The stairs go on forever, down into the dark.  Five steps, landing, turn left, seven steps, landing, turn left, five steps...  No doors lead off the landings but bricked-up doorways.  The footsteps of Pepper, Ghost and the five tourists echo up and down.  Mist drips from step to step, pooling on the landings, undulating unpleasantly as they move through it.

"Just a little further now," Pepper breaks the silence after a few minutes.

It's getting warmer now and a faint orange glow shone from a few twists of the stairs further down.  The drumming they'd heard in the first room was back, accompanied by something just on the edge of hearing.  Laughter?  Crying?

The landing above the glow was larger, big enough for all of them to stand comfortably.

"The room we are about to enter played an unusual part in the history of this fair city.  It was a safe room, used by conspirators through the ages to plan, plot and hide.  Much like the 'room of requirement' from Harry Potter's school, the location of this room was uncertain, apparently known only to those who needed it."

He'd never read the Harry Potter books. Or even seen any of the movies. There was always work to be done, and anyway, who had time for kids books about witches? Given what the guide had just said about conspirators and planning and plotting, Ryan wondered just what kinds of books these really were. He waited patiently for the guide to move on, watching the mist flow in luminescent rivers around his booted feet as he did so. He wiggled a foot back and forth, the mist curling in little wavelets, and grinned. He'd have to ask how this was done at the end, as it would sure freak the kids out if he could rig it up in the barn this Halloween. 

Peter wondered if he should raise the question of what exactly a "room of requirement" was. There were many books he had read to successfully pull off one job or another but the Harry Potter series were not among them and when he read for pleasure he usually preferred action or adventure. Of course he had heard the Harry Potter books contained both but children's books just did not hold any appeal for him.

Forest green silk cardigan firmly buttoned, Annabelle settled the backpack on her shoulders once more as they paused.  She had to smile at the Harry Potter reference.  "Filled with chamberpots, you mean?"  she asked innocently.  "It's well known that Hogwarts is in Scotland, after all...  What conspirators and which ages?"  She had recovered her equilibrium and her historian's mind could not allow a blanket statement such as that go unchallenged.

"Ma'm, it is indeed well known that the fictional school for wizards, Hogwarts, is located somewhere within the Scottish Highlands.  Placing a school of that nature in a built-up area would lead to too many complications, even for such an internally consistent universe as created by Ms Rowling in this very city.  As an aside, the steam engine used as the Hogwarts Express in the films is owned by the music empresario, Pete Waterman."  Pepper coughed loudly as Ghost tried to stifle a laugh.  'Music empresario?  Aye, right.  I should be so lucky..'  

"As to the identities of the conspirators, this room has been occupied by such luminaries as Abbot Bernard of Arbroath, instrumental in the foundation of Scotland as we know it today, John Knox and his Calvinist followers, several signatories to the fifteen-sixty Treaty of Edinburgh, the leaders of the Covenanters.  Most recently the rooms were used in addition to several similar chambers beneath Edinburgh Castle during the planning stages of World Wars one and two.  Much of the action in the Orkney area and beyond was planned in here.  More interestingly, we're told this room was the negotiation hall for the original Festival Treaty."

James wondered what elaborate plot had been laid against him, was this tour a joke arranged at his expense?  After spending the afternoon poking about attics and cellars, the last way he wanted to end a night out was with more of the same.  He smiled inwardly at his own irritability, supposing the day's bizarre events combined with the atmosphere of this forgotten place, were making him a just a little nervous. 

The sudden echo of Annabelle's cultivated and precise tones round the stone passageway, shook James from his introspective malaise.  As if seeking the answer to her questions, he idly started inspecting the stonework before him for any clues as to their age or a story they might tell.

If rocks talked, he mused, I might already have some answers..

Pepper walked down the final steps, crossed the landing and placed his hand on the door handle. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the door open.

The whispers on the edge of hearing resolved themselves into voices, hushed tones debating matters of import.  Thick, unintelligible accents, dialects beyond living memory, their words still carried power.  One argued for the union of the Clans, the foundation of a united land for all Scots, others cried for the head of king Charles I.  More debated religion, politics, science.  The voiced grew louder, louder until they were shouting their ancient messages at their listeners.  Other voices began to weave in and out of the clamour.
"Just a little further, James, then you'll know..."

These snatches of dialogue repeated themselves, different voices, different volumes as the door to the room swung open.

Three figures looked up in surprise as the door opened,

"Shit, Ash!  I thought you said this place was safe!"  A harsh, metallic voice from a razor-thin girl dressed in tight grey denim.  Her eyes flashed yellow as she stared at the tourists.
"It is!  Usually."  Ash lived up to his name.  Dark grey hair, pale grey eyes, skin so pale it was almost white, dressed in shades of grey and black, urban camoflage.  His long coat billowed as he stood, turned to the door.
"We leave.  Now."  The third figure, a man, wore pseudo-Victorian clothing, some sort of keyboard strapped to his forearm.  he tapped a few keys, little flashes of light speckling his round glasses.  "Regroup in Locutia."
"Agreed."  Ash and the girl said together.

"Agreed."  Ash turned to a blank section of wall.  "Shields up, red alert.  Captian to the bridge."  For as long as it took the three to leave the room, there was a door.  And then there wasn't.

Pepper, his back to the room the whole time, blinked slowly.  Okay.  Things like this have happened before...  Let's just keep going.

"Please follow me."  And he strode, somewhat cautiously, into the room.

Now that is impressive, thought Peter as he waited for the others to enter the room. I wonder how they did it.

Ryan stared, mouth open, at the spot where the three had been, the words he'd just heard still echoing in his ears. "Ok, wait just one damned minute," he finally said, blinking and pointing at the now empty room. "That was my cousin, Edward! That guy, the one with the... the thing on his arm. That was my cousin!" He rounded on Pepper. "Just what in the world is going on here?" 

Peter smiled in the dark. It seemed Pepper and Ghost had something more in mind than a simple phone haunted tour. It would be interesting to see if the man who had introduced himself as Ryan Cross was the only intended target or if their guides had others in mind as well. Peter amused himself by trying to figure out what they would use if they tried to lure him in.

Well, that answered one of Peter's questions. It seemed his white haired companion was also a target. Were the rest of them intended to be targets as well?

Ryan nodded, almost surprised at discovering Lucy was still with them. "Yeah, Edward. He's her son, so that makes him my second cousin. But that still doesn't explain what he was doing here," he said to Pepper. Or Ghost. Whichever one of them it was that was still with them. 

James remained quiet, the thought that someone else might be playing strange tricks on their relatives was no comfort at all.  Walking into the room, he put his hands to the wall where the door had been before.  Was there a catch or a button?  He couldn't tell.  He turned back to where pepper and ghost were standing, looking vaguely uncomfortable.  He waited to hear what they had to say.    

Annabelle found the voices a  bit disorienting, which was no doubt their intent, though the reference to Ms Fleming and the sword amused her - obviously it wasn't she it referred to but the image was so incongrous. 

She was very impressed by the disappearing act and was on the point of saying so when Ryan claimed the man with the gadget to be his cousin.  And apparently Lucy knew him as well.  For some reason she found that rather disquieting.  Obediently, she followed Pepper into the room the trio had vacated.

"Sir, it's not uncommon for people to see events of past or future when they're on this tour.  I don't presume to know who or what you thought you saw in there but please, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."  Pepper stepped up to the square table at the centre of the room, unrolled a sheaf of maps.  "Gather round, please."

Ryan opened his mouth to argue, then slowly closed it. Maybe he really didn't see what he thought he saw. The man certainly did look like Edward, but what were the odds? Maybe he, Ryan, was just tired from his long and strange day. He rubbed at his eyes, said "...of course. Yeah, I must just be tired," and gathered around the table with the others. 

Whereas Ryan seemed willing to let the matter go and ascribe what he had seen to tiredness, Lucy was not so inclined. She was certain she had indeed seen the curator in the room just a moment previous, heard him too, and as she had already seen him 'disappear' once, she was not going to dismiss the encounter as a trick of the light or mind. Unlike the 'spirits' they had seen, the curator was too specific to be smoke and mirrors. That left only the possibility that he was working with Pepper and Ghost or that they did not know him. The first possibility seemed unlikely, as the encounter did not fit the tour. The second then, she considered, but that led to another puzzle entirely. Lucy looked carefully at each of the 'tourists' to see just how much attention each was paying to the reality of the situation, as in her mind, the reality had just shifted away from entertainment to something else entirely. Lucy hoped to find a way to share her concern with one or more of the others, but now the question became who, and how.

The maps were a motley collection of navigational charts of Scapa Flow and Firth of Forth, building blueprints and what look like historical maps of the city itself.  One of the city maps had a number of Xs marking locations around the Royal Mile.
"These, ladies and gentlemen, are locations at which people have entered the room we are now standing in.  We were lucky to have found this room on our first try tonight.  From here, we're close enough to reach one of the buried streets, covered over when the Royal Mile was formally constructed."

Annabelle stepped up to the table.  She loved maps!  She studied the historic maps of the city with particular pleasure.  The street names were fascinating, as was the layout. It was somehow organic, the growth rings of a city that was also an evolving organism.

Peter followed the others to the table. The tour was proving to be more entertaining than he had expected and he began to relax and enjoy himself. While he had never been one to use physical props in his scams did not mean he could not see the beauty and elegance in other's work. Had the two guides gone to so much trouble just to attract future business or did they somehow use the tour to extract even more money from its visitors. From the way they knew something about each of the guests Peter was inclined to believe the later was more likely, though how they had managed to find out anything about him in such a short time he did not know.

Lucy watched the others gathering around the maps. But instead of looking at the maps or the guides, she used the opportunity to study the group. She had already discarded talking to Ryan as he seemed, well, too easily swayed away from his own opinions. It seemed that Annabelle was focused on the maps, and thus the tour, so she was maybe not the best choice either. That left Peter and James. As Lucy studied the two of them, she noted that Peter, especially, seemed more focused on the tourists than the tour, whereas as James was harder to read. She decided not to eliminate the possibility to trying to get James' attention later, but she believed that the best person to approach first would be Peter.

As Peter walked over to the table, Lucy walked over next to him, She made sure that neither Pepper nor Ghost were looking her way and then she gently touched is hand. When he looked up, she mouthed the words, "Not" ... "a" ... "game." 

Peter studied the white haired woman before answering. So she was the most gullible of the group. He tucked that information away for later use before shrugging. "Maybe." He mouthed back.

The lights went out again.  The temperature in the room, previously comfortable, dropped to a bitter chill.  A wind whirled in, rustling the papers on the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take the hand of the person closest to you.  It appears we have overstayed our welcome.  We need to leave this room.  Now."

Cold and dark leapt into the room like seagulls onto a chip, leaving Annabelle something breathless.  Her clothes, chosen for a mild summer night, offered little protection.  Her toes were freezing in her sandals and she shivered.  Following her guide's instructions, she reached into the darkness.  She found a questing hand and took a firm grasp on it.  The warmth of another human touch was obscurely comforting.

Ryan reached out and took a hand on each side as instructed, giving himself a mental shake with the reminder that this was a show, these people were good at what they did, and he just needed to enjoy it. 

As it happened, Lucy was standing between Ryan and Peter when the lights went out. So she knew whose hands she was ostensibly taking. She reached out to them. Her imagination, though, had gone into overdrive since the encounter with the curator. Her mind took her through all sorts of possibilities for who, or even what, she might find herself holding when the lights came on again.

Underground rooms, cold, dark, it was enough to bring thoughts of the grave even to Peter's cynical mind and a shudder ran down his back. He would not have admitted it if anyone asked but he felt relieved when a hand to either side of him clasped his own.

James had found the wall solid, leaving him feeling somewhere between disappointed and relieved.  He was just stepping forward to take a look at the map, curious to see if he could see pete's new pad marked upon it, when the lights went out.  He groped for hands, the hairs on the back of his neck raising.  He wasn't afraid of the dark, but to be suddenly deprived of sight was always disconcerting.  Eventually he found two sets of searching fingers and took them, grateful for human warmth in the bitter darkness of the catacombs.

The wind picked up, howling around them, tearing away sound and replacing it with fury.  Strobe lighting flickered in the dark, illuminating their surroundings before racing away.  A forest clearing, trees.  Books, lots and lots of books.  A hilltop, looking down on low rolling hills, a lake.  Ancient, crumbling bricks and mortar.  Then darkness, deafening silence, whispers just on the edge of hearing.  It's almost a stock sound effect by now.

"[You pressed the wrong button.]"  Pepper hissed to Ghost somwhere in the darkness.  Anger came through loud and clear, drowning other emotions.
"[Did not.  I'm following the instructions I was given.]"  Ghost's voice flashed back, petulant, worried.
"[Then where the fuck are we?]"
"[Next room.  Right on track.  You're standin' behind the table, just step forwards.]"
*Bump*
"[Aye.  Right.  Sorry.]"

Pepper cleared his throat in the darkness, slapped a hand down on a hard surface, the echo ringing off a high ceiling somwhere above them.  Lights flared, gently, away in the distance.  This room is huge!  As the lights grow, details emerge.  Carved stone pillars holding up a vaulted ceiling, water lapping gently against the edges of the stone platform you're all standing on, a low wooden table behind which both Pepper and Ghost are standing.  The six of you standing in a circle, holding hands; Annabelle, Peter, Lucy, Ryan, James and an officer of the Lothian and Borders Constabulary.

The constable pulled his hands roughly from the two next to him. His skin and face showed him to be of potentially Middle Eastern descent but his voice was all Geordie.

"Oi! What's all this then?" he demanded, stepping away from the circle so as to keep all of them in sight, including the two behind the table. He caught himself before stepping off the platform and looked wildly about him.

"Cor! Whut...? Where th'hell are we? Who the bloody fuck are ye?" the officer demanded, his face darkened with anger, his hand gripping his holstered baton.

Peter nearly laughed at the appearance of the actor within their midst. He was ashamed to admit it but Peper and Ghost nearly had him, of all people, believing in their little act but the overheard whispers in the dark had confirmed what Peter knew from the start. This was all one elaborate hoax designed to entertain the guests and perhaps frighten the gullible.

Ryan Cross was worried.

Sure, he was a rube from New Mexico, but he'd always believed what his senses told him. When you grow up in the desert, you learn to pay attention to your surroundings. Those who didn't could become lost, bitten by anything from a snake to a scoprion, or lame a horse because they didn't avoid a burrow or nest. So you watched, you paid attention, and you saw what was really there. And what he was seeing now, what he had been seeing, was bordering on the impossible. He dropped his hold on the hands of the other guests and winced at the expressions of outrage being voiced by the newcomer to the group. The man looked to be wearing a policeman's outfit of some sort, and seemed madder than a rattlesnake trying to bite a fencepost.

James blinked and stared, his mind blanked briefly by the sudden sensory overload.  When the Police officer finally spoke, pulling his hand forcibly away from James' own, the timing of the whole affair led him to do the only thing he possibly could in the face of such absurdity.  He laughed. 

It started as a snicker at first, but quickly built into a deep-bellied chortle which echoed maniacally round the vast vaulted chamber.  He was shaking so hard from laughter and his eyes were so blurred with tears that he very nearly stumbled off the platform and into the water surrounding them.

Annabelle experienced a sense of disorientation, a whirling that left her with a pervasive impression of tremendous bookicity.  Perhaps 3 cocktails and wine at dinner had been a mistake, though she was not usually affected by that much alcohol.  The lights came up slowly, allowing time for her eyes to adjust and her jaw to drop.  She could in no way fathom how they had reached this stony islet.  Phantom of the Opera meets Moria? she thought.  The technical brilliance of the theatrics impressed her but at the same time left her uneasy.  She didn't like being so much in someone else's control.

The policeman pulled away from her quite roughly and James stumbled about laughing.  She reached for the young man, fearful that he would go over the edge - it was anyone's guess how deep that water was.  She turned her attention to the constable.  "Language, please!" she pronounced, in the unmistakable tone of the Universal Mother.  It was then she noticed the juxtaposition of his Scottish voice and exotic appearance. 

Goodness, she thought.  Come on, cactus is our friend...  She knew that the song would now be stuck in her head for ages.

Ryan looked around, taking in the water lapping at the edge of the 'room', the size of the cieling. He walked to the edge, knelt, and cupped some in his hand, smelling it.

The constable rounded on James, jabbing a finger angrily. "Shut it, ye!" He shifted again as Ryan moved, obviously still trying to keep the whole group in sight.

"Youz lot stay where y'are," he warned them as he reached up to the radio handset attached to his shoulder. He clicked it and spoke, "Sergeant, this is McGill. C'm'in, Sarge."

He cursed again as he got no response beyond static and what sounded like a mechanical voice reciting The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

"Right then," he huffed, still angry. "Who's in charge iv this portee?" He narrowed his eyes at Pepper and Ghost.

Pepper looked unnerved and confused by the new arrival.  Ghost stepped around the table, one arm extended to shake his hand.

"Good evening, officer McGill."  His voice was smooth, unctuous, silky.  "I'm afraid you appear to have joined us mid-tour.  Might I ask where you were going before you arrived here?"

McGill looked mistrustingly at Ghost, ignoring the offered hand. His voice now on a calmer, more official register, he stated, "I was answering a report of a robbery in progress. A citizen directed me down a set of stairs and I assume I stumbled into you lot. Now I have to ask what the hell, excuse me, ma'am," this directed at Annabelle, "are you about?" He fixed his gaze on Ghost with narrowed eyes. "And do I have reason to know you?"

"Officer McGill," Ghost withdrew the proffered hand.  You appear to have joined us on the first Pepper and Ghost Walking Tour of the Old Town for this season."

McGill's attitude didn't change, and his voice carried the threat of lawfully-enforced action. "A tour, is it? And I expect you'll be presenting your permit for this tour, seeing as you seem to be gallivanting about people's private property seemingly without their permission?"

James had stopped laughing and, having wiped the tears from his eyes, stared at Officer McGill with a look of surprised recognition.

"Officer, I am going to reach into my inside pocket, take out the paperwork you desire."  Ghost's voice was becoming more charming by the second.  With his right hand he reached into his jacket, produced several sheets of paper.  His left hand, behind his back, did something.  "As you can see, Officer McGill, Council permits for visiting each of the nine locations on tonight's tour."  He flipped over a page.  "Permission from the owners of the properties not under Council jurisdiction, this room included here."  He flipped a third page.  "Travel permits to use connecting rooms, corridors and other links as appropriate.  All stamped, notorised and in order.  We pride ourselves on our organisation, Officer."

McGill appeared mollified by the presented paperwork. "All right, then." He looked around the platform. "Now if ye'll be so kind as to show me the way out so that you can continue your..." he eyed the chamber they were in, "tour and I can get back to my duties."

"I'm afraid you'll be with us for a wee while yet, Officer.  If you'll be patient whilst my associate gives a speech about the room we're in, there'll be a refreshment break and then we can leave this room.  Once we're out of here, there's a set of stairs on your left that will take you back up to the Mile."

McGill's face darkened and he seemed on the verge of another outburst, but then he let out his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "All right, fine, just get on with it."

The constable stepped as much out of the way as the platform would allow and resumed fiddling with his radio, vainly trying to regain contact with his partner.

"Thankyou, Officer."  Ghost took up station beside the Policeman, hands behind his back, watching the group.

Annabelle was peering out into the darkness.  Something was in the water - she was sure of it.  A movement, a glint of something. 

"Ryan take your hand out of the water.  Right now!"  The tone made it plain there was no alternative but to obey.  "No-one touch the water.  There's something there..."  Her voice trailed off as she peered into the depths - or shallows, she really couldn't tell. 

So intent was she on her surveillance she quite missed Ghost's transformation from not-quite-bright to Noel Coward. Ryan looked surprised at her outburst as he stood from his crouch, shaking water from his hands. His eyes roamed the surface of the water, seeking whatever it was that had so startled her. "Freshwater," he said aloud. "Cold. And we've moved, but we're in the same place." His eyes continued to roam across the chill, jet expanse. "And I reckon I'd really like to know how you boys are pulling this off." 

"That makes two of us." Peter added. "I've seen some good effects before but this tops everything."

"Gentlemen."  Pepper beamed at them.  "As this is the first night of this year's tour, you shall all be granted a glimpse behind the magic at the end of the evening.  We won't be revealing all, but you shall be enlightened."

The echo of Jame's laughter hadn't yet died away but it had changed.  Somehow more sinister, slower, deeper, focussed from one far, dark corner of the room.

"Ladies, Gentlemen.  Members of the Constabulary"  Pepper's voice cuts over, through the conversation, killing it instantly.  "We are now in the cistern.  A hundred years ago, this room existed below the Palace of Holyrood House and supplied water to it and the surrounding area.  When a new water supply to the city was brought online, this area ceased to have any purpose.  The occasional dinner party for select guests was held here on the platform where we stand but not every guest made it out alive.  Rumours of something living in the water led to the room being sealed up and forgotten about, expunged from the official records.  But the city remembers."  Pepper started pacing around the platform, walking behind the tourists.  "For every party that enters here, all but one may leave.  That is inscribed above the doorway we shall be exiting from..."  Still pacing, still circling. It's probably nothing but a trick of the light that something seems to be in the water, following his movements, round and round.

Ryan pointed out across the slate black surface to the subtle disturbance in the water. "Is that part of the tour?" He moved away from the waters edge as he spoke. No sense in not being cautious after all. See what was really there..

Annabelle could barely take her eyes off the presence in the water.  Circling Pepper, tracking his every movement.  It felt oily, osseous, wrong.   This was very bad - she knew it was.

Pepper's voice, when he spoke, was a shade condescending.  "To recap, sir.  Rumours of something living in the water led to the room being sealed up and forgotten about, expunged from the official records."  He stepped back from the table, drawing the dark cloth off the objects it had been covering.

Ryan scratched at his chin, then shook his head. Something was going on - this much had become obvious. And their guides either weren't seeing it, which meant they were blind. Or they were seeing it and refusing to acknowledge it, which meant they weren't the sharpest tools in the shed because everyone else was. Which could be either just part of the show, or... hell, anything really. And then there was the angry policeman, whom they seemed to mostly be ignoring. And just where in hell had that guy come from, anyway? And here they went again, on with the next part without acknowledging anyone but each other.

Amazing.

"Ladies, gentlemen.  This marks the one-third mark of our tour.  To this end we have laid on a wee refreshment for you all."  Seven large whisky glasses, a jug of water and a half-sized bottle of Glenkinchie single-malt whisky stand on a silver tray in the middle of the table.  Small bowls around the tray held peanuts, cashews, almonds.  A porcelain plate held oatcakes, several knives and some small rolls of butter.  "This is not normal fare for our tours, but as this is the first of the season we wanted to make it a night for you to remember."

Pepper took up the whisky bottle, uncorked it silently and poured less-than-generous measures into each of the glasses.  He added a generous slug of water to his own and Ghost's before handing a glass to Annabelle.  Confusion crossed his face for a moment as he scanned the group several times before spotting Lucy and giving her a glass.  Ghost handed glasses to Ryan, Peter and James.

Pepper raised his glass high.

"Slainte mhath!" he said, then drank it down in one.

"What he said," Ryan replied, adding quietly to himself and to you too, dear lady, to the ghost of his Great Aunt, wherever she might be.

"Slainte mhath." Peter echoed, tossing back his own drink. He sure had to hand it to Pepper and Ghost. So far they had done an excellent job of making the tour seem authentic.

"Salut... and Slainte... "   James joined in, cheerfully, knocking back his whiskey.  After this bizarre whirlwind tour, he felt he needed it and besides, he was still somewhat shocked at seeing the same police officer from earlier in the day.  The liquid warmed his throat and strengthened his nerves slightly, but he couldn't shake the feeling as if they were attending the Mad-Hatter's tea party.  He was just waiting for someone to start spreading butter on their pocket-watch, or maybe Officer McGill's radio...  James resisted the temptation to do so himself, but smiled at the thought and started munching on a large handful of nuts in case he started snickering again.

She gave a mental sigh.  She didn't want a drink - she'd had her limit and she never drank to excess.  "Slainte mhath," she echoed brightly, miming a sip.  She didn't want any of their spread, either.  What she did want was chocolate - which was in her backpack.  That meant she now faced the eternal cocktail party dilemma, what to do with your glass once you needed both hands...

She set the glass down on the edge of the table as though she intended to pick it up again the very second her hands were free.  She slipped the pack off her shoulders, retrieved her chocolate and resettled the backpack.  She opened the thin cardboard wrapper, tearing away the arc  in the top right corner:  next the seductive rustle of foil as she slit the inner wrapper with her thumbnail.  She peeled it away as the fragrance of high grade Swiss crept into the air.  She broke of a row with a glossy snap, closing her eyes as she slipped the firm sweetness into her mouth, feeling it liquefy on her tongue and trickle down her throat.  It was probably her imagination but already she could feel sweet theobromine making the world a better place.

Opening her eyes with a contented sigh, she offered the bar around, starting with PC McGill.  She tucked the remains into the outside pocket of her pack. Ryan accepted a square of the chocolate, popping it in his mouth with a nod of thanks and a smile. It had been some time since he'd last eaten. At least, he thought it had. "That's good stuff," he said as he chewed, the subtle sweetness of the chocolate blending with the smoky after-taste of the whiskey. "Thanks." 

McGill shook his head curtly at the offer. Anxiety, impatience, and a simmering anger tinged with unacknowledged fear rolled off him like sweat. He'd given up trying to contact his partner; he could just imagine the chewing out he was going to get for getting stuck like this, followed by days of ribbing from his mates.

Peter politely declined the offered chocolate. He did not care for it much on the best of days and surely not with whiskey. Still more interested in watching those around him than the tour itself he focused his attention on the "constable" wondering if the man was just an actor or if he really was a constable making some extra money in his off duty time.

McGill curbed the instinct to browbeat the two Nancies leading the tour into letting him out right away. He could tell the tour part was all out-of-towners (he recalled having to give Laughing Boy there directions earlier that day) and he was conscious of giving guests of the city a bad impression of their constabulary. At least, that was the line drummed into them by their sergeants as they prepared for the upcoming festival.

The constable couldn't shake the unease chilling his bones, though. He'd never heard of a chamber like this being under the city, and the dark-clad one's macabre recitation of the events it had witnessed was affecting him as much as it seemed some of the others, although he tried hard to hide his concern.

Pepper watched the group as they picked at the nibbles they'd laid on.  And they were just picking.  Jeez.  Those oatcakes hadn't been cheap, the whisky was a good one and, well, bugger it.  More for the team to munch on later.  He checked his watch surrepticiously.  Timing was going well.  He had to hand it to them, he was having a hard time faulting their effects.  Nice.  Anyway, give them another minute or two and Ghost could spring the next gem on them.  Oh, PC McGill...  You came along at the wrong time, mate.

The internal timer went 'bing!' and Pepper clapped his hands twice.  The echoes bounced strangely around the distant corners of the cistern.

"Ladies, gentlemen, Officer."  A rumbling grew, the scraping of stone on stone.  A walkway rose up out of the water behind him, at the end of which the outline of a doorway could be seen.  "If you could place your glasses on the table and follow me, it's a short walk to our next room."  He turned and strode off down the walkway.

Ghost stepped up to PC McGill.

"Officer?  This room is set up with two doors.  We're leaving through the second of those doors.  The first one opens when the second closes - you'll have to take my word for that.  There's a flight of stairs through the second door, just head up, first door on your left puts you out just up the hill from Starbucks."

McGill frowned, trying to make sense of the directions. "So, ye're saying I go through another door after the one ye go through closes. Where's this bleeding door showing up?"

"That's correct, officer.  Trust me, I tested this myself last night as part of our Council-required health and safety documentation."

As the policeman began to brow-beat Ghost, James placed his glass down and quietly shuffled round behind him, avoiding eye contact with McGill and watching his footing as he made his way onto the slick stone causeway that had just appeared. 

Keeping an eye on their host and the PC, Peter placed his glass on the table and moved to the walkway trying to keep himself between the ladies and the two men in case a confrontation broke out. "Ladies first." He said indicating they should go before him.

She nodded to Peter, appreciating his good manners.  She made her cautious way across the wet stones, pausing on the threshold of the far door to cast a final look at the lonely figure of the policeman.  She had a bad feeling...

Ghost brought up the rear, flicking at one of the buttons on his remote control.  The door they left through started closing, leaving PC McGill standing in the dark.

He had to ask. Had to.

"Mr. Ghost? Mr. Pepper?" 

"Sir?"  Ghost answered, quietly.

He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at the diminishing form of  PC McGill. "Where did that policeman come from?" 

"Newcastle, by the sound of it."