Page 46 of Under Gorse and Stone

“Are we allowed here after dark?”

“Certainly not. English Heritage would have a conniption,” he says gravely. He winks at me. “But what they do not know cannot hurt them.”

I laugh. “But aren’t there cameras?”

He waves a lazy, dismissive hand. “No need to worry about that.” I give a sudden shiver, and he exclaims, “You are cold. Wait here, and I will get you a thicker coat.”

“Where from?” I ask, but I’m speaking to thin air, as he’s disappeared.

The wind gusts, and I shiver again, wrapping my arms around myself. It’s very quiet up here with only the forlorn cry of the wind and the rhythmic shush of the sea. The moon is full and clear, and the ruins are bathed in a bright light.

There’s a rustle and the sound of a stone falling. I spin around, “You startled me,” I start to say, but Sigurd isn’t there. Nobody is. Nevertheless, I sense someone listening intently. The back of my neck prickles, and I rub it. Someone is watching me. I know it with a deep certainty.

“Come out. I know you’re there,” I say sternly.

I nearly come out of my skin when there’s a wicked little chuckle. It comes from behind me, and I spin around before taking two hurried steps back.

A creature stands on the path. It’s thin and spindly and seems made of shadows. They conceal its features apart from two bright, cold eyes.

“A human?” it says, its words muffled slightly. “What would a human want with Tintagel after dark? 'Tis nothing but dark stone and even darker memories.”

I clear my throat. “I’m waiting for somebody.”

It gives that wicked little chuckle again. “Who?” It makes a tsking noise. “Little human is a liar. There is no one here. Just you.” The silence stretches. “And me.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” I say firmly. I run my hand through my hair, and the moon gleams on Sigurd’s watch.

The creature’s gaze sharpens, and it gives a little hiss. “Gold.”

I look at the watch and pull down my sleeve. “I suppose so.”

It nods as if to itself. “And gold must be given as a way back.”

“A way back where?”

It smiles and I see with horror why its voice was muffled. It tips its head back and its mouth grows wider and wider, showing three rows of jagged teeth. It’s like looking into a shark’s mouth.

“Go away,” I say, heartbeat racing. While it’s been talking, it’s been drifting closer to me, its shadows concealing the sly movement. I try to step back but come up against the wall of one of the ruins.

“Give me the gold and you shall pass,” the creature says. It reaches out its hand, and the nails are black, the fingers stained unpleasantly in the moonlight. I can smell blood and a sharp metal tang.

“I amnevergiving you this watch,” I say fiercely. There’s no way it’s getting Sigurd’s beautiful watch.

“What goes on here?” The roar is loud, and the creature hisses and starts to spin.

My mouth drops open as I watch the shadows whirl away down the path until they reform, and the creature appears again. “Dragon?”

I sag with relief. Sigurd reaches me in two loping strides and positions himself in front of me. “Away with you, foul sprite.”

“He is yours?”

Sigurd nods. “Mine and no other’s. And you thought toharmhim?”

The creature hesitates. “How was I to know?”

“Maybe don’t accost any old stranger,” I mutter.

Sigurd draws me close to him, staring at the creature. “Back to your lonely stone,” he orders. “Back to your ancient gold and the rites of the dead. Come here no longer.”