And Del fucking Parkinson. Big-hearted charity man. He knew what the old creep had in mind with Pasqual. Eric looked at her beaming across at him and wondered if she did too. The guy was ancient and ugly. Surely not even Pasqual could stomach that sagging old body on top of her in the name of fucking the famous?

He took a last sip from his glass, put it down on the table and went in search of something to do. His muse was over. St Peter wouldn’t find many candidates for Heaven here. If Sam Hunt was really the killer, Eric felt like calling him up and asking him to the party. He’d be in good company. They could all go to Hell together.

The cry of despair had lasted longer than Calvin could bear. Sam was like an animal in a gin-trap. He wailed through gritted teeth, his tears unchecked and seemingly endless.

Calvin buried his head in his arms and waited, praying for his young apprentice’s grief to subside.

So Sam had never grieved. Calvin understood. This outwardly strong, handsome man had buried his sorrow for betrayal, for a lost childhood, lost parents, a murdered grandparent and a heart that he believed to be black with guilt, kept it all so deeply buried for over two decades that the sudden exhumation of all that horror was tearing him to bits.

Calvin hadn’t grieved either. He had merely drunk. But as he raised his head and looked across the fire at the contorted face of his beloved boy, he wished he too had time to release the remorse.

But there was no time.

‘Sam.’

The young shaman put a hand to his face and drew a shuddering breath, quenching the next howl that was waiting to find a voice. Calvin spoke again.

‘Sam. You must return home. Fetch the Isksaksin.’

Sam panted, his eyes closed and his teeth still grinding.

‘SAM!’ Calvin put aside sympathy and barked his name with urgency and authority.

Gradually Sam’s breathing calmed and he opened his swollen eyes to regard Calvin. He wiped his face with a sleeve and straightened his back. ‘How can I go home?’

‘You must. Go unseen, and return.’

Sam stared at him through puffed eyes, then nodded.

Calvin reached for more wood and found none. It was as though the small matter of Sam finding his way home and back here again, when the whole world were after him, was as nothing. He stood wearily and walked slowly towards the tunnel entrance.

‘More wood.’

It was both an explanation and a prompt that Sam should go. The fire was low and time was short.