Nick covered his mouthpiece. ‘It means they’ve got a network of zombie computers – machines they’ve infected with a virus – that they can get to all try to make connections to the FBI server at the same time.’ He thought for a second. ‘Imagine you’ve got a water fountain where people go and get a drink. As long as everyone takes his turn, no problem. Now imagine that a hysterical mob converges on it, all fighting to get a few drops of water at once. Eventually there are so many that they actually block up the pipe and no water can even get out. The pipe backs up, or breaks open, and the whole thing’s wrecked. That’s what they’re trying to do here.’
‘Will it work?’
‘It’s already pissed off the Feds,’ Randall’s voice said from the speakers. ‘Now they’re on to us as well.’
‘Do you think they can shut down the program?’
‘I doubt it. They need you to stay logged in.’
‘How come?’
‘So they can find out where you are.’
Two horses came around the bend in the road. Both riders wore chain-mail hauberks and carried lances. I could not see any insignia, though that would have meant little. Plenty of knights had lost their standards to the Armagnaken. I crouched lower in the undergrowth.
But the riders were only the vanguard. Behind them came a group on foot – men and women, walking together, laughing and talking. About two dozen of them. Many carried stout walking staffs and wore short capes, with pointed hoods raised against the autumn chill. It was a company of pilgrims, probably bound for the shrine of St Theobald near Strassburg.
With a breath of relief, I stepped out into the road. One of the riders saw us and spurred forward. I stood my ground and made the sign of the cross. He reined in just in front of me.
‘Who are you?’
‘Travellers on our way to Strassburg. Can we join your company?’
A fat priest with an officious face stepped out from among the pilgrims. ‘Can you pay?’
I paused, taken aback.
‘The road is dangerous.’ He pointed to the two riders. ‘We have hired these guards from our own pocket. If you wish to share their protection, you should contribute.’
Fear outweighed my sense of injustice. ‘I can contribute.’
He held out his hand. ‘Now.’
I reached inside my shirt and fumbled in the purse, trying by touch to find copper rather than gold. The pilgrim grabbed the coin that emerged, sniffed it, then pointed to Kaspar. ‘And one for him.’
‘When we arrive safely.’
The door banged open. Nick, who had been dozing, almost fell off his chair in surprise. Sabine stepped into the room with two more cans of Coke. On screen, Urthred and the Wanderer meandered in eccentric circles around the clearing, bathed in the silver light of an improbably bright moon.
‘Getting far?’
Nick rubbed his eyes. ‘I don’t know. What time is it?’
‘Four a.m.’
‘Damn.’ He snapped open the can, trying to remember something. Something he’d been thinking before he fell asleep. He was sure it had seemed urgent.
‘Once we’re done on the server, we’re going to have to get out of here pretty fast. You too. There are bad guys after us and you don’t want to be around when they show up.’
Sabine nodded. ‘I have a car here.’
‘Great.’
‘Nick?’ Randall’s voice barked out of the computer. ‘We’ve got a problem. They’ve figured out our weak link.’
Nick snatched up the headset and snagged it over his ear. ‘What do you mean, weak link?’
‘Gothic Lair. The way I set it up, this is the cut-out. They can’t penetrate the connection between DC and the game, or between the game and where you are. But there’s nothing to stop them coming inside.’
A rumble of hooves welled up through the speakers. In the clearing, the Wanderer looked around. Something was moving in the forest.
‘Oh, cute.’
A mounted knight galloped out of the forest on a monstrous horse. Moonlight glinted on the wicked spikes that bristled from his black armour, each bedecked with a ragged ribbon that fluttered in the rushing wind. Nick, who had seen that sort of thing before, suspected they were shreds of the flesh of vanquished enemies. A small armoury of morningstars, swords and axes hung from his belt, while his right arm held an obscenely long lance.
The Wanderer drew his sword. ‘The Death Knight’s not a novice character. They must have been here before.’
‘They probably bought it off some Korean kid on eBay.’ Urthred the Necromancer clenched his fist. A cloudy haze came out of his staff and spread into a dome of light that wrapped itself around him.
‘They won’t have a clue how to use it.’
The knight circled his horse round. Suddenly, it kicked up on its hind legs. A gout of fire erupted from its mouth and hosed the clearing with flame. The ground turned black; a shrub burst alight.
‘Maybe they bought the kid as well,’ said Nick.
‘Does it matter?’ Emily slid into the chair next to him. ‘What happens if you die in the game?’
‘You drop out; you can’t get back in for forty-eight hours.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘Our connection to the FBI mainframe’s being routed through the game. If we die in Gothic Lair, we’ll be logged off and the program will shut down.’
‘It’s worse than that.’ Randall was backing towards the tree, crab-walking slowly so that the magic shield came with him. ‘I didn’t have time to secure the connection at this end. If they get into it, they can trace you right back to where you are.’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Emily.
‘Don’t die. And don’t let them get in the hole by the tree.’
The knight lowered his lance and charged.
We halted at a crossroads in the forest. Night was coming: for the past hour the pilgrims had fallen silent, anxiously peering around every corner for any hope of lodging. The riders at the head of the column conferred with the fat priest. I heard fragments of an ill-tempered discussion. One remembered an inn another mile towards Strassburg; the other did not, but was certain that the side road led to a village where we could find shelter. The pilgrims grew restive. The sun dipped below the trees.
Eventually they decided we would make for the village. We turned down a rough track that led through the forest towards the river. Soon the warm smell of woodsmoke reached us, promising hearths and fires and roasting meat. We hastened on, desperate to outpace the darkness and the monsters it might bring.
‘Listen,’ said Kaspar.
‘What?’ I strained my ears. All I could hear was the babble of the river, and the wind shivering the trees. ‘I hear nothing.’
‘It’s sunset. Why are the cocks not crowing? Where are the barking dogs and the screaming children? The church bells?’
Shouts suddenly shattered the silence. The riders spurred their horses forward; the pilgrims rushed after them, desperate not to be left behind. Kaspar and I, bringing up the rear, followed. We rounded a corner and there was the village.
It was not large: a dozen houses and barns, set around a small church in a clearing. Beyond the church, on the riverbank, a stone mill stood over the water on pilings. The village was deserted. The creak of the wheel turning in the current was the only sound.
As my eyes adjusted to the hazy dusk I saw why. The village had been devastated. Splintered doors dangled on broken hinges. The ground outside the mill was white as snow where a sack of flour had been cut open and spilled. In several places it was stained with blood. The smoke we had smelled was not a kitchen fire or a baker’s oven; it was the ashes of houses.
The guards rode around the village, swords out, peering through smashed windows and open doors. Most of the pilgrims knotted together in the open ground outside the church, though a few dared to explore. One, a woman in a white dress, made for the church. Perhaps she wanted to pray; perhaps she thought we could shelter there, for – alone among the buildings – its roof was still intact.