She heaved, and now Crab was on his back. She pressed all her weight on to him, trying to force his head beneath the water, but she didn’t have time to mess around. Another few seconds of this choke and she’d lose consciousness.

She dug her nails into his arm and dragged downwards. Crab repositioned his arm and the choke came back on, stronger than before, but Tanith had snatched a breath in that instant and felt her head clear. Crab’s legs were still wrapped round her, his ankles crossed. She brought her own ankle up to rest against his and increased the pressure. She heard him hiss with pain. Another wave came in, stinging her eyes, and she felt the grip round her waist loosen.

She spun in place, her hands closing round Crab’s throat while she sucked in a lungful of air. Fear and desperation gave the old man strength, and he bucked and kicked beneath her. She tried to straddle him, but he brought in his left leg, planted his foot on her hip, tried to shove her back. She ignored the effort. She pressed him down, beneath the water. Her hands were a vice, ever-tightening. Gradually, his struggles lessened. And then stopped altogether.

When he was dead, Tanith walked out of the sea on to the beach. Dripping wet and freezing, she picked up her sword and her coat, and then the spear. She took out her phone and dialled.

“Got it?” Sanguine asked.

“Three down,” she said, shivering. “He put up more of a fight than I was expecting. Tough old guy. Could’ve done with some trousers.”

“I ain’t even gonna ask.”

“What about Vex? Any sign?”

“Minutes away. The welcoming committee is in place, don’t you fret. We’ll meet you back at the boat.”

She hung up, and took the trail off the beach to where the grasses pushed from the sand, up to the ridge where she’d left the bike. Here, a car was parked that hadn’t been there before, and two people sat in it, a man and a woman. Both with their throats cut. Tanith peered through the closed window, saw the rifle lying on the back seat. Her guardian angel had struck again.

Glancing around her, she hurried to the bike and got the hell out of there.

19

ex looked out of the window at the fields and trees of rural Poland as they whipped by, and saw the landing strip ahead. It was a small airfield with a few shacks and a tower, bridged by a fence. They came in gently, and were mere metres off the ground when Saracen sat bolt upright.

“Rocket!” he shouted.