helpful. Just empty rooms, dust, and blood.”
The bloodstains were everywhere. They splashed across the ceiling, ran down the walls, and pooled on the floor. So much blood …
“What are the chances on finding anyone alive?” said Constance.
“Not good,” said MacNeil. “But we’ll keep looking anyway. Just in case.”
The four of them slowly made their way through the fort, corridor by corridor, room by room. The corridors were for the most part bare and unadorned, with little in the way of matting or tapestries to break up the monotony of bare stone. All the rooms were empty and covered with a thick layer of undisturbed dust. But wherever they went they found bloodstains and broken furniture and enigmatic claw marks gouged deep into the stone walls.
And finally they came to the cellar, and there was nowhere left to go. The cellar was a featureless stone chamber some fifty feet square, littered with accumulated rubbish. Two open doorways led into smaller storage areas. MacNeil picked his way carefully through the mess, and the others followed him as best they could. There were piles of firewood, bags of rags, and stacks of old paper waiting to be pulped, along with broken furniture, wine casks, and general filth and garbage, all strewn across the bare floor without rhyme or reason. MacNeil made his way to the center of the cellar, being very careful about where he trod and what he trod in, and then stopped and looked disgustedly about him.
“I’ve seen cess pits that were cleaner than this.”
“It is rather untidy,” said the Dancer. “But have you noticed the walls?”
“Yeah.” said MacNeil. “There aren’t any bloodstains down here.”
“Is that a good sign or a bad sign?” said Flint.
“Beats me,” said MacNeil.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Constance suddenly. “Something’s wrong here.”
The others turned to look at her. The witch was shivering violently.
“How do you mean, something’s wrong?” said MacNeil. “Have you Seen something?”
“It’s
wrong
here,” said Constance, staring blindly ahead of her as though she hadn’t heard him.
MacNeil looked at the others, and then looked quickly around the cellar one more time. He shook his head slightly, as though disappointed, and then moved back to take the witch’s arm. “There’s nothing down here that matters. Let’s go, Constance.”
She nodded gratefully and let him help her back to the cellar door. Flint and the Dancer followed them out.
Eventually they ended up in the main dining hall, at the rear of the fort. It was a good-sized hall, some forty feet long and twenty wide, with trestle tables set out in neat rows. As in the cellar, the walls were unscarred and there were no bloodstains anywhere. The tables were set for a meal long abandoned. Food still lay on some of the plates, dry and dusty and covered with mold. Bottles of wine stood open and unopened on the tables. It was as though people had come in for a meal as usual, and then halfway through had just got up and walked away… .
“We’ll sleep here tonight,” said MacNeil. “It’s comparatively untouched by the madness, and since there’s only the one entrance, it should be easy enough to defend.”
“You’re really prepared to spend the night here?” said Constance. “After everything we’ve seen?”
MacNeil looked at her coldly. “We’ve seen nothing that’s immediately threatening. Whatever killed all these people, it’s obviously been gone some time. We’ll be a lot safer here, and a great deal more comfortable, than we would be out in the Forest during a thunderstorm. We’ll set a guard tonight, and first thing tomorrow morning we’ll start tearing this place apart. There’s got to be an answer here somewhere.”
“I don’t think we should disturb anything,” said Constance. “I mean, it could be evidence.”
“She’s right,” said the Dancer.
MacNeil shrugged. “Anything that looks significant we can leave