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greed for treasure in the search for which we did seek indeed to raise aspirit but would not for the world have disturbed thee—’
    About the middleof this stream of apologetic gibberish I became aware that all was not well at my back; to be precise, I was getting more than a little hot. And where was that firelight coming from? And the stench—
    My turn to scream, and who wouldn’t? I was on fire, my torn jacket was smouldering and singeing my hair. I sprang up, scrabblingat it, bashed my head on a rafter and came down all over said citizen. He broke the local scream record and shot out from underneath me, headfirst down the stairs by the sound of it. I was too busy rolling on the boards trying to put the flame out, and by the time I’d managed it there was only the sound of somebody shrieking in the distance – about half a mile away, I guessed, which meanthe was putting up a good speed. Serve the stupid bastard right.
    I looked at what I’d knocked over when I landed. A brazier of some kind, full of God alone knew what mess, still sizzling and flaming as it trickled out across the floor. Sulphur I was sure of, stale lard or tallow I guessed at, the rest I didn’t want to know. I was half tempted to let it burn the place down, but I wanted some sheltertill dawn, so I scooped it back with a stained brass ladle. I righted a low stool, slumped down and sank my face in my hands. More loonies—
    My hands came away wet. My face was bleeding from a hundred little scratches. I must be a sight; what would Poppy make of me now? Smother me in bandages, probably. And take me home to meet her mummy.
    A thought struckme, and I looked around. Sure enough,they’d had some other light; there were a couple of candles in crude earthen sticks on the mantel. I lit them – no, not candles, smelly rush dips, but they’d do. I looked around, and found I was standing on masses of chalk and charcoal markings, evidently done with minute care but nonsensical enough to get an Arts Council grant. A panel of letters, one to a box, about a hundred of them, and at thecentre … I could see where I’d landed – slap bang in the middle of a weird-looking circle. Some kind of ritual or ceremony. A magic circle, maybe a pentacle. Yes, there were the points of a star.
    Great; I’d interrupted a Satanist Scrabble game.
    That gave me pause for thought. I’d come bursting in, howling, landed right in the circle with my face all bloody, with my jacket smouldering and stinkingand wreathed in flame – and I’d shouted about Hell, hadn’t I? They’d been up to something, those two, with their bobbing and chanting – maybe a guilty something. Maybe they really were … I felt a slow, evil smirk coming on. No wonder they’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. And now I was snug indoors here, and they were out there with that crying thing, something really worth being afraid of.
    I hoped they hadn’t left the door open.
    I grabbed the dips, and padded very softly and carefully over to the door, listened a while, then went out and down the stairs with my heart thudding in my ears. One creak and I’d be back up them like a rocket. Loonies, the lot of them; witchcraft loonies as well, by the look of it – one as easy as the other, probably. Ten to one they were vegans and anti-smokingas well. Total bloody flakes.
    Come to think of it,that howling had probably been another of them out remoulding his masculine self-image by assuming a wolf-style role enhancement, or whatever. He was probably out there lifting his leg on the fence right now.
    The thought didn’t stop me shivering, though. The floor below was almost empty, one large room from wall to wall with a couple of trucklebeds in it, a few books piled up, and a trap to the floor below that. I peered carefully down that, and saw nothing but a crude table and benches on a beaten-earth floor, a wide fireplace with logs laid ready and a dangling stewpot. And the goddamn door was wide open! I almost