke strange shapes moved. Their forms were indistinct, but the children could see enough to wish themselves elsewhere.
Even as they watched the climax came. Faster and faster the pillar whirled, and thicker and thicker the dense fumes grew, and the floor began to tremble, and the children’s heads were of a sudden full of mournful voices that reached them out of a great and terrible distance. Flecks of shadow, buzzing like flies, danced out of the tapestries and were sucked into the reeking spiral. And then, without warning, the base of the column turned blue. The buzzing rose to a demented whine – and stopped. The whole swirling mass shuddered as though a brake had been savagely applied, lost momentum, died, and drooped like the ruin of a mighty tree. Silver lightnings ran upwards through the smoke: the column wavered, broke, and collapsed into the ball of fire that rose to engulf it. A voice whimpered close by the children and passed through the doorway behind them. The blue light waned, and in its place lay Firefrost, surrounded by the scattered remnants of Shape-shifter’s magic circle.
Colin and Susan stood transfixed. Then slowly, as if afraid that the stone would vanish if she breathed or took her eyes off it, Susan moved forward and picked it up.
In the silence she unclasped the bracelet and fastened it about her wrist. She could not believe what she was doing. This moment had haunted her dreams for so many months, and there had been so many bitter awakenings.
In a small room crammed under the eaves Selina Place and Grimnir waited. Both were keyed to an almost unendurable pitch. They knew well the price of failure. Not once in a thousand years had any of their kind disobeyed the charge of Nastrond, but all at some time had stood in the outer halls of Ragnarok and looked on the Abyss. Thus did Nastrond bind evil to his will.
“It cannot be long now,” said the Morrigan. “Within five minutes the stone must …”
A trail of smoke drifted under the door and floated across the room, and a bubbling sound of tears accompanied it. The Morrigan jumped from her chair: her eyes were wild, and there was sweat on her brow.
“Non licet abire!” She threw her arms wide to bar the way. “Coniuro et confirmo super …” But the smoke curled round her towards the hearth, and leapt into the chimney mouth. A wind sighed mournfully past the windows, and was still.
“No! No,” she mumbled groping for the door; but Grimnir had already flung it open and was rushing along the corridor to the stairs. He was halfway down the first flight when there was the sound of breaking glass, and the staircase was momentarily in shadow as a dark figure blocked the window at its head. The Morrigan’s harsh voice cried out in fear, and Grimnir turned with the speed and menace of a hungry spider.
The noise roused Colin and Susan from their trance. Again the Morrigan shrieked.
“Here, let’s get out of this!” said Colin, and he pulled his sister into the hall. “As soon as we’re outside run like mad: I’ll be right behind you!”
Quite a hullabaloo was breaking out upstairs, and most of the sounds were by no means pleasant; at least they made the other hazard seem less formidable – until Colin opened the door. There was a rasping growl, and out of the mist came a shape that sent the children stumbling backwards into the house, and before they could close the door the hound of the Morrigan crossed the threshold and was revealed in all its malignity.
It was like a bull terrier; except that it stood four feet high at the shoulder, and its ears, unlike the rest of the white body, were covered in coarse red hair. But what set it apart from all others was the fact that, from pointed ears to curling lip, its head and muzzle were blank. There were no eyes.
The beast paused, swinging its wedge-shaped head from side to side, and snuffling wetly with flared nostrils, and when it caught the children’s scent it moved towards them as surely as if it had eyes. Colin and Susan dived for the nearest door, and into what was obviously a kitchen, which had nothing to offer them but another door.
“We’ll have to risk it,” said Susan: “that thing’ll be through in a second.” She put no trust in the flimsy latch, which was rattling furiously beneath the scrabbling of claws. But as she spoke they heard another sound; footsteps rapidly drawing near to the other door! And then the latch did give way, and the hound was in the room.
Colin seized a kitchen chair. “Get behind me,” he whispered.
At the sound of his voice the brute froze, but only for an instant: it had found its bearings.
“Can we reach a window?” Colin dared not take his eyes off the hound as it advanced upon them.
“No.”
“Is there another way out?”
“No.”
He was parrying the lunges and snappings with the chair, but it was heavy, and his arms ached.
“There’s a broom cupboard, or something, behind us, and the door’s ajar.”
“What good will that do?”
“I don’t know: but Grimnir may not notice us, or the dog may attack him, or … oh, anything’s better than this!”
“Is it big enough?”
“It goes up to the ceiling.”
“Right: get in.”
Susan stepped inside and held the door open for Colin as he backed towards it. The hound was biting at the chair legs and trying to paw them down. Wood crunched and splinters flew, and the chair drooped in Colin’s hands, but he was there. He hurled the chair at the snarling head, and fell backwards into the cupboard. Susan had a vision of a red tongue lolling out of a gaping mouth, and of fangs flashing white, inches from her face, before she slammed the door; and, at the same moment, she heard the kitchen door being flung open. Then she fainted.
Or, at least, she thought she had fainted. Her stomach turned over, her head reeled, and she seemed to be falling into the bottomless dark. But had she fainted? Colin bumped against her in struggling to right himself: she could feel that. And the back of the cupboard was pressing into her. She pinched herself. No, she had not fainted.
Colin and Susan stood rigidly side by side, nerving themselves for the moment when the door would be opened. But the room seemed unnaturally still: not a sound could they hear.
“What’s up?” whispered Colin. “It’s too quiet out there.”
“Shh!”
“I can’t see a keyhole anywhere, can you? There should be one somewhere.” He bent forward to feel.
“Ouch!!”
Colin let out a yell of surprise and pain, and this time Susan nearly did faint.
“Sue!