Charley and Doogie arrived in time to see the last grains of sand spin to a slow halt. The final traces of magick faded away too. Charley raised her eyebrow. “What a curious phenomenon.”
“Did ye see it?” gasped Doogie. “Did ye see the beastie?” He still held his knife, his dirk, but his hand was visibly shaking. “I think we must have scared it off.”
“I doubt that,” said Billy.
“But how did it get away from us? It must have been at least six foot tall,” said Charley. “It can’t have just disappeared.”
“Stranger things have happened,” said Billy.
“Yes,” said Charley, “especially to us.”
The coach that Sir Gordon had sent to take them to the hotel looked fit for a king. The body was painted dark green, with Sir Gordon’s family crest on the door. The wheels were red. Billy didn’t see any of that though, he only saw the four creatures that were pulling it. They looked like horses, only smaller. Small horses with black and white stripes.
“What the…?” Billy began.
“Zebras,” said Charley. “Natives of the African grasslands.”
“They must feel right at home here then,” said Billy, hugging himself against the chill.
Doogie stroked one of the zebras on the muzzle. “His Lordship has his special ways,” he said. “Ye get used to it. Sort of.”
They made the journey to the hotel in silence. Despite its luxurious appearance, the carriage was uncomfortable. The leather seats were hard and it was bitterly cold even with blankets to cover their legs. Somewhere a piper was playing and the sound floated through the night air. The tune was haunting and strangely beautiful at the same time; somehow it fitted their mood precisely.
“Here we are,” said Doogie eventually, as the zebras whinnied and the carriage juddered to a halt. Billy and Charley looked out of the window to see a tall foreboding building. The moon had helpfully positioned itself behind the turreted roof to make sure that it looked truly sinister. A pair of stone gargoyles stood guard on the gateposts, rain dripping from their gaping mouths and savage claws. Everything about it said Run away, rather than Come on in and put your feet up.
“I love what they’ve done with the place,” said Charley. “Creepy and unwelcoming. I’m amazed more hotels don’t go for that.”
Billy shuddered and turned up the collar on his coat before stepping out. “Best make the most of it, eh?”
Doing their best to ignore the rain, Billy and the driver helped Charley down from the carriage between them, while Doogie untied the wheelchair from the luggage rack on the back so that it was waiting for her on the pavement. Charley quickly got comfortable while Billy was busy removing the rest of their luggage from the roof. Wellington wisely stayed inside.
When they were ready, the driver clicked his tongue to the shivering zebras and flicked the reins. Doogie waved goodbye from the window. “We’ll be back to collect ye in the morning.”
Billy and Charley approached the front door and knocked. After what felt like an age they heard jangling keys and footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. Without much of a welcome they were beckoned inside by a tiny old woman, whose eyes, skin, hair and dressing gown all seemed to be the same washed-out grey. They followed her down a dingy corridor until she brought them to a halt outside two neighbouring doors. “Here are your keys. Two singles, both on the ground floor as requested. I can see why now,” she said with a pointed look at Charley. “Such a shame for a pretty lass too.”
“It would be so much better if I was ugly, wouldn’t it?” said Charley.
The landlady bristled. “I’m sure you’ll have had your tea,” she said shortly. “So if that’s all, I’ll bid you goodnight and retire to my own bed.”
It wasn’t all, as far as Billy’s stomach was concerned. He wanted a baked potato, or some soup, or some bread and cheese at least. Charley wanted a nice cup of tea, Early Grey preferably, or Assam at a push. But as soon as their doors were unlocked, the old lady was up the stairs and away.
“Come into my room for a while,” said Charley. “I’ve got a couple of sandwiches left, I’m sure.”
Billy was soon wolfing down the remains of Charley’s packed lunch. “What are you having?”
“Brain food, dear Billy,” she replied, unpacking her microscope and setting it up on the dressing table. She slipped off her watch pendant, placing it carefully to one side, then she rolled up her sleeves ready to work. “Do you have the sand samples we collected?”
“One from the train carriage and one from the station.” Billy fished two envelopes out of his pocket. “But I still don’t know what you can find out from this.”
“Watch and learn,” said Charley, sprinkling a few of the grains onto a slide and examining them through the magnifying lens.
“Aaaah,” said Charley after a few moments. “Mmmm.”
“Let me in then, Duchess,” said Billy. “Sounds like you’re having too much fun without me.”
“Well…” began Charley, and Billy settled back in an armchair. She was using her “lecture” voice – they could be here a while. “You know how the sand is different on different beaches, sometimes white, other times gold or grey or even black—”
“Do the banks of the Thames count as a beach?”
“Much sand down there?” asked Charley.
“Nahhh,” said Billy. “Just loads of…” He paused, searching for the right word, found it, then decided that he couldn’t say it in front of a lady. “Loads of mud,” he said eventually. “Stinking piles of it.”
“I get the picture,” said Charley. “So you’ve never been to an actual beach?”
Billy shrugged. “Seaside holidays aren’t big in the Flint family. Breaking and entering however…barrel of laughs.”
Charley pulled a face. The criminal behaviour of the rest of Billy’s enormous family was a subject they normally kept clear of. “Anyway,” she said, “believe me when I tell you that sand comes in a variety of colours depending on the minerals, rocks and other materials which make it up.”
“Different colours, different rocks,” said Billy. “So?”
“So there are thousands of different types of sand. Biogenic sand contains the skeletal remains of coral, barnacles and gastropod molluscs. There is blue sand in Namibia, star garnet sand in Idaho. No two deserts, no two beaches, no two riverbeds have exactly the same combination. Every grain of sand tells a story…”
“So what is this sand telling us?”
Charley smiled. Billy smiled too; she had good news.
“This sand, Billy, has come a very long way…from the Sahara Desert, in fact.”
“Where the mummies are,” said Billy.
“Exactly.” Charley was triumphant.
“How do you know all this anyway?”
She reached over and patted his cheek. “They hide information in books.”
Billy was still trying to think of a witty comeback – something along the lines of “Blow it out your backside” – when a shrill yell pierced the night.
“Help me!”
It was a woman’s voice, screaming, and it was followed by the unmistakable sound of slapping feet running full pelt over the cobbles outside. Whoever she was, she was running for her life.
“Save yourselves… It’s a monster!”
“That sounds like our cue!” said Billy. The pair of them were at the window in a flash, throwing back the curtain and peering into the rainswept gloom. The terrified woman was nowhere in sight but a solitary figure stood in the middle of the street, illuminated by the flickering gas lamps. A figure wrapped from head to foot in filthy bandages, arms outstretched.