Raven's Gate

him.
    The villagers closed in around him. More of them looked down on him from the window of the observation box. Mrs Deverill and her sister were standing next to each other. Matt recognized the butcher, the chemist, the woman with the pram… Even the children had joined in the ring, their faces pale, their eyes hungry. Nobody spoke. Nor did they force him on to the slab. They knew he had no choice but to surrender. He had given them a run for their money. But he had lost and now it was time to pay.
    “Matt…”
    Somebody had called out to him. Matt looked past the villagers and saw a man standing outside the circle, his hands tied behind him to a metal railing. Matt ran over to him, everything else forgotten for a moment. It was the last thing he had expected. Richard Cole was still alive. His clothes were ragged, his face smeared with blood. He was helpless, a prisoner. But somehow he had survived the destruction of the museum and had been brought here too.
    “Tell me I’m dreaming,” Richard gasped as Matt reached him.
    “I’m afraid not,” Matt said. He was so surprised, he didn’t know what to say. “I thought you were dead.”
    “Not quite.” Richard managed a ghost of a smile. “It looks like Sir Michael Marsh is part of all this.”
    “I know. He brought me here.”
    “Never trust anyone who works for the government.” Then Richard leant forward and whispered, “My left hand is almost free. Hang in there!” And Matt felt a surge of hope.
    “So here we all are together!” The voice came from the one open door. The villagers turned towards Sir Michael Marsh as he entered the arena. “Shall we take our places? The end of the world is about to begin.”
    Two of the villagers had crept up behind Matt, and before he could react they had pulled him away. He struggled, but it was hopeless. The two men were huge and handled him as if he were a sack of potatoes. They dragged him over to the sacrificial slab, threw him on to his back and tied thick leather bands around his wrists and ankles. When they stepped back, he couldn’t move. So this was where it ended. This was what it had all been for.
    Richard was shouting. “Leave him alone! Why hurt him? He’s just a kid. Let him go…”
    Sir Michael held up a hand for silence. “Matthew is not ‘just a kid’,” he replied. “He is a very special child. A child we have been watching for almost half his life.”
    Mrs Deverill pushed her way forward. She was dressed in the same clothes she had worn in London, together with the lizard brooch, her eyes filled with hatred. “I want to be the one who cuts his throat,” she rasped.
    “You will do as you’re told,” Sir Michael replied. “I have to say, Jayne, you’ve disappointed me. You very nearly let him get away. A second time!”
    “We should have locked him up from the start!”
    “You’re the ones who should be locked up,” Richard cried. “You’re all mad…”
    “We’re not mad.” Sir Michael turned to him. “You know nothing. You live in your own cosy, mediocre world. You’re completely blind to the greater things that are happening around you, like so many of your kind. But that will all change.
    “I have dedicated my entire life to this moment. The preparations alone have taken more than twenty years, working night and day. Did Professor Dravid tell you about us? Did he tell you about the Old Ones?” Sir Michael paused but Richard said nothing. “I will assume that he did, and you probably thought that he was mad too.
    “Let me assure you, the Old Ones exist. They were the first great force of evil. At one time they ruled the world until they were defeated – by a trick – and banished. Ever since then they have been waiting to return. That is what you are about to witness. Your friend Matthew is tied down on the very mouth of Raven’s Gate.” Sir Michael spread his hands. “That is where we are now. And the gate is about to open.”
    The villagers shivered with pleasure. Even Mrs Deverill forced a thin smile.
    “The forces that created Raven’s Gate knew what they were doing,” Sir Michael continued. “The gate is unbreakable. Unopenable. Unmovable. Or so it seemed for centuries. Our ancestors tried as long ago as the Middle Ages. For hundreds of years from generation to generation they passed on their accumulated knowledge, their spells and rituals. But nothing worked until now. We are the chosen generation.
    “Because we live in the twenty-first