Childermass aimed the right-hand pistol somewhat wide of the man’s left shoulder, intending to frighten him away. The pistol fired perfectly; a cloud of smoke and a smell of gunpowder rose from the pan; sparks and more smoke disgorged from the barrel.

But the lead refused to fly. It hung in the air as if in a dream. It twisted, swelled and changed shape. Suddenly it put forth wings, turned into a lapwing and flew away. In the same instant Childermass’s mind grew as quiet and fixed as a stone.

The man moved his finger over Vinculus and all the patterns and symbols flowed and swirled as if they had been written upon water. He did this for a while and when he was satisfied, he stopped and stood up.

“You are wrong,” he said to Childermass. “He is not dead.” He came and stood directly before Childermass. With as little ceremony as a parent who cleans something from a child’s face, the man licked his finger and daubed a sort of symbol on each of Childermass’s eye-lids, on his lips and over his heart. Then he gave Childermass’s left hand a knock, so that the pistol fell to the ground. He drew another symbol on Childermass’s palm. He turned and seemed about to depart, but glancing back and apparently as an afterthought, he made a final gesture over the cut in Childermass’s face.

The wind shook the falling snow and made it spin and twist about. Brewer made a sound as if something had disturbed him. Briefly, the snow and the shadows seemed to form a picture of a thin, dark man in a greatcoat and boots. The next moment the illusion was gone.

* * *

Childermass blinked. “Where am I wandering to?” he asked himself irritably. “And what am I doing talking to myself? This is no time to be wool-gathering!” There was a smell of gunpowder. One of his pistols lay in the snow. When he picked it up it was still warm as if he had recently discharged it. That was odd, but he had no time to be properly surprized because a sound made him look up.

Vinculus was getting up off the ground. He did it clumsily, in jerks, like something new-born that has not yet discovered what its limbs are for. He stood for a moment, his body swaying and his head twitching from side to side. Then he opened his mouth and screamed at Childermass. But the sound that came out of his mouth was no sound at all; it was the emptied skin of sound without flesh or bones.