Once more, she tugged on Gabriel's elbow.

*It's no use,' he said weakly. *I can't get my legs to go.'

The gravediggers approached the carriage.

*Drat!' Dick clambered into the carriage.

Lantern light swept the interior.

Eppie squirmed at the sickening thud overhead as the body was hurled onto the planks.

*Get it off me!' Dick shrieked.

*What you doin' in *ere?' Jaggery asked.

*Fixing the planks,' Dick answered lamely.

A grin on his face, Jaggery slammed the door.

*Hoy!' Dick scrambled over the corpse to get to the door. *Let me out!' he cried in a perturbed voice, realising Jaggery was standing outside, keeping a hold on the opposite side of the handle.

Amused by Dick's discomfiture, the riders threw themselves into their saddles and cantered away.

Having had his little fun, Jaggery stepped back from the coach and went off to listen to the quarrel between Wakelin and Thurstan.

It had all been play-acting with Dick. Taking his chance, he thrust aside the corpse and drew back the planks so that Eppie could crawl up beside him.

Pulling up the corner of the curtains, which had been drawn to conceal evidence of its extraordinary traveller from prying eyes, she peered out.

Wakelin glowered at Thurstan as he prowled around him, a pistol in his hand.

*I have always believed that there is much to the art of physiognomy,' Thurstan said, *judging a character from the features of the face. It is one of my greatest delights when condemning people to the gallows. I have an expanding collection of heads, which I plan to transfer to the Brown Room at Tunnygrave Manor. On this occasion, however, I must forgo your cranium. Sad, although I suppose it would have been devoid of brains. Have you anything to say before I improve your ape face by reducing it to particles of dust?'

*Go to plaguey hell!'

*Tut, tut. After all the years I have had the misfortune of being acquainted with you, I must say that your language is not much improved.'

*I know your scabby mind's behind this bodysnatching. I'm gonna have the law on you.'

*But I am the law. You can do nothing to touch me. Jaggery, I will let you into Dung Heap's murky secret. Many years ago, he stole Gabriel's sister, Genevieve, from her cradle. She goes under the assumed name of Eppie Dunham.'

*Her! Sour face, spits like a wild cat?'

*The very one. I would not want her to challenge my inheritance. She must be disposed of, permanently. I suggest you keep a watch at Bridge House, where I suspect she is hiding. Now, Dung Heap, you will accompany me to the church. I would not like our little business to be overheard.'

Wakelin had been expecting this.

Taking the full force of Wakelin's blow on his chin, Thurstan crashed back against the door. The carriage lurched on its rockers. Eppie nearly screeched with surprise, but managed to keep silent.

Fulke cracked the whip over the horses. Away the carriage sped, bumping and bounding over ruts in the road.

Panicking, Eppie made to throw back the door.

Placing his hand over hers, Dick restrained her. *If you both jump out at this speed you'll go under the wheels.'

With his feet on top of a plank, he grasped the wooden ledge that ran around the top of the carriage, used to stop luggage from toppling off, and dextrously swung his body.

*What's that!' Dick shrieked as he thumped onto the driver's box beside Fulke.

Snorting in alarm, the horses shuddered to a stop, leathers creaking. The swinging door smashed against the shiny painted side of the carriage.

*'ere, waz your game?' Fulke bawled.

*Didn't you see it?' In Dick's voice was a genuine note of fear.

*See what?'

*That ghost in the middle of the road! It was a girl, shimmering like a light, with white ribbons and grass in her hair. The horses ran straight through her.'

*I reckon it's you what's been on the bottle, not me.' Fulke jumped down and slammed the door shut. *I'll never get to me bed at this rate. You climb up the rear and keep a sharp eye out with that gun.'

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT.

NIGHTMARE BEASTS.

Wakelin was through the graveyard before Thurstan had a chance to recover.

Not far off The Leaking Barrel, a cavern of lamplight and warmth, with its lopsided beams and dirty plaster, beckoned. Wakelin pictured Fortune, the painted barmaid, drifting between tables, the smell of rum and tobacco hanging heavy in the parlour.

His only chance of staying alive was to head in the opposite direction, along the riverside. The path led to the barge, where he kept a gun concealed. If Thurstan was intent on his death he ought to have an even chance.

On this sultry night the depths of the river stewed, reeking with a concoction of fermenting sewage and spewed substances.

*I'm gonna make it,' he spat out as he stumbled along. Wretched from a surfeit of ale and sleepless nights in the damp caves he was petrified by the thought that he might be wrong.

Thurstan was gaining on his quarry, the steady thudding of his boots growing louder.

Now, well into open countryside, Wakelin spotted the black bulk of the dilapidated barge. In spite of its sorrowful state, one or two timbers missing, and the bow gouged by collisions with other vessels, it offered a place of sanctuary, a haven where he liked to shut himself away from the world. Though he could not see the wood smoke curling from the flue, he smelt the savoury waft of roasting meat coming from the cabin.

Despite his peril, he was overwhelmed with fury, wondering who had broken into his boat. He had no time to ponder further. Dodging bullets, he listened in dread to their whine before they struck the dirt path before him, sputtering grit. An easy target, he knew he was being played along.

A piercing pain shot through his leg and thence through the rest of his body. He cried out in pulsating agony. A second bullet gored into his flesh. Staggering, doubled over, he crashed into the congealed river.

Thurstan drew up swiftly, having noticed a figure emerge from a ruined barge further up. Under cover of darkness he was confident that the person would not be able to recognise him. Before turning to flee, he let loose with a volley of shots into the river where Wakelin floundered.

Ignited, the cocktail of combustible wastes encircling Wakelin burst into flames. He made a desperate attempt to escape the fiery heads of luminous serpents which leapt around, scarlet and turquoise, searing. A haze of blue smoke enveloping him, he gulped his last breath of air and sank beneath the tempestuous waters.

*That was a close thing,' Gabriel said. He and Eppie crawled from behind a hedge and watched the carriage race away.

Heading back along the road, Gabriel winced when his bare toes caught the edge of a sharp stone. *I was nearly suffocated in that sack and have practically lost all feeling in my legs.'

*At least you've had an easy time of it,' Eppie teased.

*An easy time?'

*All you had to do was stick your feet up and have a nice rest.'

*It was hardly tranquil, knowing that I might be discovered at any moment. And I'm starving. Every time a guard came in to stitch a prisoner into a sack I had to squash my stomach, otherwise it would've growled louder than gravel rattling in a tin. At the same time I had to hold my breath and count to one hundred and thirty one. You try it.'

Ponderously, Eppie asked, *Do I have a sour face and spit like a cat?'

*Do you want an honest answer?'

Eppie gripped his arm harder, having caught the sound of a horse ridden hard towards them. *Someone's coming!'

Dragging her reluctant brother by the arm, they scurried for cover behind a tree that stood beside a field gate.

Gabriel peered up the road, watching the horseman canter away. *That was Thurstan.'

*I hope Wakelin's all right.'

*Don't worry. Thurstan took quite a blow; he won't have caught him.'

*I told Wakelin to get away. He chose to stay and create a distraction whilst Dick and I rescued you.'

*After what Thurstan did in wrenching father's neck like that, it's reassuring to know that there are kindly people like Wakelin out there.'

As they approached the graveyard gates, Eppie glanced at Gabriel's clothing. *It wouldn't be a good idea to shamble through town dressed in prison breeches; they're a dead giveaway if you're spotted. We might find something in the church for you to wear. We mustn't delay; Reverend Clinch will be back to lock up, if he hasn't already.'

The unexpected scrimmage with Wakelin having distracted the bodysnatchers, they had omitted to clear up. A solitary lantern forgotten, its glimmer fell upon a subterranean chamber.

They crept along the nave and stared into the hole.

Stone coffins were stacked one on top of another, hemmed in by shadows. Eppie was consumed by a chilling eeriness, imagining the parched skeletons lying long and aching for centuries in the vault.

Worse, was the desecration of Squire Bulwar and Lord Wexcombe's corpses; whatever their flaws in life, they had deserved dignity in death, not vandalism of their remains.

Eppie led Gabriel to where she knew cassocks would be hanging. She rummaged through the robes.

The door banged. *Oy! Who's back there?'

Startled by Jaggery's fierce voice, Eppie and Gabriel glanced at one another, horrified.

Eppie's lips barely moved. *I'll tackle him.'

*No, he's dangerous!'

Forcing him between pegs, she thrust a robe over his face. *Once I've got him on the run, you head to Bridge House. Mam's waiting.'

She leapt into the nave.

Jaggery trod steadily towards her. *If it ain't that ill-tempered Eppie Dunham, or should I be addressing you as my lady? I can't begin to wonder what you're doing here, all alone at this time o' the night. O't nasty might befall you.'

*Or you!' she cried, hurling a hassock at his sneering face.

Pelting between rows of benches, she headed towards an open stone doorway which led to the roof. Her eyes burning through sepulchre blackness, she hastened up the curving stairway. Feeling her way with her hands, she yearned for a handrail to speed her flight.

Jaggery's muffled footsteps were not far behind; his cursing indicating that he was experiencing the same difficulty.

Thankfully, she felt the door with her hands before her head crashed into it.

Bats soared in the bell tower, their velvet bodies wheeling above her.

At her feet lay a broken weathercock. Grabbing it, she rammed it between the bottom of the door and a drainage pipe which spanned the flat roof. Just in time. Jaggery thundered on the timbers with his fists as though trying to punch a hole through the door.

A stone parapet, designed like the rampart of a fortress, ran around the rooftop. She leapt to the edge. Viewed from this height, the yew trees appeared minuscule.

Hoping to find a way down, she hitched up her skirts and stepped into a recess. All around fiendish gargoyles leered, their wings sharp against the violet sky. She gaped in trepidation at the sickening drop. There was nothing else for it, she would have to hide from Jaggery and make him believe that she had found a way down. Throwing her shoes off the roof she took a firm grip on the stone and, turning her body, shifted along the outside sill. Clutching onto each of the square blocks of the ramparts, she felt with her bare toes until she stood upon the hunched back of a gargoyle.

There was a clang and clatter of yielding metal. Jaggery was through.

Eppie gasped in alarm, so unnerved that she almost lost her balance. Sinking to her knees, she manoeuvred herself until she was able to straddle the beast's back, her hands clasped around its stony neck.

Riding the nightmare creature across the sullen skies, she experienced a heady stillness. The expanse of emptiness above and below was exhilarating, sickening. In her mind, she became the carefree child she had once been, soaring upon her swing over the stream. *This must be what it feels like to sail across an ocean,' she thought. In her fancy she imagined the church soaring, a char-blackened ship, crashing and rolling upon waves of graveyard flotsam.

An owl, disturbed from its perch, swished past, its wings creating a gust of warm air as it brushed close to her face.

The man stepped close. Tap-tap went the hobnails on his boots. *I know you're out here,' he drawled. *I can smell your fear.'

From the corner of her eye she saw his head appear above the parapet. If he looked down now she was done for.

A bell clanged. Inwardly, Eppie groaned. *Surely that's not Gabriel trying to follow?' Stumbling, he must have grasped a bell rope to steady himself.

Jaggery presumed it was her and drew back. *Thought ya'd give me the slip, did ya?'

Listening to his retreating footsteps, she prayed Gabriel would realise Jaggery was on his way down, and hide.

Yawning silence.

Stealthily, she clambered back. Terrified of falling from the rooftop, her legs shook.

Tiptoeing to the door, she was reaching for the knob when, from behind, came a grating noise. A creeping sensation travelled up her spine to the back of her neck. Now she was spooking herself, imagining leaden footsteps treading through the gloom. Daring herself, she glanced back.