CHAPTER EIGHT.

 

 

 

 

‘Nigel…no…’

Sydney dropped her knees by his side, the panic she usually controlled so well pummelling her senses. In the background, Preston and Claudia were saying something to her - shouting, pleading, instructing. She didn't hear them. At that moment, Nigel filled her whole world - but was he still in it?

He was slumped up against the wall in a half-sitting position; one arm was flopped across his middle, the other flung out at the side. He didn’t seem badly burnt anywhere, but his eyes were shut, and he didn't appear to be moving at all.

She felt her throat contract with horror but she knew she had to act now: she had to slam away her emotions - she had to be Sydney Fox again.

‘Breathing… is he breathing?'

Sydney murmured to herself like a mother prompting a child to carry out the simplest of chores. She leant in close - there was no warmth on her cheek, and her own heart lurched.

‘Nigel… I'm not going to let you leave me…’

She dragged him down flat on the floor so his chin was tipped back, placed her mouth over his and gave two, sharp puffs. Then, with dread, she checked the pulse on the side of his neck.

With a little cry of joy, she found a faint beat. He was okay - the voltage had not been great enough to stop his heart! She just had to get him breathing…urgently.

Resting her open lips on his again, she gave five, longer, harder blows, and then pulled away. Nothing. He seemed to have turned a shade paler, even since even he last time she looked at him; his skin and lips were almost greyish. Anxiety began to reclaim her and she became vaguely aware of Preston, now hovering at her shoulder.

'Keep trying,' he was saying. 'Please, Sydney… he can't…’

Despite her agony, she didn't need any prompting: ‘He sure as heck is not dying,' she growled. 'It's supposed to be our wedding day! Come on, Nigel…'

Sydney tried again. Five more breaths - five more spurts of hope, forged from the strongest passions of her soul.

Still nothing. She stared adamantly at her fiancé, and then up at his brother and her friend - two pairs of wide, scared blue eyes bored into her, imploring her to succeed.

‘Try it again, Syd,' stammered Claudia. Sydney nodded silently.

She'd given just one more puff, however, when Nigel’s body juddered into life with a convulsive spasm. His eyes snapped open as he drew a ragged, uneven breath, and began to cough violently. Claudia squealed; Preston shuddered with relief.

‘It’s okay,’ gasped Sydney, as much for her benefit as his. She waited until the coughing abated slightly, and eased him onto his side so his head rested on her lap, rubbing his back reassuringly. ‘That was a close one,' she hushed. ‘But, hey, I have to admit, it was kind of impressive.’

Nigel led out long, steady breath: ‘Did I get him?'

‘Yeah, you were great!' smiled Sydney, ‘it's a shame he tried to take you with him.'

Nigel looked up at her intently: ‘I felt it - just for a moment. He used the lightening to try to pull me down to hell with him…’

‘That must have been scary, honeybun,' butted in Claudia patting his arm sympathetically. ‘But you like totally imploded him! If there'd been more gross stuff - flying blood and intestines and all - it would have been just like a really cool horror movie…uh, I don't mean I wanted your guts flying about, of course, just the evil guy’s…’

‘Quite, quite,' nodded Preston, earnestly. ‘It really wasn't a bad move. Well done.’

Nigel feigned a cheeky, shocked expression for Sydney's benefit, and then grinned amusedly at his brother. ‘That's twice in one day you’ve complimented me, Preston. Are you feeling alright?’

‘Hey, that's mean,' jutted in Claudia, before even Preston could complain. ‘Preston was a hero, too – he completely wasted those tin-can guys!’

‘Yes - I did contribute in my small way,’ retorted Preston, without an ounce of modesty. ‘But if you want to be like that about it…’

‘Hey, guys, give him a break.' Sydney shook her head, incredulous at the swift revival of hostilities. ‘Two minutes ago he wasn't breathing, remember?’

Preston grimaced, slightly guiltily - he was trying, really he was. 'I remember…well, I suppose compliments are also due to Podge…uh, I mean Nigel, for proving that fine piece actually was Morholt’s sword.’

‘Of course, the sword!' Nigel sat up, then groaned at the sudden, buzzing thud in his head and the stabbing brightness of the low-burning lights. He flopped back down into Sydney's lap, his hand over his eyes.

‘Take it easy,’ she soothed. 'The sword’s right here - Preston, can you pick it up? Be careful, just in case its still charged with electricity.'

Very tentatively, Preston laid a finger on the hilt of the sword. There wasn't as much as a spark, so he picked it up confidently. ‘What a find,' he commented. 'And, before you accuse me of anything, I wouldn't dream of taking it back with me to the British Museum!’

'Glad to hear it,' mumbled Nigel, slowly withdrawing his hand from his face so he could have a better view. 'Syd – look! The missing chunk - it's fallen out again!’

‘So it has!' She ruffled his hair excitedly. 'So now it's just as it was after Tristan originally killed the Irish prince - let's hope he stays dead this time! I wonder if the sword being repaired had anything to do with his coming back?’

Claudia cocked her head to one side, curious: ‘It could have. That sounds like just the sort of thing I read about in Occult Weekly - I'll have to check out the back issues.'

'Maybe you could write a piece for them,' laughed Sydney. 'Claudia - the world's leading expert on poltergeists and all things that go bump in the night!’

‘Ew – no way! If I ever write for a magazine, it will have to be Vogue. Occult is just a hobby - fashion is my life!'

'A very good sentiment,' agreed Preston. 'Well, if Nigel is alright, then, hadn't we better all go to bed?’

‘Mmmmm….bed!’ drawled Claudia. 'Now that's an idea I like…’

Even Preston blanched this time - what had he taken on? - whereas Nigel was sure the notion would give him a turn for the worse. Sydney, however, had other ideas: 'No way. We've come this far and we’re going to find this darned relic!’ She lightly patted Nigel’s cheek. 'You up for it?’

‘Uh, I'm not sure,' murmured Nigel, squeezing the bridge of his nose. ‘To be honest, I could do with a bit more of a lie down, first.'

‘Well, we are in a bedchamber…’

Sydney slipped an arm around his waist and helped him up so he could lie down on the mattress of the chunky, wooden four-poster bed.

‘Comfy?’ she asked, perching on the bed beside him.

‘Not bad,’ replied Nigel. ‘The mattress is a really lumpy and itchy. I guess it must be straw under the fabric.'

‘Yeah, this bed is old,' observed Sydney. 'It could even have been Queen Tara’s, built with the castle in the 12th century…’

Nigel knew exactly what was meant by that spark in her eyes: 'Queen Tara's bower?'

‘It could be. It's worth taking a closer look at it.'

Sydney began to run her fingers over crude carvings of mediaeval-looking people and animals on the light-chestnut bedpost, probing it closely with touch and vision. They mainly resembled hooded peasants, with their cattle and donkeys, and women carrying baskets full of apples, but in the middle of the bed-head were a couple of beautiful lovebirds, protruding from the surrounding carving so that they were almost three-dimensional. Reaching up with one hand, she gently pressed and twisted the striking lovebirds but nothing happened. There was no sign of any inscription or compartment anywhere, either.

‘Can I be of any assistance?’ asked Preston.

'I'm sure you can,' butted in Claudia proudly. 'You are the world's foremost expert in mediaeval relics '

Nigel scowled at his brother who looked mildly embarrassed.

'There's nothing obvious here, so one of you could hold the torch while I look under the bed?’ suggested Sydney.

'Under the bed? In this dress?’ snapped Claudia. 'No way! I'm not Nigel, you know, I have my standards!'

'What's that supposed to mean?' demanded Nigel.

‘No offence, but my clothes cost a lot more than yours do! And I'm guessing you do a lot of crawling on the floor for Sydney, so you’re used to it.’

Nigel wasn't quite sure what to make of this comment, but fortunately Sydney came to the rescue: 'Nigel is in no condition to be clambering under the bed for anyone, so maybe the expert could do it?’ She smiled sarcastically at Preston, who returned the gesture.

‘It would be a pleasure,’ he muttered and, taking the torch, he clambered down onto his hands and knees.

Nigel suppressed a laugh at the sight of his brother crawling on the floor. ‘Of course,’ he said in a superior tone, ‘it wouldn't be necessary to tell such an expert that Queen Tara often employed the famous Irish trap-builder, Ignatius O'Neal, or to remind him of the simple techniques one should adopt when negotiating his handiwork in order to prevent oneself being decapitated.'

Preston, who was just sticking his nose under the bedstead with the torch, shot out again in a flash. 'What?!?’

‘Ah, not such an expert after all,' mocked Nigel, as Sydney slapped his hand.

'Don't be cruel,' she laughed. ‘O'Neal did build some lethal traps, but usually he was a master of beautifully constructed locks and safes, which could only be accessed by the most subtle, intricate means. Just keep your eyes open for anything unusual.’

……………………………………………….

Rolling on her back, and with the help of Preston’s light, Sydney could make out an exquisite carving under the bottom of the bedstead, about the size of the lid of a large jewellery box. It depicted two lovers, embroiled in each other's arms, sitting on a bower of leaves in a beautiful woodland setting.

‘Tristan and Iseult,’ she breathed, as she delicately pried her fingernails around the edge of the carving. ‘It looks like the cover of a hidden compartment, but there’s no way to get it open. I wonder - maybe we should look under the mattress on the top-side of the bed-frame?’

With Nigel invigorated into new life by the news of the discovery, it didn't take much time for to pull off the scratchy, straw mattress and reveal what lay beneath: another copy of the carving, but this time with pronounced grooves around the representation of the intertwined couple, as if it was a button to be pressed.

‘Surely that releases something?' observed Nigel.

Sydney shot him a sceptical glance. 'Seems a bit easy to me.’ She pressed it hard, then lightly, but to no avail.

'I guess nothing is ever easy,' groaned Nigel. 'What now?'

Sydney was intrigued but not perturbed. ‘Ignatius O'Neal was a master of his art. To get the trap open, you probably need to need to place exactly the right sort of pressure on the release button. I think we need to put the mattress back on.’

‘Surely the mattress couldn't release it,’ interjected Preston. 'It was there before. The hidden compartment would have been hanging wide open…’

‘Exactly,' said Sydney. ‘It needs somebody to be on top of the mattress – doing, uh, just the right thing.'

‘This gets better and better!’ squealed Claudia, as Sydney hauled the mattress back on. 'Can Preston and I try it, go on…pleeease!’

Nigel looked horrified. ‘I hope you're not going to say yes to that - or make me watch!’ Claudia was already on the bed, bouncing up and down, with her slender, bare legs stretched out in front of her, while Preston leered at her peevishly.

‘Uh, no,’ cringed Sydney. 'Move it Claudia - I think Nigel and I had better do this, in case of any, err, danger.’

‘No fair,' pouted Claudia, but sprang off the mattress nevertheless.

While Nigel was still smirking at his disappointed-looking brother, Sydney seized him by the shoulders and pushed him back down onto the bed. She landed on top, leaning above him at arm's length, her lips parted in a breathless smile.

‘Err, what do we do now?' asked Nigel. He lowered voice to an undertone that only she could hear: 'I mean, I couldn't possibly - not with them looking! And then, uh, if we're going to be conventional about these things, shouldn't I go on top for a change?'

‘I'm not sure we’ll have to go all the way,' husked Sydney seductively. 'But… its going to be fun finding out… Preston!’ Her loose hair swished sideways as she glanced back over her shoulder.

‘Eh…oh, yes?’ Preston, who had been lasciviously sneaking an arm around Claudia’s shoulders, withdrew it quickly and assumed a studied, attentive expression.

‘Could you climb back under the bed please and tell me when the compartment opens?' Preston’s mouth hovered half open, and his upper lip curled slightly: she could see just how much he hated the idea - but would he dare argue with her?

‘Yes, of course,’ he mumbled. ‘Twice in one day is a bit much, but I can't have my Claudia crawling in the dust.’

‘Now that is a gentleman,’ cooed the blonde as Preston clambered back down onto the floor and began wriggling under the bed again.

Nigel bit his bottom lip, smothering an explosive laugh at the thought of his brother being put through the same degradation he’d had to experience earlier. 'Good call,’ he sniggered to Syd. ‘Right - where do we begin?'

‘Well,' she said slowly, lowering her glistening lips towards those of the object of her affection. ‘Sex is great - but it doesn't always equate with love. I'm guessing Tara would have wanted anybody who found the relic to have captured some of her ancestor’s true tenderness and devotion…’

‘The kiss of true love?' interrupted Claudia. ‘Damn – its so unfair! Why couldn't I try it…’

‘Later, Claudia,’ hissed Sydney. ‘You're kind of spoiling the atmosphere… now where was I.’

‘Right here…' Nigel soft words melted away the edges of her ever-sharp consciousness, as his hand gently cupped the back of her neck, pulling her into a slow, intimate kiss. She collapsed helplessly on top of him, overwhelmed by the sensation of his sweet tongue moving against her own, and clasped him to her as if she would cease to exist without him. She didn't even hear the sagging mattress beneath them creaking loudly, followed by a tiny ‘pop’…

It was an annoying awakening when Preston yelled 'Eureka!' from under the bed - Sydney did not reluctantly pull herself away until several seconds later. Even then, Nigel’s eager lips followed her own, his eyes hanging seductively half-open.

'Hadn't we better make sure,' he whispered.

Sydney laughed. 'I think you've done enough already, Nige!’

‘Aw - the kiss of true love! You totally did it!' squeaked Claudia, as Preston emerged from under the bed, a small, bowl-shaped crystal decanter with a long, thin neck gripped in his hand. Slopping in the bottom was a thick, red liquid.

‘The love potion of Tristan and Iseult!’ cried Claudia. 'Preston! You did it!’

‘Well, I certainly seem to have got my hands on something interesting,' he said proudly. 'Although I'm sure that Sydney and Nigel did their bit.’

‘Oh, nothing compared to your achievements,' said Nigel with obvious, but humourous sarcasm. He hugged Sydney to him excitedly. It is amazing, but how are we going to find out if it works or not?'

The joyful atmosphere was shattered as a bone-crunching moan wrenched at their ears and Claudia shrieked. ‘Oh God,' she quaked. 'The evil undead guy is back…’

‘No,’ said Sydney, swooping the decanter from Preston and handing it to Nigel for safekeeping. ‘I'm sure that noise is human - and it's coming from the chest!'

……………………………………

Opening the chest, which was a thick, dark mahogany, didn't come easily, although there were plenty of spare axes around to help Sydney hack through the its lock. All the while, the moaning and muttering from within did not cease. By the time she was nearly through they had evolved into a distinct, French accented cries of 'Sydney!'

‘I thought I knew those moans,' admitted Sydney. ‘Its François'.

Nigel, who had also now realised who was behind the horrendous noise, didn't look too thrilled at the prospect of seeing Syd’s ex-lover and sat back down on the bed, staring wanly at the new, unfolding events. Preston, however, looked even more unhappy when Claudia finally worked it all out and raised a perplexed hand to her cheek, announcing: 'Oh God! It's the cute French guy, and he’s in the chest. In a dark place! What if I've got it all wrong… maybe he's supposed to be my destiny!'

‘No, please don't say that. It's me! I'll prove it…I'll do anything!' pleaded Preston, as Sydney finally hacked into the chest.

Inside, indeed, was François. For somebody who had been howling as if he was in the throes of death, he looked very well composed, if a little sleepy. Nevertheless, he had not lost his 'touch’.

'Sydney,' he cried, seizing her. 'You came for me! This is the second time you have saved my life. We are bound - bound to be together!’ She snatched both her hands away as he attempted to kiss them, and his eyes wandered to Claudia: 'Oh, you have not introduced me to your beautiful friend…’

‘François - this is Claudia,' she replied hastily. 'Now do you mind telling me how you came to be here and then GIVING ME MY WEDDING RINGS BACK!’ She seized him by the collar as she yelled the final words.

'But I do not have them! The evil bad guy - he took them when he shut me in for sniffing too near his treasure. I called and called but nobody came, and then I fell asleep. You know what a heavy sleeper I am…’

‘I'm trying to forget,' snapped Sydney, tightening her grip. ‘And I think you’re lying about something – THE RINGS?’

‘But you don't want to marry him,’ he sneered, motioning with his head to Nigel. ‘He will never make you happy! If you are the queen of the castle, he is no more than the stable-boy and, his brother - he is, the court jester!'

‘You're wrong,' said Sydney placidly, releasing her hold on him. 'Nigel is more of a prince than anyone with blueblood, and braver than a knight in shining armour. You can’t compete, François. And that's final!’

With a dramatic moan, François stuck his hand in the pocket of his leather jacket and bought out the little pouch with the rings in it: ‘You are making a mistake, Sydney. One day you will know that I only stole these because I loved you…’ He broke off, and turned with a flourish. 'Claudia! Ma chérie! You have eyes like sapphires and lips that just demand to be kissed! You and I must get to know each other well. Very well…’

Claudia scrunched her nose: ‘Uh, I’ve kind of got a thing going with somebody else right now…’ She didn't sound very committed.

‘Then you must end it!' cried François, brandishing a finger in the air decisively. Then he caught sight of the decanter in Nigel’s hand. ‘That looks very old, Sydney, what is it?'

'It's the love potion of Tristan and Iseult,’ blurted out Claudia, before anybody could slap a hand over her mouth. ‘We need to find out if it works or not…'

‘Thank you, Claudia,' smiled Sydney sardonically. ‘Fortunately, I don't think this will interest my friend Francois. It isn't valuable enough, I believe, to bring on his itchy feet syndrome…’

‘You underestimate my knowledge, Sydney,’ protested François. ‘Relics of true lovers always find their market – although that is irrelevant. Finding out if the potion works interests me – and that is easy! Since you've refused to admit your love for me, Sydney, I will drink it with this beautiful, blonde princess! It will enhance the current of true amour that I feel flowing between us…’

‘You'll do nothing of the kind!' interrupted Preston boldly. He gently seized Claudia's arms, swivelling her towards him, looking pleadingly into her eyes: 'I don't need a potion to be sure that I love you, Claudia! Please, don't drink it, but if you take it with anyone, please pick me.’

‘Oooooh,’ whined Claudia, confused beyond any comprehension. ‘I don’t know… I don't know anything anymore. Sydney - what should I do? I’m so tired of waiting for the right guy.'

‘I’m sorry, but I can't make up your mind for you,' began Sydney. 'Although I wouldn't recommend that you drink that thing…Claudia?…no!’

Sydney snatched for her friends arm, but it was already too late. She had grabbed it from Nigel, popped off the delicate, crystal stopper and tipped half the contents of the flask into her mouth.

‘Eeeeeeew! That was so gross!!!’ Claudia smacked her mouth with the back of her hand and plonked her petite bottom down on the bed. 'I think I'm going to puke!’

‘My poor, silly darling!’ cried Preston, throwing his arms around her. ‘This is terrible - something 1300 years old can't be good for the digestion!’ Claudia began whimpering into his shoulder.

‘I don't think anybody else here should drink that…' began Sydney, reaching to take the file from Claudia before more damage was done. However, she was bested by a remarkably swift move from François.

He seized the glass container and was about to down the rest of its contents when Preston, suddenly relinquishing his love, launched himself at François and sent him flying with a rugby tackle around the legs. The Frenchman tumbled to the ground, narrowly avoiding the pile of fallen weaponry, but held the vile firm: it toppled a little but did not spill.

‘Give me that, you scoundrel!’ bellowed Preston, clambering over his nemesis to reach for the sacred potion and wishing he could reach a sword. François, however, merely swore in French, and elbowed Preston between the legs. François then downed the rest of the liquid a split-second before Sydney, who had also launched herself into the fray and taken a firm grip of his hair, snatched the empty vile from his hand.

‘That was low, François,' growled Sydney. ‘Claudia - it doesn't work! This is going to prove it doesn't work!'

François merely grinned at the confused blonde: 'Oh, but it does! You can feel it, can't you my love…’

‘No, she can't!’ protested Preston, his voice rather strained as he attempted to straighten himself. ‘You can't…can you, Claudia?’

‘Oh God, this is all making my head hurt,' moaned Nigel, flopping flat down on the bed beside Claudia. ‘Wedding or not, can’t we just sort this all out in the morning…huh?’

Nigel lifted his head at the sound of voices and heavy footsteps on the stairs. As Sydney grabbed a sword - just in case - two familiar figures entering the room.

‘Okay, François, your number's up!'

As Claudia squealed for the umpteenth time that evening, Derek Lloyd pointed his gun at the Frenchman, who pointed to his chest and the bewildered manner: ‘Moi?’

‘Yeah – ‘moi’!’ grinned Derek, looking particularly satisfied with himself. Behind him, hovered Karen, who was also rather pleased with her evening’s work, despite being rather shocked by the state of the bedchamber.

‘Err, Karen – what’s going on?’ asked Sydney.

‘Uh - I could ask you the same thing! But, basically, Derek thinks your dodgy ex-boyfriend here can give them some information about a really nasty international crime-gang he's after- it seems François has been handling stolen relics from the worst sort of people, lately. And then, when I told him about the stolen rings, we decided to join forces to find him… but it seems you still beat us to it!’

Derek already had the cuffs on François, who was protesting loudly. 'Did you get your rings back?' he asked.

'Oh yeah,’ she replied. 'And I think it would be best for all of us if you get this lowlife out of here.’

‘With pleasure,’ snarled Derek, and winked at Karen who blushed a pretty shade of pink. 'I'll be back ASAP. Can't promise I'll make it the ceremony, but I'll be here for the party…’

‘Oh, it's like that, is it…' began Sydney jokily - but stopped short when she realised that Claudia had burst into floods of tears. Preston was at her side, comforting her, but it didn't seem to make much difference.

'Now how am I supposed to know who my destiny is?’ she wailed. ‘And what it if the love-potion works. What if I find myself totally in love with a guy in jail?’

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ said Derek, sympathetic but businesslike. ‘This man is going down - although, if he talks, it will only be a few months.'

Claudia just sobbed all the louder. Preston, sensing her shrink from his touch, felt a destitute, sadness engulf him. He knew it had been too good to be true.

………………………………………

Even Sydney yawned widely as they finally arrived back at their bedroom door. Nigel, who had been feeling shaky since the lightning ‘incident’, dropped his head on her shoulder, his eyes falling shut, even as she pulled the keys from her pocket.

'God, I'm tired,' he sighed. ‘ I think I could sleep for a week.'

‘No chance of that,' smiled Sydney. 'You've got to get up and marry me in, oh, about seven hours!’

Nigel managed not to groan. 'Lovely,' he murmured. ‘And at least we got the rings back and found the sword and the relic - even if Claudia and François did drink most of it.’

‘Yeah, that was unfortunate,' said Sydney, flinging the door open and guiding Nigel over to the bed. ‘I hope Claudia is going to be alright. And Preston.'

‘Oh, he'll get over it,' mumbled Nigel into his pillow. ‘And Karen went up for a girlie chat with Claudia, right? She'll cheer her up. Surely another one of your unnecessarily burly ‘exes’ will catch her eye tomorrow, and she’ll forget all about it.'

‘I don't know,' said Sydney thoughtfully, stretching out full length behind Nigel. Her arms slipped under his and she began stroking on his chest. ‘ I just hope that Brangrain was right and the potion doesn't work. Otherwise, Claudia is going to be pretty screwed up - and I kind of hoped it would work out between her and Preston.'

Nigel's eyes flew wide with horror: ‘I can't believe you just said that! It was horrific!’

‘No it wasn’t,’ said Sydney firmly. 'It was just a bit…sudden. If they do decide to try again, you'll get used to it. But I think Claudia needs to learn that real love isn't about magic potions or even sudden lightning-strikes of fate…uh, sorry.’ She felt Nigel tense at the remembrance of his bad experience, but continued. ‘Love is about getting to know each other, muddling through, putting up with each other's funny ways…’

‘What do you mean? I don't have any funny ways,' grumbled Nigel, shifting a little to face her, although his eyes were drawn to something beyond. Sydney giggled and was about to reel off a list of his most ‘endearing’ traits when he cried: ‘Oh my god, Syd! Look at that - the painting!'

‘Wow!’ even Sydney was close to speechless. The picture, which had once portrayed the evil Morholt with his vicious axe, was completely transformed. The Irish prince had vanished and, in his place, was a romantic scene of two lovers together on the deck of a wooden sailing-ship. The azure-blue sea and the rugged cliffs of Ireland – complete with a turreted castle eerily similar to that in which Syd and Nigel now resided - set a dramatic backdrop to the youthful beauty of the dark-haired Tristan, clad in a shining silver suit of armour. His fragile love, Iseult, faced him; dressed in a flowing scarlet gown, her delicate, white-lace veil billowed in the harsh, ocean breeze. They clasped between them a golden goblet and, behind them, rested a small decanter - identical to the one Sydney and Nigel had found earlier - filled with a bright, scarlet liquid. They were poised to drink from the cup: to drink the potion.

'Even if it did work, they didn't need it,' said Sydney wistfully. 'They were already in love - even the artist captures that somehow, centuries afterwards. Look at their eyes.’

‘I think you’re right,’ yawned Nigel happily. 'And I'm going to sleep all the better now I know that beast is not staring at me!’ He shivered, even as Sydney snuggled close to him, her cheek pressed against his. ‘When he tried to pull me with him, there was no time to fight, I just thought of one thing – you. There wasn't time to be scared of death, just of leaving you… then everything went black.’

‘You won the battle,' assured Sydney. ‘And it's going to take more than an un-dead, evil prince who has harboured the power of lightning to come between us, that's for sure. But I guess we’d both better get some sleep… ‘

‘I think we'd better,' agreed Nigel, as he tried to push away the bad memories. ‘I've got a nasty feeling that, in its own way, tomorrow might be even more trying than today…’

 

Continue to chapter 9