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mercy of cold currents, battered on dark rocks, pulled down into darkness.
    He slipped on kelp and pitched forward into a freezing pool. A voice came to him out of the maelstrom, thin and anguished. The wind drove away all semblance of meaning. There was no way of knowing whether the words had been a threat or a cry for help. Out here, there was nothing but the wind and the sea.
    Another rock, the rough edges of barnacles, rain and spray mingled in a single sheet of water, a wind like barbed wire against the skin. He saw a shadow darker than the rest, something crouching at the edge of the rocks, where they joined the sea. Scarcely balanced himself, he lunged forward and made a grab for the man.
    They fell backwards onto a broad wrack-covered rock. He heard his opponent gasp as the breath was forced from his lungs.
    Who are you?’ he shouted, anger forcing his voice above the storm. The man remained silent, struggling in his grasp.
    Overhead, lightning tore the darkness away like a thin veil. Patrick saw a white face, the eyes opened
    in terror, and a hand across the face, as though to ward him off. A clap of thunder burst the sky open.
    Suddenly, his opponent pushed him back, slipping out of his grip on the wet rock. He flopped down into a gap, twisted, and tried to stand. As he got to one foot, a huge wave crashed into him, throwing him off balance. He lost his footing completely. There was a loud cry, inhuman, passionate, past articulation. Patrick reached out. But there was nothing. Another bolt of lightning crossed the sky. The rock ahead was empty.
    The tide was still rushing in. There was nothing Patrick could do for the stranger, not in a sea like that. He turned and started crawling back along the rocks. There were no lights on the shore to guide him. In the madness, he could have been moving away from the land, out to sea and certain death. He lost count of the number of times he slipped, crashing heavily onto the rocks. It would be so easy to break a leg and be trapped until the sea took possession of everything and dragged him out into its depths.
    Lightning again. The world stark, insane. He got his bearings and dropped into the water, desperate for balance. Even here, the undertow was fierce, like ropes that tried to pull his legs from under him. The water rose up to his chest now. He felt tired suddenly, as though the sea had sapped him of all strength.
    Aching, he gave himself to it, half swimming, half drowning. Salt water poured into his mouth, filling his stomach, weighing him down. His arms and legs moved sluggishly, as though he was swimming in another substance, in quicksand or mercury, thick and deadly, pulling him down.
    Suddenly, he felt land beneath his feet. Coughing and spluttering, he threw himself forward. His head went under, then rose again. He fought to regain
    his balance. His feet found purchase on the sloping beach. Spewing up water, he staggered through the last few yards of angry waves, coming at last to rain-drenched sand. A few feet more and he threw himself to the ground.
    All around him, the world was bedlam. But he scarcely noticed. All he could think of, all he could see polished on the darkness of the night was the white oval of the watcher’s face and his hand raised, pushing him away. And on the man’s inner wrist a tiny circle tattooed in black, and inside the circle a seven-branched candlestick crowned with a cross.
    It was impossible, he thought. A nightmare from the past, a nightmare that could not possibly have followed him here, to this place, to this moment.
    Behind him, in the darkness, the sea moved, rank and heavy with drowning men and the bodies of great fish sinking to its rotten bed. They were devouring one another down there, men and fish and all manner of swimming and crawling things.
    SIX
    He lost track of time, lying wet and out of breath at the foot of the sea wall, as though cast up there by nauseated waves. Slowly the rain subsided and the thunder became a