There was a long, long silence.
"How far is it?" asked Colin, after a pause. "To Desolation?"
"Several days' travel over difficult terrain," said Darach, "over the mountains and across the desert."
"We'd better start right away then, hadn't we?"
"You will go?" said the Queen.
Colin looked at Gwen and Graham. "Did you ever doubt it?" he said.
"No," she replied. "Never. Darach will go with you as far as the edge of Desolation. Benedick!"
There was a patter of feet outside. Benedick came in. "The maps, if you please."
"Ma'am."
He took a rather damp cloth-map from a small pouch at his belt. "Here, Ma'am."
"Good. Now, if you please Darach, explain this infernal map."
It was late afternoon when at last all the explanations were finished.
The Queen rose.
"Rouse the men, Benedick, we will return to the Palace this evening."
"Yes, Ma'am" He exited in a business-like manner.
"Where is the Keeper? I must thank him for his hospitality."
"He went out before," said Gwen.
"Gone fishing, most probably," said Darach. "He has to eat, Royalty or no."
"Oh well, thank him anyway. He cooks a delightful bloater."
"I'm sure he'll feel suitably honoured ma'am," said Darach with a small grin.
"Ma'am! Ma'am!" Benedick burst in crimson-faced. "What is it?"
"The barge, Ma'am – it's gone!"
"Gone?"
"On the tide ma'am. Drifted off."
"What?"
They all rushed to the window. The barge was a speck on the horizon. The Queen muttered something not very regal under her breath.
"I don't relish remaining here all night. Dispatch some men and get them to find me another barge."
"From the Palace, Ma'am?"
"Anywhere, blast you! Just find me another barge. And bring me the man who was supposed to have tied up my royal vessel."
"Nobody will admit to it, ma'am."
"I see."
"There's always the fisherman's boat," suggested Graham. "You could go in that if you're in a hurry."
"I never hurry," said the Queen. "And I don't intend to arrive at the Palace smelling like a fish-wife. Dispatch the men immediately."
"Wake-Robin knows the land around here," said Darach. "He can go with them. They'll soon find a boat."
"Good."
Benedick disappeared down the stairs.
"Well I suppose we'd better make ourselves comfortable," said Darach. "We may have to wait a while."
The Keeper came in with a fistful of fish.
"Her Majesty will be staying for supper," said Darach.
The Keeper said nothing, but he slapped the fish down on the table and gutted them in silence.
Night fell, and the two men who had gone off in search of a boat with Robin had not returned. The supper was long finished, the fire only embers. The children were asleep on the floor, and in the chair the Queen was snoring. Beside the fire, Benedick slumbered in a most ungainly position, while Darach sat, head bowed, eyes closed, in a chair next to him. The Keeper extinguished the candles and left them all sleeping. Downstairs, in the storeroom, the four remaining oarsmen lay in exhausted sleep. The Keeper closed the door gently behind him and turned the key, then stealthily crept up the stairs again, past the main chamber and up another flight to the top of the tower. He opened the trap door on to the roof. The stars were shining clearly above him and the wind off the sea was strong.
He started as a marsh-bird screeched in the night, and held his breath until the last reverberation had faded into the darkness.
Moving quickly and quietly he pulled back a sheet of oilcloth, under which lay a pile of driftwood and dried Marram grass from the dunes.
Fifty years ago the Beacon had been lit to save the lives of sailors. The fire twinkling in the night warned of sandbanks, of treacherous rocks and currents. Now the sea had retreated, and the sons of the sailors passed the Beacon no longer.
Yet tonight, the Beacon would flare again, not as a warning but as a signal. Not to prevent death, but to summon it.
The Keeper drew a flint out of his pocket, and was about to strike it when a voice behind him said, "What are you doing?"
He turned.
"Eh? Oh - it's you, Darach."
"Yes."
"I – I came up here to look at the stars. I often do when I can't sleep."
"Unpleasant dreams?"
"Yes."
"Of treachery, perhaps?"
The Keeper knew he was discovered. He reached down and picking up a large piece of driftwood from the pile, brought it down on Darach's head. The old man fell to the floor without a sound.
The Keeper struck the flint. By the flickering yellow light it threw onto to his face, the marsh birds, had they been watching, might have seen the strange look in his eyes, and set up a warning. But nobody saw that look, and there was nobody to warn of the Keeper's possession. For on a night not unlike this one, not long ago, a wisp of the cloud had come out of the sea on a wind, and made him its unknowing servant. His mind was in shadow, all his memories locked in darkness, and he did not know what he was doing.
He lit the kindling wood. The flames leapt up to lick the stars.
Darach's slumped form was close to the fire. The sudden heat stirred him.
He lifted his head, shook away the dizziness and moaned a little, but the Keeper did not hear him above the crackle of the fire. He was staring out over the pitch-black marsh, listening for the sound of hooves. Darach kept his eyes on the Keeper's back, and slowly slid on his belly towards the trap door. The Keeper did not look round. Darach reached the trap door, slipped down on to the top step and slammed the door above him, bolting it from the inside. Then he ran down the stairs as fast as his spinning head would safely allow him, yelling:
"Treachery! Treachery! Arm yourselves! The Beacon is lit! Prepare for attack!"
There was chaos!
In the cellar the oarsmen were beating at the door, shouting. The Queen was demanding of Benedick why she had been woken at this ridiculous hour, and what time was it anyway? The children, still only half-awake, stood looking at Darach with confused expressions on their faces. Hastily, Darach explained, "The Keeper is with them."
"What?"
"He's lit the Beacon?"
"What for?"
"To summon the horsemen I should think. A signal."
"Treachery," said the Queen.
"Precisely," said Darach.
"Where is he? A traitor to Queen and country."
"He's on the roof, locked up there. Unfortunately, I was rather indisposed when he lit the fire. Couldn't prevent it. Somehow the darkness is on him, he's doing the will of the cloud."
"So what do we do?" asked Graham.
"Arm ourselves. Prepare for siege."
At that moment there was the sound of splintering wood and a great deal of shouting downstairs.
The company looked at each other with horrified stares. "They're here!" said Benedick. "They're here already!"
The door burst open and four sweating oarsmen collapsed into the room, all shouting at once.
"What's going on?"
"Who locked us in?"
"I can smell burning!"
"What's all the noise?"
"It's the Keeper -" Darach began.
"Listen!" said Gwen.
"What?"
"Listen!"
The room fell silent.
There came the sound of rumbling hooves. Hooves in water, hooves on sand. They were close.
"Barricade the door!" ordered Darach.
Two of the oarsmen rushed back downstairs.
"Are there any other windows in the tower besides this one?" said Graham.
"Go and look," said Darach. "We've got to hold out until dawn. They'll only attack in the dark after their last encounter."
"I can see them," said Gwen, peering out of the window, which had no glass in it.
"Keep away from there!" shouted Darach. "Put out the candles!"
"How many are there, Gwen?" said Colin.
Gwen took a quick peep. The moon had risen. The sand was pale gold, the water silver and black. Six shapes pounded over the sand towards the tower.
"Six," she said. "Six against – one, – two, – three, – ten of us. They're outnumbered."
"They have swords, arrows, and the powers of darkness on their side," Darach pointed out grimly.
"We'll be slaughtered," wailed Benedick.
"Be quiet," said the Queen.."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The pounding stopped.
"Away from the window, everyone," whispered Darach.
Everybody was now gathered in the one room. They could hear the hooves on the shingle outside the window. The horsemen were all around the tower. They could feel the eyes through the slits in their helmets trying to penetrate the walls. Never before had stone seemed so flimsy a defence, and never before had dawn seemed such a long, long way away.