Chaos Clock by Gill Arbuthnott Page B

ears, back to the thick-walled safety of the tower house, fumbling with his keys and pushing the door shut with his full body weight, turning all the locks and bolts, to stand trembling in his dark hall, listening in terror for the sound of Latin beyond the door.
    There was no noise of pursuit. After two or three minutes he climbed the stairs on shaking legs under the impassive yellow gaze of his birds. In the sitting room the fire still burned, and its crackling was the only sound he could hear. He went to the window and peeped around the edge of the curtain, then pulled it open, his senses reeling.
    ***
    Under a clear night sky, a four-metre barrier of plywood marked the boundary of the building site with its cranes and heaps of earth. There was no sign of the Roman camp.

LIGHTNING
    “I’m whacked,” said David to Alastair, yawning ostentatiously. “I’m off to bed.”
    Alastair opened his eyes wide in a pantomime of disbelief. “Are you all right? It’s not like you to volunteer to go to bed – especially recently.”
    “I know. No, I’m fine. I just need a bit of extra sleep. You should be pleased; it’s what you’re always telling me to do.”
    “Don’t get me wrong. I am pleased. Goodnight then.”
    David gave his dad a rather furtive kiss. “Night.”
    In his bedroom he found Tiger sprawled on the bed. He lifted the cat off and pushed him out of the room, closing the door to make sure he stayed out.
    When he looked out of his window he saw a clear, cold night, the street lamp shining at the end of the garden. He pulled the curtains closed, undressed and got into bed.
    In spite of what Mr Flowerdew had said, he was scared. He could feel his heart thumping faster than usual when he thought about what might happen once he fell asleep.
    Remember
, he thought,
it’s just a dream. Nothing can hurt you
.
    He closed his eyes.
    ***
    The mercurial expanse of the lake stretched flat before him, the far shore indistinct. Pebbles moved under his feet as he turned slowly three hundred and sixty degrees, straining his eyes and ears.
    He was alone. Away from the lake’s edge, the pebble beach stretched back into the distance, the stones becoming larger the further from the water they were, until there was a landscape of boulders.
    There was no sound, no movement. He was definitely alone.
    He began to walk along the shore, feeling the rounded shapes of the pebbles through the soles of his shoes. He let his path veer closer and closer to the water until he was barely a hand span from it. It was unnaturally still, not the tiniest ripple disturbing its eerie perfection. As he looked at it, the buzzing started, and he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.
    He kept walking slowly, not letting his pace quicken, and this time instead of trying to block the sound out, he strained to hear the whispering voice.
    “Come to us. Be one with us. We can heal your pain. Listen. We understand. Come to us.”
    “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid,” he muttered to himself under his breath. He stopped walking and listened carefully to gauge the direction from which the voice came.
    To his left. Definitely to his left. He let himself take three deep breaths and turned very slowly to face the source of the sound … and thought his heart wouldstop.
    A figure stood on the lake, perhaps five metres from the edge. Not in it, but
on
its surface, not disturbing the flat calm in the slightest.
    It was a man, tall, with greying black hair and a beard, dressed in a ragged black robe, which fluttered in the wind.
    There
was
no wind, David realised, but the robe moved anyway, and the man’s hair blew back from his face. His eyes, David noticed, were a very bright blue.
    He stood quite still, in the wind that was not there. Silver rivulets from the lake began to slowly climb the tatters of his robe, like the shoots of a plant. Only his mouth moved in time with the whispering, buzzing voice, but the movements of his lips didn’t quite