They sidled round the cliff, went beyond the path, beside the wood, slanting back to the sea. They were going to the slippery steps. Easy is the descent to Avernus—

Those ancient brittle bodies on those stairs of slime. She caught her breath for them, but they did not hesitate, they crowded to the edge.

And now Carlo bowed to some task. She saw a length of rope slide out, and something bumped drily on the face of the cliff.

They had tied up the body of Sylvian, and were lowering it ahead of them, it grazed against the rock again and again, and Rachaela heard it with a chill of the blood.

She pictured dragging her mother’s corpse behind her, out to the dustbins, and gall filled her throat.

But they were lowering Sylvian to the beach, to the sea. What would they do with him there? Give him to the ocean like a Viking?

The old men and women began to descend the cliff.

They moved with care, but not with extreme caution. They did not stumble or slip but felt their steady way like worms.

None of them had dressed for a funeral. In the blue-white light of the moon their coats were patchwork, they were draped and tailed with scarves. Alice with velvet violets in her hat and Miriam with a toque of white fur.

Coming behind them, it was Rachaela who knew fear. She took her own unsure paces down the rock, clutching at hand-holds, skinning her palms, tearing a nail, frightened.

They were already spooling out upon the beach when she was half-way down.

She stopped, and stared at them.

She forced herself on, downwards.

Their witch-like voices came up to her abruptly, and she paused again, gripping the cliff, her feet at angles.

What were they doing?

For a moment the scene swayed and bloomed out like a sail in the wind.

Rachaela held the cliff and drew in three long breaths.

She could go down no further. She opened her eyes and saw the small figures moving busily like ants in sugar.

On the rocks of the cove the drunken figurehead of the merman leaned, waiting for Camillo. Carlo and Michael climbed towards it.

The body of Sylvian lay directly below, flat on the strip of sand as it had lain on the chequered floor. The Scarabae came in to it and went away, bringing it things from the shore.

She must get nearer.

Rachaela tried four more steps and froze once more. The moon had made the stair more slippery, like a dousing of water. She would after all, have to get up again, ahead of them.

She eased her body over and managed to find some respite from the cliff. Her whole frame shook and her mouth was dry.

She could see and hear them, but they were small and foreshortened and no words came clear.