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"Some of their evil may yet remain in the Tower." "Don't worry, I'll be back before dark."
"I shall prepare a special dinner for you, my Lady. Roast marsh-stoat with sourberry sauce."
"I can't wait. Now, how do I get to the Tower?"
The Tower was easy enough to find. It dominated the village and could be seen from almost every point. The
road led along the muddy village street, past houses that were little more than hovels. Occasionally people
peered out at her from behind sackcloth curtains.
Bernice saw a grubby child playing with a wreath of white flowers outside one of the huts. She stopped and
bent down to talk to it. Before she could say anything, a woman ran out and snatched the astonished child
away, carrying it howling indoors.
The child had dropped its wreath of flowers. Bernice picked it up and sniffed it. The flowers had a harsh,
pungent smell. She shrugged and stuffed the wreath into her jacket pocket. She noticed that there were more
garlands of white flowers over the doorway and draped across the windows. Beyond the village the road led
through ploughed fields. Bernice could see bent figures toiling in the fields. They worked two or three to a field
in long straight lines. They were still using the medieval system of farming, each man responsible for his own
thin strip of land.
The land looked stony and infertile, the skies were dull and grey and there was a chill in the wind. Bernice
turned up the collar of her old safari jacket and hurried on.
This, she thought, has to be the most miserable, backward, poverty- stricken planet I've ever seen in my life.
The path led her into a belt of woodland. Tall trees cut off the fight and Bernice hurried uneasily along the
shadowy path.
Suddenly she came out of the dark woods and found the Tower looming over her. Bernice had seen a lot of
castles in her time but never one like this.
To start with, there was its shape, tall and slender, not a proper castle at all, just one solitary tower. There
were two turrets set into the Tower close to the top, miniature versions of the Tower itself. The turrets were
set close together, giving an oddly lopsided look, as if a third turret was needed to complete the design.
Shading her eyes with her hand, Bernice looked long and hard at the Tower. Perhaps the third turret had
simply decayed and dropped away. She shifted her gaze to the ground at the foot of the Tower. There was
nothing, no shattered masonry, no debris of any kind. Had someone taken the turret? But where? And why?
All her archaeologist's instincts aroused, Bernice headed for the Tower.
And here was another oddity, she thought, as she marched steadily towards it. The Tower didn't seem to
have any proper defences.
It was surrounded simply by open space, by bare, parched earth in which nothing grew. No outer wall, no
moat, nothing. It was as if its occupants were confident that no one would ever dare to attack them.
But they'd been wrong, thought Bernice. According to Ivo the castle had fallen and its occupants, the
mysterious and terrible Lords, had been destroyed.
She came to the arched doorway of the Tower and stood looking up at it. It was made from great blocks of
stone covered with moss and lichen. It was ancient, it was impressive and it was added for effect, thought
Bernice. Somehow she knew that the arch wasn't part of the original structure.
The door inside the arch was smaller than she'd expected. It was studded with metal, and it stood fractionally
ajar. Bernice shoved it hard and it opened with surprising smoothness. She slipped through the gap and the
door closed silently behind her, leaving her in total darkness. The Tower had no windows.
Bernice turned and tried to reopen the door. It wouldn't move. She was trapped.
She stood very still for a moment, fighting panic. It served her right, it was ridiculous, poking about on her own
like this. She needed a proper expedition. She needed colleagues, assistants, local workers . . .
If you were a proper archaeologist, said a voice deep in her mind. That did it, as always. With a sigh Bernice
fished in her many-pocketed jacket and produced a heavy torch. Its beam showed her a circular entrance hall
hung with decaying tapestries, a spiral staircase leading up into darkness. A reek of decay hung in the air
like invisible fog.
The place was cold and dead and eerily silent. It sent a chill into her soul.
Well, onward and upward, she thought. There must be more than one way in - and therefore more than one
way out. She could always leave by the servants" entrance, if she could find it. Meanwhile, since she was
here, she might as well take a quick look around.
She began climbing the stairs.
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