“Well, seeing as we’re swapping unbelievable stories,” the old man said. “You’ve already said that your fear is of something . . . unearthly happening. I’m afraid that’s exactly what we’re dealing with.”

As Alex’s grandfather relayed what he knew of the Shadow Gate legend, Metz started to squirm. Kingdom pursed her lips in a thoughtful frown.

“So, yes,” the old man summed up. “Seems to me that your Castle Boll was the lair of this great and greatly evil medieval magician. He supposedly created this thing as his way of thwarting death. But when he used it, your great calamity occurred. The castle fell, the pit opened, and all of that.”

“Well,” Kingdom said at length. She shrugged. “Why not. I try to keep an open mind. Phil?”

“This madness makes as much sense as any other part of it ever has,” Metz muttered.

“What about the Kandel mountain?” Alex asked. “The Devil’s Pulpit? Do you know if there’s a connection with the castle?”

Metz and Kingdom looked blankly at him. “You mentioned the mountain before,” Kingdom said, shaking her head. “Why should there be a connection?”

“The people who are stealing the paintings have been, uh . . . doing . . . something up there, too.” Alex shrugged apologetically. “We think.”

“Means nothing to me,” Kingdom said. “As your grandfather said, the Kandel must be . . . what, twenty-five miles away from the castle ruin.”

“Twenty-five miles and several hundred years away, to be precise,” the old man mused. “Well, here we are. So, what was your plan? You figured you’d just hole up in here and wait for them to come, using the painting as bait, and then—all or nothing? The Fishing Club’s last stand?”

“More or less,” Metz muttered, looking at the guns.

“Well, I admire the courage, but I would propose that, for the time being, discretion is the better part of valor. I say we take the painting down, get out of here, and try to come up with a better plan. Preferably one that ends with us all going out for a nice supper afterward, rather than going out in a blaze of glory.”

“But how many are in this gang?” Kingdom asked seriously. “If Harry Morecambe is your friend, then we’ve only ever seen two, maybe three figures. Surely between us we could handle—”

“There will most likely be five,” Alex’s grandfather said. “But there could be more. And, ah, they’ll have things with them.”

“Things?” Kingdom frowned.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “You know how you said you had a story that we wouldn’t believe? Well—”

“We can come back to that if needs be,” his grandfather cut in. “But my point is, given that they already have nine of the paintings, let’s not offer them the chance to get another. Although, they actually only have eight, of course.”

“What do you mean?” asked Metz.