The moon rolled across the wind swept sky like a huge new minted silver coin, winking through the scudding clouds that passed across its face and turning each one into an eerie blue white veil. The leafless trees set their branches to scraping the sky like witches' bony fingers eager to catch those veils and claw them into ragged shreds with their vicious nails. A splatter of freezing rain every now hissed through the trees and long grass as if the sky itself was spitting at them.

In the darkness two figures rode across the downs, heading North along the tree line and away from the searching dragoons. Their cloaks flapped like bats wings, tugged hither and thither as the wind pulled at them impatiently.

It was an evil night, frost cold and the ground hard under hoof. Dick Turpin seriously wished he was somewhere, anywhere else. Most of all he wished, he hadn't been tempted by the ripe plum of a coach he had heard was coming up from London. Everything had gone wrong since the moment they had left their hideout. They had never even got near the coach before the Squire's men had stumbled across them in the woods outside the village. In the melee that followed there had been a lot of shouting and shooting and cursing and general confusion in the darkness and it and it wasn't until they were safely clear and heading for the hills Dick had realised his young accomplice had been hit. Mostly because Turpin had paused to gather his scattered nerves and Swiftnick had promptly fallen off his horse.

"Swiftnick? How you doing, lad?" Reminded of his other most pressing concern, Dick turned his attention from escaping to his apprentice.

"I'm all right," Swiftnick mumbled, his voice soft and far from sounding normal.

"Sod it. Say that like you mean it," Dick grumbled, reining in Black Bess. Toby came to an automatic halt beside him, his ears flicking constantly. The mare too was nervous, constantly stamping the frozen ground as if wanting to warn it not to move. "Let's have a look at that arm, lad." Leaning across, he tugged at Swiftnick's cloak, unwrapping it enough for him to see the makeshift bandage he had fastened around the youth's upper arm. In the silvery light of the moon, he could see that the bandanna he had used was dark with blood, but under his touch it seemed to be drying at last.

"I think it's almost stopped," Swiftnick offered shyly.

"Aye," Turpin agreed, letting Swiftnick tuck his arm back into his belt for support and fold his cloak back around him for warmth. The older highwayman looked around him gloomily; there was nowhere to hide up here and he didn't like feeling so exposed to the sky. The wind was making him uneasy, making him think of things that haunted the night. He could hear something creaking near by, the kind of rhythmic squeak that made his hair stand on end and reminded him of gibbets.

"Dick? What do we do now?" Swiftnick asked in a small tired voice. "We can't go back to the hideout, can we?"

"No, I reckon someone ratted on us," Dick answered glumly. "It's time we got back to our own haunts."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't said that," Swiftnick promptly grumbled.

"No such thing as ghosts, lad," Dick answered firmly. "You feel up to riding a bit further?"

"Like I have a choice?"

Turpin smiled ruefully. "No," he admitted. "We need to find some nice warm shelter. A place to rest up for a few hours before we head home. Must be a shepherds hut or something around here somewhere."

Swiftnick gave him a dubious look, shoving his tricorn down tighter on his unruly mop of curls as the wind tugged at it. "Can't we go straight home?" he asked hopefully. "We could ride all night."

"Could we now?"

"I don't want to stay up here, Dick," Swiftnick explained. "I don’t like Dark Fell."

Turpin grunted dubiously, nudging Black Bess into a walk. The mare moved forward reluctantly, her tail swishing as if to sweep the darkness from her flanks. He was tempted to let his partner have his way for he had to admit he too was loathe to spend the night holed up on the Fell. He had heard one too many evil tales about the place to be entirely comfortable about it and it hadn't been that long since they ran into Sebastian Deville over Ford End way. As far as Dick knew the highwayman had been killed but he knew too much about him to be entirely convinced of that. On the other hand, Swiftnick was hurt, perhaps not seriously but enough for Turpin to want to take extra care. The lad was in no shape for a long ride and shouldn't have to ride all night. "I think we can find somewhere for the night," Turpin said aloud.

"But, it's haunted, Dick," Swiftnick protested. "Haven't you heard the tales?"

Dick gave him a quelling look. "Don't be foolish," he scolded. "You heard all those tales before, didn't you? And what did they turn out to be? Deville starting rumours!"

"Yes, but he wasn't the Beast," Swiftnick reminded him. "He only pretended to be a werewolf. You said so. And maybe Deville's ghost is up here somewhere too!"

"Swiftnick, there are no such things as ghosts and even if there were they couldn't hurt you. How many times do I have to tell you that?" Swiftnick gave him a long speaking look. Turpin ground his teeth together and glared back at him. "We're going over Dark Fell," he told his accomplice flatly. "It's the safest way back and Glenrae will be waiting for us."

"He won't be expecting us back for another day at least," Swiftnick reminded him. "And he said we shouldn't go after the coach."

Turpin gave him another glare and clamped his knees tight to Black Bess' sides, making her snort in surprise and break into a gallop. Rather than be left behind and alone, Swiftnick hastily urged Toby after him, letting the big bay find his own ground covering stride. Black Bess was a sprinter, but Toby was good cross-country hunter and could stay his pace well.

A short while later, Turpin eased Black Bess back to a walk as they crested the hill, following the weaving dirt track that led over the flanks of the Fell. He looked back for Swiftnick, waiting for him to catch up and feeling a quick stab of chagrin at the way the youth looked at him. I shouldn't bully him, Dick sighed to himself, knowing he had ignored Swiftnick's awkward comment by riding away from him. The wind screamed around him, setting his cloak to flapping like bat's wings in the night.

"Come on, Swiftnick," he urged, hiding concern under impatience. "I thought you said you could ride all night?"

Swiftnick gave him a dirty look at he came up alongside his mentor. "I didn't know we were racing," he grumbled, hugging his sore arm closer.

Dick winced slightly. "You want to rest a while?" he asked gruffly.

"No," Swiftnick responded stiffly, riding past Turpin and on down the slope. Sighing heavily, Dick allowed him take the lead and let Black Bess pick her way through the coarse grass after him. The path led through the trees whose bare scratchy branches rattled in the wind that howled miserably around them.

The two riders picked their way along the bottom of the gully, then followed the track up hill and out onto the open moorland where the wind blasted through them like a handful of thrown knives. Dick caught his breath at the sharp edge of the wind, burrowing his face into the upturned collar of his cloak.

"Dick!" Swiftnick's voice was torn away the wind but his alarm could not be hidden and Turpin looked up sharply, groping with one cold hand for his holstered pistol. It was not onrushing dragoons that had spooked his partner, but something both more mundane and more horrifying.

Where the winding path crossed another wending its way across the top of the Fell, a gibbet had been set up. The metal cage was occupied as it swayed in the wind and Dick could clearly hear the rhythmic squeak it made as it twisted and turned; shaking its slumped and contorted contents in a bizarre silent dance.

"It's all right, Swiftnick," Dick said gently. "He can’t hurt you." He pushed Black Bess forward, ignoring her tendency to shy at the wind. Swiftnick hung back as Dick rode up to the gibbet and gazed up at the grimacing corpse. A whiff of old tar and rotting flesh assailed Turpin's nose as he studied the body in a conscious show of bravado, calculated to impress and reassure his jumpy young apprentice. Moonlight shadowed the corpse, hiding the worse of the decay. Dick found the hair on the back of neck standing up on end as the wind revolved the cage so that the body seemed to look down at him, its jaw hanging slack and its empty eye sockets staring at him from a leathery looking skull. Rags and shreds of once bright cloth fluttered around the bony body, vibrating in the wind and giving Turpin the shivers with the fluttering sound that made it seen as if the body was stuffed with bats yearning to escape.

"Dick, look at this." Swiftnick had retreated a short distance and dismounted to study a block of stone sticking up out of the ground beside the path.

Turpin was glad to turn away from the gibbet to come and look at the youth's find. The old rough hewn boulder was overgrown with grass and covered with lichen and moss. Once it had probably had some meaning to the ancient Celts, now it had been used for another and more sinister purpose. Curious, Dick pulled at the weeds that had grown over it, brushing at the carved face to read the inscription. "Here hang I, between earth and sky. A nameless and shameless man was I. Turn aside, stranger, and pass me by lest you catch my eye."

Swiftnick shuddered and retreated, shooting a frightened look up at the gibbet. "We should go," he urged anxiously, scrambling back into Toby's saddle.

"Aye," Dick agreed absently, tearing away the dried bindweed smothering the inscription. "I wonder how long this has been here."

"Does it matter?" Swiftnick nearly whimpered. He could almost feel the eyes of the corpse drilling into his back and shivered, feeling the bite of something more than the cold. His arm stung making him wince and hug it to him, feeling a trickle on his skin as if it was bleeding again.

"This inscription is old. Probably nothing to do with that poor soul whoever he was," Dick muttered absently, finding himself inexplicably fascinated with the stone. He felt a certain sympathy for the victim of the gibbet, knowing that the man could have hung for something as simple as taking a loaf of bread to feed himself when he was starving.

"Dick, I want to go!" Swiftnick begged urgently. "I'm cold and my arm hurts and I'm scared."

"Nothing to be scared of," Dick retorted firmly, pushing to his feet. As he did so, his hand brushed the top of the stone and felt the unexpected touch of wood. Puzzled, he peered closer, waiting for a fleeting skein of cloud to flee on the wind and give him enough moonlight to investigate.

There was a box on top of the stone, all but invisible amongst the overgrown weeds. When Dick touched it, it moved and he drew back with a stifled gasp, half convinced he had heard something move within. Aware of Swiftnick watching him like a hawk, Dick reached gingerly for the box and prodded it. At first he thought some wayward prankster might have left an adder for the incautious, but then it occurred to him that it was far too cold for a snake to be awake. Reassured by his own logic and thinking he was ready for anything, Dick lifted the upside down box and very nearly dropped it again as he saw what lay half curled up beneath. It was a hand, greasy with wax and with the fingers blackened by burning. It was secured to the stone by a large rusty iron nail driven through the palm and lay on a bed of dried grasses and unpleasantly pungent herbs. Almost without thinking Dick reached for it, prying at the nail. Rust flaked off on his fingertips, mingling with Swiftnick's blood from his wound.

"What is it?" Swiftnick craned his neck, peering towards his friend. "Riches? A rose?"

Turpin jumped as the nail unexpectedly snapped off and recoiled as it apparently released some trapped tendon in the palm, for the half clenched hand relaxed. Involuntarily, Dick glanced back at his accomplice. "A rose?" he queried in bewilderment, hoping his voice didn't shake.

"Aye, you know, a memento left by his lady love." Swiftnick inclined his head towards the body on the gibbet.

"Idiot," Dick snorted.. "It's more valuable than that, it's a hand of glory!"

"A what?"

With a sudden flash of black humour, Dick pulled himself together and turned to the stone. Covering what he was doing, he turned the box over and edged the hand into it with a bit of convenient ivy, shovelling the dried up grass and herbs in with it. "Look…" Picking up the box, Dick carried it over to his apprentice and held it up towards him. As Swiftnick leaned down to look he thrust it at him and Swiftnick recoiled with a yelp of fright, nearly falling of Toby in shock.

"Take it away! That's vile!" Swiftnick squawked as Turpin laughed. "It isn't funny!"

Turpin chuckled, lowering the wooden box and examining the revolting contents in amusement. Inside the box the shrivelled up waxen hand lay quietly, its blackened claw like fingers sticking up like an obscene parody of candles. The box itself seemed to be made of rowan wood and was inlaid around the edges with marquetry. It would have been an expensive piece but with its hinges snapped off and it hinges missing, it was next to useless now. Nonetheless, Turpin unfastened his cravat and wound it around the box to secure its contents.

"Why would anyone do something so…horrible?" Swiftnick blurted, wide-eyed in horror as he flashed a look at the stone.

"A hand of glory is supposed to have magical powers, lad. It’s the hand of a hanged man coated in wax so it'll burn and when lit it'll put the people in a house to sleep while you rob them. It's supposed to make its bearer invisible. Oh, it can do lots of things too, Swiftnick. It's a valuable little tool."

"If it's so valuable, what's it doing out here?" Swiftnick wanted to know suspiciously, huddling deeper into his cloak. "Leave it and let's go."

"Aye, we can go," Dick agreed as he carried the box over and tucked it into Black Bess' saddlebag.

"You're never keeping it!" Swiftnick exclaimed in horror.

"For a while," Dick chuckled. "I don't believe in such things, but I know a few people who do. I can sell it for a nice price. This one probably isn't a real one; only a fake to frighten people."

Swiftnick stared at him, then tapped his heels into Toby's side and rode out at a trot. Grinning, Dick mounted up and set Black Bess after him.

Behind them, the gibbet creaked noisily, turning in the wind as the corpse revolved slowly after them. One sinewy arm moved slowly against the iron, bony fingers seeming almost to clasp the metal as the skull rolled on the bony neck as if to stare evilly after the highwaymen….

* * *

Turpin and Swiftnick rode on in silence, both sunk in their own thoughts. Dick was feeling restless, an itchy feeling crawling down the back of his neck that he put down to taking off his bandanna. He was having second thoughts about taking the hand of glory. They didn't need the money they could make on selling the macabre object and Dick couldn't help but wonder what had possessed him to take it at all. Teasing Swiftnick was all very well, but once he had had his little joke he should have left the thing behind.

The prickle at the back of his neck grew worse and he looked behind him with a shudder, convinced they were being followed. Was that a shadowy figure he saw off in the darkness? Was someone following them along the edge of the trees where they brushed the sky like witches brooms sweeping away the cloud scudding across the blue black sky. For a moment he thought he saw a figure lurch out into the open, revealed by the moon beaming through a gap in the clouds, imagined that its eyes burned with an evil blue glow as it stared towards him…

Then the moon vanished behind the clouds and he blinked in the sudden gloom, scolding himself for his own imagination. The sudden drumming of hooves and the rattle of wheels bowling at speed over the rough track took him completely by surprise and he looked ahead instinctively, startled to see the coach hurtling along the narrow track towards them. Its lamps were lit, throwing an eerie pale blue light over the coach that left weird streamers of mist boiling behind it where it passed. The horses plunged and screamed, their hooves burning as blue sparks sprang up from their shoes.

Swiftnick was sitting woodenly on his horse, gaping at the coach as it raced towards him. Kicking Black Bess forward when she laid back her heels in obstinacy, Dick hurried to the lad's side. The coach was no more than a few yards away when, Turpin grabbed his partner's reins and hauled him off the track up onto the slop alongside. It hurtled past, leaving eddies in the howling wind and the impression of white faces gaping from the windows as it flashed by them. They heard thin screams whipped back to them on the wind.

"It's a runaway. Damn fool driver will overturn on this track if he can't haul them in," Dick growled, giving Swiftnick's arm a quick shake of exasperation. "Why didn't you get out of the way? What did you think they were going to do?! Stop so you could rob them?"

Swiftnick turned wide dazed eyes on him. "It appeared out of nowhere," he said slowly. "I was watching, Dick! I was! One minute there was nothing then….it was there…."

A horse screamed in the night and then came the sound of the crash, a horrendous ripping sound that tore the night, the crack of wood and the hideous sounds of men and women and horses screaming.

Turpin swore softly as he let go of his accomplice. "We'd better go and help," he said grimly.

"Help?" Swiftnick squeaked. "Us?"

"You see anyone else around?"

"But we’re highwaymen!"

"There's a time and a place for that. Right now there may be people hurt down there. Come on…" Turpin retorted gruffly, surprised that the youth should hesitate when he would normally jump in with both feet.

"I don't think there's anyone there we can help," Swiftnick whispered, badly frightened but he followed Turpin as the highwayman urged Black Bess into a gallop back down the path and over the rise they had climbed a few minutes before. Dick reined in at the crest of the slope and Swiftnick caught up.

The coach lay below them, overturned on its side where it had caught a wheel in the ditch and been wrenched around by the impact. The driver was cutting the flailing horses loose as two men carried a limp blood stained body of a woman out onto the grass. Another man was sitting in the grass, rocking himself as he clutched his arms around his middle. An eerie shimmer lay over the scene, a sickly greenish light twisted through with the blue glow of the coach.

Swallowing hard, Swiftnick started to urge Toby down the slope then flinched as Turpin grabbed his arm. "No…"

"But you said…"

"Listen, lad," Dick urged.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly."

Baffled and growing ever more frightened, Swiftnick looked from Dick's tense expression to the wrecked coach below. A young woman was being helped from the coach by the coachman; her face was contorted and her mouth was wide open. It was obvious she was screaming but Swiftnick couldn't hear a sound. The horses too were hideously silent as the driver cut them loose from the traces. One of them was struggling to stand on a broken leg.

A flash of blue to their left drew Dick's eye from the scene and he stared at the apparition of a man on horseback that appeared on the road a few yards away. The rider was oblivious to Dick and Swiftnick as he dismounted, drew a pistol and strode down into the hollow, his cloak flapping around him.

Wordlessly, Dick tightened his grip on Swiftnick's arm and held him at his side.

The coachman saw him and strode towards him, gesturing wildly and angrily as he reached for a pistol at his belt. The cloaked man shot him, then stopped to snatch up his weapon and put a pistol ball through the face of the coach driver as he lunged after his blunderbuss. Of the two male passengers who had escaped the wreck unharmed, one was shot with the highwayman's second pistol, the second run though with a sword as he lunged towards him. Coldly and methodically, the man moved around the site, killing the remaining man and the unconscious woman. The screaming woman had fallen silent, now huddling against the side of the coach as she hoped to remain unnoticed as the highwayman rummaged through the clothes of the murdered and picked over his spoils. Finally, condescending to notice her, he started towards her with a rolling stride and an ugly grin. The woman shrank back then bolted to her feet and ran. The highwayman went after her, catching her with a lunge that took her into the bracken. A knife flashed and they heard far off the sound of a high thin scream of despair…

And everything vanished, coach, horses, broken bodies….everything…

Turpin let out a slow breath and let go of Swiftnick's arm.. "Sobie…" he whispered in shock.

"Who? What? Dick? What happened?" Swiftnick was as dazed as his mentor.

Blinking as if waking from being half-asleep, Dick turned to look at his young apprentice. "Sobie was a out and out bastard who called himself a highwayman. The Fell was his lay before you were born." He waved one hand towards the hollow. "He had a habit of frightening coach horses so badly that they panicked and bolted and turned over the coach. It made for easy pickings with everyone too stunned to resist. One night he overturned a coach and the coachmen had the temerity to fight back. He killed all of them and tortured one woman into telling him where the valuables were hidden the coach. She survived long enough afterwards to tell who it was who had attacked them. They tracked him down and hung him for it."

Swiftnick shuddered. "T-that was what we saw?" he blurted.

Turpin hesitated. "Moon mist," he said in flat denial.

"What?!" Swiftnick yelped.

"You heard. Moon mist. We're hallucinating. We're highwaymen, of course we'd imagine seeing a coach. Probably thinking too much about the plum we missed. That'll be it."

"But we saw it! We both saw the same thing. The coach, the wreck, the killing…"

"Nah, I didn't see that. Saw a lot of weird shapes in the mist."

"What mist?"

"You let your imagination run away with you, lad. I've told you before about that. Probably a bit feverish too or I miss my mark. Come on, best if we keep moving."

Bewildered by Dick's vehement denial of what he was convinced they had both seen, Swiftnick nonetheless obediently turned Toby around to follow Black Bess back the way they had come.

There was a figure standing on the road below them, staring up at them from eyes that glowed a rancid eerie blue in the darkness. Slowly, it moved towards them, starting to pick up speed as it came up slope, not limping but surefooted and menacing as it covered the ground with an implacable stride and lifted its clawed hands to reach for them….

Hand, Swiftnick corrected himself dizzily. It only had one hand…

"Dick? You know my imagination?" he said uncertainly.

"Aye. What about it?"

"Only, it's coming towards us."

Turpin didn't answer for a moment as he followed Swiftnick's somewhat shakily finger pointing towards the figure racing towards them. A frown of irritation slowly crossed his face and he nudged Black Bess forward, tightening his grip on the reins as she attempted to shy away. Swiftnick followed, reluctant to get too far away from the protection of his mentor.

"Ho there!" Turpin bellowed as he rode down on the man. "Stand and deliver, I say!" The figure came to a halt, lifting glowing blue eyes to stare up at Turpin. Dick felt a wave of utter cold sweep over him, followed by a wave of implacable hunger as those eyes seemed to drill into the very depths of his being. "W-what…what do you want?" He forced his voice to steady, knowing Swiftnick was behind him.

Lifting its handless arm, the figure pointed at Turpin as a distant hollow moan erupted from its broken mouth; its dried up lips peeling back from black stubs where its teeth had been.

"It's only got one hand, Dick," Swiftnick squeaked, struggling to hold Toby in check. The big bay was determined to bolt at the first chance he got.

"Maybe he's a poacher. They'll have your hand off for that. Looks like he's fallen in a bog. He certainly smells like it," Turpin answered, determined to hold out for a rational explanation. "He's probably a bit shocked."

"Telling him to stand and deliver probably didn't help then," Swiftnick muttered sarcastically, ducking his head as Dick shot a narrow eyed look at him. "Why's he keep pointing at you and moaning?"

"Er…probably want a ride," Turpin ventured.

"Then why doesn't he say so?"

"Maybe he can't talk," Dick retorted then turned his attention back to the figure. "Is that right? You can't talk?!" he bellowed helpfully.

The eerie blue eyes stared at him silently, another earth deep moan issuing from the cracked and peeling face. It started forward again, moving carefully in silent menace.

Staring at it uneasily, Dick felt again that wave of cold hunger wash over him. " Seeing as you don't want to talk to us, sir I think we'll be going now then," he said quietly. "Go on, Swiftnick."

Only too eager to obey the first sensible order Swiftnick thought Dick had given him in a while, he clapped his heels to Toby's side and urged the bay to go around the figure. He rode to the left, taking a wide safe berth around the ragged figure. It moved with sudden, shocking speed, lunging at the horse and grabbing for Swiftnick's leg. Toby reared in panic as his rider was pulled off by the terrible strength in the man's one hand. Swiftnick was dragged to the ground and flung down in the grass as the man clawed at him.

"Oy! Lay off the lad!" Turpin bellowed in outrage, kicking Black Bess up alongside and planting a kick in the back of the man's shoulder. Flesh squished under his foot and Black Bess shied violently away with a scream of fear at the stench that burst from the wound. Dick had his hands full with the bucking, panic stricken mare for a moment, unable to control her enough to dismount.

Toby lashed out with teeth and hooves, striving to drive the attack away from his rider. But the man looked up at him, his blue eyes glowing evilly as he grabbed for the horse. Terror stricken, Toby reared and bolted, vanishing into the darkness as primitive instinct took over and drove him to flee.

Swiftnick was too busy struggling to throw the man off to yell. Although he had two hands, he couldn't seem to pry the man off him. He was too strong for him as he pinned the youth to the dirt, clamping one hand around Swiftnick's throat and throttling the lad into semi consciousness. He bent over him, his dried lips peeling back from his teeth, a blackened stub of tongue wagging within as he nuzzled into the collar of Swiftnick's shirt, mouthing for his pulse point.

"Sod it!" Dick half fell, half jumped off Black Bess and flung himself across the gap. Grabbing the man by the back of the neck, he bodily wrenched him backward off Swiftnick and hurled him to the ground. "Are you out of your mind?!"

The man stirred, scrabbling at the dirt as he struggled to right himself. "Food," he whined as he stared at Swiftnick. The thin piteous voice sent cold shivers racing along Dick's nerve endings. "Blood….Hungry…."

"Swiftnick, get up!" Turpin ordered grimly. Dazed, Swiftnick rolled over and Dick reached down to grab his food arm and pull him upright. He gave him a good shake. "Did it bite you?" he demanded.

"N-no…" Swiftnick touched his throat with trembling fingers, croaking a bit as he got the words out. "He…it…."

"Feed…." whined the creature as it drew its feet under it and lurched upright. "Smell blood….smell food…."

Dick shot a quick look at Swiftnick's bandaged arm and shuddered then made a grab at the youth as his partner took an uncertain step towards the creature's out stretched arms. "Stand still!"

"I was!" Swiftnick shot a bewildered look at him.

"Food…" the creature whined again, starting forward.

Turpin made a small sound in the back of his throat and reached for his pistol.

"I think he's mad, Dick," Swiftnick whispered shakily.

"No. Really?" Dick muttered sarcastically. Swiftnick gave him a baffled look.

"Food!" the creature demanded angrily, waving its one hand imperiously at Swiftnick. Swiftnick jerked and took a half step forward. Gritting his teeth, Dick yanked him back with one hand and took aim with the other. "Give me the food…."

"I warn you! Another step closer and I’ll fire!" he shouted.

The only answer was another mindless moan as the creature lunged forward with terrifying speed. Dick was faster, squeezing off the shot like a marksman. It hit the creature fair and square in the centre of his chest, blowing a hole through flesh and ribs and blasting it off its feet.

Swiftnick gaped in shock as the figure lay spread-eagled on the ground. "You killed him!" he gasped in horror.

"You can't kill something that isn’t alive," Dick growled as he gingerly approached the fallen figure and leaned over it. The blue glow had gone, leaving the sockets dark holed filled by the shrivelled raisins of its eyes. He could see right into the thing's chest, see the brownish ends of old bone sticking out of its ribs. Feeling his stomach churn, Dick took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn't. "This thing is a lich, lad," he said grimly.

"A w-what?"

"A lich. A walking dead man."

"A dead man?" Swiftnick squeaked. "But, but…You said there are no such things as ghosts!"

"It isn't a ghost," Turpin pointed out, giving the body a cautious prod with one toe. It felt heavy and a bit squishy and he withdrew his foot hastily as his toe went in too far. "Got any salt?"

"Oh, of course I have! I always ride around with a saddle bag full of salt when we go out to rob a coach!" Swiftnick yelled.

"There's no need to get shirty with me," Dick sniffed.

"Well, what do you want salt for?"

"You fill the thing's mouth with salt and then sew up its lips," Turpin explained, sounding calm even if he was considering sitting down and having hysterics. He simply couldn't panic in front of the lad. For one thing it would ruin his reputation. For another, Swiftnick was quite capable of panicking for both of them and he would take his lead from his mentor.

"It hasn't got any lips," Swiftnick finally said when he recovered his voice.

"Hmmh. Pity its got arms."

"It is?"

"Aye, if it hadn't it'd be 'armless…."

"Aye. So?"

"That was a joke, Swiftnick. 'Armless? Harmless?"

"Oh." Swiftnick did not sound amused somehow. "So since we can't sew it up, what are we going to do with it?"

"Leave it. We're highwaymen and this isn't our problem. Don't look at me like that, Swiftnick!"

"I wasn't!"

"Hah! I could feel it. I've got some rope in the saddlebag there. Grab it for me. We'll tie this thing up and then dump it in a bog. That should take care of it."

Swiftnick gave him a dubious look but went over to Black Bess and managed to catch her reins as she sidled away from him. "I know, girl," he crooned, petting her black velvet nose as she snuffled at him. "I think he's mad too."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Dick. Which saddle bag is it?"

"The right one."

"Er, that isn't the one you put the hand in, is it?"

"No. Hurry up!"

"Are you sure?"

"Swiftnick!"

"All right, all right." Grumbling, Swiftnick dug into the saddle bag and rummaged around until he found the small coil of rope and carried it over to Turpin. Snatching it off him and muttering under his breath about idiotic apprentice's Dick knelt beside the body and threw a loop of rope across it. "Help me get this underneath," he said briskly.

"Who? Me?"

"You see anyone else around here?" Dick demanded impatiently. "Black Bess can untie knots but she can't tie them."

"But my arm's sore."

"Give me strength! Look, I'll roll it over if it makes you feel better."

"I hope nothing falls off," Swiftnick said uneasily.

Turpin grunted, groping in the gloom for a good grip on the body. "I knew there was a good reason I never became a bodysnatcher," he muttered darkly as he heaved.

The body moaned and opened its eyes, beady little raisins staring up at a horrified Turpin before they filled with the terrible blue balefire glow. With a yelp of horror, Dick flung himself backwards as a tarred hand shot upwards and seized the highwayman by the throat and strove to drag him back down, its teeth snapping at his throat as the long fingers dug lie talons into his flesh. Braced on his hands and knees over it, Dick struggled to keep his throat out of that eager maw. Swiftnick danced around them, kicking the thing in an effort to make it let go.

Turpin gurgled, rolling his eyes towards Black Bess as she neighed and plunged in terror.

He shifted, somehow getting his knee into the things stomach and using it for leverage to push himself up, Swiftnick grabbed his shoulders from behind, putting all his youthful strength into helping. The two of them were too much for the lich's one-handed grip and its fingers slithered free. Dick went over backwards, landing on top of his partner and squashing the air out of him. With a soul scratching roar of frustrated rage, the lich writhed on to its side and clawed after them. A flailing fist connected a little too solid with Swiftnick's head and the youth slumped. Grabbing him, Turpin skittered backwards, dragging his dazed accomplice with him. The lich grabbed Dick's ankle, its powerful fingers clamping flesh down tight against the bone and making the highwayman yelp in pain

Black Bess screamed and attacked, rearing over the lich and slamming her hooves down onto its raggedly clothed back. The lich ignored her, its eyes flickering with balefire as it clamped its mouth against Dick's calf, the flaking lips writhing as it attempted to chew through the leather of his boot. Black Bess attacked again, her hoof slamming down on its shoulder and jarring the lich's grip loose enough for Turpin to pull free and hammer the heel of his boot into its face. The lich reared back, scrabbling at him and the mare's hoof hit it in the head. With a sound like a rotten melon bursting, the lich toppled over and lay face down and ominously still. Snorting and neighing, Black Bess kicked the unmoving form a few more times for good measure, then trotted away, head held high and tail arched and waving.

"Attagirl," Dick mumbled, rolling over to check on Swiftnick. He cupped a hand under his chin, lifting his grubby face out of the dirt; dazed blue eyes blinked back at him. "You all right, Swiftnick?"

"No such things as ghosts," Swiftnick mumbled, his eyes closing as he sagged again.

"Ah, none of that now. I need you awake," Dick growled, shifting his grip to tuck an arm under the youth's shoulders and prop him up a bit. He patted his face briskly a couple of times until Swiftnick roused and swatted at him vaguely. "All right, now, lad. I know it's been a bit rough on you, but its over now."

"’s gone?"

"Black Bess squished it," Dick told him cheerfully. "Now, if you can stay awake long enough, we're going to get out of here. Think you can sit up on your own?"

Swiftnick blinked at him, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Aye…"

"Good lad. Where's that rope?" Leaving a somewhat wobbly Swiftnick sitting on the grass with Black Bess thoughtfully snuffling his hair, Dick tracked down the rope and shoved a loop under the lich's neck and around one arm. Then he flung the rope over his own shoulder and dragged the stiffening thing across the wet grass until he found a spongy spot of rank dark green that indicated a bog.

After that it was a simple matter to roll the lich's remains into the bog and watch it start to sink. Only it didn't it floated far to well for Dick's liking. With a scowl of annoyance, Turpin cast about until he found a good stout branch and used that to poke the body under and wedge it down. Satisfied and cheerfully brushing off his hands, Dick trotted back to his partner. Swiftnick had made it upright and mounted up and was sitting astride Black Bess, waiting for him. "Now what?" he asked as Dick caressed the mare's nose affectionately.

"Who’s a good girl then? I'm going to get you the biggest bucket of carrots and oats I can find and you won't have to share any of them with Toby," Dick crooned. "Whose an ickumwiddums den?" Black Bess snorted at him, blowing happily in his face.

"Er. hello? Dick? Did you hear me?"

Turpin looked up at a baffled Swiftnick. "Oh. Aye, I heard," he said mildly, giving the mare another pat as he came around her side. Tucking his toes into the stirrup, he swung up behind Swiftnick and reached around him for the reins. "I think we'd best put some distance between us and that thing in the bog and see if we can find Toby."

"I hope he's all right," Swiftnick fretted as Dick clucked to the mare and got her moving at a brisk trot.

"He's probably headed for home to frighten Glenrae out of his wits. We'd best find some shelter for the night. It's too bloody cold to ride far." Now that they were moving again, Dick was aware of the bite of the wind and the sharp coldness of the frost.

"I'm kind of warm," Swiftnick murmured.

Turpin shot a quick look at him. "Aye," he admitted. "I’d noticed that. You feel all right?"

"My arm's sore," Swiftnick admitted.

"We're definitely holing up for the night. I need to have a proper look at that arm."

"What about that…thing?" Swiftnick peered over his shoulder at Turpin.

"What? You think its going to crawl out of a bog and come after us? Stop your fretting! He's gone for good this time."

"Are you sure? I thought I heard something."

"Such as what?"

"A sort of bubbling…."

"Disturbed the muck, didn't I? Course it bubbled. You're getting feverish, lad. You need to rest."

"But Dick…"

"Hush!" Turpin said impatiently and urged Black Bess to pick up a little more speed. He was pretty sure he knew where he was now. Seeing the apparition of Sobie's coach - or rather imagining he had seen it - told him they were near the Witch's Crags. There was good grazing up here and he knew where the shepherds' huts lay. A few miles further on they could find shelter for the night and he could do something about Swiftnick's wounded arm. It would be pleasant to get out of the wind and cold for a while.

Behind them the bog seethed, its scummy surface twisting and bubbling like some noisome witch's cauldron coming to the boil. The branch Dick had shoved the lich under with flailed to the surface, blackened and brittle and crumbling as if it had been dipped into acid. The skin peeling hand clamped around the brittle twigs slowly let go and groped across the surface, feeling its way across the glutinous jelly like morass towards the edge of the bog…

* * *

on to Part Two