Macks had just entered the main hall when she heard the voice. It sounded like a cry. Not a cry of pain, but an urgent call, like someone far away shouting an order.

She halted, listening. The hall was empty, and the candles had burned out. She heard the odd call again, in the distance, muffled by the rain. This time, when it came, her vox-set squawked simultaneously, as if echoing the cry.

Macks adjusted the collar-mounted set. It emitted a quick squeal, then a harsh flood of static.

‘Mister Nayl?’ she said, tipping her head to talk into the mic. ‘Mister Nayl, this is Marshal Macks. Do you copy?’

Static fizzled.

‘Nayl, come back. This is Macks.’

There was a burble of audio noise, and then she heard Nayl’s voice.

‘Reading you, Macks.’

‘What was that?’ asked Macks.

‘That noise?’

‘Affirmative.’

‘Not sure,’ Nayl’s voice crackled back. ‘Garofar and Cronyl just got back to the gate. Cronyl thinks it was an animal cry.’

‘Your vox go weird?’ asked Macks.

‘Yeah, just for a second,’ Nayl replied. ‘I think it’s atmospherics. We’ve just got rain here now, but I can see some fierce electrical displays further down the valley.’

Macks wasn’t convinced, but she knew how the storm had played hell with Voriet’s up-link before midnight.

‘Stay in contact,’ she said. ‘I’m going down to the cold store, then I’ll walk the west wall.’

‘Channel open,’ Nayl responded.

Macks opened the cellar door and followed the stone steps down into the undercroft. There was no light except for her powerful stab-beam.

Then her eyes began to detect a faint blue glow.

The door to the cold store was ajar. The glow of the stasis fields was shining out into the hall.

‘Nayl?’ she said into her mic. ‘The door to the cold store is open. Has anyone been down here?’

Static burbled back.

‘Nayl, respond.’

Just more, oddly modulated interference.

Macks waited for a moment. She wanted to move in with backup, but she didn’t want to leave the door open, and she’d have to if she was going to go and fetch Nayl and the deputies. She locked her stablight onto the under-rail of her riotgun and moved forwards, aiming the light beam with her weapon.

The door hadn’t been forced. The bolts were on the outside, and they had been drawn back.

Slowly, she eased the door open a little wider with the muzzle of her gun and peered in. The whitewashed chamber was lit by the blue ghost-light of the field units. The gurneys sat in rows, green plastek sheets over the remains.

Over seventeen of the gurneys…

One, in the middle of the rows, was empty. The plastek sheet was crumpled on the stone floor beside its wheels.

One of the bodies was gone.