THE snow had almost gone, and it was getting warmer. The beans had been sown, and Justin was planning to sow out about an acre of oats—mainly for animal fodder. And a litter of piglets had been born, meaning more work for Rachel—and Michael, when he could drag himself away from Peter’s study. One of the piglets was born with two tails: the first Deviation, Peter reported, that had been seen in the village for nearly eighteen months. There was none of the alarm that would have attended such an event in Waknuk. But, to avoid any arguments, they slaughtered the piglet and had a splendid roast dinner out of it.

Peter had finished his book and was anxious to get the manuscript to his publisher, some seventy miles to the east. Michael and Rachel were eager to accompany him, but already Michael was seriously wondering whether they ought to just stay in Ragnarok and settle down to the quiet rural life there. Even Rachel—once so anxious to get to Rigo—was beginning to come round to that idea. Peter had offered to lend them some money to enable them to set up their own smallholding, renting one of the empty cottages in the village.

But they hadn’t counted on one thing…

The alarm came early one morning, just as Michael and Rachel were getting up from bed.

“We’ve got company,” came in an urgent thought-shape from Tim—a rare occurrence for them now. “Four of them; four men, with horses. Just been to our cottage, asking about any strangers seen recently. I think they’re going from house to house…”

“Was one of them shortish, with long yellow hair tied in a pony-tail, by any chance?” put in Michael.

“As a matter of fact, yes, there was. How did you—?”

But Michael interrupted the incoming thought. “Shit!” he exclaimed, in words. “How the hell did they find us, here? Has someone peached on us?”

Peter and Justin both came bursting into their bedroom without knocking, having heard Tim’s message and Michael’s outburst; Rachel just managing in time to wrap a sheet about her, to preserve her modesty. “Quick!” hissed Peter, “Get dressed as quickly as possible, warm clothes, then into my study, hurry!”

As soon as Peter and Justin had left, Michael and Rachel dressed hurriedly and rushed into Peter’s study, the room where he wrote his books. They saw that he and Justin had pushed the heavy desk to the side of the room and rolled up the carpet, exposing the floorboards, and Justin was now carefully levering up some of the boards with his knife: an artfully disguised trapdoor. In a moment he had it open, exposing a small, dark, and dank cellar beneath, with a stepladder leading down.

“Best we can do!” Peter whispered. “We planned this hideout many years ago, just in case… Down there quick! Sorry it’s dark, and there’s not much air—but hope you won’t be there for too long. We’ll do our best to get rid of the men. And no thought-shapes! We can’t be sure…”

Indeed they were hardly down in the cellar before Justin threw down all their clothes and other possessions after them: then he carefully closed the trapdoor, leaving them in pitch darkness. They could hear the sounds of the carpet being rolled back, and the desk being pushed back to its normal position. They were well and truly trapped, and very uncomfortable. They could hear Justin and Peter walking around above them—presumably to conceal all signs of their presence there. It was about five minutes later that they heard a thunderous knocking at the door, accompanied by shouts of “Open up!”

They could hear voices faintly from the living-room. “Inspector, Kentak district,” one of them seemed to pronounce. “We’re looking for a couple of criminal fugitives: seen any strangers around here lately? A young man and a young woman?”

“Criminals?” they heard Peter exclaim—perhaps a little louder than necessary, for their benefit. “What sort of criminals? What are they supposed to have done?”

“Murder and arson,” another voice said. A voice which Michael vaguely recognised—the farm-hand from Sally’s farm. “Bastard!” he thought to himself. But the voice continued, “Suspected of having set fire to a farm in the Kentak district: burned completely to the ground, along with the people inside it Horrid business. And we also suspect them of being involved in the death of a traveller, who was found on the road alongside his horse and cart, a few miles south of there—killed by an arrow apparently. So: have you seen anybody fitting their description?” And he gave a fairly accurate description of Michael, with a much less so one of Rachel.

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“Can’t say as we have—have you, Justin?” answered Peter. They did not hear Justin’s reply. The discussions dropped to a level they found more difficult to eavesdrop, but it seemed that the men were explaining themselves, not aggressively, while Peter was giving an account of his and Justin’s set-up in the house. It appeared to be quite amicable. There were footsteps, constantly moving from room to room. The visitors seemed to be carrying out a thorough search of the entire house. Michael could only hope that their hosts had done a good job of hiding, or explaining away, any possessions of theirs which hadn’t been thrown in the cellar.

There were some alarming moments when the footsteps returned to almost right above them, and there were sounds of the desk being shifted. But apparently the men were satisfied, and after more inaudible conversation they heard the front door close. Then silence for what seemed like an interminable time. Michael judged that it was fully half an hour, with the air becoming intolerably stuffy, before, to their immense relief, they heard the heavy desk being dragged aside and the carpet rolled up.

When the trapdoor was opened it was some time before they could recover from the blinding light. They thrust their spare clothes back through the hatch and then clambered stiffly out, to join Peter and Justin who were smiling broadly. It was a while before they were able to speak.

“I suppose this changes everything,” said Michael, despairingly.

“Yes it does,” agreed Peter. “But they haven’t found you—yet—so keep your spirits up! We had some luck on our side. Justin was able to make up his bed in my room, so that it appeared not to have been slept in, and he made a good pretence of having slept in your room. And luckily we hadn’t started preparing breakfast (I’m sure you’re hungry!). They wanted to see the animals and the stable, so Justin took them round there. Then they appeared satisfied, and they left. They’re probably pestering others in the village now. I don’t think you’ll be betrayed. They’re obviously Inspectorate people, and such folk aren’t well-liked in these parts. I think you’ll find that our neighbours, those who have seen you, will be on your side. They won’t mention our visitors.”

“Did these men mention Deviations? Or Blasphemies?”

“No. Not once. All the talk was of ‘common criminals’. I suppose they realised that talk of Deviations would carry far less weight, or alarm, in this part of Labrador, than it does in the West. After all, as you’ve seen, it’s hardly a problem for us. And I’m quite sure they never once suspected Justin and me—nor Tim and Big Rachel—of being thought-shapers.

“Oh, and I went round to Tim and Rachel’s, while Justin was showing our ‘visitors’ round the stables. It was dangerous—but perhaps the only option—for Tim to have contacted you by thought-shape. There’s always a risk that they’d have someone in their team who could detect thought-shapes. But luckily that doesn’t seem to have been the case. And Tim’s house was searched all over—just like ours—but nothing there seems to have raised any suspicions.

“But you’ll have to leave—almost at once. Your luck won’t hold out: they’re sure to be back. I’m coming with you, at least part of the way.” Both Michael and Rachel could barely conceal their joy at this news. “I know some trails which those men will hardly be able to find, let alone follow,” continued Peter. “But we’ll have to go on horseback: I was hoping to take the cart, but it can’t be used on the trails.”

“But how the hell did they find this place?” put in Michael. “We’re miles from anywhere. What on Earth drew them to this village?”

“Hard to say,” replied Peter. “I did ask them, why didn’t they follow the road to Rigo, seeing as that’s where most fugitives will surely head for? They said they had done, for quite a long way, but then they reckoned they’d lost the trail: you must have turned off somewhere before then. So they backed up quite a long way, debating amongst themselves as to whether you’d turned north or south. They thought north more likely, seeing as that way is more sparsely populated. I countered by suggesting that south would be quite a good option: amongst the larger and more frequent villages it’d be easier to ‘lose’ oneself. I hope I sounded convincing.

“But once they’d decided to strike north, they’d certainly have made enquiries at all the shops and inns they came across. You mentioned that you stopped a couple of nights at the inn in Curkajak. That was rather unwise of you—I suppose you thought you were in ‘safe’ territory by then—but it can’t be helped now. The innkeeper is sure to have remembered you—especially since you had the cheek to ask to copy his map! The shopkeepers might have remembered, too. Curkajak is one of the biggest villages in this part of Labrador. I don’t know whether you were betrayed, but not everyone there can be trusted. And I believe you even mentioned that you were going to head east or south-east! Once your pursuers reached Curkajak, having that information, it would have narrowed down their search quite a lot!

“So: we move as soon as we can get everything ready. It’s lucky your horses are in good shape: you can thank us for that!”