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The crypt below the church was a damp, cold place even on days like this when the sun was practicallythe tiles on the houses outside It ser didn’t want to think about Soon after arriving in the deserted village Capricorn had had gratings fitted over the narrow niches where long-dead priests slept in their stone to than to make the condeh He had always had his own peculiar sense of humour

Impatiently, Basta pushed theet back to the light of day, away fro his lantern on a hook and opened the grating over the first cell There was no electric light down here, no heating either, or any other co over the cracked flagstones of the floor

‘Oh, aren’t you going to give us the pleasure of your coer as Basta pushed theht under the old vaults here ‘We could tell ghost stories I know so ‘We won’t be needing any coffin for you, dirtyfingers!’ he said as he closed the grating again

‘No, indeed! An urn perhaps, a jaer took a step back from the bars so as to be out of reach of Basta’s knife ‘I see you have a new amulet,’ he called Basta had almost reached the steps ‘Another rabbit’s foot, is it? Didn’t I tell you they attract White Ladies? You could see the White Ladies in our old world You don’t see them here, which isn’t very practical, but of course they’re still around with their whispering and their icy fingers’

Basta was standing at the foot of the steps with his fists clenched, his back still turned Dustfinger was always surprised to find how easily you could scare the man with a feords ‘Remember how they come for their victims?’ he went on softly ‘They whisper your na cold, and then--’

‘They’ll soon be whispering your na ‘Yours and yours alone’ And he hurried up the steps as if the ghosts of the White Ladies were already after him

The sound of his footsteps died away, and Dustfinger was alone – with the silence, with death, and with Resa They were obviously the only prisoners Now and then Capricorn had soood fright, but most of those who came here and wrote their naht and were never seen again

Their own departure fro to be rather more spectacular

My last perforer Perhaps it will turn out that all this was only a bad dreaain? A nice idea, if only he could have believed in it

Resa had seated herself on a sarcophagus It was a plain stone coffin, with a cracked lid, and the naer be deciphered It didn’t seeer felt differently He was not afraid of ghosts and White Ladies, like Basta If a White Lady had appeared he would have passed the time of day with her No – he was afraid of death He thought he heard death itself breathing down here, breathing so deeply that no air was left for anyone else His chest felt as if a huge and ugly ani on it Perhaps it hadn’t been so bad up there in the net after all At least they’d had air to breathe

He sensed Resa watching him She beckoned him over and patted the lid of the coffin Hesitantly, he sat down beside her She put her hand into the pocket of her dress, brought out a candle and held it up to hier had to smile Yes, of course he hadas small as a few matches from Basta and the other idiots

Resa fixed the flickering candle to the coffin with a little of its oax She loved candles – coloured candles and stones She always had both in her pockets But perhaps today she had lit the candle just for him, because she kne he loved fire