Pol ordered a pint of cider and seated himself comfortably on a wooden bar stool while it was poured. He took off his backpack and stowed it under his feet. He was the only person at the bar so he hoped the innkeeper would feel inclined for a chat. He leant forward conversationally.

"You might be able to help me. I'm looking for Professor Maybury. I understand he lives close by?"

A strange expression crossed the innkeeper's face. "Not another one!" he burst out, fixing Pol with an incredulous stare.

"'Another one"?" repeated Pol, raising an eyebrow.

"The Professor hasn't received a single visitor for years, except for tradespeople, and now there's two lots of you in two days. What's he been up to?"

"Two?" queried Pol. Someone else in Ashvale, asking after Professor Maybury? That couldn't be a coincidence.

"Well, you, and the party of three that came in yesterday. Two men and a woman. As a matter of fact, they've gone up to the Hall this afternoon, to try and arrange a meeting with the Professor. What's he been up to, then?" asked the innkeeper, again.

"Word is, he's finally completed the project he's been working on," offered Pol, cautiously. "Have you heard anything, here in the village?"

"There's always rumours," sniffed the innkeeper. "But keeps himself to himself, does the Professor. His servants are a tight-lipped bunch, too."

Hoping for more details, Pol tapped the side of his glass. "Another mug of your excellent cider, if you please. And have one for yourself."

"Thank you kindly, don't mind if I do," said the innkeeper, cheerfully pouring out two pints. He pushed one across to Pol and rested his elbows on the bar.

"Back when he first moved here, all of ten years ago, he said he needed somewhere quiet, to write a book. One of those weighty, scientific affairs, not an adventure story like you and me might want to read. It's taken him an awfully long time, though, that's all I can say. And you reckon he's finished it?"

"That's what I'm here to find out."

"So, what's it about then? Must be something important to attract all this interest."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Something to do with metallurgy. All a bit complicated for me," added Pol with a deprecating smile. "All I know is that my employer wants it." He drained his glass.

"I might wander up and have a look at this place myself. Can you give me directions?"

The innkeeper pointed. "Follow the road west, and it's about a mile outside the village, through the forest. Once you leave Ashvale, the road becomes a dirt track. The Hall is the only building out there. A big place with a wall around it and a gatehouse. You can't miss it."

"Thanks. I'll be back in time for dinner," Pol said, slipping on his backpack.

The sun had set but there was still a faint light in the sky, enough to see by, he thought, if he didn't linger too long. He followed the road west as directed and soon found the track leading to the forest. At first the trees looked cultivated, as if someone were in charge of cutting the deadwood and making space for the young growth, but as he drew further in, the forest became wilder and thicker. The track was clear enough, but Pol quickened his pace. He wanted to see the Hall, but he didn't want to risk getting lost here when darkness truly fell.

Twenty minutes later, he stood outside a large iron gate and peered through the bars. For once, the words 'you can't miss it' had proved accurate. Set in a walled garden surrounding at least an acre, the Hall was an imposing building. Four towers stretched into the sky topped by witches' hats, and mullioned windows covered the façade. Curtains had been drawn against the dusk, but light shone from a couple, like eyes peering out from under the hats. Pol didn't consider himself a fanciful man, but the Hall looked all too much like one of those gothic monstrosities from a horror novel.

He stepped back and examined the wall. Built of stones stacked one on top of the other, he thought it would make an easy climb. A gatehouse stood to the left, dark and shuttered, evidently empty for the night.

Gravel scattered noisily on the other side of the wall and the next moment a huge black shape hurled itself against the gate. Pol sprung back in shock. A snarling mouth, filled with teeth and red tongue snapped at the bars. His heart pounding like a piston, it took Pol some moments to realise the creature was not some ghastly monster, but a dog. True, a very large dog, but a dog, nonetheless. The fact that it was silent, was somehow more menacing than furious barking would have been.

He felt very glad that he hadn't given in to temptation and climbed the wall.

He wondered whether the three people from the inn had made it past the gate. He hadn't seen any sign of them on his way here, but he didn't think it likely they would be inside while the dog was roaming loose.

Perhaps they had returned by a different route.

Pol turned to begin walking back to the inn. His heart was still thumping and there wasn't any more he could do here, not tonight. He'd seen what he wanted. Now it was time for dinner, and time to discover if the innkeeper had negotiated him a bed for the night.

He took one step before a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

His nerves already overwrought, Pol panicked. He kicked out with his left foot and twisted his body. But it didn't have the effect he'd expected. His assailant lost his balance and crashed forward, taking Pol with him.

A heavy weight pinned Pol to the ground and he looked up into a nightmare. His assailant only had half a face.

Pol's eyeballs rolled back in his head and his body went limp.