He’d screamed himself hoarse, calling for Zoe, Mal, his Gran … anyone to come and help him. Tears streamed down his temples into his hair, and thick moisture clogged his nostrils.

He was going to die. He knew that now. Alone, cold, and utterly terrified.

Memories of other tight places crashed heavily across his mind, from the cupboard that started his fear when he was barely in his teens, to the time during the war when he’d been buried under a rain of debris from a mortar that exploded too close for comfort. He’d been able to scrabble out after a while, coughing and spluttering, spitting dirt from his tongue, but it wasn’t going to be so simple this time.

He wondered briefly what they’d put on his tombstone, whether it would be the simple Here Lies Hank Mills – Beloved Husband and Father, or if Zoe might wax more poetical. Something that rhymed, perhaps. That is, if they found him. Found his mouldering, decaying corpse.

Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be around to care. He’d be dead. Very, very dead. No, one ‘dead’ was enough. He didn’t have to oversell the permanency.

He tried to swallow, but while sweat still poured off him, his mouth was dry as a cracked bone. Fear still pounded through him his muscles no longer seemed to be capable of independent movement, and he lay still, the only signs of life being a trembling that ran through his body, and the frantic beating of his heart that should have been heard half a planet away.

A noise broke in on his misery, something scraping. For a moment he thought he was making the sound himself, his shuddering causing some portion of his anatomy to rub on the stone, but … no. Stone, yes, but on stone.

Again a swallow, this time the mucus from his nostrils rolling back into his throat; it felt disgusting but he was almost glad of it.

Reaching up with an unsteady hand, he touched the roof of his prison. No, it hadn’t shifted, wasn’t lowering down onto him as his imagination had suggested. As his fingernails scratched at the roughness above him it was still the same distance away.

The noise had stopped, and for a long moment he wondered if he was going mad, and the sound had only been in his head.

Then it came again, louder, setting his eardrums cringing. A long, low grind … then his heart leaped as a sliver of light appeared in the darkness.

---

Jayne heaved. It was heavy, and even his muscles began to complain. If someone had put Hank inside it would have taken more than one of them, especially if it was the Fosters. Although there was something about that Crispin, something Jayne’s long-trained senses suggested was more than he seemed.

There was an ear-cringing squeal as the stone lid rubbed on the base, but it only served to make him redouble his efforts, and finally there was enough space to be able to shine his torch into the gloom.

“Tah muh duh hwoon dahn.”

Nothing. No body, no parts, not even a sign anything had ever been inside. And definitely no Hank.

“Moonbrain.”

Jayne.

“He ain’t here.”

---

“Why isn’t he dead?”

“How should I know?”

Hands grabbed him and pulled him up, tipping him over the edge before letting go. He expected to hit the ground, but instead he stayed still, and it finally clicked that he was already on the ground, and where he’d been lying was actually a hole. He looked around, at the coffins slid into niches in the walls, at the stone tombs either side of him, and knew where he was. The mausoleum.

“Mao xingxing de gaowan,” he muttered, a new kind of fear sending a frisson down his overworked nerves.

“You kiss your wife with that mouth?”

Hank looked up, focussing first on Clive brushing dust from his hands, then Crispin, red-cheeked from the effort of moving the stone slab, and finally on John Foster, a laser pistol in his hand. “Uh … what …?”

The old man smiled. “And a good morning to you too.”

“You’ve got … is that … a gun?”

John looked at it. “It seems so. I tend to keep it about my person. You never know the miscreants and vagabonds who hang around sometimes.” He let it drop to his side.

“Vagabonds. Right.” Hank levered himself to his feet, just about managing to straighten up. “But thanks.”

“For what?”

“Getting me out of there.” He began to shake, his sweat-soaked pyjamas starting to stiffen in the freezing air, and he was surprised he could get the words out at all, his teeth had begun chattering so much. He didn’t think it could be possible, but it was actually colder outside the tomb than inside, but nothing in the ‘verse would ever make him ask to get back in. “Someone tried to kill me.” He managed to sound affronted.

“Well, my sons are a little limited in their imagination, and somewhat precipitous in their actions.” He lifted the pistol again.

Hank felt oddly disoriented. “What?”

John Foster laughed, although considering the venue it was somewhat more like a cackle. “Sorry. Big words. Sometimes I tend to fall back on them. That’s what comes of doing business pretty much all of my life. If you’d ever sat in a boardroom you’d know both sides of the table say a hell of a lot, but mean absolutely nothing.”

“Sh … shiny.” Hank pointed to the pistol, but unable to keep his hand still. “Is … is that n … necessary?”

“Yes. Because even though these idiots jumped the gun, the outcome is going to be the same.”

“I still don’t see why he isn’t dead,” Clive complained. “He should have run out of oxygen by now.”

“It’s not airtight, you fool,” Crispin spat.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Clive pouted, unbecoming on a man of his age, but also obviously something he’d done all of his life, at least where his father and brother were concerned.

“Any idiot would know it.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Of course not. It’s all your fault we’re in this mess in the first place, but of course you’re not an idiot.”

As fun as it might have been another time to listen to them argue, Hank had other worries on his mind, mainly not freezing to death. “Look, you c … can have it. Everything. T … take it all.”

“Oh, we shall.” The look Crispin gave should have burned.

Another shudder ran through Hank, but this was nothing to do with the cold. He pulled his pyjamas closer across him, then he blinked and looked down. “How … how did I … I wasn’t wearing …”

Crispin rolled his eyes. “Clive didn’t want to carry a naked man.”

Clive put his hands on his hips. “I didn’t see you complaining too much when I suggested putting them on him.”

“I had to hold him.”

“And I –”

“Shut up!” John Foster’s voice cut across the bickering. “I swear, if you two don’t stop it I will put all three of you in the same gorram grave!”

“Father, there’s no need to –”

“There’s every need! I told you to leave it to me, but no, you and that lawyer have all these grand ideas, and make it far more complicated than it needs, and I still have to bail you out.”

Clive flushed an unbecoming red, while Crispin clenched his teeth so hard it was surprising they didn’t shatter. “This is all Clive’s fault.”

“You agreed.” Clive turned on his brother.

“Don’t be such a cry baby.”

“And where do you think you’re going?” John Foster suddenly demanded.

Everyone turned to look at Hank who was backing towards the open door, his arms wrapped around himself to try and stop the violent shivering.

“Uh …” Hank tried a half-smile. “I just … I thought I could c … come back. After you’ve … you’ve finished arguing. How’s a … a week next Thursday f … for you?”

John Foster aimed the laser pistol. “How about you shut up? And stand still.”

“Fine. F… fine. Just t … trying to help.”

John turned back to his sons. “And what, exactly, was this plan of yours?”

Crispin didn’t even glance at his brother. “We were going to leave him in the maze, suggest he was sleepwalking and got lost.”

“It might still work,” Clive put in.

“No, it won’t.” Luke stood in the doorway, pulling off his gloves. “They know something’s happened.”

“Luke?” Hank stared but was ignored.

John’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Dottie’s just been bending my ear about a feller looking for Hank, some big guy with a beard.”

Hank closed his mouth with a snap. Jayne?

“So?” Crispin was dismissive. “Maybe he’s owed money.”

“He’s in the tunnels.” Luke’s dry tone made the older man visibly seethe.

“Gorramit.” John Foster looked pensive.

“Here.” Luke undid his heavy coat, shrugging it from his shoulders and holding it out to Hank.

The pilot took a half-step backwards. “Why?”

“You’re pretty much naked. And it’s freezing.”

“But you … you’re with them.”

“Yu di, Hank, take the coat. Before your teeth break to bits. And I somehow don’t think Zoe would like that look on you.”

There was a moment of indecision, then Hank grabbed the coat and thrust his arms into it, feeling the residual warmth cocoon his body like the finest feather eiderdown. Or possibly a shot of Jayne’s rotgut whisky. He managed to do up the buttons then pushed his hands into the pockets.

“Better?” Luke asked.

Hank nodded. “A little.”

“Then go on back to my house. It’s closer.”

A glare lit the mausoleum, followed a split-second later by a tiny sonic-boom as highly intensified photons caused a rain of dust from the ceiling.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Foster demanded, looking from one to the other, the laser pistol still ticking slightly from firing but following his glare.

Luke sighed. “Stopping you.”

“But we had a plan.”

“No, you did.” Luke glanced at Hank. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to turn out like this.”

Hank glanced at the yawning hole he’d been lately in, part of his brain noting the stone lid lying to one side had carving on it – Uther Triskelion. “No?”

“I wish I could say I had no idea they’d go this far, but I’d be lying. I just didn’t think it would be quite this soon.”

“What are you talking about?” Clive wanted to know.

“I think perhaps I’d better introduce myself.”

“I know who you are.”

“No, you don’t. None of you do. My name isn’t Brookner. It’s Triskelion.”

Foster laughed sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s true. My grandfather was Jago.”

“Now you’re just lying outright. Jago was sly. I should know – he tried to seduce me once, back in the day, before I Iaid him out with a punch.”

“That he was.” Luke sighed. “But he did try, once, with a woman. Just his luck to make her pregnant on the first – and only – go, but her son was my father. And I’ve got the papers and DNA to prove it.”

“So you’re …”

“Direct bloodline, John. The heir.”

Hank swallowed, relief and indignation warring with each other and making his hair itch. “Why didn’t you say something? Before?”

“And have him come after me instead? I’m really not that stupid.” He looked at John Foster. “And, quite frankly, I was waiting for you to die. Clive I could have handled, and at least had a good stab at Crispin, but you … I’d have been in an early grave myself.”

“You could have married Cora,” John growled. “As we all suggested in the first place.”

“What, my own daughter?”

There was a long silence, only broken by slight creaking from the roof of the mausoleum.

“Are you telling me … you and Demelza …”

Luke laughed, making the coffins rattle in their sockets. “You are so blind, John. Yes. Me and Demelza. All this time.”

Hank shifted from one foot to the other, starting to lose all feeling in his toes. “Look, this seems to be a family thing, so I’ll just be on my –”

“Don’t move.” The sound of the emission pack on the laser pistol powering up was very loud. “There’s a way around this. All of this. We can still make it work.”

“John, don’t be more of a hwoon dahn than you are already.” Luke glanced around. “I know you don’t really want this place. If you did you’d have kept it up. So let me put forward my claim, and you support it, and I’ll give you whatever money you want, so long as you promise to retire quietly somewhere.”

“You’ll give me …” Foster glared. “Do you know the real reason for all this? Why I couldn’t give a shit about how the place is? It can fall down around my ears for all I care. In fact, it’ll make the strip mining that much easier.”

“The …” For once Hank was positive Luke knew nothing about this, even more so when the man went on, “You want to pull it all down?”

“I would have done already, but for that damn will of Uther’s. I had no idea just what it meant, not until Septimus went into it in detail after the accident.”

“You mean when you killed your family,” Hank blurted out, unable to keep quiet any longer. “It wasn’t an accident that day, out on the yacht, was it?”

Foster laughed, and the coffin-lid sound was slightly deranged. “How did you guess?”

“It’s what everybody thought.” Out of the corner of his eye Hank saw Luke drop his gloves, then lean forwards to pick them up.

“It was all Elowen’s fault. They told me she was a virgin, and she wasn’t. And then I found out she was barren! What else was I to do?”

“How about love her?”

“Why?” John seemed honestly surprised Hank would suggest it, just as Luke tossed the handfuls of snow and grit he’d swept up at the Fosters.

“Run.”

Hank gaped, then his legs took over, propelling him out of the mausoleum door of their own accord. It was almost a surprise when they didn’t turn towards the gate house, but the thought arrived a nanosecond later that, while being closer, it was just another place to be trapped into a corner, and despite Luke’s apparent turncoat there were still three of them and only one of him.

Ignoring the biting cold attacking his toes with every step, he ran for the maze.

Inside John Foster swore as he wiped slush from his eyes. “Get him.”

“No.” Luke barred the doorway. “This stops now.”

“Yes. I suppose it does.” John pulled the trigger.

---

Jayne.

“Yeah?”

Hurry.

“There’s a lot of snow, Riv.”

Go back to the tunnels. I’ll guide you.

“You sure?”

Hurry.

---

Inside the mausoleum John kicked Luke’s body to one side so he could get past into the fresh air. Behind him his sons were still bickering.

“This is all your fault!” Clive whined. “I told you we should have just put him into the lake. But oh, no, you wanted to be clever.”

Crispin’s hands curled into fists. “I should have been an only child! And it’s not too late to –”

“You morons!” John Foster’s glare should have turned his sons into flame and dust. “Crispin, go back through the tunnel to the house. Cut him off if he gets that far.”

“Then give me the gun.” He held out his hand.

“Xue jiu.”

Crispin’s own scowl promised swift retribution, but instead he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face as he ducked back inside.

“Clive, go and check the gatehouse. Luke was right about one thing, it is closer.”

“What about you?”

“It looks like he’s headed for the maze. I’ll go that way.”

“Then why should I –“

“Because he might double back.”

“But I –“

“Do not argue with me! Just do it!”

“What about Luke?” Clive glanced down at the fallen man. “Is he dead?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

“Then get moving.”

Glaring over his shoulder almost as much as his brother had, Clive started down the path.

---

Inside the maze the snow was deep and crisp and even, although Hank didn’t particularly feel like singing a carol about it. Actually, it wasn’t particularly even, either, as wind had sculpted it so that in places he could see the frozen ground beneath, and in others what could have been exits were just a wall of shimmering white.

He could almost hear John Foster behind him. The old man might be old and was probably breathing noisily, but he had the fire of insanity burning in him, and that was going to keep him going even after his body had given up.

The house. Not too far. Through the maze, yes, but …

Go.

He staggered to a halt and almost fell, his ankle twisting under him, the sudden pain making him bite his tongue to stifle it. River? he thought hard, and he knew if he’d been able to say it his voice would probably have so high it would only have been audible by dogs.

Ouch. Don’t shout. And I’ll lead you through.

I need help.

They’re on their way, but he will catch you first if you don’t hurry.

Are you flying?

Yes. But not Serenity.

Oh, good. So where do I go?

Left.

---

“Riv? It’s another dead end.” Jayne paused. “Moonbrain?”

Busy. Handle on the wall on the right. Into the mausoleum.

If Jayne could have felt miffed he would have pouted. As it was he did as he was told, and saw a small wheel. Grasping it he twisted hard, then grunted in surprise as it gave easily, and the rock face in front of him swung inwards.

His gun in his hand he stepped through, his torchlight picking out coffins and stone sarcophagi. And a body laying against the wall by the half-open door.

For a second he didn’t move, waiting to see if anything was going to suggest someone was waiting to ambush him, but the room was as silent as the grave. His lip curled. The grave. Right. In a moment he’d crossed the floor and was down by the body, rolling it so he could see the face, and the waft of burned flesh reached his nostrils.

Luke groaned.

“Shit.” Stripping off his jacket Jayne laid it across the injured man, tucking it around him. “Just … don’t move.”

“They’re … after him.” Luke’s voice was little more than an exhalation of breath.

“Yeah. Well, so am I, and I’m better’n them any day.” Jayne stood straight and ran out of the mausoleum.

---

Jayne had told him a story once, about being on the hunt for someone who owed him something or other. He’d waited for his target for three hours in four inches of slush as the temperature dropped, and had grinned when he’d admitted to Hank that he’d had to break his feet free from the ice when he’d finished.

Still, at least this was pretty. Not that he had the time to admire the hard glittering pinpricks of light from the snow that reminded him of the stars in his Black. He’d taken a wrong turn somewhere in the maze, despite River’s instructions, and had ended up having to double back.

Here. River’s voice was insistent.

“It’s a dead end.”

Just filled with snow. You can push through.

“You sure?”

There was no response, except the suggestion that he’d earned himself a sharp elbow in the ribs, possibly one of her glares. He wasn’t sure which was worse, he realised, as he lowered his shoulder and stepped forward.

Something slithered down inside his coat, chilling his skin immediately, but River had been right – there was nothing more solid inside the snow bank than frozen ice crystals. And there it was. The house.

He paused for a long moment, considering. There was no sign of the sun but it was definitely day, and in Luke’s coat he knew he was going to be very visible against the snow. Still, he didn’t need River’s voice in his head to know he didn’t have a choice. Already his feet felt like blocks of ice, what he could feel of them – he just hoped Simon had something good for frostbite.

Gathering what was left of his strength he launched himself out of the maze and ran as fast as he could towards the house.

Not the front door, though. He’d been in the maze too long, they could have got there before him. Besides, he didn’t trust the butler. Luke had said something about someone telling him about Jayne, someone named … Dottie. That was it. The maid. Telling Luke about Jayne, or at least a big man in the tunnels. But who else was it going to be? So maybe the kitchens? Except he had no idea how to get there, beyond a vague realisation they were usually around the back of the house. But that would mean going past big windows, with potential Fosters behind each glass pane.

Then he realised his feet had once again already made the decision for him, angling away from the front door and towards the burnt-out south wing.

---

She was close, so close the planet was getting bigger in the bridge window even as she watched. But not close enough.

Frey.

River.

I don’t know if I’m going to be in time.

Swallowing hard Freya grabbed the comm. “Dillon. How long?”

“Minutes. Why?”

“Hurry.” She tossed the unit onto the console, then grabbed the yoke even tighter.

“Frey?”

She glanced at Mal but didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

---

He was inside the walls, and now all he needed to do was hide, just long enough for the others to arrive and effect the grand rescue. Then it would just be a matter of a quick getaway, hot coffee, and an emotional reunion with Zoe. Tah muh duh, they’d better not have hurt Zoe, or he’d … well, he’d do something. Even if it was just a case of handing them over to Jayne to deal with, although he had the horrible feeling he’d be the one to take them all to pieces if they’d … if she was …

“You really are an ai lao.”

He span on his heel, feeling ancient debris crunch and slither beneath his feet. “Crispin.”

“You think I didn’t know? That I couldn’t guess?” The fat man stepped out of the shadows, and what light there was glinted evilly off the small, sleek, very new laser pistol in his hand.

“Isn’t it time for breakfast?” Hank asked desperately. “Growing lad like you, don’t you need some food? And how come everyone has a gun except me?”

“Father isn’t the only one who thinks ahead. And you really thought you could get away,” Crispin gloated.

“Actually, I didn’t think you could run that fast. And I used to be pretty good at hide’n’seek.”

“Well, this time you lose.” Crispin tightened his grip on the pistol, but before he could fire his eyes flicked past, fixing on something behind Hank.

The pilot started to turn, but his foot slipped on something under the snow so he was half-falling, which may have been why John Foster overcompensated with his aim and the laser blast hit him in the back of the right knee instead of the centre of his spine.

He collapsed into a huddle, the pain making it hard to take a breath, let alone scream.

“That’s not fair.”

John looked over at his son. “Shut up, Crispin.”

Clive arrived noisily, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to mop the perspiration from his forehead. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

John glared at his son and held out the pistol. “Please, be my guest.”

Clive couldn’t have looked much more disgusted, this time wiping his mouth. “Then what are we going to do with him?”

Crispin actually chuckled, and spread his arms. “Why worry? This is as good a place as any. Maybe he heard a noise, came to investigate, and a wall fell on him.”

“And the laser wound?” Clive was contemptuous. “You think they won’t notice?”

“They won’t look that hard. And if they do, I don’t mind making sure there’s nothing to find.” He pocketed his pistol and picked up a convenient stump of wood, swinging it like a club to test its weight.

On the ground, pain radiating up his leg, Hank swallowed and tried to scrabble back, but his entire body seemed to have given up obeying him.

“No.”

“Demelza?” Clive couldn’t have sounded more surprised if he’d tried.

Hank managed to turn his head to see the red-headed woman standing behind Crispin, who span on his heel so fast it took a moment for the outlying parts of his body to catch up.

“Leave him alone,” Demelza ordered, lifting a small pistol to level at them

The grimace on Hank’s face almost became a smile as he recognised the gun as the one he’d given her.

“Demelza, go back inside.” John Foster didn’t even pretend to sound anything other than contemptuous. “This is none of your concern.”

“Yes, it is. And you’re talking about murdering a man in cold blood.”

John’s lips twisted. “It wouldn’t be the first time, my dear. And I don’t intend it to be the last, if needed.”

“You’re a cruel man.”

“Perhaps. But why should I change now?”

“Demelza, do as Father asks,” Clive said. “And put that gun down. You have no idea how dangerous they are.”

“Oh, but I do.” She clicked off the safety. “And you’re the ones who are going to leave. All of you. Right now.”

“Or?” John prompted.

“I shoot you.”

“There are three of us, and only one of you.” John shook his head. “You really think you can get all of us?”

For a moment doubt flashed across Demelza’s face, then stiff resolution came back. “Would you like me to try?”

A long, tension-filled moment threatened to go on forever, then John said, “Crispin.”

The fat man lunged towards her, just as the small gun in her hand spat, and he folded up, his surprised expression fading quickly to nothing.

John Foster’s own face contorted, and the laser pistol lifted.

“No!” Clive, perhaps for the only time in his life, leaped forwards to save someone else, knocking his father to the ground just as a roar grew in their ears to the point where everything seemed to shake as a shuttle passed close overhead. Then continued shaking, and now groaning, and before anyone could move the standing exterior walls shivered, then began to fall in on themselves.

Demelza shrieked and cowered back against the brickwork, billowing dust surrounding her.

to be continued