“Is the sword still in the same place?” asked Merlin.
“I’m checking,” said Vivien, who had to reach back to grab the atlas and the scabbard. “Keep heading west.”
Susan emerged panting and spluttering, crouched on the stony rim of the well, and looked desperately for her weapon. But she’d turned around completely in the water, and swum to the wrong side. The sword was well out of reach, and the Fenris was up, already looking healthier. Her eyes were bright again, the froth gone from her gums.
The giant she-wolf stalked without any noticeable limp towards Susan, and opened her jaws.
“No,” said Morcenna, standing in the wolf’s way. She looked very small in front of it, watery and insubstantial.
The Fenris growled, but it was a halfhearted growl, almost a drawn-out yelp.
“No. I will not allow any scathe to come to those at my well. You know this, and you have been healed. Now you must go.”
The wolf bowed her head and sprang into the air, becoming a vaguely wolf-shaped flight of dozens of somewhat insubstantial ravens that flew as one into the sky above, already bright with the new day. As the ravens circled up, they turned and became even more insubstantial, as if vanishing into some unseen wind that carried them northwards.
“What . . . how . . .”
“She was only in this world as much as was necessary to carry you,” said Morcenna. “The sacred wolves have many shapes, of varying solidity. She has taken to the air to more quickly carry word of her failure to whoever holds her in thrall.”
“Who is that?” asked Susan.
“Some great power,” said Morcenna, with a shrug. “You, too, are healed of the slight hurts you bore, and so I ask you to leave my well. Take the sword with you; I do not want its poison here.”
“Uh, okay,” said Susan. She stood up, squelching, and walked around the edge of the pool to pick up the sword. “Um, can you tell me how long I have until the Fenris gets wherever it’s going?”
“It goes at the wind’s pace, in the upper air,” said Morcenna. “It could be anywhere within the ancient bounds of Britain in an hour, or two, or three.”
“Right,” said Susan. “Um, thanks. Why didn’t you tell me the Fenris would have to leave me alone? I mean, before I agreed to take out the sword?”
“I wanted to see what you would do,” said Morcenna. Her thin pondweed lips split to show rows and rows of tiny, highly disturbing fish teeth. “While it is true I must offer healing to all those who come to my well, and I allow no others to harm my visitors, it is left to me to decide what I do with them after the healing.”
“Oh, right,” said Susan nervously. “Thank you.”
She hesitated, then bowed her head again. Morcenna did likewise.
“I’ll . . . I’ll go,” said Susan. She looked around. The dell was surrounded by dense woodland on all sides, and there was no sign of a path. She pointed towards what she thought was east, back in the direction she’d come in. “Which way is out?”
“All of them,” said Morcenna, and dived into her pool, becoming a stream of pure, clear water as she moved, ending in a giant splash, as if someone had poured her out of a huge, invisible glass.
“Right,” whispered Susan. She looked at the sword in her hand. Though obviously ancient, its edge gleamed with what appeared to her to be visible sharpness, banishing the brief notion she’d had of somehow sticking it down the leg of her boiler suit, in order not to terrify the first people she came across. Thoughts of holding it behind her back were also banished, because that would be even scarier.
“Maybe no one will care,” she muttered to herself. “Crazy young woman with punk haircut in boiler suit emerges from ancient woodland with sword. That’s eccentric, not frighteningly insane. No sudden moves. Ask to use a telephone. It’ll be fine.”
Aiming for what looked like it might be a gap in the undergrowth, and for what she thought was east, Susan walked away from Morcenna’s Well, into the wood.
“There’s a phone,” said Vivien, pointing to a familiar red box ahead, across from a roadside café. “We’d better call in; it’s been more than two hours.”
“After we get Susan,” said Merlin. “What if they move off again? Or the sword’s fallen out? We can’t waste time.”
“The Greats will be furious,” said Vivien. “Particularly since—”
“I know, I know!” snapped Merlin. “I didn’t want to shoot that poor police officer! Where do I turn?”
“Next right,” said Vivien. “There’s an ancient wood. I think the Fenris has gone to ground there.”
“Maybe that’s its home,” said Merlin.
“You really have forgotten everything we learned at school, haven’t you,” said Vivien. “There’s no Fenris lair anywhere near here. It must have come from farther north, though that still leaves several possibilities.”
“So why has it stopped?”
“I don’t know,” said Vivien. Neither of them wanted to say aloud that the sword might have fallen out and Susan and the wolf were long gone somewhere else.
“Police behind us,” said Merlin quietly. “Two cars back. Local.”
Vivien didn’t glance around, but leaned in closer to Merlin so she could look in the rearview mirror.
“If it follows us around this turn, I reckon there’s a good chance this car’s already reported stolen, and they’ve linked it to the cab,” said Merlin. “I really don’t want to shoot any more innocents.”
“They’d have pulled us over already, or tried to,” said Vivien. “And this lot won’t be armed or compelled to try and kill us. I can probably put them to sleep, if we have to. This is it. Spendborough Road. Turn here.”
Merlin slowed and indicated in a very law-abiding fashion, and turned into the smaller, narrower road. The two vehicles behind him continued on the A50, as did the police car.
“Try the radio,” said Merlin. “See if the . . . see if the motorway incident has made the news, or they’ve put out a warning or a call for witnesses.”
Vivien turned the radio on. The car was immediately filled with Mike Oldfield’s “Moonlight Shadow” at high volume. She dialed it down and punched one of the five preset buttons for another station, which was also part of the way through “Moonlight Shadow.” She punched the next and got a dry, plummy voice talking about the habits of water voles; the fourth button produced Puccini’s “Recondita Armonia” from Tosca; and the last a confusing interview with a vicar in Somerset about the forthcoming general election and flooding, which at least in his mind were somehow related.
“Put it back on ‘Moonlight Shadow,’” said Merlin.
Vivien pressed the button and music filled the car again.
“I’m hungry,” said Merlin a minute later. “Have you got anything to eat?”
“Nope,” said Vivien. She looked in the glovebox, hoping for chocolate or a packet of crisps, but it only contained a half-empty packet of John Player Specials, a matchbox, and a torch with a flat battery.
“We should get another car after we find Susan,” said Merlin.