‘Your father turned his back on me and would not know me when I came to him often in his animal spirit guide in the night. And your grandfather tried to know me but was not pure enough to make the meeting of spirits. My heart is glad that his son’s son knows me.’

Billy was speaking now. ‘My father has an animal guide like mine?’

‘He has the Eagle, the most sacred of all. Your father is a great and pure shaman, Running Wolf. He is the keeper.’

Billy Hunt’s heart suddenly became lighter, and he opened his jaws to pant happily. Eagle Robe turned and walked from the semi-circle of tall figures towards the waving trees and the wolf trotted happily at his heel. In his human mind Billy knew that this sleep was too deep to be disturbed, and he smiled at the prospect of the journey with this man he knew and the things he would hear. The river gurgled in the distance behind them and the trees bowed their delicate limbs in the breeze as they walked slowly beneath their shade.

‘People are amazing.’

Pasqual’s stage-whisper was unsubtle, and because of the tone of her remark, which was not one of admiration, Eric Sindon looked around furtively to see if any of the ‘amazing’ people had heard. They hadn’t. They were still milling around the Silver Ski Company Celebrity Ski Extravaganza registration desk by the big arched window like Angie was giving away dollars. In fact Angie was taking dollars. A lot of dollars.

These people, here in the deep carpeted arcade of the Rocky Mountain Chateau, woke up this morning in king-size beds to CNN telling them they were in the most famous ski resort in the western world. They pretended to be horrified by the murders but they knew that if they were part of the celebrity ski tomorrow there was more than a fair chance of the folks back home seeing them interviewed on national TV. And of course you got to ski beside Del Parkinson and someone called Brigitte Mackenzie from the Shopping Channel, and that guy who was in The Love Boat once.

All for charity of course, and for only five hundred and fifty dollars, with a welcome party tonight thrown here at the Chateau. Yes, people were amazing, and although Pasqual Weaver meant amazingly dumb, she was damned grateful they were. The enthusiasm of these rich bozos was keeping her resort reputation above water. Just. She watched as a woman in a mohair sweater with a kitten design picked out in sequins on the front saw the camera whirring at her side and acted out a nonchalant charade. The camera turned away. It belonged to a news channel. It wasn’t looking for actors.