That night Duncan Fox decided to sit up and wait for Albion to appear.
A little after midnight, the elongated figure glided out of the corner of the room. He did this for two more nights. Albion never came closer than the bottom of the bed. He never did anything more than raise his sceptre above his head.
On the seventh night, everything changed.
That night, Albion appeared after midnight as usual. But instead of floating above the oriental rug, in front of the portrait of Fox’s grandfather, Albion stood before an entirely different backdrop. A rocky opening, dark and shimmering. Fox recognized it at once. It was a cave tucked into the north-west hillside of Era Mina: the small island opposite the main isle of Auchinmurn.
Fox shifted cautiously to the end of his bed, wary of disturbing the apparition but intent on examining the cave.
The cave mouth expanded, in an ever-widening gyre, hitting Fox with a blast of foul-smelling air. Albion raised his sceptre, holding it out towards him.
Not knowing what else to do, Duncan grasped it.
At once he was lifted off his bed. The pursing mouth of the cave had suddenly become a twisting tunnel of spiralling colours and light; a maelstrom of yellows, greys and blacks. At first it was impossible for Duncan to tell if he was falling or rising, tumbling forward or flipping back. He was weightless, and yet there was pressure pushing on all sides of his body. His hand gripped the wooden sceptre more tightly, sensing that somehow it was controlling his descent.
And then he heard the beasts.
Howls. Bellows. Cries. All of them thunderous, all of them monstrous. A scaly claw burst through the swirling colours, tearing the sleeve of his nightclothes. A hundred harpies swarmed like bats at his feet, snapping their needle teeth at his bare toes.
As Duncan kicked and batted them away in terror, Albion’s sceptre flew from his nerveless hand. In that instant, he landed face first on his bed with a thump.
He had rolled over quickly, gasping as he scrambled to his feet. The morning sun was streaming in through the parted curtains. Albion had gone.
The sun was warm on Duncan’s face now. He studied his painting again, then looked back at his subject: the old smugglers’ cave. It was the place that Albion had shown him. He was sure of it. Sandie Calder and her children were in danger from this place. Somehow. At some time.