The church was as old and musty on the inside as out. The wooden pews were badly scuffed and nearly falling apart. The stained-glass windows had never been washed, and some were broken. Only the distinct smell of incense lingering in the air told Thorn that the church was still in use.

He headed up to the altar. Just as he reached the railing, a door off to his left swung open suddenly, and a small and hunchbacked priest stepped out. 'Mr Thorn?'

Richard nodded.

The priest limped forward and held out his hand. 'I'm Father Weston. Thank you for coming.' He shook Thorn's reluctantly outstretched hand. 'Dr Warren is waiting for you.' He gestured to a side door just to the right of the altar and started limping toward it.

Richard followed. ‘Thank you for calling me,' he whispered. 'What's wrong with Dr Warren?'

The priest shook his head. 'He won't talk to me,' he said. 'I only know the man is absolutely terrified.'

They arrived at the small side door, and the priest knocked once.

A hoarse voice came from the other side. 'Who is it?' It didn't sound like Warren at all.

'Mr Thorn is here,' said the priest.

The door swung open, and there stood Warren, looking as though he had been struck by some swift and terrible illness. His eyes were bloodshot and his face hollow, his skin had turned a pale yellow under the stubble of several days' growth of beard. He held a crucifix in his trembling hands. 'Richard?' he asked, in a voice choked with fear.

'It's me, Charles.'

Warren lunged forward. He grabbed Thorn by the collar of his raincoat, dragged him into the room, and slammed the door shut, locking it behind them.

Thorn staggered to maintain his balance. He looked at Warren carefully, certain he was caught in the presence of a madman. 'Charles,' he said placatingly, 'I came as soon as-'

Warren didn't seem to hear him. His wild eyes were focused on something not visible to Thorn. 'The Beast is with us!' he whispered. 'It's true, it's all true! I saw the Wall-'

'Charles, please, listen to me—'

'I saw it! It's horrible!' He shivered and closed his eyes. 'It drove Joan Hart mad, and Bugenhagen-'

Thorn reached forward and grasped Warren by the shoulders. 'Get hold of yourself!' He couldn't believe this was the same man who had so efficiently run his museum for many years, who had been such a good and constant friend. If there was a God in all of this, He certainly wasn't making it easy for those who believed.

Warren stopped shaking. He stared at Thorn as though desperately looking for hope, for an answer. 'Do you believe me now, Richard?' he asked. 'Or do you still think I'm mad?'