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Something was happening on the other side of the gathering. Baz’s vision was partially blocked, but he could see Luke moving towards the altar. Luke’s back was hunched, his arms unnaturally straightened in front of him. He was pushing a wheelbarrow. Had he only just arrived? The wheelbarrow came to a halt, right at the front of the congregation. Baz saw Ray’s jolt of alarm, a jerky sideways movement, his skinny shoulders bumping against Amit.

Baz stood on tiptoe, desperate to know what was in the wheelbarrow, yet terrified of discovering what that might be. He caught a glimpse of white... white like a T-shirt... white like a blouse...

No, not T-shirt material. It looked... hairy. White fur?

Preacher John was lighting a firebrand, one of the things that Gene had made. It was just a bit of oily rag wound round the end of a pole. Preacher John thrust the smoking torch towards the altar.

This time the fire caught quickly. A deep 
whoosh
 of ignition, and the flames were instantly leaping up, crackling and spitting on the still air. In seconds the altar was fully ablaze, the whole great pile of brushwood roaring furiously, tall yellow flames licking at the cross itself.

Preacher John stepped down off the platform. He nodded in signal to Luke, and the two of them leaned over the wheelbarrow, stooping forward to reach for whatever lay in there.

Legs... hooves... white fur. As the men hoisted the body over the lip of the barrow, a horned head appeared, and Baz recognized the creature at last. A goat. It was Old Bill.

Baz’s throat tightened so that he was struggling for breath, his lungs heaving, dizziness sweeping over him. The sight of the small white goat was shocking, dangled upside down by its legs in the grasp of the two men. An awful image. Yet it wasn’t what Baz had feared or expected.

Preacher John muttered something, and he and Luke began swinging the dead animal, once... twice...

At the height of the third swing the goat seemed to poise in mid-air, its head and neck straining towards the congregation, its mouth open as though it would speak. In that moment of stillness Baz saw a glistening piece of meaty tissue protruding from the goat’s forehead, long and tapered, like an extra tongue. Pinkish grey. Then the body of Old Bill swung downwards and away, flying from the grasp of the two men, limbs flailing, an awkward animated shape against the bright flames.

Baz stared into the roaring depths of the fire as Preacher John’s voice rose in incantation.

“O Lord, in as much as it pleases thee to accept this beast, our sacrifice today...”

Our sacrifice today – Old Bill. A goat. But what would be next? Baz tried to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose. He’d already caught the first whiff of burning hair, acrid and unmistakable; the stench of it carried on a hot breeze that had sprung up from nowhere.

“Come on. Don’t hang about.”

Baz hustled the boys up the hill. If he was going to get them safely to the library, then first they needed to enter the building unseen. He looked behind him. The men were still down on the jetty. Preacher John and Luke and Amos stood in a group looking out to sea. Isaac was walking away from them, hands in his suit pockets, head down. Steiner and Hutchinson were waiting to one side of the altar, half hidden by clouds of swirling black smoke, unable to leave until they had been given their weekly orders. Good.

Through the glass doors of the main entrance... down the corridor... and into the kitchen. The boys seemed stunned, disorientated. It was like trying to herd moths.

“God... poor Old Bill. What the hell was the point of that?”

“Never mind about Old Bill – what’s next?”

“
Who’s
 next, you mean.”

“Jesus, man...”

Baz kept things moving. He shoved the back door open and hurried everyone through. “Ray, take ’em on up. Listen, I’m gonna see if I can get you some food. I’ll leave it on the staircase later on. Might just be leftovers, though. OK? Don’t come down until it’s dark at least. Go on – go go go.”

Baz pulled the kitchen door shut, leaned against it for a second. God, he felt dizzy. He went over to one of the plastic buckets, knelt beside it and scooped some water onto his face.

Washing, cleaning, refueling the generator. Baz carried out his Sunday duties automatically. He felt alone, abandoned, and he longed to be up in the library with the others. They would be talking about what they’d seen, taking comfort from being together. He had no one to talk to, and no one to help chase away his dreadful imaginings.

Yet he forced himself to keep working. If he was to avoid Cookie’s fate then he needed to concentrate on the Sunday meal. A marrow had been brought over from the mainland, and so Baz attempted to follow one of the cookbook recipes, splitting the vegetable in half and stuffing it with rice and tinned mincemeat. It was a disaster. The marrow collapsed into a leaky heap, its dark green skin splitting open so that the whole meal was swimming in a pool of pale liquid. A dog wouldn’t eat it.

But by now the Eck brothers were in the dining area, and Baz’s only choice was to serve up what he had.

“Soddin’ hell. It gets worse.” Amos looked at his plate. He splashed at the food with his fork, dibbled it around a bit and pushed the plate away. “Come back Fatso, I say.” He reached for the wine bottle instead.

“Aye, well. There are going to be some changes this week.” Isaac glared at Baz as he took a forkful of his own food. “Come Tuesday or Wednesday we shall be saying a few goodbyes.”

Baz felt his heart jump at this remark, but there was no time to stop and think about it. He had other things to do first. Preacher John would be waiting for his dinner. Baz lifted the aluminum tray from the food trolley, turned to go...

... and there was Preacher John, standing right behind him. Baz stepped backwards in fright, and bumped into the food trolley. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance. Upright again, he held the tray out to Preacher John.

“Er... I was just...”

Preacher John looked down at the dish of watery mince as though it were river-mud. “Isaac is right for once,” he said. “There will have to be some changes this week. Take that muck away from me and get out of my sight.”

Baz did as he was told. He put the tray back on the trolley and wheeled it towards the kitchen door. But here he hesitated. Should he go into the kitchen, out of Preacher John’s sight, or stand here and wait as usual? He decided to wait for more definite orders.

The Eck brothers were plainly surprised to see their father. They watched him in silence as he circled the table, Isaac in particular looking darkly sullen and suspicious.

“Aye, there will be changes!” Preacher John’s voice boomed around the dining area. “And we have waited long enough. The day is upon us, my sons, and a momentous day indeed!” He laid his hands on Luke’s broad shoulders. “The waters are finally clear over Skelmersley. Our prayers have been heard. Our sacrifice has been accepted.”

Luke twisted his shaven head in order to look up at Preacher John. “Clear?” he said. “So we can take the boat out that way? Give it a try?”

“Yes, Luke.” Preacher John beamed down at him as though he were giving his son permission to go and play. “You can. I have been down on the jetty all this time, praying, and I have seen a vision of what will be. Such a vision! I cast my nets across the water, like Simon Peter himself, and how those nets overflowed – filled with riches. The bounty of the Lord!” He raised his hands and gazed up towards the dusty ceiling tiles. “And, Lord, if this vision be true, then I shall give thanks with the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate! All that I have to offer shall be thine!”

“There!” Amos banged his hand on the table, caught up in Preacher John’s enthusiasm. “You were right all along, then, Father!” He looked meaningfully across at Isaac. “The power of prayer.”

“Aye. Prayer and sacrifice.” Preacher John lowered his arms. “And by tomorrow night you will see how right I am.”

But Isaac’s face was as sour as ever. “That’s all very well,” he said, “but you’re forgetting about Moko. We’re a man down now. We need two to dive and two to work the boat. It’s not safe otherwise. And so all these wonderful riches and ultimate sacrifices are gonna have to wait a bit longer. Till we can get a replacement.”

“Ah, yes.” Preacher John seemed suddenly deflated. He gave a heavy sigh. “Of course. We need a full crew. Isaac’s right again, then, and we shall have to postpone our victory. Continue to have patience—”

“No!” Luke clearly had no patience at all. “What about... what about... you?” He looked up at Preacher John. “I mean... couldn’t you come out with us, Father? Just this once? To work the winch – or take the helm? It’s not that hard.”

“Me?” Preacher John appeared insulted. “You’d have 
me
 work on a salvage boat? No, I don’t think so. My mission is here, praying for our salvation and communing with the Lord. I have nothing to do with the boat, nor anything that happens on it. The boat is Isaac’s responsibility.”

Isaac had been sitting with his arms folded, scowling at his unfinished plate of food. But Baz saw the skipper’s expression begin to change slightly, his narrowed eyes moving to the right, as if a new possibility had occurred to him.

“Deck work’s not easy.” Isaac kept his head down as he spoke. He didn’t look at Preacher John. “Loading, and that. Swinging the nets on board. It’s heavy going. Yeah, and it can be dangerous too – takes a couple of good men to do it right. Young and strong. It’s not everyone that’s up to the job.”

“Hm.” Preacher John moved round to Moko’s empty chair and pulled it out from the table. He sat on it sideways, one arm resting over the back.

“I see that you’re trying to protect me, Isaac. And it would certainly be wiser to wait until we find a replacement for Moko. But that will take time. Meanwhile we ignore the will of God at our peril. Hm. Well. Let’s suppose that I were to make an exception and come out with you tomorrow after all—”

“Yes!” Luke reached across the table and bumped knuckles with Amos.

“Good,” said Amos. “You know, if the boat really is gonna be that loaded up, then I think maybe we’ll need a tender.”

“A tender?” said Luke. “But that’d mean another pair of hands...”

“So what about one of the capos? We could take Hutchinson maybe. Leave Steiner behind...”

Preacher John loudly cleared his throat to speak. “
If
 I were to make an exception and come out with you tomorrow, then it would have to be on Isaac’s say-so. As he’s already pointed out, I’m not used to hard labour and I’m not as young as I was. I wouldn’t want to be a liability. Isaac – this decision is entirely up to you. Let me hear what you think.”

“Yeah, well. I suppose if we were properly prepared...” said Isaac. He seemed to have brightened up, become more animated. “Skelmersley’s a good way off, and so it’d be a long hard day. We couldn’t afford to waste time in the morning. Luke, you’d need to check all the equipment now, directly after we’ve finished here. See that the air tanks are full, the wetsuits are on board and the boat gassed up. Check the winch motor, and make sure there’s plenty of petrol in it. Shove an extra can in the locker – maybe a can of diesel as well. I want that boat made ready this evening. Got it? No messing around in the morning – just straight up and away.”

“And what about a tender?” said Amos. “Could come in handy. But that means dragging some kid along – one that’s got a bit of sense. What d’you reckon? One of the capos?”

Isaac rubbed at his black beard. “Hm. We could take... Hutchinson, maybe. Make that ugly mongrel work for a change. Yeah, OK. Steiner can deal with these other snot-noses just for one day...”

Preacher John rose. With a vague wave of his fingers he indicated that the others should remain where they were. “It seems that the question is settled then. Isaac, you’re the skipper and so I shall leave the details to you. I’m sure I’m in capable hands.”

He flicked a speck of dust from the lapel of his long black coat, and walked away from the table. Before turning right towards the dark corridor Preacher John glanced across at Baz. It was only a brief look, but those eyes were as fierce and cruel as a hawk’s, and once again Baz felt his insides begin to quake.

“Are you still here?” Preacher John’s voice was a low growl. Baz could make no reply, but in any case the preacher had already passed by, leaving the faint scent of candle-smoke behind him. His footsteps made no sound at all as he disappeared into the gloom.

Luke let out a long breath. “Bloody hell! The old man on the boat! 
All
 of us on the boat – the whole family. I can’t believe it.”

“No, nor can I,” said Isaac.

And nor could Baz. It was the best chance they were ever likely to get, he was certain of that. As he cleared away the half-eaten plates of food, he was already thinking about the fishing boat, picturing it far out to sea, miles away from the island. All the Eck brothers onboard. And Preacher John as well, yanking at the starter motor...

But even better, Hutchinson would be there too! That was a last-minute bonus that couldn’t have been predicted.

Back in the kitchen, Baz looked doubtfully at the remains of the marrow and mincemeat. He’d yet to take any food up to Nadine and Steffie. But how hungry would they have to be to eat this mess? Maybe if he drained off the liquid and gave it all a quick fry-up, it would taste better. It was something other than beans, anyway. Worth a try.

“Hey!” The back door of the kitchen opened and Ray stuck his head round. “Is it safe to come back through? It’s getting pretty dark out there – and we’re starving!” More faces appeared in the doorway.

“What? Yeah – hang on. The divers have gone to their rooms, but I’ll just check it’s all clear. Grab yourselves some tins of food, while I have a look.”

Baz had almost forgotten about the boys up in the library, so many things were spinning around his head. There was nobody in the dining area, and so he waved the troop through.

“I could be another hour yet,” he whispered to Gene. “Got lots to tell you. Were you OK up there?”

“Yeah, brilliant. See you later, then.”