Then Turpin was there, wrapping himself around the youth and pinning him against the rail. His arm wrapped Swiftnick’s head, tucking his face in against his chest. "Leave him alone!" Dick screamed. "He’s mine not yours! Go away! You can’t bloody well have him! So, sod off!"

The pressure of the wind dropped as suddenly as it started, the freezing temperatures vanishing with it. Dick staggered and sagged, gasping for breath as he loosened his grip on his partner. Swiftnick sank to the floor as his knees buckled under him, his head aching fiercely. He was trembling as Turpin slid down the rail beside him and put his arm around his shoulders.

"Why?" he whispered, snuggling closer to Dick’s side in need of human contact.

"Jealousy," Turpin answered curtly. He could feel the fading anger in the atmosphere, aware of it lingering sullenly close by. "Vincente wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help Rimini and he knows it."

Swiftnick looked up at him, spying the ruefully affectionate smile curling the corner of Dick’s mouth. "It was a stupid thing to do," he scolded.

"I know it."

"Then why?"

Turpin shrugged. "I don’t know...I felt...." He shook his head. "I can’t explain it, lad..."

"Maybe you should take off the ring then."

"Ring?" Dick gave him a blank look and Swiftnick tapped at his hand lying on his shoulder; the ring seemed duller now, quiescent....

Turpin stared at the ring in uneasy astonishment then he pulled it off and shoved it into his waistcoat pocket. "Come on, you’ve shivering. Let’s get back to the study and have a look at what I found."

"You found it?" Swiftnick brightened with curiosity.

"Aye, but I'm not showing you here." Dick took an uneasy look around him as he eased away from Swiftnick and stood up. His warning gesture held Swiftnick where he was until the highwayman nodded and motioned him to his feet, then Dick put a firm arm around his shoulders. "Stay close, Swiftnick. No point in taking chances."

"Hah!" Swiftnick snorted.

"Watch it...." Dick warned gruffly, but his eyes were warm as they started cautiously down the stairs. Frost glistened on the upper hand rails, melting away as they descended into the comparative warmth of the hall. They were both cold by the time they reached the ground floor and hurried into the study.

Swiftnick scurried over to the fire, rubbing his arms as he shivered. Dick sank into his chair and extracted from his shirt the folded manuscript he had found. The paper crackled in his fingers as he spread it out on the table. Swiftnick came to peer over his shoulder, frowning as he recognised a map of the local area.

"That’s it?" he exclaimed disparagingly, disgusted. "That’s what all the fuss is over? An old map? It’s not even accurate any more!"

Turpin smiled faintly. "It’s a treasure map, Swiftnick."

"Treasure?" Swiftnick took a closer look. "Gold? Silver? Where?"

"Not that kind of treasure," Turpin chuckled. "Rimini’s kind. The Order’s kind. Magical artefacts." He shook his head, tracing an old footpath marked on the fading manuscript with one fingertip before he turned the page over. There was writing on the back in faded ink. "This is older than the other stuff," he noted. "I can hardly read it...."

Swiftnick gave him a disappointed look. "Isn’t it valuable then?"

"We were going to give it to the Order anyway, remember?"

"Yes, but....there’s no harm in looking...."

"Swiftnick, there have always been so called magical artefacts. Relics, amulets, you name it, someone’s believed in them. Rimini’s precious artefacts might be a bit of old wood or a chip of stone that someone decided to set in gold and call magical. It doesn’t mean they have any power. It certainly doesn’t mean they’re valuable."

Swiftnick frowned, considering this. "The Order thinks they are," he said slowly. "And I don’t care what you say, there’s something in this house that doesn’t want us here. I'm sure it’s haunted."

Turpin sighed. Much as he wanted to deny it, Swiftnick was right. Dick wanted very much to be as cynical as he sounded and he was determined to teach his apprentice to at least be sceptical about such things. But deep down, Dick knew that some things couldn’t be denied. "That’s as well as maybe, but alchemy is a load of nonsense," he said firmly. "You can’t change a sow’s ear into a silk purse."

"I can turn paper into gold though," Swiftnick said slyly after a moment’s thought.

"Don’t be daft, lad!"

Swiftnick grinned. "Instead of giving the manuscript to the Order, we can sell it to them. Along with the ring."

"I was thinking of hanging on to the ring..." Turpin murmured, patting the pocket where the ring lay hidden.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Swiftnick frowned at him in exasperation. "Dick..."

"All right, all right, I was joking," Dick grumbled "It’s too easily recognised. If the Order wants it so much, they’ll make sure they catch and hang us to get it."

Swiftnick didn't answer. Dick’s obsession with the ring worried him. He had never seen Turpin so...attached to anything before; except perhaps Black Bess. But Swiftnick could understand how he felt about Black Bess. Personally he wouldn’t part with Toby for anything, but that was different; a horse wasn’t an object, a horse could return affection whereas a ring couldn’t.

"Are you listening to me?" Turpin demanded sharply as he folded away the manuscript.

Swiftnick blinked and focused on him with an effort, realising that Turpin had been talking. His thoughts seemed to be going round in circles.

"Sorry. What?"

"You’re looking a bit pale, lad," Dick said more gently. "You all right?"

Swiftnick admitted that his head was aching and Turpin rose to his feet, ordering him to look at the candle he held up.

"You’re tired," Dick decided. "I should have made you rest after that tumble you took."

"I'm all right," Swiftnick mumbled, rubbing his eyes and drooping as he realised how right Turpin was.

"We could both do with some sleep," Dick said gruffly.

"I’d sleep better if we could get away from here...."

Turpin cocked his head, listening to the wind and rain battering against the window. "Not much chance of that."

"Couldn’t we sleep in the stables?"

"And get wet getting there? No, we’ll stay here and leave as soon as the wind drops."

"But..."

"Don’t argue, Swiftnick. You sleep; I’ll take first watch...."

Swiftnick opened his mouth to protest, but the flint glint in Turpin’s eyes warned him off and he nodded wanly. Muttering to himself, he retrieved the cushions he had used as his makeshift bed earlier and curled up in a chair, spreading his cloak over the top for warmth.

Dick settled in his own chair, absently checking the saddlebags he had brought up from the kitchen. Finding a couple of rolls left, he tossed one to Swiftnick then put his feet up on the table and sank back into the comfort of his seat. Apart from the howl of the wind and the rattle of rain against the window, the house grew silent, waiting...

After a while, Dick shifted in his seat, glancing across to check on his apprentice. Swiftnick was asleep, head pillowed against the side of his chair. Turpin watched him, willing himself to stay awake as his eyes threatened to drift shut. Whatever spirits haunted the house they obviously had malice in mind for Swiftnick and he needed guarding. Still, he had to admit he was tired. The long ride to London and back had been wearing, not to mention the ride back to the house after his meeting with Spellman, battling wind and rain...

Turpin jerked, chagrined to realise that he had nearly dozed off in the hush. Annoyed with himself, he picked up Rimini’s journal and opened it randomly. Rimini had had a florid style when it came to describing his experiences; his depictions of the people he had met were acidic and cynical, his descriptions of places fanciful. Towards the end of the journal, his tales took on a poisonous edge making his low opinion of the high society bent on making him an outcast obvious. The Duke had not been happy in his homeland, but there was little in the journal about his alchemy experiments. But there was something....

Dick frowned, flicking back a page or two. The charts had been cut from the back, Vincente had said. Rimini had called them a guide...

To the uninitiated they would have meant nothing then and were not secret enough to keep carefully hidden, but Spellman had obviously considered them important enough to keep. And Rimini had needed them to tell him when to use the artefacts. How many had he actually found? Where the things locked away in his secret room some of the artefacts? Or merely tools needed for using them?

Tools, Dick thought with quiet certainty as he turned once more to the last page. This one was blank, used to separate journal from charts....

Or was it? Not quite sure why he did it, Dick tugged at the page, tearing it carefully from its binding to hold it up to the candle. The flame singed the back of the paper, but the heat brought up lines of previously hidden writing...

Dick shivered even as he stared at the spidery writing crawling across the paper, watching a circular drawing appear. It was divided up into pie shaped sections, each one marked with mysterious symbols. Turpin wasn't well up on Latin, but he recognised the odd word or two; enough to guess it was a spell he was looking at and that each wedge was inscribed with the name of a demon at the base and a different symbol at the tip of each. Joined together....

The faint curl of smoke at the corner of the page snapped him out of his concentration and he jerked the page away from the candle, hastily blowing out the tiny flame.

Dick spread the page out on the table, staring at the fading lines as they cooled in an effort to translate as much of it as he could. Eight sections, eight demons, joined together to call and bind one more. The man who joined all eight together would indeed have power and riches and whatever he wanted...

But there was something missing, the tips of the wedges were angled as if something should rest in the middle....

Dick blinked, the writing too faint to be readable any more but still it danced in front of his eyes as he reached into his waistcoat and once more drew out the ring. Yes, the ruby would fit that missing bit of the pattern; a little twist and the stone would unscrew...

A blood red ruby, how appropriate...

Vaguely Dick wondered if Rimini had had the ring made to fit the ruby as he slipped it back on his finger and stood up. He wandered out of the study and ambled across the hall, pausing before the now closed secret panel. Absently, he pressed the wall, feeling for a certain knot in the panelling...

The panel slid open with a noisy creak and Turpin stepped through it, holding up his candle as he walked steadily down the corridor and opened the door. Carefully, putting the candle down on the table, he turned to stare blankly at the panelled wall as if waiting for instructions. Then he stepped forward, counting in Italian along the panels from the door until he found the one he wanted and fumbled until he found the catch. Wood creaked and there was a twanging sound from inside the wall. A panel moved a fraction then stopped, stuck....

Dick stared at it, swearing in a dull monotone. Then he punched it, slamming his fist into the wood in a vicious rage....

The panel cracked and splintered and he tore at it, ripping it open until he could reach inside to retrieve the coffer hidden within. Blowing the thick dust off it, he hugged it to him possessively and carried it across to set it down on the table. The lid refused to move and he frowned at it, puzzled...

Then he brightened and took the ring from his bloodied hand, inserting it into a hole in the top and giving it a deft twist. A panel popped open at the bottom and Dick was able to insert a finger to pop the catch and open the lid. Slipping the ring back on, he eased back the lid and stared at the musty contents....

"Dick?" Hovering in the doorway, Swiftnick eyed his partner uncertainly. The noise of the hall panel opening had woken him, sensitised as he was to any strange noises in the house. Finding Dick missing, he had ventured as far as the hall to look for him then very reluctantly followed him down the corridor when he heard him swearing and the sound of wood being smashed. He had watched his quiet confidence in opening the box and felt a cold chill creeping through him. "Dick, what’s going on?" he repeated, stepping warily into the room.

Turpin’s head came up and he stared at his young accomplice without recognition.

"What have you found?" Swiftnick asked tentatively.

Turpin slammed down the lid and his hands clenched possessively on the sides of the box, drawing Swiftnick’s gaze first to the blood red glint of the ruby ring then the actual blood on his hand. "You’ve hurt yourself..."

"Go away, Vincente. This has nothing to do with you...." Turpin said but his voice was thick with an Italian accent.

"That isn’t funny..." Swiftnick protested, easing closer to see if he could peek into the box.

"I did not give you permission to come in here. You overreach yourself, Vincente."

"I'm not Vincente, Dick," Swiftnick reminded him cautiously, suddenly deciding against getting any closer to Turpin. He wasn't that curious about what was in the box and he didn’t like the way Turpin was looking at him.

Turpin straightened up, making an irritated gesture towards Swiftnick that held nothing in common with the highwayman’s usual mannerisms. "You intrude. Frankly, you begin to bore me. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring you here after all... I'm sure I can find another virgin easily enough. My dear lady wife Jane for example. She might be even better. I was worried that you might not be suitable being male. Females are usually the choice. But everyone seemed to have been debauched in Venice..."

"What do you need a virgin for?" Swiftnick asked warily.

Turpin eyed him narrowly. "Have you been drinking? Asking me such questions...."

Swiftnick thought fast and decided to play along. Dick didn’t sound at all like himself. His voice echoed Rimni’s ghostly tones. "Er, how can I help you, er master, if I don’t know why you need such things...?"

"You’ve never called me master before. Are you angry with me? I know you were not happy when I took Jane to wife...."

"Jealousy," Swiftnick suggested simply as it seemed to be an excuse Turpin or whoever he thought he was would accept.

"Ah yes, we have been together for some time now." Turpin beamed at him, a most peculiar expression that seemed somehow squashed on Dick’s face as if it had to battle for room. "Shall I show you then? Shall I? Is it time?"

Swiftnick didn't answer, watching warily as some kind of argument seemed to go on in Turpin’s face. Dick suddenly reached for the box, opening the lid and reaching in to take out a cloth wrapped and obviously heavy object. He unwrapped it, placing the wedge shaped artefact lovingly on the table. Swiftnick caught his breath at the glint of solid gold and started to ease closer, lured by the object.

Turpin watched him with an odd little half smile on his face. "Pretty, isn’t it?" he murmured.

"What’s it for?"

"There are eight of them all together, combined with this as the centrepiece," he caressed the ring on his finger. "Together they form the Octagon containing a pentagram..."

"A what?" Swiftnick looked up, puzzled. He found that he didn't like looking at the triangle for too long, the strange symbols and writing engraved into the gold seemed to wriggle and squirm as if wanting to escape.

"The Octagon," Turpin said easily, reaching out to gently tuck a curl back behind Swiftnick’s ear. He was frowning slightly as he studied him.

"Why?" Swiftnick moved his head aside, not quite daring to move away from him. Turpin reminded him of an angry wild dog, eager to pounce if its prey made the wrong move.

"To build the pentagram to call up a Demon of course."

"W-what?" Swiftnick squeaked in alarm.

Turpin smiled at him absently, his gaze settling on distant illusions. "The one that will give me the secrets of the universe. Of turning lead into gold and much, much more..."

Swiftnick swallowed. "I don’t know much about magic..."

"I should hope you do not. I have deliberately kept you innocent...."

"But calling up a Demon sounds like a very bad idea. Won’t it want payment?"

Turpin’s smile had an ugly edge to it. "Probably. That’s where you come in, Vincente."

"Only I'm not Vincente," Swiftnick said sharply. "You murdered him because he knew what you were. What you’d done...How...depraved you were...."

"Depraved?" Turpin frowned and sighed heavily. "I suppose, yes, in your innocence you would call me that. But it was necessary. All necessary to become as powerful as I am. To protect you..."

This time Swiftnick did jerk his face away from the reaching fingers that sought to caress his check.

"Don’t you see?" Turpin crooned. "To call the Demon I must be powerful in magic and worthy of its attention. Some pure innocent would be of no interest to it..."

"But...." Swiftnick mumbled in confusion. "You said you wanted me, I mean Vincente, to be innocent..."

"Yes, because the corruption of innocence is the ultimate banquet to a Demon. Sin, my dear Vincente, your fall into Sin will be its payment." Reaching into the box, Turpin took out a small horn vial on a gold chain and held it up. "Do you remember this, Vincente?" he asked softly, holding it out to the youth. "Remember how I bound you to me with blood? Your blood will feed each of the segments of the Octagon."

"Vincente’s blood?" Swiftnick questioned nervously.

Turpin nodded, smiling as he held the vial up between them, dangling it on its chain. "Mingled with holy water...."

Swiftnick focused on it instinctively; noting that the horn was clouded and dull, dirty with some dried incrustation of reddish brown.

Turpin noticed it too and snatched the vial back to him, cradling it in his hand in alarm. Slowly his eyes lifted until he was staring at Swiftnick, his eyes burning with loathing. "What have you done?" he hissed.

Swiftnick stared at him, a cold trickle of dread pouring through him in a rising bore tide. Up until now, he had been half convinced Turpin was playing some kind of game with him. But Dick had never looked at him as if he was some kind of animal for the slaughter. Even when he was boiling mad Swiftnick had known his rage would never spill over into physical violence aimed at his apprentice. But the personality looking at him out of Turpin’s eyes now wasn't even remotely sane. "Me? Me done? I haven’t done anything. I'm not even Vincente. I told you...." Swiftnick knew he was babbling but he couldn’t stop himself.

"Liar!"

Swiftnick jerked away, but Turpin was faster and seized his wrist, pinning his hand to the table as he held the vial up before his blue eyes. "You did this!"

Swiftnick yelled back, frightened. "I didn’t! I didn’t even know about the box! You opened it, not me!"

"Liar!" Turpin screamed again and lashed out, cracking Swiftnick hard across his bruised temple.

Swiftnick sagged, his knees buckling as his senses swam in protest. Turpin shook him violently. "This is your fault. You destroyed the spell!"

"Me? How could I...?" Swiftnick protested groggily, his teeth rattling as Turpin once more shook him viciously.

"You were a virgin! Three things to make the spell I needed! Holy water and a virgin’s blood in a unicorn’s horn. You knew that...."

"No..."

Turpin shook him again. "You broke the spell! How? Who corrupted you?"

Swiftnick’s temper rebelled and he yanked his hand back, straining to break the older man’s grip. "You did!" he yelled back in his face. "You with your debauchery and your evil magic and your, your things in the cupboard...."

Turpin’s eyes flashed involuntarily towards the cupboard with its gruesome contents and Swiftnick twisted, revolving his hand around Turpin’s until the highwayman’s grip was broken and the youth could make a dart for the door. Turpin was faster. Grabbing him by the collar, he yanked him backwards and pinned him on his back on the table with his arm across his throat. He hurled the unicorn’s horn aside with an enraged snarl and grabbed for the edge of the box, yanking it closer.

A copper bowl was slammed down on the table beside Swiftnick’s head, close enough to make him flinch. Then a thin bladed stiletto with a jewelled hilt was retrieved. Turpin held it up, examining the ugly face with its blood red eyes that grinned from the hilt. "So be it," he panted, turning his gaze back to Swiftnick. "You are corrupted? Then your blood must be spilled in sacrifice as an apology and another shall take your place...."

"Wait!" Swiftnick gasped in panic. "I'm not Vincente...and I am...a virgin...." He wasn't too sure whether he was innocent or not. After all he was a highwayman with sticky fingers.

Turpin blinked and frowned. This close, Swiftnick could see how strange his eyes were; pale and glinting like water under ice and beneath them in the depths moved other, darker eyes. "You lie..." he said grimly. "I know who you are."

"Do you? Look at me! I don’t look anything like Vincente! And I don’t talk funny!"

"Funny?" Turpin blinked again. "You have a strange accent, t’is true..."

"That’s proof, see? Proof I'm not Vincente. And you’re Dick Turpin!"

"Who?" Turpin’s eyes hardened, the movement beneath that shell of ice sinking away from Swiftnick as Rimini’s personality once more surged forward, fuelled by anger. "Virgin, are you? We shall see...." he sneered as he slammed the knife point first into the wooden table and groped once more for the necklace. Shaking out the chain, he slung it over Swiftnick’s head and yanked it down around his throat, twisting it up tight and holding up the vial. He stared at it grimly, his expression hardening by stages until Turpin’s face was hidden by a strange pallid mask of features that were not his own.

Swiftnick watched his mentor vanishing before his eyes and felt sick with panic stricken terror.

Turpin/Rimini suddenly snorted and shook the vial; flakes slid away from the shell like substance revealing a shimmering milk white gleam where yellowed horn had been.

"So..." hissed the Italian voice. "You are as you say, a virgin. Where then is Vincente? Why is he not here? Answer me....!"

Swiftnick fumbled at the chain threatening to cut off his breathing and Turpin/Rimini loosened his grip a fraction. "Gone. Dead..." he croaked.

"What do you mean? Dead? How can this be?"

"You killed him. You stabbed him and your wife to death...."

Turpin/Rimini blinked slowly, a flicker of confusion showing in the ice pale eyes.

"And you fell to your death afterwards," Swiftnick added with a flicker of malicious satisfaction.

"Ah...." Again that slow blink. "Yes, I remember.....the map....How ironic..."

Swiftnick was not at all happy about the ugly smile that twisted his friend’s face and he twisted to see if he could wriggle free. Turpin/Rimini promptly slammed him back down on the table with vicious force.

"No, you’re not going anywhere. I can’t have you telling anyone what you know," he scolded almost gently. "You saw it, did you?"

Swiftnick stared at him and almost laughed. "No. Don’t you understand? It was ages and ages ago."

"What were you up to? Did you think to rob me?"

"Let go of me..." Swiftnick struggled furiously and was once more easily subdued. There was a frightening strength in Turpin’s grip, far more than the natural strength of the highwayman himself allowed for.

"This house is mine. All of it. Mine!" Turpin/Rimini said sharply. "I think I will be excused the killing of one young robber. Yes, of course. No one will miss you, will they?"

"Yes!" Swiftnick protested indignantly.

"A robber caught by my own hands, killed in the vicious struggle...Yes, that will do very well, I think..."

Swiftnick stared at him incredulously. "No, it won’t. You’re a ghost!"

"Strange. I seem to be flesh and blood; a body of solid flesh and warm, quick blood..."

"It isn’t yours!"

Turpin/Rimini frowned at him. "It is now," he said with a cruel quick smile.

Swiftnick shrank from the look in his eyes, quailing. "You’re mad...."

"Oft times I have been called that before," Turpin/Rimini mused and smiled pityingly on the young highwayman as he reached for the dagger again. "You don’t understand, do you? How could you? One so young....It is almost a shame that I have to kill you....."

"No, no, you don’t," Swiftnick squeaked. "You’re a ghost. It won't do you any good."

"Ah, but it will, young one. I understand now, you see. I remember falling....so slowly it seemed....But I remember my anger, how keen it was, how sharp as a blade...How urgent my need to survive was....I remember waiting for oh so long...in the cold and the dark....I remember them....the knife in my hand....Vincente’s blood and my wife’s cries.....over and over....So sweet, so sweet the killing moment...They’re here now, trapped as they deserve...." Turpin/Rimini focused on Swiftnick, tightening his grip as the apprentice attempted to knee him in the groin where it hurt. "But I deserve to live, you see. I left things unfinished. I had the other pieces of the Octagon to find and my fall was an accident. Thus I return."

"But you can’t...."

"But I can," Turpin/Rimini told him in an almost kind voice. "My magic made me powerful. It kept me here, conscious, aware....and now I have a body again. One I shall enjoy keeping..."

"It isn’t possible..." Swiftnick whispered in horror.

"You shall help me make it possible," Turpin/Rimini purred in reply. "It is a simple spell. I have the correct part of the Octagon here. The power of the Demon is mine to call. I need but to feed the spell with fresh blood to seal it and make this new form mine...."

"I won’t let...."

"Won’t let? You have nothing to do with it, boy! Peasants today! Be grateful that I offer you this chance of greatness..."

"What greatness? I don’t want to be demon food...." Swiftnick was doing his best to squirm unobtrusively into a better position. Dick had taught him how to fight and lesson number one had been, fight to survive no matter what. Lesson two had been fight with anything that came to hand and never mind whether it was considered fair play or not.

As Turpin/Rimini caught hold of his hair to pull his head back and bare his throat for the knife, Swiftnick grabbed for the copper bowl so conveniently placed to catch the blood and swung it furiously at Turpin/Rimini’s head. As it clanged off his head and the man staggered back, Swiftnick hooked his ankle behind his knee and yanked, jerking his feet from under him. With a bellow of stunned pain and angry surprise, Turpin/Rimini fell and Swiftnick rolled over the table, sliding off the other side and as far away as he could get.

The glint of gold caught his eyes as he landed and he grabbed for the segment of the Octagon, thinking to use it for a bargaining point. His fingers had barely touched it when Turpin/Rimini lunged into view and seized his wrist again. The man spat something at Swiftnick in Italian and raised the dagger to strike. Swiftnick yelled back at him and threw the bowl in his face, wrenching free with the strength born of terror and the segment clutched tight. Turpin/Rimini batted the bowl aside with a snarl and started after him, stalking around the table.

Swiftnick backed up, frantically looking around him for an escape route. The only way out of the secret room was the way he had come in and Turpin/Rimini was firmly between him and it. He had backed up all the way to the curio cupboard and the young highwayman looked up at it nervously, a flicker of an idea occurring to him.

"Come here, boy," Turpin/Rimini hissed, his voice even more heavily accented.

"Never..." Swiftnick panted.

"Give me back the Octagon and I’ll let you go...."

"Like hell you will. You think I'm as mad as you are?" Swiftnick shoved the segment into his shirt, feeling the gold slither coldly against his bare skin as he jumped for the cupboard, grabbing it by one ornately carved edge and pulling on it with all his strength.

Turpin/Rimini bellowed and rushed him as the cupboard toppled, crashing down between them. At the impact against the edge of the table the doors burst open, spilling its contents across the floor and table. Swiftnick had already lunged under the table to scramble for the door and yelled in horror as the pickled head rolled bumpily across the floor towards him. His shock distracted him and he was a fraction to slow to scoot out from under the table, coming upright only to face Turpin/Rimini once more rounding the table to block his exit.

"You are starting to annoy me, boy," he panted, his eyes slithering madly from side to side as he advanced on the young highwayman. He lunged and Swiftnick leaped backwards, hearing the rip of his shirt as the fabric parted across his stomach. He made a grab for the Octagon as it slid free then skipped backwards again as Turpin/Rimini lunged again, driving him back towards the corner where there would be no escape.

"Dick!" Swiftnick appealed frantically to his mentor as he retreated. "Dick! Stop him! Please!"

"He can’t help you, boy," Turpin/Rimini said coldly as he scooped up the gold wedge and placed it gently in his pocket. "You might as well come to me. I will not hurt you...." His eyes locked with Swiftnick’s boring into the youth’s soul and spirit, sucking him down.

Staring back at him, Swiftnick felt his knees shaking as he stood frozen, unable to escape his gaze. "Dick..." he whimpered and thought for a second he saw something dark move behind the ice, snapping the lock Rimini had on him. He fell instinctively, dodging around the table. Turpin/Rimini moved too, catching him by the upper arm and swinging him around and down, the force of his pull yanking the youth of balance and tumbling him with bruising force into the edge of the table.

With the breath knocked out of him, Swiftnick sank to the floor, wheezing for air and was easy prey as Turpin/Rimini landed on top of him. With grim determination, the man hauled Swiftnick over onto his back and plunged the dagger down.

"Dick!" yelling in panic, Swiftnick grabbed for his wrist and held on desperately, fighting against the inexorable strength of the inimical ghost. "Dick! Come back! Help me! Stop him! Please....!"

Turpin/Rimini shook his head as if irritated by the buzz of a fly. "You cannot stop...." he argued, his voice thick with the Italian accent.

"I will not....."

"Dick?" Swiftnick whispered in hope, hoping he had recognised that breathy protest.

"You can’t...Stop fighting.....me...." Rimini’s voice was weakening.

"I will not...let you...harm....him....." Dick’s voice was squeezed out, forced from tremendous depths like water rising through a glacier, but it was strengthening.

Swiftnick wasn't sure who was winning; he could see the strange sliding movements in Turpin’s eyes, one moment ice water, next warm chestnut....

But he didn’t dare take any chances, so he dug his foot into the ground and rolled, wrenching himself free of the loosening grip and scrambling out of reach. Dithering, he edged a bit closer and kicked the knife out of Turpin/Rimini’s hand then scooted out of reach into the corner as the man swore.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Dick’s voice said clearly as he looked up at his apprentice with eyes of deep solid brown.

"Dick?!" Swiftnick was still inclined to run for it as he clung to his corner.

Turpin scowled as he rolled over and struggled to get his knees under him. He lurched to his feet, giving Swiftnick a belligerent look as his apprentice stayed out of reach. "What’s the matter with you?" he grumbled, feeling his cheekbone gingerly. "And who hit me?"

"Er, I did...."

"You did?!" Turpin glared at him indignantly as he took a wobbly step towards him, feeling as if he had been at sea too long. His stomach churned and his head spun, leaving him feeling sick and dizzy with confusion. How had he got back into the secret room? He’d been in the study....

His foot connected with the knife, sending it slithering across the floor. His eyes followed it, dazzled by the bright shine of silver and blood red...

Memory flickered and Dick slid an uncertain look at his apprentice, seeing the trepidation in his blue eyes. "Oh, sod it..." he moaned and saw Swiftnick brighten for a second before fear once more filled his face. Turpin gave him a slow, hard look as he felt the icy chill slide over him like a sheet of ice.

Leaning heavily on the table for support, Dick looked behind him to see a shimmering greyish white mist forming like fog. His memory of the last few minutes might be vague but he somehow knew who was coming and backed away instinctively from the face that loomed up out of the fog.

"Swiftnick, get out of here..." Turpin ordered grimly then heard the tremendous crash of the door slamming closed and flicked a glance at it to see the heavy door standing solidly shut.

"How?" Swiftnick asked in a small voice.

Turpin didn't answer, staring uneasily at the ghost. "I know you, Rimini. And I banish you..." he began, but his voice lacked certainty. He could feel the ghost in his bones, feel it weakening his spirit. His body ached all over, misused and weakened by the ghostly usurper.

The ghost had finished taking its ethereal shape and stood before them, a greyish figure dressed in old fashioned clothes. "You cannot banish me," it whispered and its voice was a breath of fog laden air. "I am a part of you...."

"Oh no, you’re not. You took me by surprise once, that won't happen again."

The ghost didn't answer, but stared at him hard then shifted its head towards Swiftnick. Swiftnick shrank further back into his corner and Dick stepped instinctively in front of him, spreading his arms wide to shield his apprentice even as his knees shook with exhaustion.

"No, you can’t have him," Dick said grimly and felt a sense of resolution strengthening him. A small smile of understanding crossed his face as he understood and settled into the feeling. Rimini had caught him while he was distracted and tired, but he had a focus now; protecting his partner from the ghost and its malicious evil. "And you can’t make me do something I don’t want to do. And I will never harm him...."

The ghost hissed and made a claw like gesture, beckoning angrily.

"No, I won’t...." Dick said with quiet confidence and felt his soul soar as Swiftnick’s hand touched his back in silent support.

But it wasn't to him the ghost was beckoning. The dagger rose slowly into the air, twirling and spinning in a hypnotic spiral as it followed Rimini’s guiding hand.

"Ah...." Dick said softly, watching the knife as it gently gyrated around to come point first to face them. "Get ready to duck, lad...."

"Dick...." Swiftnick protested faintly.

Turpin didn't answer, but watched and waited, never taking his eyes off of the ghost and the knife. When the ghost gestured he was ready, tensed in expectation as the dagger took flight with lethal precision at his chest...

And with equal precision, Dick caught it in mid air, flipped it in his hand threw it back with all the strength left in him...

To his utter astonishment, the dagger struck Rimini in the chest and an angry eerie scream ripped out of the ghost, spiralling up and up until it hurt to hear. Both Turpin and Swiftnick clapped their hands over their ears as the ghost burst suddenly into a blue white flame, burning with cold fire.

Common sense stirred Dick and he grabbed Swiftnick’s hand, towing him urgently away from the writhing shape of the tormented ghost and giving him a push to crawl under the table and around the broken cupboard.

Swiftnick balked, remembering the pickled head, but with Turpin pushing at him, he scrabbled past it with his gaze averted. That however meant he could see the expanding shape of the ghost as it burned and made him crawl faster. Emerging on the far side of the table, he scrambled to his feet and flung himself as the door, hauling at it desperately. It creaked reluctantly open and he looked round for Turpin as the older man crawled out from under the table.

"Go on..." Dick urged wearily as he struggled to his feet and glanced back at the ghost.

It started to scream again and came towards them, one skeletal hand plucking at the knife, the other stretched out imploringly towards them.

"Burn in hell, you bastard, burn in hell...." Dick said grimly, then looked down at Swiftnick in surprise as the youth pulled his arm across his shoulder and dragged him towards the door. With Swiftnick’s help, the exhausted highwayman was able to stagger out into the corridor and towards the secret panel where it opened onto the hall.

The eerie light filled the corridor as the ghost followed them. Its light seemed to be becoming more and more intense, the edge’s of its outline starting to peel off as if the ghost was somehow rotting from within. A stench filled the corridor, a stink like rotting meat and sulphur...

The clack of the panel slamming shut ahead of them brought both highwaymen to a halt in dismay, the only light now the pallid light of the ghost....

"Get behind me, Swiftnick," Dick said wearily, freeing the youth from his arm to push him back. Instead, Swiftnick grabbed his hand and held on tight, too scared to let go. They retreated together, backing up step by step before the sulphurous glow of the imploring, screaming ghost. Its mad keening rose up and down the scale, screeching and tearing at the very air in its anguish as it burned....

Dick was sure he imagined the sound of splintering wood until Swiftnick yanked at his hand. Only then did he dare to take his eyes off Rimini’s ghost to see the panel behind them splitting open, the wood folding back like the petals of a flower. And through the split came two blazing golden shapes, advancing down the corridor towards them.

Instinctively Turpin pulled Swiftnick back against the wall with him, feeling the ghosts brush past them and catching the scent of flowers. Dick sensed that one of them looked at him and had an impression of gentle eyes and a female face before their light blazed bright, filling the corridor and cutting off Rimini’s advancing ghost.

"C’mon, Dick! Run!" Swiftnick tugged insistently at Turpin’s hand, dragging him after him along the corridor. Dick stumbled after him. At the panel, he staggered to a halt feeling as a great weight suddenly seemed to lift off him.

Swiftnick’ arm wrapped around his waist as he looked up at him anxiously, but Turpin looked back down the corridor as the blaze of golden light expanded and rushed suddenly upwards, vanishing through the wooden ceiling. Behind it, it left a billowing puffy outline of rotting blue white that shifted abruptly into ugly reds as it burned and imploded, sinking downwards.

Dick winced, hearing something scream in anger, the sound viciously high and fading...then...

Gone....

As a huge sense of relief swept through him, Dick’s knees buckled unexpectedly and only Swiftnick’s frantic grip held him on his feet. "Sod it," he said wearily as he made himself straighten up again.

"Dick?" Swiftnick gazed up at him uncertainly.

"I’m all right. Bone weary is all." Turpin smiled at him tiredly, letting Swiftnick pull him out into the hall.

With an ominous creaking sound the roof of the corridor behind them gave way as a support beam gave up the unequal struggle and split. Plaster cascaded down, followed by a heavy shower of wood and brick as the ceiling gave way.

Adrenalin giving him a spurt of energy, Turpin retreated out of the danger zone, shooing Swiftnick ahead of him.

With a nasty crunch another beam fell, further blocking the corridor as part of the wall gave way, sliding in on top of the rubble with a slithery moan.

Dick rubbed one hand over his face, shaking his head at the damage and casting a wary glance up at the hall ceiling.

Swiftnick prodded him. "Have you noticed? It’s warmer in here now...It feels....different...."

Turpin gave him a sour look. "I was busy watching the roof fall in."

"Oh...yeah....."

Dick rolled his eyes in exasperation and took a step towards the study, only to find Swiftnick in his way.

"Where are you going?"

"To get our stuff. It’s time for us to get out of here."

"Oh..." Swiftnick hesitated but when Turpin gave him a shove out of the way, he turned and followed him reluctantly into the study. He hovered in the doorway, looking around him nervously as Turpin gathered up the saddlebags and manuscripts, including the odd page with the now almost invisible writing.

"It’s safe, Swiftnick," Dick told his partner in exasperation. "It’s warmer like you said. They’ve gone and I am not carrying all this lot on my own. Shift yourself, sunshine."

Swiftnick nodded, still dithering, then resolutely stepping inside and scurrying over to grab up his own cloak and bags.

Dick shook his head and continued his own packing. He was half tempted to have a quick look round for valuables, but despite the lift of the oppressive atmosphere of before he still felt acutely uncomfortable about the house and was reluctant to go foraging without good reason.

A tremendous bang from the hall made both highwaymen jump and Swiftnick grabbed for his pistol. Dick snorted and strode over to the door, putting on a show of bravado to reassure them both. He peered warily around the door jamb, half expecting part of the hall roof to have given way.

The main hall door stood open, creaking on its hinges and letting in a blast of rain filled cold wind.

"Looks like we’ve out stayed our welcome," Dick observed, glancing back at Swiftnick. "No, leave that," he added as the youth reached for the journal.

"Won’t the Order want it?"

"If they do, they can fetch it themselves. Come on, let’s get the horses and get out of here...."

They had to battle the wind and rain to reach the stables and by the time they had forged their way inside and managed to shut the doors again behind them, they were both rain soaked and cold. The horses slept on, oblivious to their arrival as Dick decided that they would bed down in the straw for what remained of the night.

Settled on his back, Dick scowled in the semi-darkness lit by the dim glow of a horn lamp Swiftnick had found and insisted on lighting. He was too cold to be comfortable under his cloak and, he was willing to admit to himself if not to his partner, too unsettled by ghostly events to sleep. He had only a vague impression of what had happened while Rimini’s ghost possessed him, it was like a half remembered nightmare as events unfurled around him over which he had no control. What he did remember was the furious anger that had roused him from his apathy when the ghost used him to threaten Swiftnick It had been Swiftnick’s plea that broke whatever spell the ghost had cast over him, the youth’s need for him that gave him the strength to fight....

At least Swiftnick had seemed relieved when he made a display of removing the ring and wrapping it and the strange gold wedge up in Spellman’s manuscripts and ostentatiously placing it on the very far side of the stable from the pair of them.

"Dick?" Swiftnick queried uncertainly in the gloom, disturbing Dick’s vague attempt at dozing off.

"Mmmh?"

"You asleep yet?"

"Aye...." Dick snorted.

"Oh...."

Turpin smiled at the disappointment in Swiftnick’s soft voice. Obviously his apprentice wanted to talk. "Idiot," he said affectionately. "I was contemplating the straw. Proof that the Order set us up, wouldn't you say? No one puts down fresh straw without reason."

"Maybe the servants put it down for the Countess’ horses?" Swiftnick suggested, relief colouring his voice. "I can’t see her staying here without even a maid..."

Dick snorted and threw a handful of straw over the partition at him. "Then where are they?"

"Maybe the....ghosts frightened all the servants away?" Swiftnick said slowly.

Turpin frowned. "And the Order sent us here to sort out the ghosts for them? I do not appreciate being cannon fodder..."

"You think they knew about the ghosts?"

"I think they knew something was going on here. Spellman’s notes told us about Rimini."

"What if something happened to the Countess? We didn’t search the house, Dick. She could be lying in one of the rooms....hurt or something..."

"You and your imagination. Go to sleep."

"But, Dick...."

"Swiftnick, I am not going back inside that house for a whole coach load of gold. Go to sleep." Turpin folded his arms behind his head, glaring into the darkness. There were times when he felt like throttling Swiftnick for prodding at his conscience.

There was a rustle in the darkness and Dick stiffened warily, but it was Swiftnick who crept around the stall partition and knelt in the straw. Clutching his cloak defensively about him, he glared defiantly at his mentor.

"I’m cold," he said simply.

"Ah...." Dick considered this for a moment, then rolled onto his side and unfolded his own cloak from around his chilled body. "T’is a cold night," he agreed as Swiftnick flung his cloak over the top of Dick’s and gratefully scooted into Turpin’s straw nest, snuggling up against his side. "No wriggling and no snoring," Dick told him firmly as he settled back down again.

"I'm not the one who does all the snoring," Swiftnick argued indignantly as he found a comfortable spot.

Turpin snorted at that and ruffled his already tangled curls. "Go to sleep," he ordered gruffly as he lay back and closed his eyes, admitting that it felt good to have his apprentice’s companionship. Swiftnick might complain that it was the cold that sent him to Dick’s side, but Turpin knew him better by now. They’d both been scared and with good cause.

Swiftnick didn't argue and a few minutes later, Dick was aware from his even breathing and limp weight forming a line of warmth down his side that the youth was sound asleep.

I suppose that answers whether or not he still trusts me... Dick vaguely remembered musing before he too fell asleep....

The following morning they both woke up stiff and cold and hungry. Despite his decision of the night before, Turpin ventured back into the house, taking the back way in to the kitchens where he had left their food and no further. Breakfast was cold pie and cheese washed down with ale.

The wind finally had blown itself out, leaving a grey sky and an odd spattering of rain. Dick was leaning in the stable doorway, still feeling bone tired as he wearily surveyed the devastation caused by the winds. The oak they had seen fall lay in gaunt reminder of dangerous it would have been to be out in the wrath of the wind, its roots clawing up at the grey sky in protest of its cruel up rooting.

Swiftnick was saddling the horses and still muttering about Turpin’s decision that they were both going to take a bath as soon as they got to a decent inn.

"I can hear you, you know," Dick observed loudly, lazily chewing on a bit of straw.

"Hah!" was Swiftnick indignant response.

Dick smiled and absently reached to tie back his hair. He was really looking forward to a good hot bath; something about being possessed by something as evil as Rimini had left him feeling....unclean.

The clatter of an approaching coach made him stiffen in alarm and straighten up, moving behind the concealment of the stable door to watch as the vehicle was pulled at a brisk trot up to halt before the house.

Dick watched the coachman eye the door they had left open the night before with a frown before he climbed down to help his passengers descend. By then, Swiftnick had scooted up behind him to press a pistol into Dick’s hand.

"We’re invited guests, Swiftnick. Remember that," Turpin reminded him quietly even as he squeezed his shoulder in appreciation. "Well, would you look at that...."

The footmen were starting to unload the luggage rack while coachman was helping down the Countess herself and behind her came...

"Spellman," Dick breathed indignantly.

"Looks like you were right then. They did set us up...." Swiftnick murmured uneasily.

"Aye," Dick growled, fingering his pistol. Something in Swiftnick’s voice made him glance at him then grin. "Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to shoot him, tempting though it is." His grin widened. "Shall we see how they react? Stay put..."

Suiting actions to words, Dick stepped out into the open and marched vigorously towards the coach. "What ho, Countess!" he hailed the dark haired woman with a total lack of respect for her rank.

She turned to face him in a swish of emerald green skirts and an amused smile. "Why, Mr Turner, fancy meeting you here!" she exclaimed as Turpin bowed gracefully over her extended hand. She noted the pistol held against his thigh with a flicker of lovely dark eyes and clearly decided to ignore it.

"Indeed," Dick said dryly. Straightening up, he smiled icily at Spellman. "Mr Spellman, I hadn’t realised you knew the Countess so well...."

Spellman, impeccably dressed in black and silver, sniffed. "I believe there may have been a minor understanding, Mr Turner."

"Minor?" Dick echoed sarcastically.

The Countess DiCeasare placed an elegantly gloved hand on Turpin’s arm. "Why don’t you come inside and we will explain."

"I am not setting foot inside that place again," Dick said firmly.

"Again?" Spellman gave him a sharp look and then eyed the house worriedly. "If there have been any damages...."

"Apart from the odd roof and a suit of armour with a bullet hole, everything’s fine..." Turpin said coolly and smirked at the shocked outrage that appeared on Spellman’s face.

"If you...." he began.

"Don’t be silly, Joseph," the Countess interrupted. "You wanted to redecorate anyway. Besides, the armour was probably rusty and I doubt if Mr Turner was responsible for the roof...."

"No, that was the ghosts," Dick said deliberately and watched for their reactions. The eavesdropping footmen and coachmen looked nervous but neither Spellman nor the Countess so much as twitched.

"Ah..." said the Countess.

Spellman nodded. "I did warn you," he murmured. "I said they were likely to stir something up."

"You knew," Dick grated, suppressing a violent surge of temper. "We could have been bloody killed!"

The Countess patted his arm soothingly and sighed. "Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? Perhaps a sip of brandy...."

"No thank you. We were about to leave when you arrived."

"Without even saying hello?"

"We didn't know you were coming," Dick answered, giving Spellman a sour look.

Spellman glowered back. "The Countess was missing. After you delivered the ring to Jacob, I rode after you to find out what you were up to."

"And lied to me? All that tosh about wanting to find her...."

"I didn't trust you, Mr Turner. I still don’t."

"The feeling’s mutual," Dick retorted.

"Oh, do stop all this posturing!" the Countess exclaimed. "Mr Turner, the people you took the ring from discovered my presence and pursued me. It was somewhat difficult for me to lose them and I obviously missed our rendezvous. You moved considerably faster than I expected and by the time I reached Jacob, you had already come and gone..."

"With a substantial reward in your pocket," Spellman added sourly. "Plus the ring and my gold after our meeting...."

Dick shrugged. "You should have protected yourself better if you didn’t trust me," he retorted.

"True," the Countess murmured, clearly amused. "You really are not any good at these clandestine things, Joseph."

"I want my gold back."

"Tough," Dick retorted. "After what I went through, you can sing for it."

"The gold was to be payment anyway," the Countess put in smoothly as Spellman bristled. "Mr Turner, after you delivered the ring, I had planned to ask for your help here..." She gestured towards the house.

"With the ghosts? I don’t do ghosts, your highness."

The Countess looked down her nose at him. "In locating certain manuscripts and papers believed to be hidden here."

Dick considered for a moment and gave Spellman a thoughtful look. "That so?"

"Yes," Spellman grated irritably. "I didn't know you were staying here. If I had, I’d have warned you..."

"Gracious of you," Turpin said sardonically. "So how much is it worth?"

"What?" Spellman blinked at him.

Dick counted off the points on one hand. "One, getting rid of your ghosts. That’s done and dusted. Two, your ring. Three, those papers of yours, Spellman...."

"That’s Mr Spellman...."

"Which, if you’re interested, are charts concerning the right time to invoke the Octagon..."

"The Octagon?" the Countess echoed, her eyes widening in alarm.

"Aye..." Dick nodded, casually folding his arms to bring the pistol into clear view should anyone start to get twitchy.

"How do you know about that?" Spellman demanded. "It’s supposed to be a legend..."

"Which the Order is looking for? Your Order has a nasty habit of making reality out of legends," Dick said sourly.

"Joseph, gently," the Countess linked her arm through Spellman’s and gazed steadily at Turpin. "The ring is already paid for, you know."

"True," Dick gave her a little half bow and a wicked grin. "So I shall return it to you. I assumed Spellman here had robbed Jacob of it." Cheerfully, he continued, ignoring Spellman’s outraged splutter. "The gold I shall keep in payment for the ghosts. But the papers you want? And the Octagon? That’ll cost more..."

"You know where they are?" Spellman breathed.

"Oh, aye...." Dick was starting to enjoy himself.

"Get the gold, Joseph," the Countess ordered.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Unlike you, my dear, I do trust, Mr Turner," she answered quietly. Spellman snorted but he stomped back to the coach, muttering under his breath. The Countess dimpled at Turpin. "You are a very clever man," she murmured. "Did you really dispose of the ghosts? No one else has been able too and Joseph is very good at such exorcism."

"It wasn't exorcism Rimini needed," Dick said grimly. "He was evil. The others I suppose simply wanted out once he was gone."

"So, how did you do it?"

Turpin gazed at her for a long moment then smiled savagely. "By luck, my lady, sheer bloody luck."

"And faith?" Spellman commented as he returned with a heavy pouch.

Dick gave him a level look. "Aye," he agreed. "My apprentice’s faith in me." He held out his hand for the purse and after a disgruntled look at the Countess Spellman handed it over. Turpin opened it to take a quick check of the contents and grinned at the glint of gold. "Nice," he said smugly.

"Now, if you will be so good as to show us where the papers are?" the Countess murmured.

"My pleasure," Turpin answered politely. "Nick!"

There was a short pause, then Swiftnick emerged from the stables with the saddlebag. The Countess smiled at him while Spellman glared suspiciously as the youth handed the bag to Turpin. Dick tossed it to Spellman who grunted as he caught the unexpectedly heavy bag.

Crouching, he set it down and rummaged eagerly through the contents. The ring he handed up to the Countess then gasped as he unwrapped the gold wedge of the Octagon. He looked up at Dick in astonishment.

"Rimini had it hidden," Dick told him simply. "As far as I know he didn't have any others, but I wasn’t going to look. There’s a secret room behind the roof fall. Maybe he had other stuff hidden in there."

"Do you know what this is?" Spellman breathed as he straightened up with the wedge in one hand and a handful of paper in the other. One of them was the singed page with its oh so faint writing. It would take luck and careful inspection to read what it said if Spellman didn't know the trick to it.

Turpin shivered, not liking the look of awe on the man’s face. "I know what it called but not what it does," he lied, ignoring the look of surprise on Swiftnick’s face. He put a casual arm around the youth’s shoulders and squeezed, warning him to silence. For once his accomplice was smart enough to hold his tongue. "Get the horses, Nick," he added quietly and Swiftnick darted off obediently.

The Countess was looking at him oddly, glancing from him to Spellman and back again. "Is that everything?" she asked.

Dick shrugged. "Everything we found," he said easily.

Spellman shook his head, muttering and peering at the papers as he wandered towards the house.

"You want to watch him," Dick said without thinking. "You wouldn't want him to be the one to find the rest of that thing. It should be destroyed. And I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I was you either. I don’t think he’d object if you met with a sudden accident."

The Countess raised a slim eyebrow and inclined her head. "Indeed. The destruction of things like the Octagon is the very purpose of the Order," she murmured. "As for Joseph, I always do watch him most carefully. And I think, Mr Turner, that you too will bear watching..."

Turpin grinned at her emphasis and gave her a bow as Swiftnick returned, towing the horses at the trot. "Here, lad! Your share." Dick tossed him the bag of gold, making the Countess’ eyes widen in astonishment.

"How...generous of you..." she exclaimed as Swiftnick grinned hugely and scrambled aside Toby.

Dick winked at her impudently. "The lad’s worth his weight. Ain’t you, Nick?" he answered, slapping Swiftnick’s knee as he strolled round to Black Bess’ side and mounted up. "Your ladyship, perhaps we will meet again under more auspicious circumstances and share a candlelight supper...."

The Countess blushed faintly and gave a little dip, like a tulip to the breeze. Dick laughed and swung Black Bess about, riding off at a trot. Swiftnick fell in beside him.

"You didn't tell them about the Octagon?"

"No...."

"But you do remember-?"

"Aye."

"Then why-?"

"Because I think they already know and I didn't want to make it any easier for them." Dick glanced at his apprentice, recalling that he had been asleep when he discovered the secret message on the journal’s page. "The less they know the better." He commented, mentally including Swiftnick in that comment. Perhaps Swiftnick would be safer that way too.

"Oh...." Swiftnick rode in thoughtful silence as they trotted in under the trees. Dick glanced around them worriedly, a little nervous about riding through the woods after the wind damage. "So, what do we do now?"

"The nearest inn, a good hot meal and a bath...." Dick decided complacently. "I fancy a nice bit of roast goose and with that gold we can afford an entire flock...."

"If I give you my gold will you let me off the bath?" Swiftnick asked hopefully.

Dick laughed. "No!"

"How about if I toss in a couple of candlesticks? They’re silver...."

"Where’d you get them from?"

"Found ‘em in the pantry. They’re a bit tarnished, but I can clean ‘em up nice."

"I should have known. But no, you’re taking a bath and that’s final!"

Swiftnick sighed heavily, but he was smiling as he gazed across at his partner. "Am I really worth my weight in gold?"

Turpin snorted. "Aye, lad. You’re priceless!" he chuckled, glancing up as the sudden shimmer of sunlight poured through the leaves, glinting through the rain dewed leaves in a million sparkling rainbows. With the sunshine Dick felt his spirits lift as his soul soared and took wing with the rush of fresh air and freedom.

"Let’s ride!" he called to Swiftnick and nudged Black Bess into a gallop, eager to be out of the woods and suddenly away. As eager as her rider, the glossy mare sprang into a ground eating gallop and with a whoop of joy for their freedom, Swiftnick sent his bay horse into his springy long legged gallop after them.