There it was again. The same whirring noise they’d heard earlier. It sounded like the shuttle of a loom shooting back and forth, and it was coming from deep in the catacombs. Solon moved across the courtyard, ears pricked, scanning the wave-shattered space for Matt.
A muffled scream echoed from the nearby woods. Solon froze. The tree tops rustled. He decided it was an owl catching prey.
A lantern bobbing on a rowing boat out on the water caught his attention. Darting along the broken wall of the monastery kitchens, Solon ducked for cover behind what remained of the hearth, and watched.
Two figures dragged their boat up on to the sand and tethered it to an outcropping of rocks. Solon recognized them as the gravediggers who had come to Auchinmurn to bury the dead after the Viking attack, and then remained to drink the wine from the monastery cellars. They were simple-minded, shiftless men. Solon thought it likely that Matt’s father had them under his control.
‘Ach,’ one complained, ‘that auld witch bit me when ah tried to feed her. Nothing more comin’ tae her ’til dawn. And if she doesn’t want it then it’ll be all the more fer me.’
‘Burn ’em all. That’s what I say. An ah’ll keep saying it. Abomininshawns.’ Solon heard a gurgling sound as the second man washed his words down with a swig from a jug hooked on his fingers. ‘An the de’il himself can go with the banshee for all ah care.’
‘Wheesht!’ hissed the first. ‘The de’il himself will hear ye!’
Passing the jug between them in silence, the men headed unsteadily for the Keep, a secure square building on the other side of the chapel where the monks kept their stores of rye, barley and beer. At the Keep’s small arched doorway, Solon watched them come to a stumbling halt.
Looking around to be sure they hadn’t been followed, the heavier one lifted a master key from round his neck to unlock the door. ‘Fancy a wee night cap, ma friend?’ he offered, waving the key under his companion’s nose.
‘Don’t mind if ah do, noble sir.’
The lock creaked and they disappeared inside.
Solon had no doubt who the ‘witch’ was. Jeannie, the old woman from the future who had controlled the wave. The woman Matt was so intent on finding.
He unhooked the walkie-talkie from his strap and held his finger on the button the way Matt had shown him.