There was some moon, but it was hidden behind dark bloated clouds.

Tim said, "It will rain before midnight, milord. I'm glad we didn't get caught in it."

"I just hope it will clear by tomorrow."

"Why?" Meggie asked as she stuffed her windblown hair back under her bonnet and retied it.

Thomas said, "Traveling by boat is more difficult in bad weather. Women tend to moan and complain and puke their guts over the side."

"What a perfectly happy thought," Meggie said and climbed down without waiting for anyone to assist her. Her skirt snagged on the brake, and she very nearly went crashing to the ground. She said a small prayer of thanksgiving that she didn't fall. She could just see him standing over her, legs spread, hands on hips, sneering at her, treating her like a nincompoop. She said, "How nice it must be for men not to get seasick. Do you think it is due to a man's natural superiority? Or to a female's frailty, her inherent weakness?"

"Dammit, some men get seasick." She said slowly, tapping her fingers to her chin, "Why did you admit that to me?"

"Because Tim is one of them and you would find out soon enough and point it out to me in a perfectly snide voice."

"What a fine example of logic. You saved yourself from my ill manners. Goodness, it's very cold here," she said as she shook out her skirts.

"Yes, a bit," Thomas said, then gave Tim instructions while he handed Pen's reins to a stable boy who was staring at the big black horse. "He won't hurt you. Just be firm and gentle with him. Tim, go along with the boy, see that everything is taken care of."

"Pen is a very big horse," she said, then sighed. "I will miss Survivor, but Rory and Alec need her."

For the first time since they'd arrived, Meggie turned to look at the inn that was set behind some oak trees. She didn't see much, just a flapping wooden sign that said The Hangman's Noose beneath a lantern that hung over the inn door.

Meggie looked from the inn to Thomas. "This is very strange. We haven't seen a soul except for the stable lad. This place looks utterly deserted. There is only the lantern over the front door and look, it seems there is just a single candle shining out that one front window."

"This isn't right at all," Thomas said, and she heard the alarm in his voice. "No, usually, Bernard's inn is very busy. Why didn't the stable boy say anything? Good Lord, I wonder what has happened. I want you to stay here, Meggie." She didn't want to, but she saw him pull a pistol from inside his jacket. An eyebrow went up. There was no one else about in the inn yard.

What was going on here?

The sky was filled with rolling black clouds, obscuring any hint of light. She fastened her eyes on that single lone candle set in the window.

Then she knew something was very wrong when she saw Thomas break into a run to the inn, the pistol gripped firmly in his right hand.

She was just behind him in seconds. "I don't like this."

He stopped, turned. "I don't want you here, Meggie. Go back there where it's safe."

"Safe with the stable lad? How do you know he's safe? Where is he, by the way? You don't think he's hurt Tim, do you?"

"Don't be absurd, but you're right, surely he must know if there is something wrong. Why didn't he say anything? Stay here. I will see to this. Obey me."

"No," she said and fell into step beside him. "This is a very important item on my wife's list: Keep your husband from harm."

A black eyebrow went up, but he didn't say anything, just tried to get in front of her when they reached the inn door. Later he'd be inordinately pleased about what she'd said, but not now. Slowly he opened the door, shoving it slowly, inexorably inward. It creaked loudly, making Meggie's hair stand up on the back of her neck, making her suck in her breath.

"I don't like this at all," she whispered against his shoulder.

"I don't either. Dammit, stay behind me at least."

"I'm scared."

"I am too. Be quiet."

Thomas walked into the small beam-ceilinged private parlor where the single candle was flickering in the window. It looked like it was a signal, but to whom?

Other than the candle, the room was empty. Thomas picked up the candle, saw that it was nearly burned all the way down. How long had it been lighted, and set in that particular spot? An hour? More?

Meggie moved to within two inches of her husband, came up onto her toes, and whispered in his ear, "Is there smuggling on the northern coast of Cornwell? Between Cornwall and Ireland?"

He shook his head, placed his fingers over his mouth.

He checked every inch of the room, then said, "I want you to remain in here, Meggie. I must check the rest of the inn."

Meggie walked to the fireplace and lifted a poker from beside the mantel. It was big and soot-covered. "No," she said. "Let's go. The Hangman's Noose. I don't like the sound of that name. Who owns it?"

"Bernard Leach." He said nothing more until they were across the hall and through the open door of the taproom. It was perfectly dark and smelled of years upon years of ale. "Keep your voice down. Bernard is a Cornishman I've known all my life. We need a light, I can't see a damned thing. Stay put. I'm going to get the candle."

He was back in a moment, the candlelight shining upward, setting his face in relief, making him look like the devil himself.

"I wouldn't have married you if it were dark like this and you were holding a candle. You look evil, Thomas."

"You hold it then," he said, and then laughed low when he saw her pale face lighted by the candle flame. "You have the look of a succubus."

"Not a good thing," Meggie said and shuddered even as she walked toward the long bar and raised the candle to look behind it. "If I have a child, he or she will be a demon or a witch. Did you know that Merlin was supposedly spawned by an incubus? That's a male succubus."

"No, I didn't know that," he said.

"Where could everyone have gone? Perhaps there was an accident in the village."

"It's possible. St. Agnes village is still a half mile to the west. Bernard's grandfather built the inn in an oak forest because he liked his privacy."

They went through the entire downstairs, ending up in the small cramped kitchen. That was where they found Bernard Leach lying unconscious in the middle of a pile of flour, blood from his head seeping into the white flour.

Thomas went down beside him and felt for a pulse in his neck. "Bernard, wake up. Dammit, man, come on, wake up now!"

The man, older, grizzled gray hair, thin as a broom handle, a huge white apron wrapped around his middle, moaned, then opened his eyes. "Oh God, be it you, Thomas?"

"Aye, you old buzzard. You just gave me a mighty scare. Where is everyone? What the hell has happened?"

Bernard clutched at Thomas's shirt. "Oh my lord, Thomas, it was the Grakers. You know about the Grakers, don't you?"

"I think I've heard the name but now, I don't know. Who are the Grakers?"

"Not who, Thomas. They're not people. They're not of this world. They come and they destroy and then they leave again."

"All right, what are the Grakers? Where are they?"

"They're like your English pixies, they live under rocks and in caves and only come out at night. But they're not like pixies, they're vicious, attacking if they're displeased with you."

"You're telling me that some sort of evil pixie came to your inn, took you in dislike, and smashed you on the head?"

"It weren't quite that simple," Bernard said, and struggled to sit up. He moaned, gently rubbed his head.

Meggie said, "Let me get you some water, sir. How do you feel?"

"Is that a girl I hear? She shouldn't be here, Thomas. God only knows what the Grakers left upstairs. They scared off all the guests, but I have this very bad feeling that they did something she's not going to want to see. Aye, they're mightily displeased with me. I kilt one of them. It was an accident, I swear it, but they don't believe me. They came for their revenge."