Milly tucked a blanket around her, then found another. “There’s hot water bottles around here somewhere,” she told Kate. “Fill a couple up for me.” She looked at Ellie and shrugged. “Done pretty much all we can.”

“De profundis,” whispered Madeleine. Her eyes had rolled white again. “De profundis, domine. Fiat lux. Fiat lux.”

“What’s she on about?” said Ellie.

“I’d say speaking in tongues,” said Milly, “but I think that’s Latin.”

“Sounds like it.” Noel leant forward. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Madeleine started talking again, more loudly.

“Down in the dark, in the old deep dark. Down in the Yawning, I see them stir. The giants. Thyrs. They rise! They rise! From Ginnungagap, from the corpse-shore Nastrond, Ymir and his spawn, Vörnir and Surt, Vosud and Hyrrokkin, wade the Black River in search of hated light. They rise! They rise! In Dubnos, from the House of Donn, come Ysbaddaden and Canthrig Bwt, with the Bendith y Mamau and the dread Coraniaid in their train! From Ganzir and Irkalla come Abzu, Tiamat, Erebos and Nyx with their hosts of Aqrabuamelu whose very glance is death! Tohu va-bohu. Tohu va-bohu. Down in the Yawning’s jaws, Apep, Typhon, Eurymedon, Aigaion scent the final death of the sun! From the Abyss, Czernobog, Whiro, Lotan, Tlaltecuhtli climb! In the old deep dark are Unhcegila, Tunnanu, Falak, Illuyanka too! From ancient night Vritra, Amatsu-Mikaboshi, Batara Kala, Nirgali, Ravan all come, and the legions of the Kravyad march. They rise! They rise! The old gods wake, the sun dies. Earth and waters perish as night comes forever more. De profundis, domine! De profundis! Fiat lux! Fiat lux!”

Her eyes closed. She slept.

“The Hell was that?” demanded Ellie.

“Buggered if I know,” said Noel. “That last bit was Latin, and I thought I heard some Welsh somewhere in the middle there, but the rest...”

No one spoke for a while. There was nothing to say.

As she left the tent, Ellie smelt bacon cooking. Despite the lingering sickbed smell from Madeleine’s wound her stomach growled; she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten anything of substance. She traced the smell to its source, a row of battered barbecues that Plant-Pot had set up. Eat, drink and be merry, for tonight we die.

Plant-Pot stuffed a half-baguette with bacon for her, and Ellie wandered through the camp, munching it. The bread was stale, the bacon nowhere near as crisp as she usually liked, but just now it was the food of the gods. Not to mention the last bacon sandwich she might ever eat: after this cook-out there was only canned and dried food. Assuming anyone lived long enough to be hungry again.