He smiled wrily. 'I can confirm that… Oddly enough, I kind of liked the man, though. He's become evil but the thing that started him off would have made me bitter, too. But she was evil to start with, I'd say – and with her beside him, knowing exactly what she's doing, he'd never have a chance to draw back… I'd like to tell you all about it, next time we're in the TSA room.'

'Should you, Gareth?' Having released her feelings, she found discretion was seeping back.

'No, but I will.' Then with a change of tone: 'When's the Chief receiving us?'

'Eight-thirty. Dinner for four in his quarters. I'm to escort her there, and you're to arrive independently. He's being very rumour-conscious on this. Doesn't even want her identified with Intelligence Section. And I’m to cook and serve dinner.'

'Go easy on the hemlock,' Gareth said.

There was no doubt about it, Brenda told herself with growing alarm as the dinner progressed: the rapport between Karen and Reggie was as immediate as the antipathy between Karen and herself. Reggie was at his most charming and he and Karen monopolized the conversation. Almost all of it was about the practical problems of survival on Surface which they discussed as cheerfully as though Karen had just returned from a camping holiday. The rest was about horses for which they shared an enthusiasm. Reggie was delighted to find that she had learned side-saddle from Janet Macdonald herself, which apparently put her among the elite.

How their talk finally turned to serious business, Brenda could never quite remember. It must have been over coffee, because she clearly recalled the zabaglione and Karen's fulsome praise of it. After that, everything became frighteningly vague. One sentence stood out in her mind; Karen asking Reggie: 'Do you really want to know if it works?' – and then Karen's big eyes moving from her face to Gareth's and back again

It could not be said that she and Gareth woke up in her own quarters, sitting opposite each other with drinks in their hands. They simply became aware, abruptly and simultaneously, that they had been there for some time. Even that this was their second drink.

Brenda nearly screamed. Gareth must have realized it, for he quickly grasped her free hand in his own, holding it tightly till she was in command of herself.

'Hypnotism,' he said at last. 'The bloody woman hypnotized us, right there in front of the Chief's eyes. Christ, that must have impressed him!'

After a pause, Brenda said: 'It was more than just hypnotism, Gareth. She brought us out of it, together, when she was ready, by remote control. An ordinary hypnotist couldn't do that. It calls for telepathy.'

'Not necessarily. She could have ordered a trigger. For example – "You will go back to Brenda's room, sit down and pour yourselves drinks and when you take the first sip of your second drink you will wake up, remembering nothing of what has happened in between." This is our second drink, isn't it? And we've both just tasted it.'

'Yes, it is. But that's all I know. I don't remember getting here or what we've been talking about, except that we have been talking.'

'Me too. But you see? It could be a normal hypnotic technique, without telepathy or anything.'

'Normal!… Gareth, I'm hypnosis-resistant. A doctor tried nnce and I wanted to cooperate but no way could he put me under. But she did it across a dinner-table, just like that. And I'm pretty sure I felt her command to wake up – not any trigger situation that she'd ordered but her command, coming through as she gave it.'

T must say, so did I. But that could be post-hypnotic suggestion. She could have told us we'd believe that when we woke up.'

'All of it could be. But do you know what, Gareth? I'm frightened. Scared out of my bloody wits – for myself, for you, for Reggie, for Beehive… Hell, I'm scared for Britain. Does that sound melodramatic?'

Gareth did not answer for a moment; then he shook his head, slowly.

'Dare we have another drink?' she wondered. 'Or will there be some post-hypnotic suggestion attached to that, too?'

He smiled, for the first time. 'I guess we'll risk it.'

'After all,' Brenda said as she poured, 'she's achieved her purpose. Put us in our places, shown Reggie what she can do and got him to herself… I wish her joy of him,' she added venomously.

'That remarks sounds a little… uncharacteristic'

'Yes, it does, doesn't it?… Cheers.'

'Cheers.'

They sat for a while, wrapped in their separate thoughts. Then Brenda asked: 'Gareth – you love me, don't you?'

He lowered his eyes. 'Yes, Brenda, I do. You know I do. I have… well, since about the second time I met you.'

'Then this'll sound incredibly selfish of me. I don't love anyone, right now. But by God, I need your love. I need to trust you and I need you to trust me or I'll go bloody mad… You're an Intelligence officer. For what we've already said and will say to each other, you could destroy me -and I could destroy you. But we won't. We need each other. Don't we?'

Gareth looked up again, into her eyes. 'Yes, we do. And I think we're going to have to do more than talk. We're going to have to do something about it.' He blushed, suddenly young and vulnerable. 'Oh, I didn't mean…'

'I know you didn't,' she told him gently.

He recovered himself and went on: 'We're going to have to do something about her. About what's going on and what's planned… You said you were scared for Britain. You know what, Brenda? So am I.'

20

'Ye Lords of the Watchtowers of the North; Boreas, thou guardian of the Northern portals; mighty Cernunnos, Lord of the forest; great Cerridwen, Queen of earth and sky; we do thank you for attending our rites and ere ye depart to your pleasant and lovely realms, we bid you hail and farewell!'

Behind her, everyone echoed ‘Hail and farewell!' as Moira drew the Banishing Pentagram in the air above the altar with her athame. She laid the knife on the altar and turned, smiling at them and they all broke into talk and laughter. Some put their clothes back on by the row of hooks along the end wall, others, in no hurry to cover their comfortable nakedness, gathering around the big wood-burning stove. Dan began clearing the ritual tools from the table which had been placed against the north wall to serve as an altar; Greg switched on the twelve-volt lighting of which he was justifiably proud, and little Diana exercised her privilege of blowing out the candles one by one.

Eileen, perennially anxious to learn, came over to Moira and asked: 'Why do you only mention Boreas? Why not the winds at the other quarters?''Do you know who they are?' Moira asked back.

'Eurus in the East, Notus in the South and Zephyrus in the West,' Eileen answered promptly. 'And Aeolius who's the master of them all… That's my trouble. I collect facts but I can't always work out reasons.'

'Well, East, South and West are Air, Fire and Water, and to mention winds for all of them might make it harder for people to hold the elements in their minds. But North isn't only Earth, it's the altar as well so it's rather special; you thank the God and Goddess there, so you make it more ceremonious. Besides, Boreas is the doorkeeper of Caer Arianrhod…'

Two or three others had joined them and began asking their own questions. It was the same after every Circle now, for the coven had become something very different from the tight little group in half-forgotten Staines. Tonight, for instance, there were eighteen adults and four children crowding the Central Cabin for the regular Friday Circle: Moira's group of five plus Diana, eight witches who had joined Camp Cerridwen over the past two or three weeks with three of their children, and five interested non-initiates including Eileen and Peter. What with getting the incoming witches attuned to Moira and Dan's particular methods and customs and explaining things to the non-initiates, 'I feel more like a schoolteacher than a High Priestess, sometimes,' Moira had said to old Sally.